Empire & Ecolitan

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  A tentative smile played around her mouth. “How did you know my name?”

  “Your father told me.” Before she could ask, he added, “Is your mother in? I’d like to talk with her.”

  “Who is it, dear?” a woman’s husky voice called from the landing.

  Jimjoy could see that the house’s internal arrangement was similar to his, except that it seemed to have a larger upstairs—probably three bedrooms.

  “It’s Professor Whaler, mother!”

  “I’ll be right down. Show him in, and then come up here. I have an errand for you and Jorje.”

  “Mother!”

  Jimjoy almost smiled.

  “Please, Shera. I need your help.”

  The girl turned back to Jimjoy. “Would you come in, Professor?”

  “Thank you, Shera. How old are you?”

  “Ten standard.” She held the door more widely and stepped back.

  Jimjoy nodded, visually measuring the girl. She would be a tall girl, and she was already striking. Geoff was proud of them—had been proud of them. He moistened his lips and swallowed.

  He stepped inside. A mirror with a hand-carved light oak frame hung over a small table. His face, somber and cold, stared back at him from the center of the oval glass.

  “Professor?” Carill Aspan had black hair past her shoulders, loosely bound with a red band at the base of her neck, skin darker than Jimjoy’s bronzed complexion, and brown eyes. A hint of tears hovered in her eyes. Almost as tall as Thelina, she wore a faded green tunic and trousers. Her feet were bare.

  “Jimjoy Whaler…” he didn’t know what to call her. “Carill” sounded too informal.

  “Carill Aspan.”

  For a moment, neither moved.

  “Did you have an errand you were going to send Shera and Jorje on?”

  “Oh…I forgot.” Her eyes said she had forgotten nothing. “Shera? Jorje?” As she spoke, she walked into the living area and pulled a slip of paper from the simple secretary that stood against the wall. Writing quickly, she jotted down several sentences and folded the paper over.

  “Yes, mother? Jorje’s still on the landing.”

  “I need both of you to take this to Cerla. Jorje!”

  “Coming…”

  Jimjoy and Carill stood in the space between the foyer and the living room, waiting as Jorje took one slow step after another down the wooden stairs.

  Shera glared up at her brother even as she struggled with a light jacket. “Come on.”

  “Rather not.”

  “Jorje…please?”

  “I’m coming.” His last step took him to the main floor, where his mother extended a dark blue jacket. He did not protest as she eased him into it. Neither did he help, with arms as limp as overcooked pasta.

  “Would you both take this to Cerla? If she’s not home, ask Treil or Gera if they know when she will be back.” Carill glanced from Jorje, who remained under her arm, to Shera. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, mother. We take the letter to Cerla. If she’s not there, we check with the neighbors to see when she will be back. Then we come tell you. What if Cerla’s home?”

  “Then you come back with her. All right?” Carill had her hands clasped tightly together.

  “All right. We won’t be long.” Shera extended her hand to Jorje. “Come on, slowpoke.”

  Jorje looked back at his mother, dark eyes almost liquid, before his sister opened the door and tugged his arm.

  Carill looked at her son. “Go on, Jorje. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  The boy slowly transferred his eyes from his mother to the floor.

  “Come on.”

  Jimjoy kept his face relaxed, wanting somehow to hold both children, feeling like his silence lied to them both, as he and Carill watched them march down the steps.

  Jorje glanced back once, twice, three times, until the walk took them out of the open door’s direct line of sight.

  Click. Carill shut the door. “Shall we go into the main room?”

  Jimjoy nodded.

  “Would you like any liftea? Geoff said…”

  “No thank you. Not right now.”

  She stood, then waved vaguely. “Sit anywhere you like.”

  He waited for her to take a chair. Not surprisingly, she sat in one of the wooden armchairs, perched on the edge. Jimjoy took the one across from her.

  “It’s about…Geoff…”

  “Yes. The recovery boat arrived this morning—”

  “No…”

  “Geoff did what he had to…but they didn’t make it back.” The words felt like lead in his mouth. “I’d asked him not to volunteer…”

  “He told me.” The tears seeped from her eyes. “He was afraid he wouldn’t come back. He left a letter…told me not to blame you…if it happened.”

  Jimjoy felt his own eyes sting. Geoff had never mentioned it, not that he would have. “He didn’t tell me. He wouldn’t have.”

  “No…he wouldn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s not enough…nothing is…”

  “If it weren’t for Geoff, I could hate you, Professor.”

  “If it’s easier that way,” he offered.

  “We talked about it.” She sniffed, pulling a faded handkerchief from somewhere, blotting her cheeks. “You talk, but you never think…it’s always someone else…”

  He nodded, hoping she would keep talking, wishing he had brought someone else, someone whose warmth would have eased the pain. His eyes burned.

  “…Geoff…he didn’t want to go…he said he had to…that too many people would die if the missions failed…was he right…did it make any difference? Don’t lie to me.”

  Jimjoy swallowed. “He was right. His mission succeeded. He brought us the time to hold off the Empire.” He hated the pompous sound of his last words. “He gave up everything just to give us hope…just hope.” He swallowed again, his mouth dry.

  “You liked Geoff.”

  Jimjoy nodded, not having the words.

  “He liked you, respected you…one reason why he went…”

  Her words were like knives, even though she meant them as a kindness to him. A kindness to him? His eyes focused on the floor, picking out the lines of the planks.

  “Professor…?”

  He looked up at Carill’s tear-streaked face, knowing his own looked as streaked.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?” He wanted to bite out the words. For what? For killing your lover, your husband, and the father of your children? For destroying the one man who might have been my friend? For leaving Shera and Jorje fatherless? Instead, he repeated the words more gently. “For what?”

  “For caring. For being the one to tell me…and for hurting.”

  Jimjoy shook his head. “I didn’t want to come.”

  She wiped her eyes again. “But you did. Geoff said…if anything happened…you would…saw you on the steps…I knew…” She put her face in her hands.

  Jimjoy stood up and walked the three steps toward Carill. Each step felt like he was moving in high gravity through syrup. Finally, he stood behind the chair and put both hands on her shoulders.

  Neither said anything as a shadow from the overhead clouds darkened the deck behind Jimjoy, cutting the light that had poured into the room. Nor did either say a word as the small cloud released the sun and the light resumed.

  Thrap!

  “Mom! We’re back. Cerla was home.”

  “Carill?” asked a woman’s voice.

  Jimjoy straightened and walked toward the doorway, toward the red-haired and petite woman in a blue blouse and old-fashioned skirt, toward Shera and, hiding behind his sister, Jorje.

  Swallowing, Jimjoy stopped short of Cerla. Carill was almost step for step with him, although he had not heard her leave the chair.

  “This is Professor Whaler…Geoff’s friend. Cerla McWinter…she’s an old friend of mine.”

  Cerla’s blue eyes raked over Jimjoy, took in his face, and looked to Ca
rill. “I told Brice I’d be staying here tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jimjoy felt out of place, invisible in a private communion occurring around him. He glanced at Jorje, saw the coldness, the stony expression.

  “Jorje…?”

  The boy looked at the floor.

  Jimjoy knelt until his eyes were level with the dark brown ones. Shera stepped aside. “Your father asked if I would be your friend.”

  “Daddy’s not ever coming back.”

  “No, he’s not. But before he left, he asked—”

  Without a word, Jorje turned and began to run—out through the front door, down the steps.

  “Jorje!”

  Jimjoy stood, then sprinted after the child, just trying to keep him in sight. As he ran he felt like pounding his own head. Why couldn’t he have said something softer? More appropriate?

  By the time he took the stairs two at a time and vaulted the corner flower box, he had caught up enough to see Jorje take the path toward the gardens.

  Jimjoy slowed his steps, attempting to keep them light.

  The sky darkened again, and a gust of wind ruffled his hair. Ahead, the path narrowed and twisted through a saplar grove, where the tangled and leafless branches twisted back on one another.

  Sciff…sciff…sciff, sciff, sciff… Only the sound of the boy’s shoes and Jimjoy’s boots on the gravel path filled the grove.

  Sciff…sciff…sciff…

  Jorje ignored the polished oylwood jungle gym and plodded past the bedded-down flower gardens toward the soccer field.

  Sciff…sciff…

  Jorje circled the south end of the field and took the path that led upward into the preserve. Underfoot the gravel became clay and wood chips, and both sets of steps, cushioned by the dampness, subsided into near silence.

  Halfway to the gazebo that overlooked the south end of the Institute, Jimjoy slowed his steps to match the boy’s tiredness.

  Jorje continued to plod upward, one step at a time.

  Jimjoy followed, also one step at a time, trying to give the boy as much space as possible, but not wanting to lose sight of him.

  At the top, Jorje slumped to the ground, not at the gazebo, but leaning against a railing post at the overlook. He did not look back, but down at the Institute.

  Jimjoy waited at the edge of the clearing, at the top of the path.

  The clouds began to thicken, and the wind to rise.

  Jorje did not move, slumped, watching sightlessly.

  Jimjoy shifted position but stayed, letting the boy keep his space, checking the weather, wondering about the coming chill that would signify the end of the brief spring interlude in winter, hoping the entire Institute wasn’t out looking for the two of them.

  As the wind began to whine, Jorje straightened up, but did not leave his post.

  Jimjoy waited.

  As the sky turned darker gray, Jorje stood and turned. He walked straight for the path where Jimjoy stood.

  The boy’s steps took him to the tall Ecolitan. He looked up at Jimjoy and then down the path.

  The two of them walked back down toward the Institute, not hand in hand, but side by side.

  XXXIX

  JORJE WATCHED SILENTLY from the landing as the tall Ecolitan walked down the steps and into the afternoon mist that heralded the reappearance of winter.

  Jimjoy had not looked back.

  Overhead, the clouds from the southwest continued to thicken. A touch of frosty rain brushed his face, and his breath steamed in the quick-chilling air.

  His steps lengthened as he headed toward Thelina’s quarters. After the less-than-satisfactory meeting with Harlinn, and his effort to break the news of Geoff’s death to Carill, he needed…something.

  Thelina was not likely to be too sympathetic, nor was Meryl.

  A figure appeared from the mist, ghostlike, heading toward him.

  “Professor Whaler,” called Althelm. Bundled in a heavy green parka and a green stocking cap, with only his unbearded face uncovered, he stopped.

  “Yes,” answered Jimjoy neutrally.

  “You were rather convincing, if a trifle brutal.” A trace of Althelm’s thin white hair protruded from beneath the cap.

  “Wasn’t trying to be brutal, just to lay out the facts. I’ve—” He caught himself and stopped, trying to rephrase the words that would have indicated too much about his past. “I’ve seen enough of Imperial responses to know that the Empire isn’t interested in sweet reason or freedom—only in tax levies and self-preservation.”

  Althelm shrugged, a gesture that incorporated a shiver. “You are doubtless correct, but that can be a hard truth to face. I would like to continue, but unless you are from Sierra or White Mountain, you should already be a block of ice, and my entrophy is carrying me too quickly in that direction—bad physics, I know, but pardon my excesses. We economists are known for our inaccuracies with hard numbers. In any case, my best wishes, Professor.” He inclined his head, stepped around Jimjoy, and disappeared into the mist.

  Jimjoy shook his head, realizing that even he felt a bit of chill, wearing only a set of medium-weight greens. He debated heading home first, but decided against the detour, since Thelina’s and Meryl’s was on his way in any case.

  The steps to Thelina’s front deck looked even more forbidding than those to Geoff’s home had.

  After a deep breath, he took the stairs two steps at a time, then paused. His hand reached to knock on the door.

  “It’s about time.” Thelina’s eyes took in the greens, the lack of a jacket, the dusting of ice on his hair and shoulders. “Where have you been?” she asked quietly. Like him, she had on the greens she had worn at the meeting.

  “Telling Carill about Geoff.”

  “You look like it.” She stepped back and held the door open. “Would you like something warm?”

  He nodded. “Liftea?”

  “The kettle was just on. It shouldn’t take long. Something to eat?”

  “Anything light—I can get it,” he protested.

  “Just sit down, and take the couch. You hate the armchairs.”

  Jimjoy eased onto the couch, taking a quick look through the closed sliding glass door at the light snow beginning to fall across the deck.

  “Here’s the liftea. I hoped that would be where you were. How did it go?” She perched on the edge of one of the chairs.

  Jimjoy did not answer, instead taking a sip from the dark, heavy mug, then looking again at the light snow outside.

  Thelina waited, not quite tapping her toes in impatience.

  Finally he shrugged, took another sip of the tea. “Didn’t want to walk up those steps. Didn’t want to tell her that I’d killed Geoff.”

  “Is that the way you really feel?”

  “Not that I killed him, but that he’d be alive if he hadn’t been my friend. Wasn’t a friend to him. He was to me.” Jimjoy took another sip of the liftea, welcoming the scalding taste. “One afternoon, almost a year ago, he came over, told me he recognized me. Just wanted me to know. We talked. Or he talked. And he asked me why I hadn’t told you how I felt about you. If he hadn’t asked, I never would have told you. So, in a way, I owe loving you to Geoff, too.”

  The snow outside began to swirl, although Jimjoy could only see the flakes closest to the window as the twilight dropped into darkness.

  “Let me get you something to eat. You’re as pale as that snow outside.” Thelina hopped to her feet and headed for the small kitchen.

  Jimjoy sipped from the mug and looked at the snow, not seeing it.

  “Here you are.” Thelina resumed her perch on the chair. “It’s simple, and not up to your standards, but…”

  “Thank you.”

  On a small tray were a stack of crackers, two types of sliced cheese, a sliced pearapple, and three thick slices of meat. He nibbled at a pearapple.

  “How is Carill?”

  “She’s all right. A friend, somebody named Cerla, is staying with her.”
<
br />   “How are you?”

  Jimjoy wanted to talk about Jorje, about the boy’s reaction, his running away. But he couldn’t. He took a cracker instead, put a cheese slice on it, and ate both in a single bite. Then he ate another.

  “Guess I’m all right. Easier when I didn’t have to worry about people.” He folded one of the beefalo slices and began to chew, gesturing at the plate for Thelina to help herself.

  “No, thank you. We ate earlier.” In response to his unspoken question, she added, “Meryl went over to the Tielers for the evening.”

  Another period of silence followed, and Jimjoy took the second slice of beefalo, chewing it methodically. He followed with cheese, then finished off the pearapple.

  “I worry about Shera and Jorje.”

  “You were there a long time.”

  “Jorje ran away, all the way to the top of the nature lookout. I followed…tried to give him space. Just waited for him. Took a while.” Thelina shook her head slowly but said nothing, balancing a mug of something on her knee.

  “He didn’t say anything…just ran out the door and kept running.”

  “You followed him?”

  “Enough to make sure he was all right, that somebody cared.” He looked at the snow, already beginning to taper off, before taking the last sip of tea.

  “You knew…. Do you wish someone had followed you?”

  He shrugged. “Little late for that now.”

  For a time they sat there, not speaking. The snowfall had stopped by the time Jimjoy shifted his weight, swallowed, and looked up.

  “Just the beginning,” he mused. “Hardly taken any real casualties…and they’re all scared.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Jimjoy smiled wryly and briefly. “I know what’s coming. Just don’t know what to do. Except I need to get to Thalos and start building up what space capability we can. Get me out of sight and get that job started. You and Meryl can do whatever has to be done here. Far better than I could right now.”

  Thelina set her mug on the table beside the half-eaten plate of food she had prepared. Then she moved to the couch, settling herself on Jimjoy’s left, not quite touching him.

  “You don’t have to go tonight, do you?” Her tone was lighter.

  “No.” His hand found hers, but he only squeezed it, and let his shoulder rest against hers, trying to draw in her warmth, wondering if she could lift the chill inside.