In Retrospect

by Ellen Larson

  “That’s a provocative question,” said the Prioress. “What is an enemy? Friday night, as I looked at his body, I realized for the first time the futility of labeling people as friends or enemies. Your people—the Rasakans—were once his enemies. But times change, and when they do, enemies become friends. What’s the difference between a friend who was once an enemy, and an enemy who was once a friend? Seeing him dead, I finally understood how important it is to give the benefit of the doubt. To trust. Almost too late—but not quite.” She wiped her nose. “Forgive my philosophical digression, Agent. I imagine you desire a practical answer.”

  Eric’s voice smiled. “I have not often been accused of that. But, yes, if you have a practical answer, please give it.”

  “Then, practically speaking, neither his old friends and new enemies, the members of the Resistance, nor his new friends and old enemies, the Rasakans, had any reason or desire to harm General Zane. That I knew of.” Sniff.

  “Did anything unusual happen on Friday? Anything at all, no matter how seemingly insignificant?”

  “The sequence interview does not include open-ended questions, does it, Agent?”

  “No,” admitted Eric. “Forgive me. I’m not a criminologist—but still I can’t help thinking it’s wildly improbable that the murder of so important a figure as General Zane would occur without some corollary. And it’s highly probable that there will be evidence of that correlation, however minute.”

  The Prioress tilted her head. “Agent Torre, I believe you are one of those annoying men who must try to solve any problem or riddle he sees—whether he is asked to or not.”

  Eric’s voice fairly blushed. “I’m told it’s one of my biggest failings.”

  “I think it is one of the finest qualities a person can have.” The Prioress’s fingers played with the lace cuffs of her robe. “Your attention to minutia is equally admirable. I believe that even the smallest events can have the greatest consequences.”

  “As a physicist, I completely agree.”

  Merit hooked the heel of her boot on the edge of the bench and rested her forearm on her knee. Good old Lena, posing her rhetorical questions and holding up her grandiose statements as if they were torches that would light the way to the lost wisdom of the ancients. That much was to be expected. But Eric! Why on Earth was Eric, whom she had once considered the most annoyingly skeptical of men, lapping up her philosophical pabulum with the credulity of a babe in arms?

  “Then you will not think me foolish,” the Prioress was saying, “when I tell you that I did observe something I thought odd—something very small indeed.” She fumbled in the folds of her robe. “Drat. Where do they hide the pockets. . . . Here.” She pulled out a little bundle, something small wrapped in a pink hankie.

  “I found this on the floor by the General’s desk on Friday night.” She held it out.

  Eric got up and took her offering, then returned to his seat and unfolded the hankie.

  The hair on the back of Merit’s neck rose as she looked at what lay in his hand: a small wooden disc, the carved scales clearly visible between his fingers. Her hand strayed to her hip pocket, wherein was tucked the tondo she had found the day before.

  “Was this in the General’s study previously?” asked Eric.

  “Not that I ever saw. Look on the other side.”

  As he turned the disc over, Merit caught a glimpse of something written in red as bright as Lena’s nail polish.

  “Looks like code,” said Eric.

  “Can you read it?” asked the Prioress.

  “No. But I know people who can.” He rewrapped the disk in the handkerchief and put it in his breast pocket. “Thank you. You’ve been very generous with your time.” He pocketed his notebook, then hesitated. “This isn’t in the Compendium either, but I want you to know we’re all doing our best to find out who killed the General.”

  “I know,” whispered the Prioress. “But you can’t bring him back. You can’t give me the chance to tell him—” Her voice shook with sudden emotion. “To tell him I will carry on in his name.”

  “I’m sure he knows,” said Eric gently. “And I’m sure each day he will be with you, if you remember him each day. If you don’t mind a Rasakan repeating an Oku prayer.”

  “I don’t mind.” She cupped her hands in her lap. “Thank you, Agent Torre. Talking to you here today, hearing your voice, means more to me than you can know. I . . . I want to tell you something, because I must tell someone, even if it is too soon for you to understand. May I?”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course.” Her veil fluttered as she exhaled. “I received the finest education our crippled world had to offer, but as a girl, even as a young woman, I was arrogant. And, unlike you, I did not know how to listen. I never doubted that the Oku were superior to the Rasakans; that we had the right, even the duty, to rule. That there was nothing they could teach us. This was my mistake, just as it was the mistake of my people. It took me many difficult years to learn that I was too quick to judge. But I want you to know that I believe it now. I want you to remember that although it seems too late, it is not too late. No state can be intrinsically right or wrong; all people are equal, and must be treated the same. I want you to understand that is what Omari Zane believed.”

  “That is not at all hard to understand,” said Eric gently. “And I think you are very wise to say it.”

  Merit removed the makeshift ice pack from her cheek and wrung out the water. Her mind was reeling. This was not the exchange she had expected—Lena flaunting her quasi-religious theories and Eric choking on his frustration as he attempted to shoot her down. Something was very wrong.

  “Far from wise, I fear,” the Prioress was saying. “But I’ve seen things that give me a certain insight.” She hesitated, clearly trying to make up her mind whether or not to speak. At length she continued, though her hoarse voice seemed to be failing. “I cannot resist the temptation to warn you, Agent. This is a difficult period for you. Not everyone is as unafraid of being unmasked as you are. You would do well to trust your instincts; trust your heart.”

  “Is that supposed to be a prediction? Because you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”

  “You have heard about me from your Oku colleagues,” said the Prioress wryly. “But you do not believe what you have heard.”

  He cocked his head. “That you have been in the Continuum?”

  The Prioress nodded gravely.

  Merit pricked up her ears. This was more like it. This was what she wanted to hear.

  “I have no direct evidence that you have not,” said Eric. “Although there is extensive indirect evidence against that proposition. But I am quite certain that, even if you were in the Continuum, you most certainly did not see the future.”

  The Prioress’s chest rose and fell. “You will change your opinion. Soon. Very soon.”

  “How do you know?” His tone, though it challenged her, was kindly.

  The Prioress looked at him and folded her hands. “The same way I know that time is precious for you today, and I must not take up too much of it—no matter how much I might wish to. You are already running late.”

  “Well, it seems that you can read my mind, if not my future,” he said. “So you must know that I, too, wish I had more time to speak with you.”

  Merit stared in open disbelief. Lena’s tone was next door to flirtation, and Eric was purring with enjoyment. What was going on? She ran her eyes over the Prioress’s body. Like every other Prospective, Lena had always been slight, but the layers of robes could not hide the fact that she was now painfully thin. Giving away all her food to the poor, no doubt, Merit thought sarcastically.

  Merit cleared her throat noisily. “I take it you’re done, Agent? My turn now.”

  “I thought you wanted to leave it to me,” said Eric.

  “Changed my mind.” Merit tossed the ice pack aside. “I must try to justify my salary increase.” She stared at the woman in white. L
ena, mocking the old Prioress by wearing a replica of her clothes, disgracing her memory with her fiction of seeing the future. “Here’s a question. What’s the good of being able to see the future if you can’t predict the day your lover sucks plasma?”

  “Merit,” hissed Eric.

  “And here’s another one. If you’re so keen on peaceful coexistence, why didn’t you go to the Oku Council after your dive in the Continuum and tell them everything the Rasakans were planning, so we could have defended ourselves and prevented twenty thousand or so people from being killed, maimed, and orphaned?”

  “Stop it!” snapped Eric.

  “It’s all right,” said the Prioress, showing no signs of perturbation. “I understand precisely how she feels. Besides, don’t you think these are rather good questions?”

  “Not asked like that,” said Eric. “She has no right to speak to you like that at a time like this.”

  “No right?” laughed Merit.

  “She’s not interested in rights.” Though fading in and out, the Prioress’s voice was calm, objective. “In her youth, she spoke her mind fearlessly and scorned disapproval or condemnation. That was once her great strength. But now that self-loathing is all she feels, she seeks what she once scorned, as an addict seeks her next fix. Don’t you understand? Seeing the reaction on the faces of others is her only reminder that she’s still alive.”

  “No answers, huh?” scoffed Merit.

  “You wonder why I don’t use my knowledge of the future to change it. If you would take the time to think about it, you would see.”

  “How about a hint?” asking Merit.

  “I am trying to give you one, Select. Let me put it this way: Why don’t you use your knowledge of the past to change it?”

  “Because I can’t change the past,” said Merit. “It’s already happened.”

  “And so you have your answer. I can’t change the future. It’s already happened.” She shrugged. “For me, anyway.”

  A breeze blew up, chasing away the hot stillness. The skin on Merit’s arms tingled unpleasantly. “That’s punk,” she said. “And you’re a liar.”

  “I am, yes,” said the Prioress. “I have to be. How would I survive an hour if I were not? It’s confusing, sometimes—all the time, in fact. Should I tell what I know about the future? Should I keep quiet? Does it matter which I do?” Her body seemed to quiver. “Think of it! Just for a moment imagine what it would be like! To have seen the future!”

  “Sorry,” said Merit. “Even I have better things to do with my time. But don’t take my word for it. Ask Agent Torre what he thinks about the possibility of a future flex.”

  “All right.” The Prioress turned her shield to Eric. “Do you agree with the Select that though you cannot change past history, you can change the future?”

  Eric raised a hand. “I never said I believed you can’t change the past. In fact there is a theory—”

  The Prioress nodded. “Gellar’s metachronic function.”

  “You’ve heard of it. I’m impressed.”

  Merit gazed into the pink boughs of the plum tree, bobbing in the rising breeze. She did not want them to see the consternation on her face, the sting in her eyes. Not that they would notice. What a bitter joke it was—the two of them once again talking like old friends, ignoring her presence as if she were a disruptive gate-crasher.

  “However,” Eric was saying, “though it is theoretically possible to change past history, I am not aware of any theory that allows for the future to be predetermined.” He rose and bowed. “Unfortunately, I must go, but perhaps you will explain your theory to me in detail at our next meeting.”

  “I look forward to your reaction when I show you how both the past and the future can be unchangeable.”

  Merit stood. “One thing’s for sure. You haven’t changed a bit.” But she winced at the weakness of her parry.

  The Prioress turned to her. “Yes I have. Once I was as you are now. Caught in the spider’s web, not yet dead, no longer alive. Unable to forget the past, without hope for the future.”

  As the Prioress leaned forward to stand, the breeze flipped the veil away from her neck. Merit caught a glimpse of three brown marks beneath her ear, where the cowl did not quite cover her pale skin.

  “I don’t need your pity,” said Merit.

  The breeze sent the dead leaves scuttling across the bricks.

  “I’m not offering pity,” said the Prioress. “I’m simply telling you, you will change—so much that you won’t recognize yourself. Believe it. It’s not just that I have seen any future; I have seen your future. If you listen to my words, if you follow in my footsteps, you will achieve your desire.”

  Merit smiled. That was the Lena she knew. “The only thing I ever wished for was to die fighting with my comrades for what I believed in.”

  The ensuing silence was broken only by the harsh call of the crow, who, whether through courage, faith, or stupidity, had returned from the safety of the Wood and settled once again on the weather vane.

  They drove together to the JCP building. Merit, deep in thought, kept her eyes focused on the view outside the backseat window. Eric, equally silent in the seat beside the driver, buried himself in his notes. When they arrived at the motor pool, he got out and started walking south along the boulevard, toward the River.

  Merit hastened after him, falling in at his side. “I thought you were busy. Where ya goin’?”

  He did not even look at her. “What do you care?”

  She was such a fool. It had been a mistake to engage with Lena as she had; for now he was angry with her again, when she most needed his cooperation. “Hey, I thought we were working together on this case. Come on!” She grabbed his arm. “Talk to me.”

  He shook her off without breaking stride. “You aren’t interested in working with anybody. I’ve figured it out. If I make nice and try to be understanding, you attack. If I get angry when you attack, you try to be understanding and make nice.”

  “Ya got me,” she said pleasantly. “Where ya goin’?”

  “Authority. As you well know.”

  “Do I know why?”

  “I think you do.”

  “I think I do too.” She had to trot to keep up with his pace. “You’re going to find out what’s written on that wooden disc the Prioress gave you, right?” She smiled nervously. “Let’s talk about that.”

  “Why should we? Even if you know what it is, you’ll never tell me.”

  “Well, if you’d just hold up a sec maybe I would.”

  He came to a sudden stop.

  “Right.” She ran a hand through her hair. “It’s called a tondo. It’s a symbol of judicial process.”

  “Really. What sort of judicial process?”

  “The usual. Judge, evidence, jury, verdict, and so on.”

  “And so on? You mean, sentence?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And who would you have me believe could have a use for such a thing?”

  It would be a mistake to lie. Besides, she guessed by his tone that he had already deduced the answer. “The Resistance,” she said.

  “I see,” said Eric. “Fine. I’m sure Authority will be able to decipher this writing—”

  “Don’t,” said Merit. “Don’t take it to Authority.”

  He hesitated, then tilted his shield a few centimeters, waiting. Waiting for her to continue, she knew.

  “It’s a couple years old,” she explained. “You can tell by the patina. Not germane to this investigation.”

  “The writing on the back is fresh.”

  “I don’t know anything about the writing. Go ahead and translate it. Just—make a copy of it. Don’t give the tondo to Authority.”

  He said nothing, but she could sense his mistrust.

  “Look,” she continued, “after tomorrow, what will it matter?”

  “It might matter to the Prioress.”

  She swallowed hard. What could she say?

  “You were way out
of line back there,” said Eric sternly, “the way you talked to her.”

  “Well, what about you?” said Merit. “That was more like a first date than an interview. She was flattering you, and you ate it up.”

  “I was nice to her! Is that so hard for you to understand? She was ill and grieving. It was painfully obvious she had nothing to hide.”

  “Oh yeah? I guess you didn’t notice the bruises on her neck, which the otherwise useless veil conveniently covered. Like somebody had their hands around her throat? Where do you suppose she got that? Maybe a fight? With Zane? With his murderer?”

  “A bruise can be caused by any mishap. Or it could be health-related. You have no evidence she was in a fight.”

  “Not direct evidence, no. But plenty of circumstantial evidence. The Lena I knew never wore jewelry, thought self-adornment was too worldly. But today she’s wearing rings and bright red nail polish. That’s a good way to cover up cuts and bruises on your hands.”

  “I thought playing detective was for amateurs.”

  “Yeah.” She glanced up at his face, but was stymied by the silver shield. She looked down the sunlit boulevard to the River, instead. “Well, maybe I was out of line when I said that too. Maybe I was out of line when I said a lot of things.”

  “That almost sounds like a second cousin to an apology. Amazing that it comes at the same time you want something from me.” He folded his arms. “What, aren’t you going to tell me I’m imagining things, that it’s only a coincidence?”

  “I’ll tell you whatever you want, as long as you don’t take the tondo to Authority.”

  Seconds passed, measured by the pulsing of her blood.

  “All right,” he said. “I won’t.”

  Relief. For a moment.

  “Wait.” He held up a hand. “I want my payment. Answer one question—and tell the truth, no nonsense for once.”

  Her pulse soared. “Sure,” she said lightly. “What do you want to know?”

  “Are you really going through with it?”

  Her heart rate slowed as quickly as it had sped up. She turned away, angry with herself for being so weak as to feel disappointed. “Going through with what?”