Her husband nodded, eyes solemn.
“What’s that word again, love?” she said. “The one that means a holy place that’s preserved and protected because it’s attached to the memory of a sacred event?”
“A shrine.”
She waved around them again. “That’s what this is, or should be.”
Martin crouched, took her hands, and raised her to her feet.
“We’ll make ourselves worthy,” he said. “We’ll use what they left us to go further. We’ll give Man the freedom of the stars, and more knowledge than he can amass confined to a single world. If we have relatives somewhere, we’ll find them, and let them know that they’re not alone in the universe.” He grinned. “And God willing, we won’t have to die to do it.”
Althea returned the grin. “Or live on concentrates.”
“Well, yes, that too.”
“Speaking of which, would you like some dinner?”
He chuckled. “You must have read my mind.”
==
Intermezzo: Sexember 6, 1317 A.H.
A diffident-sounding knock on his office door raised Barton’s eyes from his spreadsheets.
“Come in.”
The timid quality of the slowly opening door matched the diffidence of the knock. Barton rose from his seat. Chuck Feigner slipped his head past the jamb and grimaced at him.
“Is this a bad time?” Feigner said.
Barton shook his head. “It’s never a bad time to see you, Chuck.” He waved the larger man into a guest chair as he resumed his own seat. “What’s up?”
Feigner deposited himself in the chair as if he feared it might collapse beneath him. He started to speak, halted himself, and drew a shaky breath.
Something’s not right.
“I saw Charisse about half an hour ago.”
Barton came at once to full alert. “Where?”
“At Levensohn’s Weapons and Accessories. She was coming out.” A spasm shook the big body. Feigner clamped his eyes shut. “On Alex Dunbarton’s arm.”
Oh no.
“Did she see you, Chuck?”
Feigner nodded.
“Did you...speak?”
Another nod. “She won’t be coming back.”
Oh my God. “Did she—” Barton halted and forced back the avalanche of questions cascading through his brain.
Feigner had dropped his head into his hands.
“Chuck—”
“She said she doesn’t consider herself a Morelon any longer, Bart,” Feigner mumbled. “She doesn’t consider herself...my wife.”
Feigner was sobbing. His huge body was shaking violently. He would not uncover his face.
Barton rose and went to the door, yanked it open, and looked up and down the hall. “Emma!”
Emma Morelon ceased to skip down the hall and turned toward him. “What is it, Uncle Bart?”
“Please, dear, go up to my suite and get Nora. Then go to Elyse’s suite and get her too. Oh, and please bring Patrice if you see her.” He kept his tone even and unstressed. “I need some help here.”
* * *
Nora led the still sobbing, still shaking Feigner out of Barton’s office, cast a gaze full of sorrow back at her husband, and closed the door softly behind her. As they departed, the cables of Barton’s tension released all at once. He dropped onto the little love seat next to Elyse, shaking his head.
“I never would have imagined...”
Elyse laid a hand on his shoulder. “None of us would have, Bart.” She grinned wanly. “You should be flattered that he came to you.”
He snorted. “Well, except for the compliment, I’d just as soon he hadn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know how to handle this sort of thing, Elyse. I called for you and Nora because I had no idea how to handle it. Life in my...other family didn’t prepare me to offer comfort to others.” He laughed, entirely without humor. “If it weren’t for Nora, I’d still be just one viper among many.”
Elyse’s hand moved to his chin. She turned his head gently toward her. His brow furrowed.
“They’re not vipers any more, Bart. Charisse might have been too fond of her position, and too long a wielder of its powers, but give her her due: she did civilize Clan Kramnik. Just look at how far your father has come.” Her smile warmed. “And you were never a viper or a schemer. If you were, Nora would never have loved you.”
He found himself unable to speak.
“Chuck came to you for the same reason Nora did. You’re approachable, sympathetic, even affectionate toward every member of the clan. And you did know what to do, proof of which is that you did it.”
“Hm? What did I—”
“You summoned your wife, who’s the most loving and lovable person under this roof, and your kinsman who’s most experienced and best equipped to cope with loss.” Elyse’s lips quirked upward. “Me.”
He grinned ruefully. “Good thing the two of you were available.”
Elyse nodded. Her hand was warm against the underside of his chin.
“Do you plan to contact Alex Dunbarton?” she said.
“Hm? What about?”
“I’m not sure.” Elyse frowned. She dropped her hands into her lap. “In fact, I’m not sure why I asked the question.”
He studied her face. “Is that what you would do?”
“I don’t know,” Elyse said. “It feels right, but...I don’t know.”
“Maybe I should,” he said. “If only for clarification.”
“But if you do—”
“I know, tread softly. Alex isn’t the most amiable guy around.” He grinned. “I’ve dealt with him a few times.”
The door to the office opened. Patrice and Alvah entered, spied Barton and Elyse, and moved at once to join them.
“We heard,” Patrice said. “We saw Chuck and Nora in the hearthroom. Is there anything for us to do?”
Elyse shrugged. Barton said “I’m not sure. Chuck’s desolated, that’s really all I can say. Nora will probably have more to tell us a bit later. I called you because you’ve got experience with...well, with loss. I don’t know who Chuck’s particular friends are, or I’d have called on them, too.”
“Elyse,” Alvah said, “has anything like this happened before?”
“In our clan?” Elyse said. “Never.”
Barton stood, and all eyes flew to him.
“Yes, it has,” he said. “Once.”
* * *
“Are you willing?” Barton released the push-to-talk and waited.
“Of course I am.” Martin’s voice was thin but the words were clear. “What kind of Morelon would say no?”
Barton swallowed. “And what about Althea? She’ll be alone up there until you return.”
“That’s okay, Bart,” Althea said. “This is important. Chuck’s a clan mainstay. We can’t afford to let him fall apart. I’ll be all right alone.”
“Thank you, both of you,” Barton said. “I was sort of afraid to ask.”
“Never be afraid to lean on your family, Bart,” Althea said. “What good would we be if you couldn’t ask us for help when you need it?”
Barton grimaced. “You have to remember my, ah, origins, Al. We weren’t big on mutual support, at least not back when. When should we expect you?”
“Give me two days,” Martin said. “I have to ready Freedom’s Horizon for re-entry, and I’ll need for you to get a few things together for me.”
“What sort of things?”
“Reagents for making more of her fuel,” Althea said. “The reactor only holds enough pellets for one launch and one re-entry, plus a modest safety margin. I’ll have a list for you by day’s end. Draw on our account to cover the cost.”
“No need, Al,” Barton said. “We’ll defray the cost.”
“Are you sure? This is going to be pricey.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. He glanced at Patrice, who nodded at once. “This is a family emergency. What else are the fam
ily’s savings for?”
“Can you keep him together until Martin gets there?” Althea said.
“I think so,” Barton replied. “I’ve got one other call to make, and then we’ll see.”
* * *
Barton awaited his father outside the doors to Morelon House. Douglas Kramnik walked up the path hesitantly, clearly uncertain what task his son had summoned him to address. He halted at the base of the steps to the doors. Barton repressed a smile.
“Thanks for coming, Dad.”
“You were too mysterious on the radio,” Douglas said. “What can Clan Kramnik, or I, or the combination do for Clan Morelon?”
It still nettles him a wee bit. Well, I could hardly expect otherwise.
Barton descended the steps, surprised his father by putting an arm around his shoulders, and urged him up the steps and through the doors of the mansion.
“I have a situation that I’m hoping you can help with,” Barton said. “Not financial this time. How old was I when Mom died?”
Douglas looked at him curiously. “About four. Why?”
Barton halted them before the arch that led to the hearthroom, peeked around the edge, and saw that his wife was still tending to Chuck Feigner. The big man was still hunched over, but appeared to have left off weeping. Nora flashed Barton a monitory gaze, and he pulled back.
“Because I don’t remember how it felt to lose her.” He grimaced. “Maybe that was a mercy. Kids that young are pretty easily scarred. But I’m sure you remember.”
Douglas locked eyes with him, but said nothing.
“Chuck got a terrific shock a little while ago, Dad.” He inclined his head toward the hearthroom. “Charisse has left him—left us. And no one here knows why. Worse, no one here has ever suffered a loss like that. As much as we love him, it’s near to impossible for us to get any sense of how he feels, or what he needs to ease the pain.”
Douglas’s gaze flicked toward the hearthroom entrance and immediately back to his son.
“Clan Morelon has no widows or widowers?”
Barton grinned. “We have a few. But I didn’t ask for your help because of that loss. I mentioned it because it’s the one we have in common.” He paused and gathered his courage. “You lost someone you love while he was still alive, just as Chuck has. I thought that might give the two of you some common ground.”
Douglas’s eyes narrowed. “I’m still not sure what you mean, Bart.”
“Come on, Dad.” Barton reached for his father’s hand, took it in his own, and tugged him gently into the hearthroom. Nora and Chuck looked up as they approached. “You do love me, or you did...didn’t you?”
* * *
Barton refrained from intruding upon the conversation between the two men. As his father settled in beside Chuck Feigner, he took Nora by the hand and led her off to the kitchen. No one else was there. He checked the coffeepot, found only dregs and grounds, and set about making a fresh potful.
“He’s a mess, Bart.”
“No surprise there.” He set the pot on a burner and lit it. “I can’t imagine what it would do to me to come upon you that way. And he and Charisse were together for how long?”
“About a century.”
He settled himself beside her and laid a hand over one of hers. “Martin will add his own unique ingredients to the recipe when he gets here, but I didn’t want to wait two days before doing...something.”
They sat together in silence for a long while. When the coffee had perked, Barton poured mugsful for the two of them and brought them to the table. Nora wrapped both her small hands around hers and sipped from it delicately.
“Did you know,” she said after a moment, “that Douglas only came to our wedding because Chuck threatened his life?”
Barton’s mouth fell open. “What?”
Nora nodded. “Chuck told me. Charisse used him as her...herald, I guess would be the right word. She’d decided that she was going to make Douglas toe her line, so she sent Chuck to inform your father that he’d come to our wedding, or else.”
“Charisse sent Chuck to do that? How could—”
“Only part of it, love.” Nora squeezed his hand. “The threat part was Chuck’s idea. He’d heard her muttering about arranging an assassination, and it disturbed him—”
“No surprise there!”
“—so he decided to head off the possibility by pre-empting Charisse with a threat of his own.” Nora’s expression became pained. “I don’t doubt for a moment that he meant it.”
She picked up her mug and fell silent. Barton started to speak, but bit it back.
Rothbard, Rand, and Ringer. I unknowingly summoned my father here to comfort a man who threatened his life?
Did Althea or Martin know about any of that?
But it worked. Dad settled down almost at once. He’s been the soul of courtesy and the best possible neighbor ever since. Both clans are better off for it, Clan Kramnik even more so than Clan Morelon. He and I took a while to mend fences, but that was to be expected.
The longer I live, the more certain I am that I don’t know a thousandth of what I ought to know. What I need to know.
“Nora?”
“Yes, love?”
“I wish you’d told me.”
She smirked sideways at him. “Would it have changed one single thing you’ve decided or done today? Or anything you’ve done since you joined the clan?”
He thought it over. Presently he shook his head. She smiled.
“I didn’t think so either. So why should I have burdened you with it?”
He sighed explosively. “All right, so it wouldn’t have made a difference. Mightn’t have. I’d still have wanted to know. Maybe I’d have—”
“Maybe you’d have what, love? Lain awake all night wondering if you’d ever see your father again?”
“All right,” he growled. Nora tittered. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me that I might want to know about? You know, trivia like the deka going off the silver standard, an invasion from space, or the impending end of the world?”
“Well,” Nora said mock-judiciously, “there is one little tidbit I was thinking of sharing with you.”
“Yes?”
She smiled widely and took his hands again.
“I’m pregnant.”
==
Chapter 26: November 18, 1317 A.H.
“We launch tomorrow.”
Althea started in surprise. “What do you mean ‘we,’ love?”
“I’ll have a few guests along. I’ve had pressure suits made for all of them and taught them how to wear them. They’re anxious to see what we’ve accomplished.” Martin chuckled. “I have to admit, I did give them a teaser or two. Is everything still checking out?”
“Yes. I’ve turned up the power as high as possible with the lash-up we have. The results are consistent with my equations and our earlier tests. All the dots are still on the curve.” She released the push-to-talk for an instant, then depressed it again. “Martin? Are you sure you’re...ready to return?”
There was a brief silence.
“I’ve done what I can, Al. No one can heal him single-handed. He needs time and love.”
“And Charisse?”
“Well, that would be nice, but—”
“No, I meant has anyone in the clan seen or heard from her since he ran into her?”
“No. Whatever she’s doing, she’s doing in private.”
“That worries me.”
“You’re not the only one. Not much to be done about it, though. I’ll see you about this time tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Althea said. “Just warn your passengers about the acceleration. And watch your power levels as you launch. Remember: six percent to take off, nine percent until you’re out of atmos, then you can push the throttle all the way in.”
“Teach Granny to suck eggs.”
Althea grinned. “I would if either of them were still around. Martin?” she said, her voice dropping to the fl
oor of her range. “I miss you.”
“Mega-ditto, space babe. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
Althea watched with her fists against her hips as the pregnant-wasp shape of Freedom’s Horizon approached the Relic and rotated to dock. As much work as she and Martin had put into assuring themselves of the reliability of the planetoid's docking mechanisms, she'd never entirely trusted them. The ground-to-orbit spacecraft was at maximum danger when it moored itself to the ancient planetoid. Should it be crippled or destroyed, she’d be marooned on the Relic to the end of her days.
I really have to dial down the worrying. Martin’s as good a pilot as I am. Considering how dangerous this is, he’d better be.
Not much hope that the verdict will be good, though. Four hundred million dekas is one hell of a lot of Morelon clan faith and commitment.
The impact as Freedom’s Horizon’s docking grapples locked onto the planetoid sent a vibration through the soles of her boots. The plumes from the spaceplane’s retrojets swiftly shrank to nothing as its approach sensors retracted into its hull. When the cockpit lights went out, Althea allowed herself a last glance at the blue-green sphere of Hope eleven thousand miles below her, fought down a pang of homesickness, and made for the sally port to the pressurized tunnels within the planetoid.
When she reached her labs, she found that Martin had brought five of their kindred: Patrice Morelon, the clan’s comptroller; Teodor Chistyakowski, Hope's foremost genetic engineer; Valerie Morelon and Cameron MacLachlan, Althea’s parents; and clan head Barton Kramnik Morelon, the first of all its patriarchs to have married into the clan rather than being a natural born member.
Doesn’t look like a funeral procession. Well, we’ll just have to see.
Althea hung her helmet on an unoccupied hook and embraced each of her guests in turn. Her welcomes were returned with affection. Finally she swept Martin into her arms and hugged him fiercely, though their vacuum suits made it awkward.
“Watching from outside?” Teodor said.
Althea nodded. “I couldn't resist. It’s too beautiful a sight to pass up.” She grinned. “Like you guys.”
“Three years, Al,” Patrice said.
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