He nodded. “So the sunsetter can now fulfill its function and destroy the data contained in Freebird.”
Sappho hesitated. “There are still problems. Freebird has adopted a clever tactic. It has initiated a one-way data pact with our attack program, preserving the safety and security of the sunsetter whenever the Czar’s IRS 1991 attempts an assault. In essence, the very program we’re trying to destroy has now become our unwanted, and unnecessary, savior—an ironic twist of events. The net result is that Freebird currently remains one step ahead of the sunsetter.”
Ghandi withheld a smile. There was something oddly pleasurable about seeing the Ash Ock faced with a challenging problem. “Sort of like having an itch that you can’t scratch,” he ventured.
“An appropriate analogy. And we suspect that the conflict between IRS 1991 and the sunsetter is what alerted Freebird in the first place.”
“But wouldn’t Freebird have been aware of the sunsetter’s presence all these years?”
“That’s possible,” she answered slowly. “The truth is, we really don’t know the operational parameters of Freebird.”
And Ghandi thought: You know only that the information contained within Freebird is a great threat to the Ash Ock plans. Perhaps Sappho would be more open to supplying an answer.
“Just what is so important about this program?”
Again, Sappho broke eye contact, turning to stare at the far wall. Her shoulders tilted into a gentle shrug. “Things that never should have been revealed—Ash Ock strategies and the like. Ultimately, however, Freebird’s information would prove irrelevant to humans.” A soft smile touched her lips. “Let’s just say that it is a matter of Ash Ock pride that Freebird’s data remains lost.”
Ghandi did not believe her. Part of the reason for corrupting Doyle Blumhaven in the first place was specifically to gain access to the E-Tech archives in order to input the sunsetter. And every few weeks, for the past twenty-two years, his wife—or Sappho—had arranged to update the sunsetter from this special terminal aboard their private shuttle. Such purposeful dedication transcended pride. Not to mention that the sunsetter was in the process of devastating every old program it came across in the hopes of finding and wiping out Freebird. No, pride has nothing to do with it. The annihilation of the data contained in this rescue program is vitally important to the Ash Ock.
“Just how long has this Freebird been in the archives?” he asked, assuming it to be another question she would not answer, but deciding to take the shot anyway.
Sappho surprised him. “Freebird is over two hundred and fifty years old.”
Ghandi raised his eyebrows. “I always sort of assumed that Freebird came from the era of Codrus and Reemul—something that Rome Franco’s E-Tech people created fifty-six years ago.”
“No. Freebird existed before the E-Tech archives were ever transferred from the planet to the Colonies. It is of pre-Apocalyptic origin.
“Codrus, during his lonely two-hundred year vigil in the Colonies, often tried to gain access into the archives, to search for this mythical program. You see, we never even knew for certain whether Freebird actually existed. In fact, up until five years ago, we were becoming convinced that it was indeed mythical. But finally the sunsetter came across actual archival proof that Freebird is real.”
A wary smile touched her lips. “But enough of this. There are more important things that deserve our consideration.”
Ghandi wagged his head, pleased that she had revealed so much. “If Nick and Gillian are awake, then someone in E-Tech must have betrayed us. Doyle Blumhaven?”
Sappho twined her fingers and daintily laid the folded palms on the lap of her gown. Ghandi stared intently. It was an action so reminiscent of Colette that for a moment, he thought that the interlace had dissolved, that his wife had returned. But the eyes remained distant, alien.
“Doyle Blumhaven did not betray us,” said Sappho confidently. “Theophrastus has projected the most likely possibility: One of the programmers from the archives arranged for the Czar and Gillian to be awakened, and then perhaps helped the Czar gain access into the archives. Calvin has been attempting to learn just who this renegade might be.”
“Will Calvin . . . deal with him?”
“Yes. But it’s possible that great damage has already been done.
“We must assume that the Czar and Gillian have looked into the Order of the Birch massacres. The Czar is extremely shrewd. By now, he would certainly have examined all available data relevant to Calvin’s forays. And if the Czar manages to cross-reference enough data from the six massacres, it’s possible that his formidable programming abilities may lead him to the common denominator of Venus Cluster. Also, there is still the matter of the altered transit records to consider. Assuming that the Czar’s secret helper is an archival specialist, they may attempt an actual penetration of E-Tech Security. And if they should succeed in that endeavor and compare the transit records from the Honshu massacre with the classified E-Tech Security report, they will see that Calvin’s name is not on the second list.”
Ghandi wanted to say: I warned you that changing the transit records could prove to be a dangerous move. Instead, he shrugged and said: “So Calvin’s mistake in recognizing that Susan Quint woman may have severely jeopardized us.”
“Yes, even though at this juncture, Susan Quint herself may be the least of our worries. We have Gillian to consider now. Theophrastus suspects, and I concur, that the traitor may even possess the ability to deduce that Calvin is Paratwa, and perhaps even conclude that my Ash Nar is a tripartite.”
An uneasy feeling took hold of Ghandi. Deep inside, he could feel the microbes begin their furious dance, coursing up and down his arms and his legs, burrowing into his chest, making his heart beat faster. His feet, still locked around the bottom of the chair, began to quiver uncontrollably. The inside of his flesh seemed to be electrified.
Sappho stared at him dispassionately. And suddenly he knew.
“You want something from me,” he blurted out, barely able to remain in his seat. “That’s why you’re talking to me, after twenty-five years of silence!”
“It has always been your belief that when you’ve outlived your usefulness to the Ash Ock, we would destroy you. Correct?”
He felt as if the microbes were jolting answers out of him, forcing him to utter truths that he had never before directly acknowledged. “You’ll order Calvin to kill me!”
Sappho shook her head; a gesture of sadness that the eyes did not emulate. “You still believe that the Ash Ock desire decimation of humans. That is not our purpose. We kill only when necessary.”
“And what about Calvin?” Ghandi challenged. “What about the infection of the cylinders?”
“The spreading of Theophrastus’s skygene to every single colony will bring about a lasting peace, with the least number of casualties. You are intelligent enough to realize that. As to my Ash Nar . . .” She shrugged. “Calvin was created and trained to be a warrior. That is his function. When the Colonies are ours, I plan to make him the head of E-Tech Security, in a greatly expanded role. He will be responsible for the enforcement of our rule.”
“You’ll kill me,” insisted Ghandi. “I know too much.”
“Colette loves you.”
He frowned.
“I must admit that her feelings, which have developed for you over these past twenty-five years, were not an aspect of our original plan. It was merely fate, which brought you and your Costeau shuttle to Denver that day; most any ship and crew would have sufficed. But you came, and Colette developed true and deep feelings for you. She will not betray you.
“Emotions bind, Corelli-Paul. As for your knowing too much about us, that is a problem which will be rendered obsolete when the Colonies have been conquered.”
Ghandi swallowed. “Colette . . . she’s your tway. If you gave an order, she would obey.”
Sappho shrugged. “That is the way of the Ash Ock. The tways yield to the wishes of the mon
arch.” She gazed silently at him for a moment. “Colette will obey. And so must you.”
“What do you want?” he muttered.
“Nothing at the moment, Corelli-Paul. However, we need time to complete the infection of the Colonies. If the Czar and Gillian manage to learn of tway Calvin, either through their own resources or through Susan Quint’s sudden emergence from concealment, then CPG itself could be threatened. Calvin could go into hiding, still carry out Order of the Birch massacres, eliminating the skygene couriers. But it has been through the corporate auspices of CPG—actually our subsidiary, Venus Cluster—that we have been able to spread the skygene suitcases to so many Colonies. That function must continue unabated until every cylinder registers a positive reaction.
“And if it is ascertained that the E-Tech Security records from the massacre do not match the transit records, then E-Tech itself may fall under greater suspicion. Edward Huromonus’s action/ probe could then turn upon the highest levels of E-Tech. That means that Doyle Blumhaven himself could come under scrutiny. And if enough pressure is brought upon Blumhaven, he could crack and reveal his illicit connections with CPG. Naturally, that too cannot be permitted.
“Our conspiracy is beginning to unravel. The Czar and Gillian are closing in on us from one direction, Edward Huromonus’s action/probe from another, and Susan Quint is a wild card, hanging over our heads. We must not be caught in the middle, not yet.
“Right now, time is our enemy. Meridian will arrive in the Colonies in a little over a month. Until then, CPG Corporation must remain, at the very least, partially operational. And the skygene infections must continue at their current rate if we are to make the deadline.”
Sappho rose and stood before him. “All these years I have remained silent in your presence because Colette so desired. She knew how much you feared me, and she did not wish to see you needlessly suffer. I ordered her to seduce you only once—that day in Denver, twenty-five years ago. Since then, her feelings for you have been real, and she has consciously tried to spare you, as much as possible, from Ash Ock complexities. She has looked out for you, Corelli-Paul. Never forget that.”
He sighed. “I know.”
Sappho closed her eyes. Ghandi thought he detected a faint shudder running through her body.
“Colette?” he asked tentatively.
The eyes opened and there was warmth there again, and what he sensed as a deep compassion.
“My love,” she whispered, slithering onto his lap. Ghandi found himself hugging his wife as if she were the only real thing in the universe. A tremor passed through him. Dancing microbes faded to nothingness as he burrowed his face into her bosom.
“I wish we could just . . . go away,” he blurted out.
“She is my monarch, Corelli-Paul. I must obey her. And so must you. It is the only way.”
How can I trust her? Ghandi wondered. How can I know for certain that your monarch won’t betray me?
Colette hugged him tightly.
I grow old and I grow stupid.
Her hands wound around him. Fingers caressed.
And now, even my third demon could once more arise, he thought bitterly. Now maybe I will even have to kill for you again.
Demon three: the sin that offered no redemption. Ghandi remembered back, twenty-five years ago, to that icy windswept Denver boulevard, standing outside Colette/Sappho’s shuttle—her starship—as she ordered his needbreeder-hypnotized crewmates into the vessel. The four Costeaus had finished transferring all the items of value over to Ghandi’s ship: the maniac, asleep in his two stasis capsules; the prototype for Theophrastus’s skygene machines; crates of data bricks, including the sunsetter; and miscellaneous boxes containing a variety of high-tech implements.
“It is the only way,” Colette had urged, as they stood in their spacesuits, watching the captain close the outer hatch, sealing himself and Ghandi’s other three crewmates into their own tomb. And then she had handed Ghandi the small disk containing the trigger. At first he had protested:
“I can’t do it, Colette. I can’t!”
“Bring us together, Corelli-Paul,” she had pleaded. “Bind our aspirations into a chain that dares not be broken. Show me that I can trust you always.”
He had depressed the trigger before he could talk himself out of it.
If only I had turned away. If only I had not seen the flash of white light through the portholes as the incineration device ignited, filling the inside of her starship with flames fierce enough to burn through metal. If only the captain had not appeared in the window for that fraction of a second, his countenance a mask of agony as his plastic helmet visor melted onto his face . . .
Ghandi shuddered with the memory.
“It is all right, my love,” Colette whispered, stroking his forehead. “Everything will be all right.”
No, he thought sadly. It can never again be all right. It can only be bearable.
O}o{O
“Did you know,” offered Timmy, “that the Ontario Cloister was founded almost three hundred years ago?”
Susan lay stretched out on the sandy beach, half-heartedly listening to her new companion’s words while her senses bathed in pleasing odors and rhythmic sounds. Ocean-tainted waves gently splattered against a small jagged cliff a hundred yards to their left; swirling breezes brought a briny smell from the east, via the St. Lawrence River’s connection to the Atlantic.
“The cloister was founded a hundred and fifty years ago,” Susan corrected, recalling the history lesson that Lester Mon Dama had given her during their shuttle trip down.
Timmy chuckled and wrapped his gray robe tighter at the neck. His massive form squatted beside her, huge butt displacing pounds of wet sand, looking like one of those near-extinct animals she had once seen in the preserve on the colony of Valley Lehigh. She could not recall the animal’s exact name. Hippy Potamus, or something like that.
“Poor young lady,” he said with a wide grin. “Too much time in the Colonies for you, I’m afraid. Facts all mixed up.”
Susan sighed. It was her fifth time in his company; she had joined him out here on the beach every day since their first meeting, though she could not have said why. She supposed there was something relaxing about being in his presence. Timmy had a way of talking about things that challenged everyday notions. Being with him for any length of time was like being taken on a journey through a strange world.
Far away from my own.
No problems, no worries. And that aspect of Timmy’s company was really very nice, along with the general isolation of being on the planet, the sense that time was passing more slowly down here, or perhaps not even passing at all.
She rolled over on her stomach, hoping for another of what Timmy called “sweep reversal layers” to yank away the cloud cover, expose her skin to a brief—but intensely satisfying—blast of sun. Today, she had stripped down to her shorts, feeling no sense of embarrassment at being half-naked in Timmy’s presence. There was something almost fatherly about him. Besides that, she somehow sensed a woman’s bare breasts had not excited Timmy for a very long time.
“Three hundred years,” insisted Timmy, and Susan just rolled her head dreamily, not caring.
“The Church of the Trust,” he explained, “did assume control of the Ontario Cloister about a hundred and fifty years ago. But some of the buildings were here before that. This was an authentic church three hundred years ago, back in the days before the Apocalypse.”
“I’m glad to know that,” she sighed.
“It’s important that you should know,” said Timmy, hesitating. “The individuals . . . the ones who founded this cloister . . . it’s possible that they might return.”
Susan frowned and propped her face up into folded palms. “What are you talking about?”
“It is said that this cloister was a meeting place for the Paratwa. It is said that the Ash Ock sometimes came here.”
She sat up, instinctively wrapping her arms across her bosom, an action ha
ving nothing to do with any sudden onslaught of modesty. Shivers were racing through her.
“The Paratwa,” Timmy solemnly continued, “may want their home back.”
She forced a smile. “That’s ridiculous. Even if they come back, why would they give a damn about some silly little religious sanctuary?”
He just stared out across the lake.
“Timmy,” she chided. “You went away there.”
His double chin dissolved into a hearty smile. “Yes, Susan, even I do it on occasion. But remember, going away is not a good thing. When you lose touch, you enable others to take advantage of you. You give enemies the opportunity to fill in that space that you have left vacant.”
“But we’re not enemies,” she offered.
Timmy did not respond. He just kept staring out over the water.
She shrugged. “I think I should go back now. I don’t think there’re going to be any sunbursts today.”
“You never know,” he said, returning his attention to her. “Sometimes the clouds peel away, even when it looks so dark that you think there’s going to be a thunderstorm.”
“Did you ever see a real Earth thunderstorm?”
“Not for a very long time.” He raised his arm and wagged a fat finger at the massive tower of the revivifier, about a quarter of a mile away. At this distance, the tarnished red giant completely dominated the interconnected buildings of the cloister squatting behind it. “The revivifier has odd effects on local atmospheric conditions. The prerequisites for a thunderstorm can’t take place here.”
“Then where did you see a T-storm?” she asked.
“I used to travel around a bit . . . when I was younger. I saw a few storms down in the Kentucky area. I even saw a twister once, at very close range, out in one of the western states.”
“A twister?”
“A tornado.”
She did not recognize that term either, but the whole matter did not seem important. What did seem important was that Timmy had traveled to other locations on the planet. During a conversation the other day, he had seemed to suggest that the immediate area of the cloister had been his lifelong home. “I thought you said you’d never been away from here?”
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