by Ellen Larson
Lena twisted out of reach. Merit leaped to her feet and grabbed the nearest object—the globe—and swung it at her. Lena dodged, then came at her with abandon, punching and kicking at her knees.
Merit’s legs buckled and she went down. She tried to scramble away, but got tangled in the globe stand. Shoving it aside, she rolled, each instant expecting Lena to pounce. She bounced off of Zane’s desk and sprang to her feet.
Lena stood by the grandfather clock. The cowl had come off her head, freeing her short brown hair. The long end of the stole straggled over her arm. In her hand was the p-gun.
“You fight well for an invalid,” said Merit, her heavy breaths stinging her raw throat.
“It’s been a useful ploy,” said Lena.
Merit looked around for the Vessel key. If she could get possession of it, she could at least control her moment of extinction. There was plenty of damage she could do in the thirty odd minutes she had left.
“Stay where you are.” Lena raised the gun.
Merit spared Lena a scornful glance, then stooped to look behind Zane’s desk. “I think we’ve established the gun is useless.”
“No. It’s locked for your biomets. But not for mine. And the bolts are real.”
There was a spitting sound as the plasma gun fired. Merit jumped sideways to the wall and waited for the pain of the burn. It did not come.
But beside her, Omari Zane fell forward. His head crashed into the corner of the wooden box; blood streamed down his face and onto his shirt. There was a second spit, and his body twisted. He slid sideways over the arm of the chair, his clenched hand dragging the box with him. Wooden soldiers and toy tanks fell like rain upon the floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
* * *
Friday, 14 April 3324, 10:25 p.m.
“You killed him.” Merit’s voice sounded childlike in her own ears.
“Congratulations, Select.” Lena unwrapped the stole from her arm and threw it aside. “Although, to be honest, as a witness to the crime, that didn’t require much investigative flair.”
Merit barely heard her. Zane’s head lolled on the desk, his eyes, like yellow marbles in the dull light, stared, unseeing. A pool of blood oozed over the desk, dripped over the cobra handle of the middle drawer and onto the scattered toys on the floor. Her eyes widened. Among the soldiers was a small wooden disc.
“Nothing to say?” asked Lena. “No quip? No cant? Come on! Show me some of that famous Rafi wit!”
There was exhilaration on Lena’s flushed face; exhilaration and something that looked oddly like greed. Merit knew that though she herself might have been able to kill Zane, she could never have looked like that.
“Come on!” continued Lena. “I just did you a favor!”
“Why? I would have done it, if you’d just let me be.”
“You couldn’t have gotten out of the Vessel by yourself.”
“I’d like to have had the chance. I’d have tried real hard.”
“You’d have failed. And even if you had gotten out, you most certainly would never have been able to go through with it. Not in cold blood. Not when you realized the state he was in.”
Merit looked again at Zane, and knew that she was right.
Lena straightened her robes. “You’re an idealist, Merit. That’s your downfall. You thought because you had the moral high ground, you’d win. Just like Zane.” Lena looked at her ex-lover’s body as if it were a stain on the upholstery. “That’s why I had to do it.”
“Wrong,” rasped Merit. A shiver ran through her body. Endless pointless death. “You are so wrong! You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t even have to poison him to get what you wanted!”
“No? Why not?”
“You didn’t think it through, Lena. So what if Zane had come to his senses about the Rasakans? So what if he was thinking about gathering what was left of the Resistance? Do you seriously think any of us would have followed him? After Abydos?”
Lena smiled sweetly at her. Merit shivered again. The woman before her no longer reminded her of the girl she had known—or of anyone she had ever known! But of course, Merit realized, she had never known Lena’s true face at all; Lena had been a better actor than she had ever dreamed of becoming.
“Poor Merit. Abydos. The seminal event of your life, and you have no idea what really happened.”
“Yes I do, Lena. I was there.”
“So I hear. Which makes it even funnier.” Taking a deep breath, she withdrew her attention from Zane and began moving about the study, hunting for the Vessel key, the plasma gun still pointed at Merit.
Merit watched her in silence. She had not told Eric about Abydos. How did Lena know? How did she know so much about Merit’s wartime history and beyond? Authority knew, but still—it was as if Lena had been in her mind.
“What’s funny?” Merit asked.
“Poor Merit.” Lena was no longer smiling. As she hunted for the key, she was aloof, detached from the reality of what she had done. “Zane had nothing to do with the attack on his captains, and if he had ever sat down and talked with you and your fellow diehards after Byzantion, he would have been able to convince you of that.”
Merit frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what I said. He didn’t tell the Rasakans where the captains were!” She flipped over a corner of the carpet with her foot. “Really, Merit, try to—”
“Shut up.” Merit held up a hand. It takes unusual courage and conviction to make an unpopular change. The name came out of her mouth before she fully understood. “Ben Lazar.”
“Obvious,” muttered Lena, and straightened the carpet.
Merit recalled the passages from Zane’s journals that had upset her so much. Lazar’s work. She remembered the look she had seen on the Steward’s face as they had walked together through the Priory a scant hour ago. She understood it now: self-loathing; the desire for an end. She should have recognized it.
“He thought he had to do it,” Merit whispered. “Because it was his job to do for the General what he could not do himself.”
“Or maybe because he knew his General didn’t have the guts to do it.”
“Saints,” whispered Merit. “Did Zane know?”
“Of course not. It would have ruined everything if he’d known the truth.”
“You’re lucky Lazar didn’t tell him.”
“How could he? It would have destroyed his wonderful General to know that his right-hand man had done such a thing! He would have felt responsible. You don’t tell someone you’ve committed murder for them.” She smiled at Merit and winked. “No, he kept the burden of his guilt to himself. Such a noble man. Such principles. Such guilt. I don’t imagine he sleeps well.”
No wonder Lazar had let Thad and Nash go. “How did you find out?” asked Merit. “Did he tell you? No. Wait. You heard about it through your Authority contacts.”
“Very good. And here’s the kicker: It was the Rasakans who spread the rumor among the Resistance that Zane himself was the snitch. Even as they were apologizing for what they had done to the Oku. Now that’s how to win a war.”
“Saints.”
“And so it all worked out in the end. The death of the captains did exactly what Ben knew it would: pushed Zane into making peace. Yes, Ben knew his General—better than you. Zane was capable of making tough decisions, but he didn’t have the stomach for murdering his own people. You would have known that, if you weren’t so prejudiced.”
Merit turned to the body slumped against the table. Not a traitor? Only a man who, in declaring peace, had made a bad decision? A bad decision made in a time of extreme crisis, but by no definition an act of betrayal? Or a man who had given up because he believed he could not win. Events as she had understood them flexed and formed anew. Now that was past history changed with a vengeance. She wished she had given him the benefit of the doubt.
The grandfather clock struck the half hour. Twenty-five minutes to live. She could stand there and mourn this n
ew threat to her world till she left it, or she could try to do something to help. That was not a hard choice for Merit Rafi.
But she knew it was an unfair contest. Lena had the p-gun and was stronger and quicker than Merit had ever imagined. Merit was exhausted and feverish, and her only weapons were her wits and her knowledge of the next three days. And to what use could she put her knowledge, when all it told her was that beyond doubt Lena would triumph, would live to appear in the cloister garden with a bowl of ice and mock her helplessness?
You can’t change past history. A proposition that was supported by the fact that she had tried to kill Lena and failed. It would be cold comfort to die knowing that Eric, that unspeakable beast, had once again been proved wrong. But it would be better to live, even if it meant that he had been right. What was it he had said, long ago, the first time they had debated the issue?
It might be something like finding a small item—a centime or a pencil—in the past, and then replacing it with the same item you brought from the future.
Her eyes flew to the tondo on the floor. It didn’t matter whether it was the one in her right hip pocket or the one Lena had given—or would give—Eric. If she took it now, it wouldn’t be there for either of them to have.
Time for a diversion.
She coughed, a horrible noise, letting loose the mucous that had gathered in her nose and throat. Gagging, she dropped one knee to the floor, placing a hand over the tondo as she leaned forward.
Lena shot her a glance as she removed the lion-headed poker from its stand by the fireplace. “Are you ill?”
Merit palmed the tondo with one hand and wiped her mouth with the other. “I’ve got a wicked head cold. You gave it to me. Or, I should say, you’re going to give it to me. Or possibly I’m giving it to you right now.”
“Impossible either way.” Lena tapped the poker in the ashes around the andirons. “I never take cold.”
“Think of me when you’re washing the snot out of your veil.” Merit eased the tondo into her left hip pocket. Okay Eric, you rat-bastard. I did something insignificant. Now what?
Lena straightened and glanced at the clock. “Only twenty-one minutes left. You can get back in the Vessel now, if you like. Or not. It doesn’t matter to me, but you’ll live longer if you do.”
A powerful argument, but Merit was unwilling to give up the miniscule bit of control she held as long as she remained outside. No doubt Lena wanted her in the Vessel so that her ashes would return upon the reflex, leaving no questions. So. She would stay put. How long did it take for past history to change? And—there’s a thought—would she even notice if it had?
“What’s the rush?” she said. “I’m dead. You’re alive. I can’t change it.”
“On that we agree,” said Lena. “I just thought you’d like some time to prepare.”
Stall. Think. Talk. Banter. The one ability that had always been there, for better or worse, did not fail her. “The only thing I need to do to prepare is to tell you how much I despise you, Lena. You betrayed your colleagues, your people, and your principles. I don’t care if the attunement drugs did this to you. You are a parasite on this Earth. Fidelity? You don’t know the meaning of the word. They would have passed you over, health problems or not. Even the Rasakans never massacred people for personal vengeance.”
Lena placed the poker back in its stand. “Your faith in the rule of law is quaint, but misguided. The Oku have always used the law for their own selfish purposes.”
“That’s not true.”
“No?” Lena brushed her hand against her robe. “Didn’t the Oku willfully go down the same road that brought down Ancient Earth? Oh, but they did! They made the cardinal mistake of thinking themselves superior to another tribe. Many people saw it coming and did nothing. It was inevitable that the Rasakans would revolt; inevitable that Okucha would fall. I couldn’t have stopped that if I’d wanted to.”
Merit laughed. “Right. Except for the part where you watch them bomb the Conservatory and do nothing.”
“I was looking out for myself. I had to, since nobody else would. Since everything I had worked for had been taken from me. Given to a low-class, loud-mouthed bitch with a third-rate intelligence like you.”
Merit whistled. “Not bad for a novice. Keep practicing and you might get good at it. But as an argument against my revenge theory, it pretty much tanks.”
Lena’s face smoldered. She pulled the cushions off the settee. “Revenge is sweet, but it’s only a bonus. I’m going to get everything I deserve. My Vessel. My Continuum. My turn.”
Merit placed her hands on her hips, a pose of defiance that allowed her to keep a finger on both tondos in their respective pockets. Come on! Change!
“That’s a pathetic justification for murder,” she said. “What’s your spooky Authority boyfriend’s excuse? Wait, I know this one. He wants to control the flex! It’s his right, and the mean old Oku tried to keep it away from him. Now he’ll use it to spy on all the people who disagree with him and teach them a lesson.”
“Exactly.” Lena stepped toward Zane’s desk, waving Merit back with the plasma gun. “The harsh realities upset you, don’t they, Merit. All these sordid motivations and deceits. You like people to think you’re a troublemaker, but underneath, you’ve always been a goody two-shoes.”
“You haven’t known me lately.”
“Wrong. I know everything about you.” She pushed at the toy soldiers with her foot. “I know you try to hide behind your cynicism—the shield of the idealist in times of crisis. But you’ve never been able to resist an appeal to your sense of duty. How else do you suppose you got conned into thinking you could come here to kill Zane?”
“Yeah, you played me like a drum. But, if you don’t mind my asking, what was the point, if you were so sure I wouldn’t have gone through with it?”
“We didn’t need you to go through with it, we just needed you to flex. To fail. To take the blame. You were pathetically easy to manipulate.”
“I see.” It made sense. In fact, it had been extraordinarily well thought out. Though it still shocked her that Eric had been be able to predict her behavior so well. “No wonder I’ve been feeling like a thumb caught in a vice.”
“The trick was to get around your revulsion at the idea of flexing for the Rasakans.” She made a face as she glanced under the desk. “We planned every detail. Of course Gabriel knew exactly which buttons to push.”
Merit’s spine tingled. “Who?”
“Gabriel. Gabriel Castor? My ‘boyfriend’ as you have been calling him—in a tone, may I point out, that suggests more than a touch of jealousy.” She stooped to look under the desk.
The air in the room sizzled. Or was that the inside of her brain? Was this it? Had the past changed? Merit stared stupidly. “What about Eric?”
“Who?” asked Lena in her turn.
“Eric. Eric Torre. I know you know him.”
“Ah. Torre. The troublesome physicist.” Lena straightened up. “Were you surprised when he showed up?”
“Thunderstruck.”
“Good. Gabriel hoped the presence of your old beau would throw you off balance, push you to the edge. He wanted you to be so ashamed you wouldn’t be able to see straight. Did it work?”
“Nah. Did you just say that Gabriel Castor brought Torre to the City?”
Lena nodded as she resumed her search. “Torre had been making a name for himself in certain Authority circles. Gaining influence. Gabriel wanted him where he could watch him. Find his weaknesses.”
“Why?”
“So that he can bring him down when the time comes. That’s the way Gabriel operates, Merit—you should know that.”
“I mean, why work against Torre? Doesn’t he want what you want?”
Lena laughed. “Not likely! Torre has ties with the Rasakan underground.”
There was a Rasakan underground? Since when? Merit shook herself. Was this proof that history had been changed, or was it just that she had been
too preoccupied with her own problems to wonder what was going on in Rasaka? From what Marshall Frey had said, it seemed possible. Maybe Eric had been telling the truth—No. No! NO! She had seen Eric and Lena together in the cloister garden!
Merit gritted her teeth. She must know the whole story. “But Eric gave you the Vessel key. He must have, because you’re going to give it back to him Sunday night.”
“Gabriel gave me the Vessel key. And I’m to get it back to him Sunday afternoon so that he can give it to Marshall Frey for the final lockdown.” She wrenched the lacquered bookcase away from the wall. “So I’d better find it.”
I was expecting a package. It will be delivered by a medical officer. Female.
A chill ran down Merit’s spine as two pieces of the puzzle fit together. Gabriel Castor had been expecting Lena on Sunday afternoon, but she had not come. And the Marshall had not had the key at the Priory Sunday night. What had Donny said? Unexpected delay. Seems Authority forgot where it put the Vessel key. Something had gone wrong. Lena had not kept her appointment with Gabriel Castor. But wouldn’t Lena have been recognized, walking around the JCP in her Prioress getup? Or—
“You travel abroad disguised as a medical officer,” said Merit.
“Do I?”
“I saw the red shield in your study.”
Lena glanced behind the bookcase. “Really? That’s odd. I keep it hidden in my bedroom closet. I’ll make a point of putting it in my study.”
Conflicting thoughts whirled through Merit’s mind. She had seen Lena give Eric the Vessel key in the cloister. Castor must have asked him to pick it up. But why would Castor trust him if he viewed Eric as an enemy? Wait a minute. Think it through. The Marshall said that Eric was behind the hyper-attunement program. And Lena had admitted that her boyfriend had been experimenting with hyper-attunement. But that was not Eric’s field. Whereas drug therapy was right up Gabriel Castor’s alley. Merit knew that Eric and Lena were lovers. But Lena had just called Castor her boyfriend. It was maddening!