To Fear The Light

by Ben Bova

  “It’s just that they blame me for every bad thing that’s ever happened between humans and Sarpan, that’s all.”

  Rice shrugged in resignation. “Yeah. I guess so.” He stood, stretched. “If it’s any consolation, they don’t feel all that much better about me. I’m the one responsible for bringing an alien corpser to the sunstation, after all.”

  Adela sat straighter in her chair. “Oidar? He’s here?”

  “We were transported here together. I came out of the tank as soon as I arrived; his tank has been in our makeshift cryosleep chamber for nearly a decade. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

  “No, I didn’t. Nor did I know the full extent to which this insane xenophobia has swept across humanity. There was always a sense of fear toward the Sarpan—I know, I remember it from the very beginning of this project. And since I awoke I’ve gotten a sense that it’s worsened, but is it really so pervasive that it’s begun to disrupt everyone’s lives?”

  Rice didn’t say anything for a moment, but instead leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head, and watched the silently roiling surface of the sun in the holoframe.

  “You’ve heard of Lord Jephthah, I know, but has anyone told you of the extent to which his paranoia has spread throughout the Hundred Worlds?”

  Adela remained silent, waiting for Rice to answer his own question. He sighed deeply, as if dreading what he was about to say.

  “Adela, Emperor Eric has been a wonderful leader. Carrying on where Javas left off, he has brought generations of peace and prosperity to the Hundred Worlds. But there is one thing he could not achieve, any more than his father before him. He could not get the member worlds to trust one another. With travel between worlds lasting many years, it was natural to become suspicious of a ‘neighbor’ whose habits, customs, traditions-even slang and clothing styles--could change drastically between visits. Your son couldn’t conquer this.

  “But with instant communication and wormhole travel, the Empire became suddenly smaller; its people became closer and more intimate.”

  “Eric should have seen it, should have acted on it.”

  “No!” Rice’s voice came out louder than he must have wanted, for he quickly lowered his tone. “No,” he repeated, “he should not have. And it’s to his credit, really, that he did not.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Your son has the best interests of his people at heart at all times, that’s why he has made himself available to travel to the farthest reaches of the Empire to help the member worlds. But it took someone with selfish interests to see the opportunity a more closely knit humanity represented. Eric is not a selfish leader.” Rice shook his head sadly at the irony. “Jephthah, on the other hand, saw the opportunity afforded by a humanity suddenly presented with a common heritage, and united the paranoid among them to a common cause: an unreasoned, blind hatred for the Sarpan.”

  “But they have never meant harm to us!”

  “I know that; most everyone does, in fact. But when you consider that humanity has spread so far beyond a mere hundred worlds, even a small percentage of humanity allied to just a single cause makes for powerful numbers, especially when they’re vocal.”

  Adela considered a moment, then: “If I thought that only a small segment of society followed this man, I wouldn’t be so concerned; but just who does follow him?” Adela stood and paced tensely, the image of the Sun casting jerky shadows across the room. “I see that a third of your staff doesn’t even want to meet me; several others managed to find ‘something else to do’ when I came in here just to avoid alienating those who do hate me. The Imperial guards stationed here act as though I’m diseased.”

  “I can’t make excuses for how they feel about you,” he admitted.

  Adela stopped, and turned to face him. His features glowed an eerie yellow-orange in the light from the holoframe. “And if that’s what they think of me after all these years of this Jephthah’s stupid propaganda,” she asked softly, “what will Oidar find when he wakes up?”

  7

  JEPHTHAH

  Adela was not looking forward to the next few hours, yet she knew the threats facing her son had to be discussed. Eric—and Billy, before he returned to Kalumburu—had been totally open with her about everything that had passed during her two centuries of slumber. Eric had answered her every question, obtained whatever information she requested, and had even gone so far as to put no fewer than a score of Imperial aides at her disposal, their sole duty to bring her as completely up to date as possible.

  There were two things, however, that Eric appeared reluctant to discuss as fully as Adela would have wished. No—“reluctant” wasn’t the right word, but it seemed to her that he was holding back something. Holding back for fear of—what? Hurting her? Or hurting himself?

  One was the subject they would discuss this afternoon: Jephthah, the only truly organized opposition leader to many of Eric’s goals. The other was personal, much more personal … .

  “The drawing room is right this way, Dr. Montgarde.”

  Fleming, his round bulk jiggling as he waddled animatedly down the cavernous hallway, was genuinely delighted to have a visitor to fawn over, especially one so highly regarded as the Emperor’s mother. He conversed over his shoulder, seemingly paying little attention to where he was walking, and each word carried with it an excited tone that threatened to break into a giggle whenever he spoke—which, Adela had quickly come to realize, was often.

  “Please watch your step. These carpets are very old—been in the family for centuries, really—and each is commissioned by a House of the Masters of Woodsgate. Here, do you see?” He stopped for a moment, actually holding still for the first time in what seemed days, and indicated the enormous carpet beneath his feet. “This is from House McLaren, the Master who taught your son. And over here …” He waddled hurriedly to a side hallway, standing aside so she might better view the carpet there. “ … is the gift of Montlaven, Master to Javas. The carpet from my own House, of course, will not be completed until I have ended my service to the Emperor.”

  Adela followed him as he resumed moving down the long hallway, nodding politely whenever Master Fleming turned to point out with pride some other House feature—about which he knew absolutely everything.

  “Tell me about my grandchildren,” she said abruptly during one of the rare moments he actually paused for breath. “As their Master, you were nearly a surrogate parent to them.”

  Fleming halted in his tracks, the skin of his puffy cheeks quivering at the sudden stop. As he faced her, he did not seem surprised at the question, but rather appeared unsure as to exactly what it was Adela wanted to know. Then, too, he might have been self-conscious about what to say; maybe he just didn’t like talking about himself, and thought he was being asked to account for his teaching methods. He clasped his hands behind him and resumed walking—at a more measured pace, this time—down the hallway. “I, ah, understood that the Emperor had given you a good deal of information about his children. I’m not certain what more I can …”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, sparing him further embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You’re right, of course; I’ve seen numerous recordings of their early years.” She smiled warmly at him, then added, “You have a nice touch for capturing just the right moments and expressions, by the way.”

  “Well …” A tentative hint of a grin returned, and his initial show of discomfort at the subject eased somewhat. “I wasn’t responsible for all the recordings, of course. There are other members of the staff who can take credit for many of them. Ah, here we are.”

  They arrived at the drawing room, but Eric was not yet there. As Fleming busied himself with the draperies, allowing the late-afternoon sunshine to come streaming into the room, Adela went to the center window on the side of the room opposite the door and gazed out over the grounds. Eric was there, talking to two members of the House staff. Stable personnel, judging from
their attire. He looked around and saw her there, then glanced at the timepiece on his wrist. He waved to indicate he was on his way, then turned to quickly wrap up his business with the others.

  He seems so comfortable in his role, she reflected. And it’s no mystery why he still has so many who follow him. There were many subtle mannerisms he had that made those with whom he had to deal feel more at ease. She liked the way he wore a timepiece, for example, even though his integrator could give him the precise time more quickly than he could even raise his arm to look. There was an air about him that was much less officious than Javas, and certainly less so than Emperor Nicholas. She remembered how Javas’ casual style had grated on some of his advisors and much of the Imperial Court. A smile came to her lips as she thought of Bomeer, the stuffy, by-the-book Academician who was, at one time, the greatest critic of her project. Bomeer had fought her at every turn in those early days, and was quick to point out the project’s every weakness. But once Bomeer had finally accepted the validity of her ideas, it was Javas’ ruling style that truly won him over.

  From what she had managed to learn in these last weeks about the Empire of the Hundred Worlds, she was more convinced than ever that Eric’s rule—characterized by the strength of his convictions and the one-to-one honesty he had certainly acquired from Javas—was stronger than it would have been if he had attempted to rule with the inflexibility that was common when the Imperial Court had first been moved to Luna.

  A throat cleared behind her, pulling her out of her musings.

  “I’m sure the Emperor will be along directly, Doctor. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?”

  Adela crossed to the nearest seating group and sat in a chair facing the fireplace. No fire had burned there in some time, she could tell: There wasn’t a speck of dust or ash on the cast-iron log rack, and the acrid but pleasantly comforting scent of smoke common to fireplaces simply wasn’t there. The fireplace was also a holoframe, she noticed, and she assumed that the only glow that had emanated from it in recent months had been a cold, emotionless holographic projection. Somehow, it saddened her; and she made a promise to herself that she would ask one of the House staff to build a fire there the next cool evening.

  “Sit with me a moment, Master Fleming.” He hesitated, and started to protest. “No, please; it’s all right.” She waited until he sat, barely resting his considerable bulk on the very edge of the plush leather-covered chair two places down from her own. “Tell me about my grandchildren. The recorded journals are very complete, and told me everything I’d want to know about their childhoods and their lives today. Please believe me when I say that you’ve done an outstanding job in their upbringing, and have every right to take pride in who and what they’ve become.” She waved a hand in the direction of the hallway, and added tenderly, “The carpet from House Fleming will occupy a place of honor in Woodsgate.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Eric talks lovingly of his children—what father wouldn’t? But there’s something missing, I can sense it whenever he speaks to me of them. Tell me what isn’t in the journals.”

  He hesitated once more and seemed to wrestle with himself over just what to do. Looking deeply into his troubled eyes, she confirmed that she had been right—there was something else. Further, it was plain that whatever it was concerned him tremendously. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, noisily, and seemed to come to a decision. Fleming sat back in the chair, allowing himself to be completely at ease in her presence for the first time since she had met him weeks earlier, just after awaking from cryosleep.

  “Your grandchildren are the Emperor’s greatest joy, and he takes great pride in the fact that all three are successful in their chosen endeavors. Lewis has turned into a fine, strong leader in his own right. As commander in chief of the Imperial military forces, he has the respect of every man and woman in the fleet. Eric is especially pleased that Brendan, meanwhile, has followed in your footsteps.” Fleming chuckled. “I understand that Academician Bomeer himself, shortly before his death, recommended that Brendan head the Imperial Academy of Sciences. With your grandson as its driving force, I’m sure you wouldn’t recognize the Academy as the same obstinate body you knew at the beginning of your project.”

  “I know,” Adela agreed. “I’ve made looking over his work among my top priorities since I awoke, and you’re right, the Academy has returned to its long-lost origins. I doubt that it will ever find itself stagnating again. I’m so looking forward to meeting Brendan and comparing notes on the project.”

  “Ah, but it is Cathay who is his favorite. She has been his best ally in reaching out to the emerging worlds of the Empire, and in many ways has been his greatest asset in keeping the Worlds from falling into anarchy. However, I personally think it is her resemblance to you, dear Lady, that touches his heart so.” Fleming smiled at the thought, but behind his eyes lay something else.

  “They are his greatest joy,” he repeated. “But they are also, in a way, his greatest disappointment.” His face saddened then, and Adela could see that the man shared her son’s regret in a way that she—who had never raised a child—could never know. “For none of them wishes to follow in his place.” Fleming was about to go on, but became suddenly aware that no more needed to be said.

  Adela nodded, understanding now Eric’s double regret at what had become of the Empire. Not only was he powerless to stop its evolution, but he undoubtedly realized that his efforts at promoting the importance of an Imperial philosophy to the Hundred Worlds was destined to be futile. Even his children—who, in their chosen endeavors, supported and protected the citizens of the Empire—no longer believed in a royal succession.

  From the hallway came the sound of a heavy door closing far down the corridor, followed by approaching boot steps. Fleming was immediately on his feet.

  “Master Fleming,” Adela said sincerely, extending her hand, “thank you for your candor. I feel I’ve learned more about my son and his world in these last few minutes than in all the traveling I’ve done or all the hundreds of recordings I’ve viewed these past weeks.”

  The Master returned her smile warmly, and Adela knew that a silent bond of trust had just been forged between them.

  The fireplace was gone, masked by the holoframe, and with it had disappeared the coziness that had made the sitting room feel warm and inviting despite the lack of burning logs. Nothing but the Imperial crest was displayed in the frame now, and Adela wished Eric would give a silent integrator command to wipe it out, too.

  “How can you say he’s not a threat?” she demanded, unsure if the feelings rising within her were rooted more in anger, or in fear. “After only a few weeks of exposure to him and this, this … hatred he’s spewing, even I can feel the danger he presents.”

  Eric turned slowly in the chair, and when he spoke, his words carried with them an accusation that his tone did not. “Are you sure, Mother, that you’re not thinking of the implied threat Jephthah presents to your project?”

  Adela stopped short, and found herself unable to protest his obvious, if blunt, point. Instead, she leaned back heavily in the chair and waited for him to go on.

  Eric rose. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he said, staring out the window. The sky was darkening, the red glow of the just-set Sun still hanging over the hills to the west. “I know how you feel about the project, but believe me when I tell you that there is very little that could interfere with its conclusion. In spite of what the Empire has become, there is no one who doubts now that the center of humanity is located here, on Earth. Ironically, his rantings about the sanctity of the human race have strengthened support for saving the Sun. After all, if humanity is to reign supreme, how can the birth-world of humanity not be saved?”

  “Jephthah.” She said the name like a curse. “It’s an old Hebrew name that means ‘the opposer.’ I researched it.”

  “I know what it means, and it fits him. He opposes everything that has to do with an alliance with the Sarpan,
but he seems genuinely disinterested in what has led to our friendship with them.”

  “What’s left of our friendship, you mean.”

  Eric’s lips drew into a tight line. “Point taken.”

  “In any event, if your private intelligence is correct—and it seems to back up everything that’s been on the public nets—then he is amassing a tremendous following, with more accepting his rantings as truth every time he speaks.”

  Eric was about to reply, but turned instead to the holoframe a few seconds before it came to life. A young woman in uniform—one of the few trappings of formal protocol Adela had seen in Eric’s presence since she awoke—nodded politely from the frame. A designation in a lower corner of the image indicated that the report was coming from the Imperial communication center on Luna.

  “Sire, we’ve been receiving a countdown for several minutes now. The transmission from Mark-89 should begin in thirty seconds.”

  Eric nodded a silent thanks and the screen blanked. The Imperial crest was gone.

  “‘Mark-89,’” Adela said in soft resignation. “You don’t even know where he is, Eric. If he’s so harmless, why does he need to hide himself?”

  Mark-89 was the designation given to the direction from which Jephthah’s transmissions always seemed to originate. Years of tracing the signal, however, had turned up little more than a complex system of relays. Whenever Imperial forces disabled one link in an attempt to follow it to its origin, the transmissions always rerouted to another. But each time, the apparent direction was the same: the direction of the Sarpan Realm. That little touch of irony—that Jephthah would purposely go to such lengths to call attention to the aliens in such a manner—unnerved Adela the most. It made it seem that he considered what he was doing to be some convoluted game.

  As the image in the holoframe coalesced, Adela saw that the transmission was coming from an idyllic outdoor setting on a green world that could have been any one of many score of Imperial planets, Earth included. There were several trees dotting the landscape, but identifying the common species would give no more clue to where this was coming from than did the direction of the relayed transmission itself. A wooden fence came into view as the image panned to the side, then centered on the man himself, and as it did Adela was struck with the same thought she’d had the first time she saw a recording of one of his earlier talks. He looked and acted so untroubled, so completely at ease as he greeted his listeners with a smile and a silent nod.