To Save the Sun

by Ben Bova

  "This will ease the pain and start the healing process, but have these looked at as soon as you get home." He put the used pad into a separate section of the container and returned it to the saddlebag. Retrieving the discarded clothing, he shook them once to remove the leaves, then tossed the bundle to Eric. "The temperature is dropping rapidly, better put these on. I didn't think his pants would fit, or I would have had him leave them as well." He walked over to his horse, which had wandered a few paces away and was nibbling at the long grasses clustered in a small patch off the trail.

  Eric wasted no time in tearing away the remnants of his pants and pulling the heavy linen shirt over his head. The welts on his back smarted as the cloth slid over them, but the warmth of the shirt—which hung nearly to his knees—more than made up for any discomfort. He watched his benefactor with interest as he buttoned the collar at his neck and quickly donned the vest. Besides the obvious gratitude he felt for the man Brendan, he was fascinated with what he perceived as an odd mixture of personality traits. It was clear that Reid looked at him in only one way, as his teacher, and Eric had to admit to himself that that was how he looked at his own teacher, Master McLaren. But McLaren was one-dimensional, trained as a Master and executing that function flawlessly.

  But this man was somehow different. He dealt with his pupil with ease, even when stern brutality was called for, but there was something else about him that Eric could not quite identify. A worldliness, perhaps, or a familiarity with things long past that were missed in his life. Eric knew nothing about this man, but felt himself liking him despite his strangeness. Even now, as Brendan produced an apple from his saddlebag and proceeded to slice it into chunks for his mount, he seemed to exhibit a oneness with the animal, gaining its trust and submission much in the same way he had gained his own.

  "Thank you," he said.

  Brendan stopped mid-slice on the apple and turned to face him. "So, you do speak, then." He gave the last piece of the apple to the horse, then reached into the saddlebag and pulled out another. "Catch."

  Eric snagged the apple easily, and nodded thanks before biting deeply into the fruit. He hadn't realized, until this moment with the tart juices dripping coldly down his chin, just how hungry the activity of the last hour had made him. He finished most of the apple in a few bites, then said, "I've never seen a horse like that. May I…"

  "Of course." Brendan patted the horse several times as Eric neared to reassure the animal that the small stranger meant no harm. He pointed with the knife at the last bit of apple in Eric's hand. "He'll be your friend for life if you give him that."

  Eric approached cautiously, holding the apple out in his palm, and reached up to stroke the horse's head with his other hand. The animal snorted once and reared his head back, but quickly overcame any suspicions it had and eagerly took the treat from Eric's hand. "I've never seen anything like him," he repeated. "He's beautiful."

  "You've got a good eye for horses. My Mistress' House has one of the finest privately owned bio-bred farms in Sol system." The man continued stroking the horse's neck in silence as a feeling of awkwardness fell over them. After a moment, Brendan cleared his throat and turned to him. "Are you all right?"

  The welts still hurt a good deal, but Eric nodded. "The pain's gone; I'll be fine," he said. He scanned the woods around him, then up at the sky. The cloud cover had thickened and that, combined with the lateness of the day, had caused the backwoods to grow dimmer. "I'd better be getting back."

  Brendan followed the boy's upward gaze, then glanced at the timepiece on his wrist. "You may be right. Besides, it looks like rain may be on the way, although it's difficult to be certain in the backwoods." He patted the horse's neck one last time and easily swung himself up into the saddle, then bent down from the saddle and held out his hand. "Climb up, Eric, and I'll give you a ride back to Woodsgate."

  Eric had reached up to accept Brendan's hand, but hesitated now and stared in shock. How did this man know him? He studied the man's face, and saw that he apparently regretted having admitted what he knew, or at least wished he'd chosen a better way of admitting it. Taking the horseman's hand in his, he placed his foot in the open stirrup and swung himself up behind the saddle.

  They rode in near silence for the next hour; when they spoke it was only to discuss some aspect of the trail or the weather, or to speculate on the type of animal tracks that were visible on the trail itself. They stopped once so Eric could relieve himself, and they took advantage of the break to share the last of the apples from his saddlebag.

  They stopped again where the trail crossed the hard-surface access road, with Woodsgate looming vast and foreboding in the gray light at the end of the road. The security cameras had detected their approach, of course, and several armed Imperial guards waited at the open gate. McLaren was there, pacing, as were several of his Master's attendants. Eric thought it odd that McLaren held back. When they were still nearing the gate, Eric had thought he'd seen the Master running forward to greet them or—more likely—to assure his safety. But now he waited with the others. Did McLaren know the horseman? He would have to ask later.

  Still several dozen meters distant, Brendan brought the horse to a halt. "This is as far as I go."

  Eric swung himself down from the horse and stood looking up at Brendan. "Thank you for your help," he said simply, then turned his back on horse and rider and headed for the gate and the pacing Master.

  "I can only apologize for their actions," Brendan called after him, "but I can say this: You handled yourself well back there."

  Eric stopped. The guards bristled nervously and tightened their grip on their weapons until he raised a hand, making them relax somewhat, and turned sharply back to face the rider.

  "You watched it all, didn't you." It was an accusation, not a question. He stepped closer, his eyes confidently meeting Brendan's. "Why did you wait so long to do something to stop it?"

  "For that, I cannot apologize." The horse, apparently nervous at a potential confrontation with the armed guards, snorted impatiently and he patted his neck reassuringly, soothing the animal. "For I am a teacher," he continued, "and you needed to learn an important lesson, Young Prince."

  He pulled at the reins, swinging the horse about, and trotted down the road, finally disappearing into the backwoods.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Javas, Emperor of the Hundred Worlds, stared out over the fog-shrouded Kentucky hills surrounding Woodsgate. He sat on the balcony of his personal suite at the family estate, enjoying the brilliance of the changing colors sweeping the wooded river valley to the southwest, and inhaled deeply of the autumn air. I stayed away from Earth too long again, he thought. I've missed this place… I've missed my son.

  Robb McLaren was giving his report, but Javas had paid attention to only half of what his son's Master had been saying.

  "Sire?" McLaren asked. The man was well trained, among the finest parenting Masters the Empire could produce, and knew as much about when to intrude upon his Emperor's private thoughts as he did about raising, and teaching, his only child.

  Javas turned sharply. "I can't believe you allowed him to slip through the shielding," he snapped, causing the attendant standing at the doorway to jump slightly. "I've checked with security all the way up to Glenney, and he assures me that all shielding was not only in place, but that it had been doubled since the last time he slipped out."

  "That's true, Sire," McLaren replied, his voice, as always, level and near monotone. Javas often thought that a bomb could go off under his chair while he was speaking and the Master's voice would continue as if nothing had happened. "However, he has become quite skilled at manipulating the security systems—not to mention everything else connected with the main computer. I shouldn't be surprised if the current software of the House systems bears little resemblance to anything of its original programming. He has become that adept."

  Javas considered McLaren's words. He looked idly at the Master, and reflected on how much the man r
eminded him of Montlaven, the tutor that he and his brothers shared when they were growing up at Woodsgate.

  Chosen from among the Earthers, as Montlaven had been, McLaren dressed as the Earthers dressed and held many of the same customs and antiquated ideas about natural progress—he did not partake of rejuvenation, for example—and yet Javas seemed to feel a greater understanding of him than he'd ever felt with Montlaven. Of course, he reasoned, I am an adult now, and a parent, and I see those things that only a parent sees. Perhaps I see, and appreciate, things that were invisible to me when I was a child.

  "I suppose I should be grateful, then, that his education in technical matters has exceeded his other pursuits?" He stood, and leaned on the ornate railing of the balcony overlooking the Woodsgate grounds and the Kentucky countryside.

  McLaren cleared his throat and stirred uneasily for the first time during this discussion. "Well, uh, I am most impressed by his grasp of technical science, but I…"

  "Yes?"

  The Master paused, then began in a tone that almost conveyed embarrassment. "He is… headstrong, stubborn." McLaren looked about nervously, trying to avoid the steady gaze of his Emperor. "If I may be so bold… I knew Joseph Montlaven and, as I expected to someday be made Master for your son, we compared notes frequently." He stopped, fidgeted with the cup of coffee on the low table before him. "Neither you nor your brothers were this impetuous. I've never seen a personal drive or determination of will to match Prince Eric's."

  "He gets it from his mother."

  "But, Sire—" Javas cut him off with a wave of his hand and immersed himself in the pristine beauty of the country-side. He smiled at the news that his son showed the proper strength and incentive to be his heir but, at the same time, he was concerned for the boy's safety. Unlike the cultured, highly civilized life-style of the Moon, where the seat of Empire was located, activities like those in McLaren's report could easily lead to an early death on a rough planet like Earth.

  "I understand, Robb," he said. "I'll speak to him of it." McLaren, aware that the Emperor had just ended this meeting, rose quickly and was escorted from the balcony by the attendant.

  Many things had changed at Woodsgate over the years: New buildings had appeared and old ones replaced; interior furnishings and color schemes had gone through countless redesigns; even the stable had been relocated to the other side of the grounds when moving the seat of the Empire required the shuttle landing pad at the estate to be enlarged. Only the garden remained exactly as Javas remembered it from his youth. The Emperor strolled the gently sloping grounds and looked out over the wide expanse of green, the otherwise smooth spread of Kentucky bluegrass dotted here and there by scattered karst. The limestone outcroppings gradually increased in number and size, and finally became a high ridge a hundred meters to the east. There were caves in the outcroppings, and Javas remembered the time his older brothers had taken him along on an underground exploration that had both fascinated and frightened him—much to Montlaven's distress—years earlier. Javas sat on a large outcropping and tried hard to remember exactly how long ago that had been. He had taken no rejuvenations, of course, since he'd become Emperor; but how many times had he renewed before that, and how many years had passed since he'd run these grounds as a child?

  "Father!"

  Javas turned at the sound and watched his son as he ran down the flagstone path leading from the main house. He'd seen his son as frequently as his schedule and Imperial duties allowed, of course; but the holoconferences held in his personal chamber on the Moon, no matter how lifelike or real they might seem at the time, still could not take the place of actual contact. The boy had grown since he'd last been this physically close to him—when? Spring? Javas shook his head self-consciously and promised himself for perhaps the hundredth time that he would make a stronger effort to return to Woodsgate sooner. Next time.

  Eric ran easily, effortlessly, across the grounds with a grace and agility that reminded Javas immediately of Adela. Eric looked much like his father and had inherited much of his physical strength and abilities, but the boy favored his mother in most other respects. His hair was very dark, like Adela's, and his build and features were small for his age. Eric's hands showed his mother's delicate fingers as he waved excitedly in greeting. Above all else, it was his unbound enthusiasm that reminded him most of his mother. Adela de Montgarde, at this moment approaching a planet nearly twenty light-years distant, would be very proud of the son born four years after her departure…

  "Father!" Eric leaped forward, knocking Javas to the ground. It was a game they had played for years upon greeting each other after a long absence: Eric would jump and attempt to tackle his father, who, more often than not, would eventually allow the boy to topple him to the grass, where they would wrestle until exhausted. As the boy tried now to pin him to the ground, Javas remarked inwardly that Eric had grown even more than he had thought; his compact frame hid greater strength than a casual observer might at first suppose. Flat on his back in the sweet-smelling grass, Javas realized that either the boy was getting a bit too big for this game or he was getting too old.

  As Eric almost succeeded in holding him down, Javas pushed firmly—but carefully—with his leg, sending his son flying backward to land on his rump with an audible plop, which ended the impromptu wrestling match with fits of breathless laughter from both of them.

  Javas stood, brushing himself off, and extended a hand to help Eric up. They stood a moment and shook hands, and Javas was pleased at the firmness in the boy's grip.

  "Hello, Eric. It's good to see you." Javas opened his arms and father embraced son. Over the boy's shoulder, Javas saw McLaren appear briefly on one of the main house's many balconies. It was difficult to be certain from this distance, but it looked like the ever-serious Master had been grinning from ear to ear.

  "Welcome home, Father." Eric knew better than to ask how long the Emperor would stay this time.

  They talked idly for the better part of the next hour as they walked the grounds of the estate. Eric was deeply involved in what he was learning, and spoke excitedly about how he had progressed in the previous six months. Javas noted with satisfaction that, while the boy discussed his successes with unabashed pride, he did not give in to the obvious temptation that all young boys have to exaggerate; Eric's description of his schooling closely matched that given him earlier in the day by Master McLaren.

  The Emperor was proud of his son and regretted the way the boy's smile disappeared when the subject inevitably turned to yesterday's events in the backwoods.

  Eric tossed fitfully, trying unsuccessfully to get to sleep. No wonder I thought I'd seen him before, Eric thought. My brother.

  He lay on his bed, gazing out at the Moon, huge and bright orange, now appearing over the horizon. The color faded and the Moon seemed to shrink in size as it rose. It was quite high in the night sky before Eric finally gave up on sleep, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and went to the computer terminal in the study area occupying the entire far wall of his room.

  He rarely used vocal commands, preferring the feeling of intimacy the keyboard gave him. Eric knew of his father's integrator and how it gave him instant access to any Imperial data. Maybe someday he, too, would be so linked; but for now, he felt as one with the computer as his fingers flew over the keys.

  Getting out of the educational and informational modes and past the low-level security into the House files was easy; he'd long ago installed enough back doors that the Imperial techs never found them all whenever they upgraded the system. Even when they did find them, he easily installed more. McLaren had spoken to him several times about accessing House systems and playing pranks with some of the routine functions like the sprinklers and clocks, and each time he would promise—with the utmost sincerity, naturally—that he wouldn't access them that way again. With the myriad ways he knew to gain access, it was always an easy promise to keep.

  There was no way to access Imperial files from this terminal, of c
ourse, but there were personal files in the House system: McLaren's, House staff members, his father's; even files belonging to his grandfather. These last, as well as numerous others belonging to deceased family members, had been closed and sealed, and were impossible to open from a terminal. The others, like those belonging to his father and the Master, were "merely" blocked with security codes and passwords. Eric had accessed those files only once, a few years earlier, more as a challenge to see if it was possible than out of curiosity as to their contents, but had reclosed them immediately in respect for his father's privacy. He never attempted to access them again, until now.

  It took most of the night to break the security, and once inside Eric hesitated, fingers frozen over the keys. What he was doing was wrong, he knew, but wasn't it just as wrong for his father to have kept secret the facts about his family? Wasn't it wrong to wait for an incident like yesterday's to occur before telling your own son the truth? He stared at the screen for several long minutes, and resolved to stay as much out of his father's private thoughts as possible, but he was determined to learn more about his brother.

  He installed a carefully worded worm sequence that would correlate and find only those files containing information about him and his brother, and would then display only those portions of the individual entries that cross-referenced what he wanted to know.

  joawe89045—I personally ordered the fertilized ova kept out of her reach, but was unaware that she had duplicated and kept others. She has already hired a surrogate, but Glenney has not yet been able to learn if the woman has been implanted. However, the fact that she has elected to retain the services of a surrogate instead of using an artificial womb tells me much about what she has in mind for the child…