Chapters Forty and Forty-one

“He thought he could put one over on them,” Rune snarled as Eran, Ziv, and I watched from the twin divans.  Prowling back and forth across my salon, the black-clad Gaspar reminded me of an ancient video I had once seen of a panther restlessly pacing its cage.  He stopped abruptly, facing us as he tossed up his hands.  “What the hell made him think he could pull it off?”

“Maybe he felt he had no choice,” Eran offered reasonably.  “Matheson probably believed he was on his own without a friend in the world.  Since he didn’t turn himself in, we can safely assume he had no desire to be returned to his former state.  Seeing no way around the evaluation, what could he do but gut it out and hope for the best?”

“Yeah?  Well, he didn’t get the best, did he?”  Rune went back on the prowl.  “Nobody makes it past the drug Huw and Iakona use to pry open their victims’ minds.  Ruvellanoxis strips your psyche.  There’s no hiding anything once that stuff hits your veins.  Believe me.  I’ve seen it in action.”

I shuddered inwardly but refused to dwell on the specter of Ruvellanoxis haunting my own future, focusing instead on Rune.  Despite his rant against poor doomed Hugo, I sensed our friend blamed himself for the man’s downfall.  Blowing off steam was fine under normal circumstances, but in this case, giving vent to misdirected anger wouldn’t get to the heart of the problem.  I decided to cut to the chase.

“Was there anything you could have done to prevent what happened to Hugo?” I asked.  My blunt question surprised Eran and Ziv—I could feel them staring at me—but I kept my eyes on Rune.  “Well?  Was there?”

He stalked over to stand in front of me, feet spread, hands fisted at his sides.  “What do you think?” he growled.

A few months ago, that tone would have had me diving for cover.  Now I didn’t so much as bat an eye.              “What do I think?” I answered evenly, keeping my compassion firmly under wraps.  Knowing Rune, a show of sympathy at this juncture would only complicate the issue.  “I think Enid and Jasun were ready and waiting when Hugo showed up for his psych evaluation, right?”

“Yeah.  So?”

“So, with them sitting right there, you had no chance to warn him.  How were you going to keep him from giving himself away?  Did you have a chance to talk to him before he showed up?  Did you know he was one of us?”

His combative stance relaxed slightly.  “No.”

“So you never had a chance to rescue him.”

Eran took my hand, squeezing my fingers in gentle approval as he said, “Some of them are bound to get past you, Rune.  You can’t save them all.”

Rune’s glare faded.  He blew out a breath, dropping his chin as he rubbed the back of his neck.  “No, I can’t.”  He raised his head, pinning us with the same tormented gaze I had seen in the corridor.  “But it’s like a knife to the heart every time we lose one.  And having to be the one to take down Matheson that way, deliver him up to Huw ….”  He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“What a nightmare,” Ziv mumbled.

“Trust me,” Rune grunted as he sank down next to Ziv on the divan across from Eran and me, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.  This nightmare is only getting started.”  He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.  “We broke open the weapons locker today.”

I blinked.  “You have a weapons locker?”

“Sure,” he replied matter-of-factly.  “We’re in charge of security.  What did you expect?”  I shook my head dazedly.  “Anyway, based on this morning’s pursuit and the possibility of—and I quote—‘resistance of a more violent nature,’ the First Councilor ordered me to arm my agents with Inducers.”

Ziv frowned.  “Inducers?  That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You only say that because you have a four-hundred-plus-year cushion of blissful ignorance between you and what used to be common knowledge,” Rune replied sardonically.  He reached around to the small of his back and drew out a weapon.  It was a uniform black from the hand grip to the short, sinister barrel.  “You’ve heard the expression in a world of hurt, right?” He hefted the weapon meaningfully.  “Well, this is your passport.  A pulsed energy weapon that triggers a plasma burst guaranteed to knock you off your feet, induce instant paralysis, and light up every pain neuron in your body.  We’re talking enough agony to make a strong man scream for mercy … if he could scream.”

“Lethal?” Eran wanted to know.

“It can be.  The power is scalable from stun to lethal.  So far, our orders are to keep them set on stun.  Garan may be jumpy, but he’s not out to kill anyone.”  Rune paused, eyes suddenly narrowed as if he were weighing unseen factors. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Not yet?”  Ziv chuckled uneasily.  “You make it sound like the Council is going to start executing anyone who disagrees with them.”  He glanced to Eran and me, obviously expecting us to scoff along with him.  When we didn’t, his expression turned incredulous, darting between us and Rune.  “Don’t tell me the three of you believe it might actually come to that?”

“I never actually believed it would come to Alpha Genesis or Inducers,” Eran answered.  “Did you?”

Ziv scowled uncertainly.  “No, but political assassination is something else again.”

“Look at it this way,” I suggested.  “The Quingenti won’t hesitate to fry someone’s brain to kill a newborn consciousness.  Isn’t that a kind of assassination?  Alpha Genesis takes lives, too, Ziv.  So in one sense, the they have already crossed the line.  Taking a physical life wouldn’t be much of a leap for them at this point.”

“She’s right,” Rune said.  “If we’re going to survive, we had better face facts:  The faithful will do whatever it takes to preserve the status quo.”

Ziv shook his head disbelievingly.  “But kill us?”

“You’re not looking at it from their point of view,” Rune reminded him.  “They don’t see each human life as a once-and-done deal, which means sooner or later, they’ll decide there’s nothing morally wrong with cutting ours short.  They might even convince themselves it’s the right thing to do—regrettable, maybe, but what the hell?  What’s one lifespan in the Colonial scheme of things?  We won’t be dead as they understand dead, because they’ll still have our DNA.”

“And as far as they’re concerned,” said Eran, “as long as the DNA lives, so do we.”

Rune’s lips twisted sardonically.  “It’s not assassination if nobody dies, Menka.”

“I’m beginning to think Ke-Ling had the right idea,” I mused.

Rune’s head whipped around, and he eyed me narrowly.  “Don’t even start down that road, Red.”  He nodded toward Eran.  “We’re working on a plan to get us out of this mess, and it won’t be long before we’re ready to put it into action.  But no matter what happens, there’s no way we’re going down without a fight.  We’re sure as hell not going to do the Quingenti any favors by taking a swan dive into that good night.”

Eran was regarding me thoughtfully.  “I don’t think she’s talking about suicide.”

“No, of course not.  I meant Ke-Ling was right about the DNA.”  I paused to gather my thoughts.  “I have a lot of faith in you two, and I’m sure your plan is a good one.  But ….”

“But what?” prodded Rune when I trailed off.

“But suppose they find out about one of us before you’re ready to move?  What if I’m taken, for example, and they zap me back to the Alpha State?  A couple of jolts, and I’m back on board with the whole cloning thing.”

“We would never let it get that far,” Rune assured me coldly.

“Maybe not, but I want replication completely off the table.  I want my life to count, even if I can’t remember why it should.  And what if they do resort to lethal force?  What if we do have to go down fighting?  I want my death to count, too.  I want to force everyone on this ship to deal with the fact that they ended my life, and I can never be replicated.  I want them to have to face what they’ve done … what they’ve become by doing it.”

“So what do you suggest?” Eran asked.

“Ke-Ling knew there was only one way to make the kind of statement I have in mind.”  I glanced at my three companions.  “We have to do what he did; we have to destroy our DNA.”

“Right!” Ziv agreed enthusiastically.  “Take the vials, get rid of the contents, replace the empty containers so nobody even notices the contents are missing … for a few decades, at least.”  He frowned.  “But they’re going to notice sooner or later.  What’s to stop them from replacing the original deposits with DNA drawn from our bodies … alive or dead?”

“Good question,” I admitted.   Now all we needed was a good answer.

Ziv pondered the problem a few moments longer, then brightened.  “How about a disinformation campaign?”

“How would that help?” I asked, shaking my head.

“Well, we could plant the idea that our aberrant behavior might signal a flaw in gene expression.”

My brow furrowed as I tried to keep up with him.  “Why would they believe that, when Ke-Ling and Abila both made it clear genetic abnormalities are a thing of the past?”

“That might be true of the DNA stored in a specially designed vault, but our bodies are another matter.  Maybe something went wrong during gestation?  A tiny glitch, unnoticed then, resulting in dire consequences now?  Or maybe,” he continued with gathering enthusiasm, “it’s due to the effects of prolonged spaceflight!  Over-exposure to cosmic background radiation or something!  Nobody’s ever been out this long, right?”

I smiled slowly.  “Oh, I get it.  We’d need evidence,” I murmured, thinking furiously.  “I know!  Rune can ask Alis to get a DNA specimen from Matheson.  If a gene can be repaired, it can be sabotaged, right?  She might be able to fake a slight mutation!”

“And Rune can hack into the medical records and plant evidence of  the same genetic hiccup in all our files!  All without leaving a trace!” Zivon concluded triumphantly.

“Well, well, well,” drawled Rune.  “Will you listen to these two?”  He glanced between Ziv and me.  “Think you’ve got it all figured out, do you?”  Why he seemed so pleased, I couldn’t imagine, until he went on, “Not bad.  Not bad at all.  As a matter of fact, I couldn’t have done better myself.”  He looked at Eran.  “I don’t plan to be around long enough need this scheme of theirs, but backup isn’t a bad idea.”

“So you’ll do it?” I asked.  “You’ll talk to Alis?”

He nodded slowly.  “Yeah.  We’ll see what we can do.”

Ω

Chapter 41

Two days later we got a cryptic message from Rune.  He contacted Eran and with terse instructions to, “Get everyone together at nineteen hundred hours on Tuesday and make sure you come up with a good cover story.”  Something was obviously up, but Gaspar being Gaspar, he didn’t elaborate on why he suddenly wanted to meet with all of us when he had been avoiding exactly that for weeks on end.

Liriene was the one who suggested the poetry reading as a “good cover story.”  We basically took a page from the Quingenti’s own playbook, adapting the tactics they had used to set up their fake “How to Make the Most of Your Life Conference” a few centuries earlier.  The ruse worked as well for us as it had for them.  We decided against contacting Rune with the particulars; much safer to let him see the announcement and figure it out himself.  We knew he would.

Liriene’s “Intimate Evening with the Great Poets” was advertised ship-wide.  It would begin at seven.  The hostess would give readings from the works of major nineteenth-century poets; wine and cheese would be served.  Space was extremely limited, seats to be reserved on a first-come-first-served basis, and the library would be closed to all other patrons during the event.  Two days after the invitation went out, several would-be participants received a short message from the librarian:  Thank you for your interest.  Regrettably, all available seats have been spoken for. However, I will hold a similar soiree very soon and will add your name to the list of those who will most certainly be invited to attend.

Only a handful of people knew the guest list had been locked in before the advertisement went out.

It was a simple, yet brilliant plan with a deliciously ironic twist—namely, the people who had come up with it first never caught on.  Impressed by Liriene’s logistical thoroughness, I had to wonder if Rune wasn’t rubbing off on all of us.  Strangely, or maybe not so strangely, that was a comforting possibility.

The night of, we arrived singly and in pairs, dressed to the nines and trying to act relaxed and sociable, at least until we got behind the closed portal.  This public display was no small feat, given the nerves jangled by Rune’s singularly uncommunicative communication.

With eleven of us there, the library should have seemed even cozier than usual—except cozy makes evokes thoughts of warmth and comfort and safety, not the pins-and-needles apprehension that gripped us as we waited for our host.  Seated next to Eran on the same bench where we had decided on our course of action—was it really only six months ago?—I absently fingered the top pearl-like button on my turquoise tunic and let my gaze wander over nine of the people who had come to be like family to me.  Each was coping with the tense wait in his or her own way.

Lu, for example, was taking refuge in her art.  Tucked away on a padded bench in one of the small alcoves carved in the right-hand bulkhead, she sketched busily, glancing up every now and then to study the three women on the balcony.  I had never seen Lu wear black before, but it suited her.  She looked positively statuesque in the unadorned floor-length gown that left her arms and shoulders bare, while its high collar combined with her upswept hair to accentuate the long, graceful line of her neck.

Her unwitting models—Alis, Liriene, and Na’weh—stood on the balcony with their backs to the shelves, their heads bent over a small blue volume in Liriene’s hand.  Side by side in a semicircle and dressed in pastels—Alis in a robin’s egg blue pantsuit, Liriene in a pale yellow micro-mini, and Na’weh in a caftan striped in shades of celery—they already reminded me of a painting.

Down on the first level, Lexi and Jordi sat at a long wooden table across from Isidor, Ziv, and a taciturn Etsuo.  I smiled inwardly over the fact that Etsuo’s formalwear was a slightly spiffier version of his overalls.  And only our agronomists could carry off evening clothes with an earthy touch—an olive green, off-the-shoulder gown for her and a rust-colored tunic for him.  Conversation at the table appeared desultory and half-hearted and as I watched, Isidor ran a nervous finger under the stand-up collar of his dove-gray tunic.

Distinguished-looking but uncomfortable, I decided with a small, fond grin.

Ziv chose that moment to glance at me, raising his eyebrows as if to say, What could you possibly have to smile about at a time like this? Since I didn’t know how to explain, I shrugged and diverted him by pointing from my shoulder to his.  He frowned down at his powder-blue tunic, plucked off the stray thread, and turned back to his companions.

“Ah.  The man of the hour arrives at last,” announced Eran, standing and sliding his left hand into the pocket of his tan jacket as the portal slid open.

Rune had indeed arrived, but he wasn’t alone—Gregor Sterling was with him.  Rune didn’t seem to notice the surprised gasps that punctuated their entrance and prompted the navigator to smile in self-conscious greeting.  Signaling for silence, Gaspar produced a wafer-thin hand-held device from his inside jacket pocket and moved to the center of the library, where he did a slow one eighty, taking an obvious reading.  Only then did it dawn on me how instinctively careful we had been with our conversation while we waited for him to show up.  Apparently, our security chief had managed to instill a bit of what he called tradecraft in us, whether we were conscious of it or not.

Once he was satisfied the room was clean, Rune re-pocketed the device and waved us all over toward Liriene’s desk.  “Huddle up, folks.  We’ve got a problem.”

I think I can safely say we’ve got a problem were the last words any of us wanted to hear.  Problems we already had and plenty of them.  We weren’t anxious to add another one, especially if it involved the kind of trouble that rated a risky all-hands-present-and-accounted-for meeting with Rune.  But having no other real choice, we huddled up as ordered.

“Go ahead, Sterling,” said Rune.  “Tell them.”

Gregor appeared uncertain.  “I don’t quite know where to begin.”

Rune swore softly.  “We don’t have time to tiptoe around this,” he announced bluntly.  “I’ll start; you fill in the gaps.  We have a new wrinkle,” he told the rest of us, watching our faces closely, “and it’s a big one.”  He paused.  “There’s a better than even chance the Colony is off course literally, as well as figuratively.”

“Say again?” said Eran.  “The Janus is off course?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” objected Gregor at the same time, drawing all eyes to him.  “That we’re off course, I mean.”

“Just how would you put it?” Eran asked.

The navigator’s green-brown gaze darted nervously around our huddle.  “It’s more like the course we were on no longer exists.”

Ω

© 2010, Kathy DiSanto, all rights reserved

© 2010, Kathy DiSanto, all rights reserved