To Save the Sun

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Continue with the tests, then,” said Javas, Emperor of the Hundred Worlds. “In the meantime…” He turned away for a moment, as if listening to an unseen speaker. As he paused, his image on the screen stretched and distorted. His movements slowed, even froze for several seconds, before the computer reassigned the transmission matrix and brought the visual portion back up to normal speed. Unlike the recorded tachyon transmissions, which were computer-corrected before playback and could be viewed normally without undue visual or audio distortion, the realtime FTL transmissions were subject to the vagaries of the tachyons that carried the signal itself.

Even when the picture on the screen had settled into normalcy, Bomeer had to look at the image carefully to tell if the image was still frozen, or if Javas was merely holding still. Even after more than forty years, he reflected as he studied the Emperor’s face, you still have difficulty hiding your link to the Imperial computer net. Your father never had that problem.

Emperor Nicholas had been adept at hiding the fact that he was consulting the Imperial computers through his integrator, often pulling pertinent information from the data banks with ease even as he spoke to someone. But not Javas. While Bomeer had seen Nicholas’ son occasionally use the link unobtrusively during pauses in a conversation, he invariably stopped a conversation when something important was being relayed to him. Bomeer tilted his head as he regarded the Emperor, then shot a glance to Supreme Commander Fain, seated at his side. The man sat quietly, patiently; he seemed to sense he was being stared at, and turned his head toward Bomeer, a faint smile crossing his lips for just the briefest of moments.

And in that moment, something became suddenly clear to the academician; something that Fain had apparently known for some time: Javas wasn’t hiding the fact that he was accessing the Imperial computer through his integrator for the simple reason that he’d chosen not to.

Bomeer turned quickly away from Fain and searched his memory. He had been in attendance at hundreds, perhaps thousands, of meetings and discussions with Javas; meetings that involved dozens of attendees—and intimate chats with only the two of them present. But it occurred to him that he could recall no time during a meeting with anyone but Fain and himself when Javas had been so open with the integrator.

It’s respect, he realized as he turned back to the screen to study the unmoving image of the Emperor once more. You respect us more than I realized. The revelation carried with it an uneasiness; although whether his sudden discomfort was caused by the fact that Javas held him in higher esteem than he’d thought, or by his own inability to recognize what now seemed abundantly obvious, Bomeer couldn’t be certain. He was grateful to be spared any further introspection when Javas turned back to them.

“I’ve just been informed that the Levant is decelerating toward Sol system. Commander Montero believes he’ll arrive in fewer than four months.”

Fain raised an eyebrow. “They made excellent time.”

Bomeer nodded in agreement. “Should we continue with the modeling, then, or wait until Dr. Montgarde arrives before we proceed to the next step? I imagine she would like to see this phase of the experimentation for herself.”

Javas thought a moment; the pause punctuated by a sudden, but brief, bit of distortion in his image on the screen. “No,” he went on. “Go ahead with the next phase and we’ll relay your results to Dr. Montgarde on board the Levant, although there will still be a bit of lag time until she’s in-system. I suspect she’ll need a good bit of assimilation time after coming out of cryosleep anyway. A lot has happened in the last forty years, after all. No; you’re making good progress at the test site, and I don’t want to slow you down any more than necessary.”

“Thank you, Sire,” Bomeer replied. “It is becoming increasingly difficult to hold Rice back as it is.”

“Oh?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Fain turned to face him, his characteristic raised eyebrow offering not a hint of help. Bomeer inwardly cursed himself for his loose tongue.

“Well,” he offered finally, “Dr. Rice seems to have developed an… enthusiasm for the project that defies—”

“Academician, are you in charge of this venture or are you not?” His face impassive, the Emperor stared silently from the screen. “Perhaps you should spend more of your time on the Kowloon, and less on the flagship.”

“What Anastasio says is true, Sire,” Fain cut in, saving Bomeer further embarrassment. “Dr. Rice and the alien have become quite excited over their own progress and are quite anxious to proceed. Their enthusiasm has not been easily dissuaded.”

“I see. And the attending Sarpan fleet?”

Bomeer ran a hand through his unruly hair and breathed a sigh of relief that the discussion had shifted to one of Imperial security rather than the project itself. He sat quietly in his chair and attempted to make himself as invisible as possible.

Fain straightened in his chair as he addressed the Emperor. “Actually, Sire, the close bond that has developed between Dr. Rice and the alien has worked to our advantage. While he has not been given free run of their ships, Dr. Rice has certainly been made to feel considerably more welcome than anyone in the Imperial command structure. Myself included.”

Javas nodded in understanding.

“I’ve made no attempt to press the relationship—you know how scientists can be.” Bomeer stirred in his chair at the unintended insult, but Fain either didn’t notice or made no effort at this time to apologize for the slur. “Meanwhile, through careful debriefing, it allows us considerably more access to the aliens than we would otherwise enjoy.”

Javas nodded again. “Very good, Commander.” He turned to the academician. “In any event, please instruct Dr. Rice to proceed to the next phase of testing. Thank you both for your time.”

“Sire,” said both men, nodding simultaneously.

Javas’ image on the screen faded immediately and was replaced with a soft blue glow. Centered in the screen was the communications code identifying the transmission number and source of the communication as having come from Luna, several light-years distant. A large Imperial crest was superimposed over the data displayed on the screen.

“I’m not adjusting to this,” Bomeer offered candidly after a long silence.

“I know.” The Commander of the Imperial fleet turned his chair to him, his face deadly serious. “What I don’t understand is why. What is it about this”—he indicated the screen—“that bothers you so?”

Fain had never spoken this bluntly to him before. In the four decades that had passed since Javas’ ascension to the Imperial throne, the two had spoken privately about their feelings to one another only on rare occasions.

Bomeer shrugged and again ran a hand absently through his thick hair. He stood and paced the room uncertainly. “I’m not sure, really. The technology. It all seems to be happening so quickly.” He approached the tachyon screen, the Imperial crest and identification code from the just-concluded conference with Javas still emblazoned in the center of the blue field. “System! Screen off, standby mode.” The glow disappeared instantly and Bomeer stared at the darkened plastic screen for several seconds before turning away to pace nervously again. “Maybe too quickly.”

“It is happening quickly,” Fain conceded, still sitting in his chair as he followed the academician’s movements around the room. “But I’m not as convinced as you seem to be that it’s a bad thing.”

Bomeer approached another screen on the opposite wall, this one a simple viewscreen, and whispered a command that brought it to life. Against a starry backdrop, two ships glowed brightly. One of them, far enough from them that even the larger details of its construction were indiscernible, was the Sarpan vessel with the unpronounceable name. The other craft, floating only a few hundred meters off the flagship’s starboard side, was one of three Imperial ships that had accompanied them to this desolate, empty point in space far removed from travel lanes. By its markings he recognized it as the science ship Port of Kowloon, where the testing of Dr. Montgarde’s theories was being conducted. Where an alien was even now intimately involved in Imperial research of the highest order. Bomeer shuddered at the thought, but said nothing further.

“Progress is inevitable, my old friend.” Fain swiveled around further, addressing Bomeer’s back. “Do you remember when Emperor Nicholas first told us that he’d decided to back this project?” Bomeer remained silent, but the Commander was not deterred. “It was back on Corinth, nearly seventy years ago. He promised then that this project could save much more than just Earth’s Sun. Had I known then how much Imperial technology would be advanced in only that time, and how close it has drawn the Hundred Worlds, I might have followed his wishes willingly from the start, instead of by his command.”

Bomeer chuckled softly and turned away from the screen. “You’ve been seduced,” he said, smiling, and came to stand behind the empty chair. “You see much of what has happened only in terms of how strong the fleet has become. This ship”—he raised an arm, sweeping it around him—“built expressly to your personal specifications.” He leaned on the back of the chair, nodding at the tachyon screen. “The ability to communicate almost instantly with any ship or world that’s received the technology.”

“The ability to communicate with any point in the Empire,” Fain countered, just a hint of ire in his voice, “is perhaps the single greatest achievement that mankind has made to date. The technology to harness tachyons for communication has spread to more than half the worlds; even now the Empire has been drawn closer together, and is all the stronger for it.” He paused, checking the anger in his tone before continuing. “In a few more years, even the most remote of the Hundred Worlds will have constructed tachyon dishes. We will truly be one people then.”

Bomeer raised a questioning eyebrow. “And how does one retain control of that many people, eh?”

Fain tilted his head, not quite sure of the point Bomeer was making.

“When even the closest of the worlds was many light-years distant,” Bomeer went on, “it was the strength of the Emperor that drew them all together. The gift of technology from Imperial research—not to mention the benefit of Imperial protection—was there only for those worlds that allowed our control. But now that instant information is becoming available to all the members of the Hundred Worlds…” He straightened up, casting a sidelong glance at the ship hanging silently in space. When he regarded Fain once more, the Commander sat impassively, stroking his chin in thought.

Enough, Bomeer thought, I’ve at least given him something to think about. Then, aloud: “Anyway, I think the dissemination of technology should be handled more slowly and more carefully.”

Fain turned suddenly. “The Council of Academicians has, perhaps, been moving too slowly for too long,” he snapped.

Bomeer smiled broadly, allowing that there was at least some truth to the man’s statement. “Perhaps.” He turned for the door, but when he reached it he turned back as another thought struck him.

“You do know, Fain, why we—you and I—have been sent here.”

The Commander swiveled to face him, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs. “Suppose you tell me.”

“We are being eased out,” Bomeer replied simply. He had expected Fain to protest, and was surprised when he remained quiet. “You and I are part of the old Empire, Commander. There may not be a role for us to play in the improved version, and Javas knows it. Even rejuvenation has its limits. What was it you called me earlier? ‘Old friend’? That may be much more accurate than you realize. For both of us.”

Fain nodded, and it was obvious to Bomeer that nothing he was saying had in any way come as a surprise to him. Clearly the man must have had many of the same thoughts himself.

“Anyway,” he sighed, “you may be right about we academicians being too slow. Perhaps the time has come for me to adopt a speedier attitude toward what’s left of my life.”

Aboard the Kowloon, Dr. Templeton Rice monitored the equipment and waited patiently for Oidar to return to the open lab, but couldn’t stop the growing concern he was beginning to feel at the length of time he’d been gone. Because they had reached a delicate stage in the modeling, the alien had delayed going to the fountain that had been installed for him at the far end of the room. His body moisture and temperature were maintained by his wet suit, but Oidar still needed to dampen the exposed skin of his face and neck frequently in the misty spray of the specially designed fixture. This time, however, in his excitement he had waited too long and needed to return to his quarters when he began to feel dizzy.

I hope he’s okay, Rice thought. It’s as much my fault as his. I should have reminded him to go.

The comm beeped suddenly, startling him, and he slapped the answer bar anxiously. A haziness coalesced on the small screen and Rice knew it was Oidar even before he could see his features, calling from the comfort of the Sarpan-normal conditions maintained in his room on the Kowloon.

“Are you all right?” he barked into the comm. A swift blur passed suddenly over the image, bringing the picture into sharper focus, and Rice realized the alien must have wiped his hand across the video pickup on his end to clear the moisture that had collected on the lens.

“I have thanks for your concern, Temple, but no worry. I am fine.” His voice sounded tired. Oidar had removed his wet suit and reclined now on a small couch as he spoke. He had wrapped a brightly colored towel around his waist, but otherwise wore nothing else. “However, had I waited much longer I would have looked like—what was it you said the last time?”

Rice chuckled. “A dried prune.”

“Yes. So.” The alien grinned broadly and tilted his head back. Rice saw the gill slits vibrating, and a high-pitched buzzing sound came softly from the comm speaker: the Sarpan equivalent of a laugh.

The thought of comparing him to a dried fruit amused him, and Rice was relieved to see that his counterpart was feeling better, but at the same time was concerned at his coloring. Oidar was only five years old, and Rice was used to seeing his skin a bright greenish-brown color that was normal for Sarpan of breeding age. Now, however, his hue had darkened considerably to the deep gray-brown shade common to males approaching the end of their ten-year life span.

Rice had seen that coloring on only one other Sarpan—Oidar’s father, during his last months of life before his role in the experimentation was taken over by his son. “I want you back on the Flisth as soon as possible.”

Oidar’s smile faded, and he sat upright suddenly. “There is no cause to return to my ship,” he said, all traces of good humor gone. The abrupt movement seemed to have caused him discomfort and he crossed his arms and grasped his sides with his hands, gently messaging the twin egg sacks located halfway down each side of his body. “I am fine.”

“You are not fine! Look at you; you’ve nearly dehydrated yourself again.”

Oidar’s eyes widened and he tilted his head, a confused, hurt look crossing his alien features. “You are displeased,” he said simply, a hint of disappointment in his voice as if he had unintentionally offended an elder.

Rice cursed himself under his breath for losing his temper—the aliens simply could not understand how humans could connect anger with concern for another’s well-being. He lowered his voice, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry, Oidar,” he said, and bowed his head in a Sarpan gesture of apology. “This one is not displeased. But”—he lifted his chin and looked his friend directly in the face—“I’m going to have to insist that you take better care of yourself while in the open lab. You’ve got to… I can’t…” He had trouble expressing the worry he felt in words the alien would understand. In the screen, Oidar waited patiently for him to continue, his head tilting one way, then the other.

Rice gave up. “Look, I can’t deal with this over the comm. I’m coming up.”

He punched the disconnect bar and headed for the door, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. The open lab was generally kept several degrees above the ship’s normal working temperature, to better accommodate Oidar’s comfort, but he knew the alien’s cabin would make the lab feel chilly. The cabin was not far, and he arrived at the door at about the same time he’d managed to slip his shirt off and sling it over his shoulder.

Oidar was expecting him and opened the door as soon as he pressed the call button, allowing Rice to enter the narrow airlock that helped maintain the room’s internal environment.

The air was so hot and humid that sweat burst forth from his skin the moment the airlock door slid aside and admitted him to the room. The air was thick and dank, and had a vague swamp-like pungency to it; not unpleasant, the scent carried with it the musky odor of vegetation and mud. Other than the Kowloon’s captain and members of the crew who had worked with the Sarpan team to set up the cabin, Rice was one of the few people on board who had even set foot inside, much less spent any amount of time with Oidar.

The cabin consisted of a small living room—a receiving room, actually, since Oidar used it only to see infrequent guests—a galley kitchen and bathroom. The largest of the cabin’s three rooms, it was the bathroom itself that comprised the main living and sleeping area for the Sarpan. The receiving room was sparsely decorated: There were two small couches facing each other, a low round table between them. In one corner stood a tall plant with snakelike tendrils that crept up the wall, although whether it was a genuine Sarpan growth or something specially bred, Oidar had never said. A sealed lighting strip circled the room at the edge of the ceiling, and Rice noted that it had not been cleaned in some time; algae growing on the glassy surface caused it to cast a soft green glow that glistened off the moist surfaces of everything. The room was quiet, empty; the alien nowhere to be seen.

“Oidar?”

“A moment,” called a voice from the galley. “Be comfortable.”

Right, thought Rice, using the balled-up shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. He sat on one of the couches and felt the wetness of the plastic cushion beneath him immediately soak through the seat of his pants.

Oidar appeared, and handed him a tall tumbler filled to the brim with ice cubes from the galley freezer. There was no drink in the glass, but Rice knew that none was necessary—in a few minutes, he’d have ice water.

“Thank you, friend,” he said, and played the refreshingly cool glass slowly across his forehead and against his cheeks.

Oidar sat opposite him on the other couch, lacing and unlacing his fingers. There was a tiny pop sound as the webbing between his fingers pulled apart each time. “So?”

Rice sighed heavily. “Yes, so.” A few centimeters of cold water had already formed at the bottom of the glass and he sipped before continuing. “Oidar, I must be blunt. The modeling is at a very critical stage, and we both need to be at our best if we have any chance of being successful here.”

“I know that,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“But beyond that, I am concerned for your health and safety.” Twirling the ice cubes in the glass to make them melt a bit more quickly, he studied the alien. Was his coloring beginning to return to normal, or was the effect caused by the tinted strip light? “Why won’t you return to the Flisth more frequently?”

Until now, Oidar had been sitting upright out of politeness to his guest, but he allowed himself to recline in a familiar slouching position Rice knew was more comfortable for him. He crossed his arms in front of him again, massaging the egg sacks. He made no attempt to avoid looking at Rice, but said nothing.

He’s nervous, he thought, wiping at his neck again with the now-soaked shirt. My God, I didn’t even know they could feel that way. He watched Oidar as he massaged his sides, then noticed something. A tiny bump appeared briefly at a spot in the left sack, smoothed out, then reappeared. Oidar massaged the spot and the bump disappeared.

“You’re nearly ready to spawn, aren’t you?”

Oidar stopped.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Rice demanded, then quickly cheeked his voice to keep all traces of emotion from it. “If I’d had any idea, we—”

“A moment,” Oidar replied, cutting him off. He hung his head in a shameful gesture, puzzling Rice. “I am… not gladly received on my home ship.”

“I don’t understand. You mean you’re not permitted to make regular transfers over?”

“No, I am permitted. I am even welcome.” He shook his head, blinked eye membranes several times. “I am not gladly received, however. I have spent much time with humans, and am”—he blinked, rapidly, struggling for a word—“untrusted socially.”

Rice had trouble believing what he was hearing, and sipped noisily at the melting ice while he formed a response. Was Oidar trying to say that he was being shunned? “But many of your family members are there, aren’t they? Surely they don’t treat you this way.”

“I was spawned on the Flisth, yes, but none of my water group remains aboard. They have been reassigned for… political reasons.”

“I see.” Rice understood. Like Oidar, his entire water group carried much of his father’s knowledge and skills, passed on genetically. The Sarpan leadership, eager to gain as much information about the humans as possible, had undoubtedly sent the others to “safe” areas within the Sarpan Realm for debriefing, far away from further human contamination. “And your spawning mate?”

“She has shown little interest in this one since I received the spawn.” He sighed, the mannerism and sound remarkably human; no wonder he was considered influenced by his time with humans. “Anyway,” he went on, “it has been easier for me to remain here. I will go back to the home ship when it is time to go to the water.”

“And when will that be?”

He massaged at his sides again.

“Soon.”

Rice lifted his glass, but noticed that the ice was gone. The water in the bottom of the glass was still cold, and he finished the last of it as the two exchanged a few last pleasantries. Finally, the room growing as uncomfortably quiet as it was hot and humid, Rice got up to leave, setting the empty glass on the table.

Once outside Oidar’s cabin, he leaned heavily against the door and closed his eyes, relishing the delicious feel of the cool plastic pressing against the sweaty skin of his back.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Everything she could see, which was precious little, was a blur. As if that were not bad enough, the blur swirled around her in a sickening whirlpool.

Her mouth was dry, parched, and she coughed hoarsely. Why am I so thirsty? Adela wondered as she attempted to slowly climb her way to full consciousness. She concentrated, trying to remember, and reasoned that she was still on Pallatin, sleeping outdoors in the blistering heat.

The images were confusing, and mixed with one another as they do during a dream. There was a bright light above her that brought tears to her eyes, but she stared at it, blinking and confused, until it assumed a form she was comfortable with. It was Dannen’s Star, its hot, orange light bathing her as she lay motionless. She realized that someone stood over her, unrecognizable, and her mind’s eye filled in the missing details and the faceless image became Billy, grinning ear to ear.

“C’mon now, Doctor,” her mind heard him say, “lyin’ about like that this late in the mornin’, you’ll wind up tucker for the local wildlife for sure. Best to get movin’.”

She tried to answer him, but her throat rasped, unable to make any sound at all but the most feeble of croaking noises. But then she saw that the form standing over her wasn’t Billy at all; in fact, there was no one there. She blinked, and tried to raise a hand to rub her eyes but found that her arm still refused to work.

Cryosleep, the conscious portion of her mind told her. I’m waking up. Must clear my head. She began counting silently, trying to force herself into wakefulness. One, two, three, four…

“Adela, my love.”

It was Javas, exactly as she remembered him—tall, an air of natural command about him in his Imperial uniform. He wore the Imperial sash, the satiny fabric complemented by his deep blue eyes and golden hair tumbling over his collar. She felt herself smile, causing a dry, painful cracking sensation at the corners of her mouth, and attempted to lick her lips.

“Shhhhhh,” Javas admonished when she tried to speak. He reached out a hand, touching a fingertip lightly to her lips, then let his fingers gently caress her cheek. “Don’t talk; not now. We have plenty of time.”

“But we don’t!” she heard herself plead, clenching her eyes tightly to hold back unwanted tears. “We have almost no time at all! Please, hold me while there’s still time.”

When she opened her eyes again he was gone. She managed to turn her head and saw that she was in a room with white cabinets running the length of the far wall. Other than the cabinets and a low countertop beneath them, the room was empty of furnishings but for two chairs and the mechanical bed in which she lay, covered by a thin green sheet. The viewscreen on the wall nearest her was dark and silent. Her eyes blinked up at the overhead light, not nearly as bright now, she realized, as she’d imagined before, but still too intense to look at directly and she turned away. Two white-coated figures talked animatedly near the door—one a man, the other a woman—but they spoke softly and she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

She was still aboard the Levant.

“Hel—hello?” Her throat ached at the effort, and she tried to swallow.

They stopped talking immediately and turned to her, smiling. “I’ll inform the Commander,” said the man, and disappeared from the room. “Well, good morning, Dr. Montgarde,” said the other, approaching her bedside. “I’m Dr. Velice. How do you feel?”

“Stiff. Sore. Thirsty.” She managed to raise her arm, resting it palm-out against her forehead, and experimentally stretched anything else she could move. She shook her head to clear the mental cobwebs that refused to release their grip. “But not necessarily in that order.”

One of the cabinets concealed a small refrigerator, Adela saw, and the woman was already getting out a container of brightly colored juice. She watched the woman, trying to decide if she knew who she was. No, she decided; but that, in itself, was due more to the fact that the Levant was a big ship, with a large crew, and not to her post-cryosleep grogginess.

“Well, I’d say you’re feeling normal, then. Would you like to sit up?”

Adela nodded.

Dr. Velice touched a control on the headboard and the bed smoothly came to an upright position. Adela took the offered juice in both shaking hands, grateful that it was in a lidded container with a straw instead of a glass, and sipped heavily of the cool, refreshing liquid. Fruit juice. As her taste buds jarred to life, she tried to identify the delicious mix of flavors that had been used to disguise the electrolytes and medications designed to both rehydrate and nourish her. The juice was, after all, her first meal in nearly twenty years. She recognized sweet mandarin orange. And strawberry, apple, pineapple and ginju berry.

“Are we home yet?” she asked, her throat already feeling a good deal better.

Dr. Velice was manually taking her pulse. The warm touch of her fingertips on her wrist made Adela suddenly realize she was chilly. She pulled the sheet up around her. Beneath the sheet she wore only a loose-fitting gown that was little more than a nightshirt, and long stockings.

“Almost.” Velice finished her reading and entered the information into a keyed notepad. “Here, let me take that,” she said, reaching for the empty juice container. “We’re still eight weeks out from Luna, so you’ll have a bit of time to reorient yourself before we arrive.”

And I’ve got a lot to catch up on, she told herself. Feeling wide awake now, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and was about to begin asking an endless stream of questions when a white-coated figure, the same man who was in the room when she first stirred, leaned through the open doorway. Thinking more clearly now than she had when she first saw him, she recognized him from earlier in the mission.

“You were right, Kinsey,” he said to Dr. Velice when he saw Adela sitting up. “She is ready to hop out and get back to work. Hello, Dr. Montgarde. Good to have you back with us.”

“Dr…” She searched her memory, quickly finding the elusive name. “Dr. Sumatsu, hello.” She smiled and, firmly grasping the edge of the bed with both hands, slid carefully to the cold floor. With no expectation of trusting her legs to hold her up, she was pleasantly surprised to see how steady she was so soon after coming out of the tank. “What was in that juice?”

“It’s an improvement on what we’ve been using for years. We caught up with an outgoing transmission from Luna with the medical specs on the formula when we were still eleven years out. Good stuff, huh?”

Adela had to agree that it was. She tentatively let go of the bed and stretched fully, then bent over and touched her toes. The movement felt good; there was only a little stiffness left in her joints. “Listen, don’t think that I’m not enjoying the plush surroundings,” she said jokingly, indicating the spartan room, “but when can I get out of here?”

The recording she now watched had not been intended for her, but had been forwarded to her at Javas’ request. The report had been sent to him by the science team at the test site many light-years from Earth, using the tachyon burst transmitter. She shook her head in awe at the marvelous efficiency of the device, and realized she would be able to actually be an active part of the current series of experiments from Sol system by using it. Originally she had planned to travel to the test site herself to take part, and she was grateful that many years of travel time could be avoided. More importantly, she could gain valuable lead time for the project. As it was, reports and recordings received instantly on Luna arrived on the starship as fast as conventional communications could relay them, with each batch arriving slightly sooner than the previous one due to their dwindling distance from home. The Levant was still two weeks out, and hence this report was slightly more than two weeks old, but Adela was ecstatic that she was able to get them this “fresh” at all.

She had hoped to get a report intended directly for her, containing specific results of some of the experiments she had designed, and had made the request in one of her first messages sent to the Moon when she awoke, but that request would only now be arriving there. Besides, she came to realize that with Bomeer directly overseeing the work on the Kowloon, and personally reporting all results directly to the Emperor, Dr. Rice and his alien counterpart might not even be aware that she was, even now, preparing to “join” them in a realtime sense from Luna.

“I am afraid there has been a slight setback, Sire,” Bomeer was saying in the recording. The report was one-sided, merely a recitation recorded for the Emperor to review at his leisure instead of a two-way conversation and debriefing. “We’ve found it necessary to temporarily halt the experiment while the alien returns to the Sarpan ship to… spawn, apparently. We don’t expect it back on board for several days.”

The disgust was as plain on the academician’s face as it was in the way he referred to the alien scientist as “it.” Bomeer’s report remained impersonal and professional on the surface, she noted, but something about the way he presented it brought an amused smile to her lips. She had been immediately taken aback by his appearance when she first saw him in the recording. He had allowed his hair to gray, and she saw tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. But even though the years had managed to show in his face, it was somehow reassuring as she listened to him talk—even though much of his biased attitude was personally distressing to her—that he was the same person she remembered.

“While it is not necessary, in my opinion, that the alien even be involved with the modeling at this point,” the recording went on, “Dr. Rice feels that because of the important role the Sarpan will play in the physical test phase coming up after the current series is complete, that it be there for the entire process. He’s really quite adamant about it.” He paused, then added, “In retrospect, I suppose the decision to wait a few days longer is for the best, as it gives me time to review the procedure with Dr. Rice with the open lab set at a temperature not resembling that found in your average oven.”

The recording lasted only a few minutes longer, with the remainder of the report covering areas that, not directly related to the upcoming modeling test, held little interest to her. She paid scant attention to what he was saying as she watched the playback. Why does he look so old? she wondered. Bomeer was old, she knew, but could the time she spent traveling to Pallatin and back really account for the change she saw in his appearance?

She stopped to think of the many messages that had awaited her after coming out of the tank. As she had when arriving at Pallatin, she allowed her personal search software to select and arrange the waiting message strings in order of importance. And, as before, it was the personal message strings that she reviewed first.

Shunting the bulk of the project-related communications to the team traveling with her, she spent two full days with her personal correspondence. The messages from Javas, among the oldest waiting for her, came first in the queue and were dated from around the time of the recording containing her first look at their son. Subsequent recordings followed the first in rapid succession, allowing Adela to watch Eric’s growth as he went from infant to toddler, then preschooler to adolescent. Another man appeared occasionally in some of the recordings and she learned that he was McLaren, who served as both teacher and surrogate parent. Adela realized that Master McLaren would have been present throughout much of Eric’s formative years, regardless of whether she had remained behind or not, but she couldn’t help feeling a loss that much of her son’s upbringing had been trusted to a stranger’s hands. No, she reminded herself. It is not he who is the stranger. It is the mother who was never there.

As Eric got older, he appeared less frequently in Javas’ communications. Javas explained in subsequent messages that he’d left the decision to contact her up to the boy, and that he wouldn’t pressure him in any way. He still found time to send frequent messages of his own, however, and always went into great pride-filled detail as to their son’s development. And just as she watched the changes in her son, she saw the changes in Javas, too.

She had missed the first direct message from Eric. The Levant had begun its journey home, and she was already in the tank when Eric sent his first recording introducing himself to the mother he had never known. “Hello, Mother,” he had said in the twenty-year-old recording. “Let me tell you about myself.” Adela had listened in horror as he told of the ordeal the two of them had gone through in Rihana’s ill-fated attempt to place his half brother on the throne.

Finally, even as Eric’s communications continued to queue up in her waiting file with increased frequency as she traveled closer to home, Javas’ messages became more infrequent. She viewed them all at once over that two-day period, of course, but she noted that the dates between the Emperor’s recordings grew more widely separated. At last, only a few weeks out, she viewed recordings from them both.

Eric, she had learned in recordings dating back eight years, had accepted command of a starship. His most recent recording had come, like many of those before it, from the bridge of a starship equipped with a tachyon dish and was sent first to Luna before being relayed to the Levant. He had grown into a fine young man, and Adela saw much of both Javas and herself in him. She was pleased to discover that his tour would return him to Sol system within a year of her arrival.

Javas’ message, sent with the report she now watched, had also been upbeat. His messages had increased in number as the ship drew closer to home, and he made no attempt to hide his excitement of her coming; but behind his words in the most recent recording, appended to the beginning of Bomeer’s report, lay something she could not quite identify. She could not be certain, but he seemed to fear that she would not, after all, come back; that somehow, after forty years’ separation, he would not be what she had expected.

“System!” she commanded suddenly.

“Ma’am?”

“Replay current message from the beginning.”

The image froze, then blanked, the corner of her cabin growing dim for several seconds before it started over. Javas reappeared in the holographic image, but before he spoke she again ordered the room system to freeze the image.

He had aged, of course, as she had expected he would, but in no way did he look… old. His hair had grayed considerably, but still reflected the golden blond she remembered. Javas’ face seemed thinner, lined, but the strength she had known was still in his features. Strength radiated from him, in fact, and it was obvious he had kept himself in superb condition. Rejuvenation was no longer within his reach but, like his father before him, he took pride in himself and his appearance. Looking at him now, she allowed a feeling to surface within her that she had denied herself throughout the lengthy trip: She allowed herself to miss him. Her throat tightened and tears welled up in her eyes at how much she wanted to be with him. And as she stared silently at Javas’ image in the holographic projection, it suddenly struck her what it was that had bothered her about Bomeer.

Bomeer’s an old man, she realized. He’s aged, but he hasn’t lived. She had watched Javas age gracefully over forty years’ worth of recordings, watched as he nurtured and taught a son whom she had also watched grow from infancy to young manhood. She should have felt older herself, realizing that the man she loved had spent a lifetime apart from her. Even knowing that she had not been there to witness Eric’s development failed to make her regret the choices she’d made. For Eric, like Javas since her departure, had lived life naturally, without benefit of rejuvenation. And living life, she knew, was what was important.

Bomeer had been alive longer than them all, but it was they who had lived. Bomeer had merely collected years.

The stark image of the gray-headed academician flashed momentarily through her thoughts, and for the first time in her life, Adela felt pity.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

My God, it’s hot in here. How in the world does Rice stand it like this?

Bomeer frowned at Rice, seemingly cool and comfortable in his short-sleeved shirt and matching white cotton pants, and dabbed frequently at his brow as he listened to the two scientists discuss the replay of the modeling test that he was about to review. The two spoke with an excitement that eluded him, and he only half listened to what they were saying.

The playbacks of what occurred during each of the modeling experiments were among the few things Bomeer enjoyed about being stuck out here at the test site, seven light-years from Luna. Despite having to endure the environment of the open lab on each occasion, it tied him to an earlier time; a time when protocol and procedure still meant something.

The Empire of the Hundred Worlds had changed under Javas’ rule, although Bomeer wasn’t sure the Emperor was directly responsible for all the changes that seemed to sweep the stiff, formal behaviors away in favor of the “New Attitude” of what the Empire had become. With new discoveries had come new ideas, which, in turn, led to still more discoveries. Which, in turn…

He had had to be honest with himself, however, when he looked at the reasons for what had happened. Much of the changing attitude of the—what was the phrase he’d used with Fain? the “improved version” of the Empire?—had happened of their own accord as an outgrowth of a number of things: the miraculous ability to communicate instantaneously; a vastly improved understanding of medicine; a new openness among the worlds; even cooperation with the Sarpan Realm. But Bomeer had to admit that many of those things came about as a direct result of the drive and vigor possessed by the new Emperor. Javas’ excitement at revitalizing a stagnant Empire was irresistible and, more importantly, infectious to all with whom he dealt, from the most powerful planetary governor to the most humble of servants on the Imperial staff.

It was in this new understanding that Bomeer felt he had no place, for it seemed that he alone was not invigorated by Javas’ will. There was no question in his mind that the speed with which the Empire was changing could ultimately do it harm, but his frequent warnings fell on ears made deaf by the euphoria of the New Attitude. And so he sought refuge in those things where he still felt a certain measure of control, and he insisted in following protocol whenever possible; demanding that B be preceded by A in all cases, and that under no circumstances could C be even remotely considered until the lower end of the alphabet had been neatly and orderly dealt with. In this way, he still believed he had control. In this way, he could still feel important.

He wiped at his forehead again, his handkerchief nearly soaked, and promised himself that the next time he came to the open lab he would forgo at least one of the trappings of the protocol he so dearly loved: He would leave his heavy academician’s tunic behind in his stateroom and come in his shirt sleeves.

Dr. Rice was describing what he was about to see and had row after columned row of figures displayed on the wall flatscreen. As he spoke, Bomeer paid little attention. He had seen these figures before, a hundred times, at least; and his mind wandered to other things.

Why doesn’t it put on a damned helmet or something, he thought bitterly as his eyes strayed to the alien standing resolutely next to Rice, so we can return this facility to human temperature? The alien blinked eye membranes, oblivious to Bomeer’s thoughts.

He leaned his head back to better wipe at his throat and felt a slight dizziness come over him. While he usually relished playing the role of overseeing the experimentation even to the point of restricting its forward motion to better suit his idea of progress, he realized that if he stayed in the open lab much longer there was a good chance of his passing out from heatstroke.

“Please, Dr. Rice,” he said, holding up the hand with the handkerchief, “perhaps it would be better to see the playback and then correlate the figures with what I’ve seen, rather than the other way around.”

The alien blinked several times in rapid succession and tilted its head inquiringly. “That is possible,” it said simply, before Rice could answer.

“Thank you, Oidar.” Bomeer pronounced it with three syllables, “Oh-Ih-Dar,” in spite of the fact that Rice had personally attempted on several occasions—in private, of course—to help him with Sarpan names and terminology.

“Very good, then,” Bomeer went on. “Perhaps the sooner we can begin, the sooner I can file my report to the Emperor.”

Rice smiled politely, although Bomeer suspected he hadn’t been fooled by his offer to speed up the filing of his report. The young scientist was well aware of how he felt about the environment of an Imperial facility being reset for the alien’s comfort.

Rice led him to the holographic display area in the corner of the lab. There were several comfortable chairs here, and the two of them took seats facing the corner. The alien had gone to the fountain to remoisten the skin of its exposed face and neck before joining them, and Bomeer made sure to select a seat that put Rice between him and the alien. In spite of his efforts, he still felt uncomfortably close to the Sarpan, and wrinkled his nose at the scent it gave off. He wondered—again—how Rice managed to stand working in such close proximity to it.

“System, dim lights,” Rice said. The lighting in the viewing area decreased by half. “Please start playback of file designated as Rice two-oh-four, version one. Normal speed.”

A collection of eight red cylinders appeared in two groupings of four each. Code numbers superimposed themselves in the air above each cylinder as the groupings separated and moved to opposite sides of the projection area to form two pyramids. Once again code numbers, scrolling statistics and intensity readings appeared and changed as the playback progressed.

As the image changed, Rice gave a running commentary as to what they were watching. “This is the shielding phase of the insertion. The cylinders represent the Sarpan generators that will be used to contain the singularities before they’re inserted into the star cores.”

A glowing sphere, representing the contained singularities, appeared at the center of each pyramid. The one on the left was pale blue; the one on the right dark blue.

“And this shield will be enough to contain them?” Bomeer asked. “The figures bear this out?”

“Yes, sir,” Rice replied. “We’ve been able to create microscopic singularities—both negative and positive—in the laboratory for many years. They were short-lived, of course, and served only as an aid to the study of black and white holes. It wasn’t until the advanced technology of the Sarpan shielding became available to us that we even dreamed of being able to create anything large enough to remain stable. In any event, the Sarpan shielding should serve very well to contain the singularities until deposited in each star. The application in the next phase, the physical test, will bear this out.”

Oidar leaned forward and caught Bomeer’s eye. It was smiling, and even though Bomeer knew that the Sarpan tongue didn’t even have a word for it, he managed to convince himself that the alien was gloating over its own importance.

When he looked back to the projection, he saw that two stars had been added to the scene. The images were not to scale for this model, and each star appeared only slightly larger than the pyramids in the projection. Again, a series of numbers and energy values scrolled in the air above them.

“All right,” Rice continued. “While the scale here can’t show it, the singularities are in tow to their respective stars, in preparation for insertion.”

Each of the pyramids began rotating slowly, giving the appearance that they were orbiting the glowing containment in the center. The rate of spin increased, and each pyramid moved gently into the stars, taking the glowing spheres with them, until they finally disappeared inside.

Visually nothing more happened. More numbers appeared and additional statistics scrolled rapidly by, but to his eye everything seemed exactly the same.

“That’s it?” Bomeer asked incredulously, certain that there must be more to the model than what he’d just seen.

The alien scientist became unexpectedly flustered with impatience and looked pleadingly at Rice. It was clear to Bomeer that his statement had upset it, but he couldn’t figure out why. Rice spoke quietly to the alien, then turned back to him, the expression on his face, while completely human, reflecting the same puzzled look he’d seen in the alien’s features.

“Academician, I’m not sure I follow you.” Dr. Rice shook his head in frustration and glanced at the alien once more before going on. “I thought I’d made it clear a few minutes ago what we’ve been doing here during this stage of the modeling. Everything we’ve said relates to the data stick reports I’ve supplied to you on a regular basis. What aspect, exactly, don’t you understand?”

He could not admit, of course, that he had only superficially examined the reports contained in the data sticks Rice had dutifully provided him. They had been long and tedious, rarely containing anything new regarding the original theories espoused by Adela de Montgarde, and he had only skimmed them. Worse, even though the two scientists had obviously been more excited than usual, he’d failed to give them his full attention at the beginning of their discussion here today. A wave of embarrassment washed over Bomeer at being caught, and he felt even hotter than before.

“What I review in your recorded reports and what I review personally here in the open lab are two different things,” he said sternly in an attempt to cover himself. “I expect your presentations to be at least as complete as what you send me on the sticks. Is this a problem?”

A look of subdued anger flashed across Rice’s face, then just as quickly disappeared. For a moment, Bomeer thought that Rice was going to call his bluff, but the scientist merely shrugged his shoulders and said, nodding in deference, “You’re correct, of course, Academician. My apologies.”

Oidar had said nothing through all of this, but Bomeer heard it making a faint purring sound, and knew that even though Rice had made a show of downplaying his neglect, the alien had been offended by the double dishonesty of what it had observed. Its big eyes blinked several times and its gaze shifted from him to Rice, and it was clear the alien saw little difference between the two humans right now: one overtly lying to cover an error; the other pretending not to see the lie, and in so doing, committing another untruth. The sound reminded Bomeer of a growling animal, and he made his best effort at ignoring it. “What else do you have for me?” he asked, anxious to move this meeting closer to a conclusion.

“There is another playback. System! Start playback of file Rice two-oh-four, version two, on my mark.” Rice turned to face him, and when he spoke, his voice carried with it a subtle condescending tone. “The first model was based on Dr. Montgarde’s original equations. As you could see from the playback, there is no visual change in either of the stars—the energy levels of the ‘feeder’ star into which the negative singularity, the black hole, is inserted remain constant. The same is true of the ‘breeder’ star. The transfer of energy through the wormhole effect is quite gradual, and serves only to replace the internal mass as it’s spent, effectively increasing the life span of the breeder star. When done to Sol, it would effectively extend its life far beyond the normal range.”

Bomeer nodded, and felt inside his tunic to see if he had a dry handkerchief. “And will continue to extend its life until the feeder star is depleted. This is all in her original presentation. You’re telling me nothing new.” He had nothing in his inside pocket and wiped again with the soaked cloth.

Rice’s eyes narrowed. “Please bear with me, Academician. The model you just saw was based on the outcome of the original figures; figures based on a hypothetical field strength of the shielding she believed would be required to contain the singularities. Dr. Montgarde’s figures and equations were a hundred percent accurate, but were based on a shield technology that simply did not exist at the time she did the original work. However, working closely with the shield specs provided by the Sarpan, we’ve been able to redo the equations based on the actual technology, as it now exists. The second computer model shows a different result.” Rice paused, then pivoted in his seat. “System, begin playback.”

Bomeer turned to the holo display area with renewed interest, and watched as the same scenario played itself out. The pyramids formed by the red cylinders, the glowing spheres, the two images of stars representing Sol and the unnamed feeder sun—everything looked the same. Bomeer looked closely at the figures and readings that scrolled above the images, but was unable to follow them at the speed at which the playback had been set. It wasn’t until the spheres, contained in the spinning pyramids, sank into the centers of the stars that the playback differed from the one before.

Where before it appeared that little had changed, visually speaking, it was plain to see that the two stars in this model had been affected. The one on the left side of the image, representing Sol, seemed slightly brighter than it had before the insertion, and the values of the numbers hovering above it increased. However, since Bomeer had not bothered to study Rice’s reports closely enough, the values had little meaning to him. He would correct that error at his earliest opportunity. Indeed, he already was making plans to go through the two playbacks meticulously: forward, backward and at a speed slow enough that every figure, every readout, every table and chart of values could be examined one by one.

Bomeer leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and letting the sodden handkerchief fall forgotten to the floor, and stared at the playback image in silence for several moments, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. The sweat continued to drip down his temples as before, but as he watched the glowing stars in hypnotic fascination he no longer noticed the heat in the room.

“There is a flaw in Dr. Montgarde’s theory,” he said softly.

Bomeer viewed the figures again, checking and crosschecking them nervously while he waited for Javas’ call.

How I have longed for this, he thought. But now that it has finally happened, why can I not sort out my feelings about it? Based on the results of the modeling, there was no doubt that Dr. Montgarde’s equations—or at least one of them—were flawed. As presented, given the realities of the technology that had been developed and adapted to support the project, it simply would not work.

So why am I not rejoicing?

The fact of the matter was that this new development, from that moment in the open lab when he’d first viewed the model, had filled him with an elation the likes of which he’d not felt since Emperor Nicholas first declared his intentions to pursue the project. Perhaps now the wasteful application of Imperial funds and energies could finally be diverted from this endeavor. Perhaps now a more orderly approach to scientific study could be implemented; an approach more closely resembling the old order, and less an outgrowth of the New Attitude.

Bomeer knew better, however.

Even if the project to save Earth’s Sun were abandoned today, the advances that had come from the research already done would remain. The Hundred Worlds had been reinvigorated, just as Nicholas had predicted, and it seemed to the academician that little could be done to reverse the forward trend of the New Attitude. Besides, he realized, there were few left who shared his vision of what the Empire should be. His closest ally, Plantir Wynne, his rejuvenations becoming increasingly less effective with the passage of time, had died fifteen years earlier. Many of the members of the Imperial Academy of Science, whom he’d enlisted for support at the time of Nicholas’ decision to move the seat of Empire to Luna, had left the Academy. Some had been seduced by the New Attitude and had embraced the opportunity to actively delve into science once more. Others, even though they still shared Bomeer’s feelings on the validity of the project, had long ago grown tired of the uselessness of continually fighting something that had proven itself beneficial to the worlds.

There were new members of the Academy, of course. But they were young and idealistic, like Rice, and put a higher value on pure research and advancement than on tradition and protocol.

So, what do I do with this information? Is it so wrong to want to learn and advance? Bomeer settled back in his chair and slapped the palm of his hand on the bar of the flatscreen reader in his lap, blanking the display, and tossed the reader absently on the desk. He leaned against the right armrest of the chair, resting his chin on his hand. Searching his memory, he tried to recall an incident that had occurred shortly after his admission to the Academy.

He had found a “shortcut” to one of the procedures he’d been assigned by a senior academician named Consol. The refinement to the research process was minor, and he had realized it, but it was an improvement and would serve to get a better understanding of the goals of the assignment at hand.

He had approached Consol with a mixture of pride and foreboding when he reported his finding. Consol had laughed in his face.

“What is your hurry, Anastasio?” he had said. “Are the events of the Empire not progressing fast enough to suit you?”

Bomeer had stared dumbly at him, unable to come up with a rebuttal. “But… it is a more efficient way to proceed with—”

“Is there something inherently wrong with the current method of experimentation?” he had demanded.

When Bomeer had admitted that there was not, Consol had added, “What you have brought to my attention is efficiency for the sake of efficiency; tinkering for the sake of tinkering. Where is the value in that?”

The tachyon screen suddenly glowed blue, pulling him from his reverie of things past; of things that could not be changed. Of things that simply did not possibly matter now.

“Stand by for realtime transmission,” the screen system advised. “Conference linkup will be completed in approximately one minute.”

I have a duty, he reflected as he waited for the communication from Emperor Javas to be routed to the screen, to be true to myself, and to what I believe. And that is not inconsistent with my duty to the Emperor.

There was a diminutive beeping sound that caught his attention, and he sat straighter in his chair and faced the screen at about the same time Javas’ features appeared.

“I’ve received your request for a realtime conference, Academician,” he said, his expression serious, “and must admit that I’m somewhat concerned by the tone contained in the recording you sent. Is something wrong out there?”

Bomeer toyed with the idea of giving Javas a long-winded explanation of why he had insisted on a conference rather than merely sending a recorded report on the latest modeling, which would have been normal procedure, but decided on the more direct approach of stating the problem directly. Look at me, he silently mused, after all these years I’m opting for efficiency instead of protocol.

“We have discovered a flaw in the equations,” he said without preamble.

Javas nodded. “How serious a flaw?” The Emperor, too, seemed more interested in getting to the heart of the problem than belaboring the problem itself.

“Unknown, Sire. Dr. Montgarde’s theories are basically correct, but with the modeling stage now completed, we have found that the values of replenishment do not match the values that had been projected in the original equations.”

They spoke for several minutes, interrupted only once by a garbled signal, as Bomeer did his best to explain what was wrong.

“The tuned pair of singularities does not behave as we expected. The wormhole is there, and the energy transfer takes place as predicted…”

“But?”

Bomeer hesitated, uncertain as to how to continue. “But the energy released in the breeder star is too high for the wormhole to remain stable. It works in the model, but it is difficult to say what the actual effect will be without testing it physically.”

Javas nodded again. “Very well. Thank you for your candor, Academician. Dr. Montgarde will return to Luna in”—he looked to one side, checked a readout on his desk terminal—“in two weeks. Please burst me a full report on your findings so I can have them forwarded to her on the Levant. It’ll still take a while for her to receive them, but it’ll give her a bit of time to go over the results and make any necessary adjustments before she returns to oversee the next phase.”

“No! Sire, I…” He stopped, cursing himself inwardly for responding so abruptly. But the next thing he was about to say was what he had rehearsed so carefully before sending the conference request to Javas. He also reminded himself, before continuing, that what he was about to say constituted a part of his duty; no, was his duty.

“Yes?” Javas asked, waiting.

“Sire, we are ready to proceed with the physical test. We had not anticipated this flaw and have already created the tuned pair for the test. As we speak they’re being held in stasis by the Sarpan shielding.” Again, he paused, swallowing heavily. “The modeling results tell only half the story—that a problem exists—and I’m afraid Dr. Montgarde would have no better clue as to why they are invalid than we do. May I be so bold as to suggest, Sire, that it would be more prudent to continue with the physical test? That way, Dr. Montgarde would have the full results of the flaw in the equation on her arrival.”

The Emperor considered the suggestion. “You may be right,” he said. “She’s been out of cryosleep only a short time and probably has more to catch up on than she can handle without this added concern. You’re certain that the physical test will give us more information on the problem?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“All right, then,” he concluded, “proceed with the next test and send me the results. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

Javas’ image faded immediately, and Bomeer stared at the darkened screen. He was sure that in recommending that the physical test be undertaken he was pursuing the proper course. The flaw in her equation would be dramatically revealed and, with the ability to send the results of the failed test instantly through most of the Hundred Worlds, would elicit renewed questioning into the validity of the project.

It is my duty as an academician to point out the error in this project, he reminded himself. To do less would be to commit a lie to the Emperor, and to myself.

He thumbed the control of the comm screen on his desk, setting it up to send a directive to Rice and Supreme Commander Fain, informing them that the next step should commence. Rice, working with Oidar, would put in place the final setup for the scientific aspects of the test. Fain, meanwhile, would coordinate with the Sarpan commander their final navigation coordinates for the event.

This is what I must do, he reflected again in an attempt to convince himself that the actions he’d taken were in the best interests of the Hundred Worlds. To do less would be a crime against the Empire.

He couldn’t help feeling, however, as he keyed in the sequence that would send the two prepared messages, that he was acting not in the best interests of the Empire, but rather in his own best interests.

Chapter Thirty

Rice had been aboard the Flisth several times since they had arrived at the test site a year earlier. Before that, in the time it had taken for the combined Imperial and Sarpan fleet to travel together from Luna, he had had ample time to get used to the ways of the aliens while dealing with Oidar’s father in the earlier stages of the research. Most areas of the Sarpan ship resembled Imperial craft, and Rice supposed that there were designs inherent to space travel that were universal in nature regardless of the life-forms that rode in them. But until now, he had never seen the personal quarters of a Sarpan crew member. Oidar’s cabin on the Kowloon had given him some insight into the aliens’ way of life, and although he had never actually seen it when visiting his friend and coworker, he supposed the “bathroom” of his cabin on the Kowloon must have looked something like the room in which he now stood, but on a much lesser scale.

If he had not known better, if someone had carried him blindfolded and unconscious to a place like this, he would have sworn it to be impossible that he was aboard a starship. Only the entranceway where he stood held any trappings of an artificial construction.

The small pond stretched to a thick copse of trees on what he assumed would be the far side of the room. Some of the trees must be real, he reasoned, since those nearest him by the entrance to the room certainly were. But where the genuine growths ended and the holographically projected image began, he could only guess. The air was thick and heavy, and Rice touched the control plate integrated into the sleeve of his E-suit to raise his internal air-conditioning to a more comfortable level. He had a bubble helmet, as was mandatory for any Imperial personnel visiting the Sarpan ship, but once inside, away from his escort, he’d removed it and held it tucked under one arm. The cool air of the E-suit’s temperature control system wafted up around the metal collar ring, offering some relief from the stifling heat of the water chamber. The room was alive with insect life, and the draft of cool air also served to deter the occasional curious flier that buzzed close to his face.

He blinked up at the ceiling, the holographically projected double star of Oidar’s homeworld hazily visible through the thick curtain of air, and waited.

Oidar swam toward him, waving once as he moved just below the surface. He swam like a terrestrial frog, his hands and arms swept back against his body while strong kicks from his legs carried him forward. Rice had heard several of the Kowloon’s crew refer privately to the Sarpan as frogs and, while he hated the epithet, reflected that it was more uncomfortably accurate than he would have liked to admit.

“Temple!” Oidar swam into the shallows at the water’s edge and sat up on the bottom of the pond. He glided his webbed hands around him as he sat, waist-deep, and the water moved around him in gentle little waves. “This one is pleased to have your visit!” He seemed genuinely happy to have Rice there, and reminded him of a small child eager to show off his room when company called.

“Hello, Oidar.” Sweat had begun dripping through his hair, and Rice drew the sleeve of his free arm across his forehead. There was a low plastic bench a few meters to his left and Rice approached it, setting the helmet next to him as he sat. Oidar splashed through the shallow water to sit nearer him, and again rested on the bottom and swirled his arms to create the little waves.

Rice realized suddenly that, while Oidar was indeed stirring the water with his hands, most of the splashing around him was not of his making. Rice leaned closer, squinting in the hazy light, and saw that the alien was surrounded by several tiny fishlike animals. They swam freely over and through the alien’s legs, occasionally wandering slightly away before hurriedly wriggling back to join the others. Oidar positively beamed.

“There are eleven males, Temple, that have survived. Eleven! Come see.” He motioned excitedly for Rice to come into the water for a closer look, and when Rice hesitated, added, “It is all right, Temple. It is shallow and the bottom is firm.” He waved his arm again.

Leaving the helmet on the bench, he waded tentatively into the murky water and was relieved to find that, although his booted feet sank several centimeters into the muddy bottom, the footing was firmer than he would have thought. He waded forward then stopped, knee-deep, in front of Oidar and looked nervously around. “Oidar, are you sure this is all right? I don’t want to violate any…” Any what? What was he frightened of? He thought for a moment that his nervousness might be caused by the political implications of being this close to a Sarpan in his spawning area, but quickly discarded the thought. What was really bothering him, he realized, was his own discomfort at being unexpectedly thrust this far into an alien culture. He had come here, after all, only to talk to Oidar privately about the directive that Academician Bomeer had just—

“This space is mine,” Oidar countered, interrupting his thoughts. He lifted his hand from the water and swept an arm around him at their surroundings. Drops of water flew from his fingertips at the motion, and the little creatures swam playfully after the tiny splashes the drops made wherever they touched the surface of the pond. “And I alone decide who visits my spawn and who does not.” He tilted his head as if trying to come to a decision about something, then reached out and took Rice by the hand, pulling at the E-suit’s glove. “Please to remove them, Temple?” he asked.

Rice unsealed each glove from its sleeve and pulled them off, clumsily stuffing them into one of several roomy pouches sewn into the waistband of the suit.

“Like this,” Oidar said, cupping his own hands.

Rice copied his actions and held his hands out before him, watching as Oidar carefully reached into the water and scooped up one of the little swimmers. It made no effort to swim away. He extended his webbed hands and poured the water and the swimmer into Rice’s.

His heart raced as he looked down at the form in his hands. Against the lighter color of his palms the swimmer was much easier to see than in the murky water where Oidar sat. The swimmer had a wide, flat tail and no rear legs yet, but otherwise was an exact duplicate of the broadly grinning Oidar himself. With water leaking through his fingers, Rice felt the slight pressure of the diminutive alien’s tiny hands as it pushed itself up in his palms and regarded him carefully, tilting its little head in a mannerism he had grown used to seeing during the time he’d spent with the aliens. The little one rubbed several times against his palm, then, as the last of the water ran out of his cupped hands, wriggled back into the pond and swam to rejoin his water group. They greeted him by swimming and bumping against him and each other, friskily bumping one another and playing a game at which Rice could only guess. He felt he should say something to Oidar, but could think of nothing.

“They learn from me here,” Oidar said. “You understand that.” Rice nodded. “Much knowledge is passed through the blood, but much more is passed through touching. So. They learn much while I carry them, but they learn still more here.” He swirled his hands through the water, brushing against them as he did. “Each new touch carries a thought, an idea.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Rice said softly, his words almost drowned out by the buzz of a dragonfly-like insect that darted between them before disappearing in the growths to his left.

“No. It is this one who give thanks.” Oidar smiled again, his gill slits puffing out in a manner Rice had come to associate with a display of pride, and he noticed for the first time since entering the room that a single silver bob had been clipped to the skin at the edge of one of his gill slits. “You have touched one of my spawn, and have given him a bit of your knowledge, a bit of yourself. He, in turn”—he indicated the swimmers frolicking and splashing in the shallow water—“has touched the others. They all share that knowledge now and are better for it, I’m certain. Thank you, Temple.”

Templeton Rice stood transfixed by the importance of what the alien had just said and forgot, for a moment, the urgent business that had drawn him to the Sarpan ship in the first place.

He is concerned for the condition of his water, and is correct to be so, Oidar reflected after Rice had left. He sat on the muddy bottom at the edge of the pond and held his free hand before him just under the water’s surface, his children swimming freely through his fingers and against the skin of his hand. In his other hand he held the data stick that Rice had left with him. Oidar did not entirely comprehend the human trait “worry,” and although he knew that “concern for the condition of one’s water” was not quite the proper analogy, it was the closest he could come.

He had not touched Temple while he related what the human Bomeer had instructed him to do, and so had not picked up a better sense of what coursed through his friend’s mind. As his visit lengthened, Rice had sat with him in the water and had, on several occasions, dipped his hands into the pond as he talked. One of his children, the one the human Temple had held previously, had been braver than the others of his group and had touched with him several times while he spoke. That one had quickly passed what he had learned to his brothers, but they kept to themselves the thoughts they shared and did not pass them to Oidar when he touched them; he could only guess what feelings they had acquired from his human friend.

As they continued swimming through his opened fingers he gently stroked at their sides, and from time to time one of them would cling to his arm or wrist and gaze upward into his eyes before jumping back into the tepid water. And as they did, he seemed to get a sense that his children shared a greater knowledge of the human feeling “worry” than did he himself.

Oidar lifted himself from the water, walking carefully through the shallows to avoid stirring up mud around the excited children swarming at his feet. They gathered at the very edge of the pond, crawling up on the stems of reeds and low grasses at the water’s edge farther than he’d seen them dare before, and competed with one another for a better look at him. Their eye membranes, unaccustomed to such prolonged exposure to the air, blinked repeatedly and they made little peeping sounds that made him want to return to the water. It would not be long, he realized, before they would follow him out of the water altogether.

They stared at him, their little heads tilting first one way then the other, as if trying to tell him that they understood his feelings.

He nodded, making his decision.

So. Very well, Temple. I will send the message for you.

He checked the room controls, hidden in a clump of leafy fronds growing to one side of the entranceway, and satisfied himself that the children would be all right while he was gone. Then, taking a last look at the tiny faces at the edge of the pond, he quietly slipped out of the room and headed for the communications center of the Flisth.

They were nearing Luna rapidly, but it had still taken nearly a week for the transmission to reach them.

The message from Dr. Templeton Rice, Chief Researcher at the test site, had been sent instantaneously in a recorded tachyon burst to a Sarpan ship in Earth orbit, then relayed by normal communications to the Levant. There was a great deal at the beginning of the transmission that Adela did not comprehend, but Montero assured her that it was normal protocol intended mostly for his benefit.

“Dr. Montgarde,” the recording began once the aliens’ introductory material had concluded, “I have circumvented Imperial directives to see to it that the information contained in this communication reaches you. I considered going around Academician Bomeer, the director here at the test site where your theories are being put to practical demonstration, and filing this with the Emperor’s staff directly; but I had no assurances that it wouldn’t be intercepted by the academician. He is a man of extraordinary scientific genius, but he is also cunning in a way that would be difficult for me to describe at this time.”

Adela smiled. Rice had no way of knowing it, of course, but she knew only too well how formidable an opponent Bomeer could be.

“For that matter,” Rice’s transmission went on, “I have no guarantee that this will reach you at all, but I felt it imperative to make the attempt.” He paused and seemed unsure as to how to continue, then took a deep breath and said, almost apologetically, “We have found an error in your calculations. Because of our findings, my colleague and I recommended that the physical test be delayed until your return, so that you can join us via the tachyon link to discuss the figures and adjust the testing accordingly before proceeding further. However, the academician wishes to proceed with the physical test based on your original equations, stating that it would be better for you to have complete results to review upon your return. Personally I get the feeling that he wishes for the test to fail, although I admit that I can’t explain my suspicions.”

Rice turned in the screen and tapped out a command on the control pad set into the desktop in front of him, then slipped a data stick into the keypad input port.

“In any case, the test is scheduled to proceed,” he went on, his eyes downcast. “The test will fail. We’ll have an extensive recording of the entire experiment, beginning to end, for review waiting for you when you arrive. Perhaps the academician is right, and the full results will serve you better; I can’t say. But I’m appending to this file the full report of the modeling tests to date”—he indicated the data stick—“to give you an idea of what you might expect on your return. Have a safe conclusion to your journey. Thank you.”

His image faded out and was replaced by a notification indicating that several data files followed the verbal communication.

“That’s it,” Montero said. “System. Screen off.” The screen obediently darkened. “I’ve taken the liberty of routing this recording, as well as the associated files, directly to your ID node in the computer, Doctor. You’ll find them waiting for your personal attention whenever you want them.”

“Thank you, Commander,” she replied, her voice subdued. “And thanks for bringing this to my attention so quickly.”

Montero sat, quietly pulling at one of the tips of his moustache. “This is highly irregular, you know.” He nodded at the darkened screen. “A communication from an Imperial researcher who, purposely sidestepping his superiors, sent it through the facilities of the Sarpan without the knowledge or permission of those closest to the project…” He let his voice trail off when he noticed she wasn’t listening.

“Doctor?”

She hadn’t heard him, and concentrated instead on the feeling of sudden fear spreading uncontrollably through her.

An error, he’d said. An error. An error. An error.

It was there.

Adela ran the figures that accompanied the modeling, and it was there. Plain as the sun in the sky.

As Dr. Rice and the alien Oidar had noted in the results of both of the models, her original figures had been correct, but only so far as it theoretically applied to a technology that had yet to be developed. There had been blanks in the equation for which there were no currently available figures to plug in. Her theories took into account that shield technology would have to be developed to put her ideas to practical use, and much of the generations-long research had taken this into account. But there had been no way to project—at the time—how the application of the nonexistent technology itself would affect the results.

Adela had needed to make several educated guesses as to how the necessary shield technology, required to make the theory work successfully, would behave. She had guessed incorrectly.

“It is the character of the shield generating process itself,” she recited into the recording lens, “that accounts for the difference in energy levels between the two stars. I had assumed that the shielding used to keep the singularities stable would be nonintrusive, and that the energy transfer would occur at a ratio of one to one.

“However, I was only half right. The shielding containing the negative singularity introduced into the feeder star is impassive, in that the energy needed from the star is drained off in a one-way manner in the expected amounts without being affected by the shield itself. What I could not anticipate, not having a working shield concept at the time, was that the emitted energy of the shield generating process is also drawn into the singularity, resulting in more energy being sent through the wormhole to the breeder star. This extra energy in the breeder star, however, is not only released by the positive singularity, but is further amplified by the reflective nature of the shielding there.

“The net result is that the amount of energy released in Sol, the breeder star, is far greater than anticipated. The total effective release is a factor of…” She paused and glanced at the readout displayed in the handheld in her lap, compared it to the figures floating in the air above the frozen image of the second model Rice had sent her, still displayed in the holo viewing area in the corner of her stateroom. “A factor of approximately one point nine one.”

Adela paused to check her notes, confirming that she had covered all the points she wanted to make in her report. Satisfied that she had included all the pertinent information, she said, “The complete figures and energy projections are included in the data file attached to this recording.” She snapped the cover closed on the handheld. “System, please end current recording and send it immediately to Dr. Rice at the test site.” She hesitated, a knowing smile gracing her lips.

“Encode it for personal delivery to Dr. Rice’s ID only.” She had no reason to suspect that Bomeer would intercept communications intended for other members of the research team without their knowledge, but she felt better at having added the encoding.

According to Rice’s clandestine communication, the physical test was to take place in a few days, and even though she was now less than a week away from Luna—where her report could be sent immediately to Rice using the tachyon link—the file she’d just encoded wouldn’t reach him in time to be of any benefit to him for the test itself. However, her findings would arrive shortly after the testing was concluded and might help him to sort out the results of the failed test; and, no less importantly, verify the new figures.

She felt much better now than she had when Montero had given her the recording the previous day. As is turned out, the unavoidable flaw in her original equations would work to their advantage: The small-scale physical test that Rice was about to conduct, while minuscule in scope compared with the reality of what would be done to the Sun itself, was still the largest implementation of the Sarpan shielding that had yet been attempted. The “real thing” would require far more immense shield generating facilities to contain singularities of the size that would be required for success. But her new figures—which would be borne out by the test, even when it failed—indicated that a smaller set of tuned singularities, and therefore less shielding, would yield the same amount of energy needed to save Earth’s Sun.

In fact, now that she thought about it, she wondered just how much more economical the process could be, based on the new figures. After all, if much of what she hoped to do could be done on a smaller scale, it could quite possibly be done years sooner. And since there was no way of knowing exactly how much time Sol had left, every year sooner they could move up the process would greatly increase the window of safety they had.

Adela regarded the image still displayed in the corner and took a light pen from the breast pocket of her uniform.

“System.”

“Ma’am?”

“Replay current file and activate cursor, please.”

“Ready, ma’am.”

The model began again, the red cylinders forming the perfect pyramids she’d already viewed nearly a hundred times in the last twenty-four hours. She allowed the playback to continue, pointing the pen to the set of figures over the leftmost pyramid, the one at the representation of Sol, at three points—when they first arranged themselves in the geometric figure, when the shielded singularity first appeared inside it, and just before the singularity was inserted inside the star.

“Stop playback and give me a full readout of the requested statistics. Direct the feed to my handheld.” She snapped the cover open once more and studied the figures as they scrolled by: mass of containment, energy of singularity contained, length of time to arrange and insert, required distance and power of shield generators and a hundred other relevant aspects of what was happening during the model.

Once the download was complete, she requested that a new model be created, under a different file name, using the same values as the one from which she’d just extracted the key information she needed to change the model to conform with the new energy equations. Let’s see, she mused as her fingers flew over the keypad, substituting a new figure here, a different value there. The new figures were sent to the model and each change slightly altered the image, followed by a new set of readouts floating near the changed items.

Hours passed, but Adela was so excited and involved in what she was doing that she barely noticed.

“Run the model, please,” she said once satisfied with the changes she’d entered. The image played out and a feeling of elation swept over her as the results matched the first model: There was no apparent change in the image representing Sol; the energy output reading remained as constant and steady as it had before. Only the rapidly scrolling statistics below the projection gave any indication that the star had just been given the boost of a secondary power source, a helping hand designed to keep the star healthy and stable for eons to come.

Grinning now, she ran the model once more to verify her findings, and nearly danced giddily across the room when assured that the new numbers were valid.

She would send the redesigned model to Rice, of course, so he could set up another physical test utilizing the new figures, but there was no hurry. Rice and Oidar, not to mention Bomeer himself, would be actively involved in the final setup for the test at this very moment.

There was an angry rumble in her stomach and Adela glanced at her wrist, surprised at how late it had become. All right, then, she decided; she’d head to the mess for something to eat and put together another recording containing the new model and all the figures she’d substituted when she got back. She hadn’t realized it, but she was nearly as exhausted as she was hungry. Adela stretched aching joints held much too long in a sitting position hunched over the handheld. The next time, she promised herself as she left the cabin and headed for the mess, she’d walk around the room with the handheld to avoid the cramped feeling she now felt in her back and shoulders.

Adela rubbed at her neck and wished, not for the first time since the Levant had left for Pallatin, she was back in Javas’ chamber. The untimely murder of Emperor Nicholas and the importance of the upcoming trip had weighed heavily on her before she’d left, and he had rubbed her neck and shoulders then, his strong but gentle touch bringing life into weary muscles. She felt herself smiling at the memory and stopped to lean against the wall of the deserted corridor. Still smiling, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine the touch of his fingertips, the scent of him and the soft caress of his breath against her neck as he whispered into her ear…

“Doctor? Are you all right?”

She snapped her eyes open, startled, and stared with embarrassment into the face of a young Ensign she did not recognize. She had grown accustomed, since coming out of the tank, to how empty the ship had seemed. Many of the nonessential members of the crew would not be awakened until they were actually in orbit around the Moon, which, combined with the fact that a large number of the ship’s complement had remained behind on Pallatin, almost made the Levant feel like a ghost ship. Other than Montero and the bridge crew, some of her personal team and the medical staff—all of whom were already “up”—she had seen few people aboard the big ship and had simply not expected anyone in the corridor at this late hour.

“Oh. I… I’m fine.” The young man, his face pale and anemic-looking from cryosleep, reached a hand to steady her. “I was dizzy for a moment, that’s all. Hungry, I guess.”

The Ensign smiled in understanding. “I know what you mean, ma’am,” he replied brightly. “I haven’t been able to stay away from the mess since I got out of the tank myself. You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Really, I’ll be fine.” She gave him a reassuring smile and thanked him for his concern, then watched as he headed in the opposite direction.

It was probably just as well that he brought me back to reality, she told herself. The Javas who awaited her would not be the same man who lived in the memory of a night she’d left more than forty years earlier. But it wasn’t fair; from her perspective, taking cryosleep and the near-relativistic speeds the Levant traveled into account, it seemed as if only two years had elapsed. And yet, she knew better. For him, four full decades had passed.

Four decades.

She put the thought out of her mind, reminding herself that even now the Emperor would be so intimately involved in the final setup for the physical test of her theories that he couldn’t spend idle time wondering about her even if he wanted to.

The test, while simple in nature, involved many critical aspects other than the application of her equations. There was the tuned pair of singularities, for example. Rice’s files had indicated that they had already been prepared and were being held in stasis, and that would occupy many of both the Imperial and Sarpan scientists.

There was also the coordination of the ships. It was critical that each be in place at precisely the correct distance, at the exact moment required, when the singularities were inserted into the artificial stars created for the test. Adela had no doubts, however, about Fain’s abilities in that regard. From the reports that awaited her when she woke up, she’d learned that Fain had become one of her project’s staunchest supporters, and had taken it upon himself to learn a great deal of the scientific principles involved in the effort.

And then there were the two artificial stars themselves. The test was being undertaken on a scale that would make the parts involved seem almost microscopic compared to a real sun. It was not normally possible to create a G-2 star of the size needed for the test, and keep it functioning at the reduced size for very long, of course: The stable, sustained reaction needed to simulate a star would quickly dissipate in space. Utilizing the marvelous shield technology of the Sarpan, however, a star could be created and contained—a “bottled beam” was what some of the younger researchers had jokingly dubbed it—for the amount of time required for the test. Once the test was concluded, the test site would be evacuated and quarantined and the two mini-stars and the tiny singularities they contained would be allowed to dissipate once the timed shield generators expired.

But for now, the formation and containment of the two test stars was critical, and Javas would be in constant realtime link with Bomeer and Fain to ensure that everything was going properly—

Adela stopped dead in the corridor.

The shield containments for the mini-stars were powerful; they needed to be to contain the fury of the constant fusion reactions occurring within them. But the test that was about to take place was based on her old equations, and the singularities being used, as she’d just recalculated back in her cabin, were too big. Had the increased energy levels that would be released by the breeder star during this test been taken into consideration?

She spun about and started jogging back toward her stateroom, her mind racing. I’ve got to look at the values for the shielding for the mini-stars, she thought desperately. She overtook the ensign she’d chatted with moments earlier, and he started to say something to her, but she quickly left him puzzled as she rounded the corner and increased her pace to a full run. One point nine one… almost double the amount of energy they’re expecting. Surely they’ve recalibrated the shielding. But then—if they hadn’t set up a new model—reconfigured with the new values, as she had done—they might not even be aware of how much greater the release would be.

“System!” she shouted the moment she burst into her cabin. She had already pulled the handheld from its belt pouch and had flipped the cover open. “Redisplay most recently viewed file! Cursor on and feed the statistics to my handheld.” She had changed the values for almost everything in the new model to achieve an energy transfer ratio of one to one. The one thing she hadn’t needed to alter was the value of the shielding containing the two mini-stars; they were the same as the values intended for the test that would begin soon.

The playback started immediately, and she stabbed the light pen at the image the moment the two stars and their associated readouts were added to the display, the numbers she highlighted going directly to the unit in her hand. She turned away from the image and tapped frantically at the keypad, ignoring the playback as it continued unheeded behind her.

In her haste, she hit several wrong keys, causing the handheld to beep angrily at her. Adela closed her eyes tightly and forced herself to breathe more slowly. She swallowed drily and entered the required commands again, more carefully this time. It took a few seconds to get it right, and then another moment for the value she was looking for to appear in the unit’s tiny readout. She gazed at it for only a split second, then, muttering fearfully under her breath, cleared the machine and ran the same commands over the figures again, being extremely careful to hit just the right keys. Again, the same value as before appeared in the readout.

“Dear God,” she whispered, feeling her throat tighten. She sank back against the arm of the chair, letting the handheld fall clattering, forgotten, to the floor.

Chapter Thirty-One

Javas, Emperor of the Hundred Worlds, sat in the holograph viewing chamber that was the very heart of his personal quarters on Luna. His father had enjoyed a similar chamber on Corinth and had often programmed it to display a peaceful Earth forest, spending many long hours there strolling through the projected greenery. Javas had never realized it while his father was alive—he had, he admitted regretfully, never even been interested in how his father had lived during those earlier years—but recognized now that the forest being displayed was the backwoods that surrounded Woodsgate. The file for the display was in the Imperial computer, and Javas had literally stumbled upon it years after Emperor Nicholas’ death.

The sounds of birds and the creaking of the tall trees in the wind above his head filled the chamber and he looked up, squinting when the branches parted enough to allow a shaft of holographic sunshine to pour through the leaves. There was a soft thump to his left that caught his attention and he turned in time to see an acorn roll beneath a pile of leaves. He looked up for the source of the acorn and met the eyes of the gray squirrel that had let it slip from its paws.

The file had been enhanced, he noticed: There were trees and wildflowers here that had never seen a misty Kentucky morning, but it was all so very real. The sound of the boughs rustling overhead, the scent of dry leaves beneath his feet, everything. For some reason, Javas felt very close to his father right now; closer than he’d felt in years.

I wish you were here today, Father, he reflected. A major part of your dream will come true today.

Emperor Nicholas had been right all along. In the many years that had passed since his father had sent him to Luna, officially putting the project in motion, so much of what he’d predicted had come to pass. Technology had been reborn. The worlds had drawn closer together in pursuit of his joint goal than they had been in centuries. The Empire’s strength had grown, and that strength was respected by the Sarpan, ushering in a new era of peace and cooperation with the aliens.

Even the test that was about to take place was a sign of their progress. Although flawed, it illustrated better than anything else the advancements they had made, and the results would point out the exact areas that needed to be reworked. And he was certain that Adela would have no trouble, once she was home and in realtime contact with the test site, reconfiguring the equations to their best advantage.

Adela…

There was a beeping, more felt through the integrator than heard, that told him the tachyon link had been established with the wide-scan array set up for viewing the test.

Javas took one last look around him at the forest, inhaled one last time the cool fragrant air, then silently ordered the holographic file canceled and stored. The empty chamber appeared in its place—stark, barren, metallic—and he walked to the single plush chair that had been placed here for this event. The forest scent still lingered, but the recirculating fans were already venting the pleasant aroma out of the chamber.

He received notification that the link was ready and reclined in the chair as another silent command through the integrator plunged the chamber into sudden darkness.

The room had transformed into deep space itself. Nearly in front of him the artificial mini-star that would represent Sol in the test glowed fiercely. Above and to his right, and graphically farther away than its counterpart, another yellow star shone brightly. The intense light of the two miniature suns washed out nearly everything else in the image, and the sheer brilliance was almost too much for him; he was forced to shield his eyes with a raised arm until he could issue a command for the projection to be dimmed.

The level of brightness dropped immediately to a more comfortable setting, and allowed him to see everything with a much greater degree of detail, with a unique perspective of the test site not seen in nature. The view had been “constructed” by taking tachyon signals from two different vantage points and computer-blending them into a single vista, overlaying the images to give a picture that, while not to exact scale as far as the distances between the two stars were concerned, nevertheless allowed him to take in everything at once.

Javas was also aware, now that he could view the image without squinting, that there was much more to be seen. He could not quite tell on the farther star, but on the nearer of the pair he could see the Sarpan shielding itself, arranged around the miniature thousand-kilometer-wide sun like concentric soap bubbles nestled one inside the other. It was the inner layers of shielding, he realized from the scientific briefings, that kept the reactions contained at the right levels to simulate Earth’s G-2 star.

The shield generator ships were visible, already arranged in the distinctive pyramid shape, and were in the process of emplacing the positive singularity in the right orbit for insertion. The singularity itself was much too small to be seen, but the pale blue sphere of its shield indicated its location in the exact center of the pyramid. As the pyramid swept across the face of the Sol mini-star, the Sarpan ships were silhouetted against the bright, roiling surface.

He knew that Adela would view the playback of the event in this very room when she returned in a few days, and the grandeur of what he observed now would be in no way diminished by the fact that it would be a recording. But he couldn’t help wishing that she were beside him now, watching this with him.

“All goes well,” Oidar told his sons.

The holographic image of the Sarpan pond had been partially removed, although the projected trees mingling with the real plants lining the water’s edge still gave the impression more of a natural body of water than an artificial construct. Above them, where the projection of the twin suns had been, an image was forming that gave them an outside view of what was taking place ten thousand kilometers from the Flisth.

Oidar did not know that the projection was not as sophisticated as the one the Emperor enjoyed, nor would he have cared if he’d known. It consisted only of the single image of the mini-star representing the humans’ home Sun. The other artificial sun, placed for the test at a distance of 900,000 kilometers from this one, was but a bright dot that mingled with the many true stars that swept across the “sky.” As the projection became more defined, the little swimmers gathered around Oidar and held onto him, growing still and silent as they watched wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the magnificent spectacle above them. The image now completed, it looked to them like a new night sky, with a strange bright star where their suns had been.

The insects in the water chamber seemed puzzled by what was happening and buzzed frantically at the unnatural light.

“All goes well,” he said again, even though they would not fully understand speech for many months.

“And look there. Do you not see the generator ships?” He pointed to the pyramid formed around a pale blue sphere orbiting the glowing orb. “One day, when it comes time, the humans will build much greater generators and learn to pilot them from a distance. But for now, it is we who steer them.” Oidar looked down at his children, stroking each of them tenderly with his hands.

“This is called cooperation,” he whispered. “Remember it, for it will be your legacy.”

The holograph frame located at the front of the Port of Kowloon’s small lecture room projected two separate images, displayed side by side. One showed the mini-star representing Sol, the other presented the hypothetical G-2 feeder star.

“They’re ready to insert the singularities, Academician,” Rice said. He turned away momentarily and spoke softly into the headset he wore, then returned his attention to the images. “I’ve instructed them to begin with the negative singularity.”

“Why?” Bomeer asked, then added quickly, “Forgive me, I don’t mean to sound critical. I’m merely curious as to why the feeder star was chosen first.”

Rice shrugged. “The shielding for the feeder is the more critical of the two, as far as permeability is concerned. If scanning shows a problem with the shielding once the negative singularity has been inserted, we’ll stop everything then, before attempting anything with the breeder.”

Bomeer nodded, and regarded the projections.

The two men watched the image on the right as the pyramid made a gentle spiral around the star, each pass taking it through the outer layers of the shielding and bringing it closer to the surface. Just when it seemed, from the aspect of the holograph, that it would touch the star itself, the pyramid began to expand and flatten into a pattern closer to that of a square with the blue sphere still held equidistant from the four individual generators. The square continued its expansion until the dimensions were greater than the star, all the while still orbiting the glowing orb as a huge flat sheet might circle it.

As the orbit of the generators altered, the sphere brushed the star at about the same time the four generator ships completed the adjustment to their course that took them in a full orbit around the star. Then, like a hoop being drawn over a floating ball, the ring of generator ships drew the sphere at its center into the star, slowly, slowly, until it finally disappeared into the interior. The ships increased speed, widening their orbit considerably around the star.

“I’m curious,” Bomeer inquired. “How far away can the generator ships get and still maintain their hold on the singularity?”

“At this scale, with generators rated only for this experiment, they can go about four thousand kilometers out and still maintain the integrity of their lock on the sphere. They’ll need to go much farther out when we do this with Sol, of course, and we’ll need to increase the size of the generator ships, but that’s still very far away. These ships will hold the pattern at a distance of three thousand kilometers.”

As he said this, the four Sarpan generator ships reached their apogee and revolved smoothly around the star, waiting for the next step to begin.

Supreme Commander Fain was pleased, as he watched the insertion at the feeder star, with how smoothly the operation was going. He was no less gratified at the way the combined efforts of science and military meshed, not to mention the careful cooperation of the crews of the five-man generator ships—or, more accurately, crews consisting of one man and four Sarpan pilots. As much in favor as he was of this joint effort, and as much assimilation time his handpicked officers had experienced, he still could not help the nagging feeling of trepidation going through him now.

They know their jobs, he admitted inwardly. I could not have chosen better people. Likewise, Fain had been satisfied with the crewmates that the Sarpan captain had selected. The two of them had worked carefully with their respective crews and had every right to be proud of them.

Visible in the viewscreen less than a thousand meters to starboard was the Sarpan flagship. This was the closest the two ships had come to one another during this mission. For reasons of protocol or practicality, the two had been widely separated; but now they floated together—along with the science ship Port of Kowloon—to view the physical test that would signify the end of this mission.

As he watched the insertion phase beginning at the Sol star, he realized that there were really two tests going on here. One was the research necessary for the success of the project, of course; but the other test was perhaps even more important. The joint mission was a test unto itself, and would prove that the two races could indeed work together.

Fain’s attention remained on the viewscreen, but he couldn’t help wondering it the Sarpan captain could feel pride.

It’s nearly over.

Academician Bomeer stared at the twin displays, and saw that the insertion of the singularity into the Sol star had gone as smoothly as it had on the feeder. He turned to Rice, heard the scientist speaking rapidly into his headset and knew that final readings were being taken of the shields containing the singularities. Once completed, the generator ships would move into final position in preparation for allowing the shields to go permeable and start the wormhole effect that would link the two mini-stars.

The test would fail. Rice already knew it. Emperor Javas, Fain and all the scientists at the test site—both human and alien—knew it would fail. And, according to the surreptitiously gained information he’d received from a source close to Rice, even Dr. Montgarde would know by now that this test was destined to be unsuccessful.

He had no way of knowing what Dr. Montgarde’s reaction was when she had received the illegal communication his source told him had been routed through the aliens. But if the mood of those now observing the test—from those around him here at the site, to Emperor Javas back on Luna—was any indication, the effect was not what he had anticipated.

Bomeer had hoped to bring about a questioning of their goals, a review of the project itself and the value it would serve compared with the obvious choice of merely evacuating Earth as he and Fain had originally proposed on Corinth a century ago. What he found instead was an attitude that what was about to happen was not a failed experiment, but rather a data-gathering endeavor that would better hone the experimentation process for research and development yet to come.

How could I have been so wrong? he asked himself. There was a time when a failure like this would have stopped all forward motion; the Council of Academicians would have demanded that more study be done, that nothing further be attempted until a full reevaluation of the stated goals was presented, reviewed, dissected and then reassembled for still further study.

But things were different now. There was the New Attitude, after all, now being openly embraced by the member planets of the Hundred Worlds.

Fain and Javas are right. And before them, Emperor Nicholas. Bomeer nodded slowly in the darkened room, admitting for the first time that it was he and the last holdouts among the academicians who were out of step with the Empire, and not the other way around. We were blind to it all—No, he silently confessed, we blinded ourselves.

“Academician?”

He felt a hand on the sleeve of his tunic and turned to see Rice staring at him.

“Academician?” he asked again, his hand covering the microphone of his headset. “Did you hear me, sir?”

Bomeer smiled softly in resignation. “I’m sorry, Doctor, my mind was elsewhere. You were saying?”

“Everything is in place. We’re ready to allow the shields to permeate and begin the test. As the ranking member of the science team, the order is yours to give, Academician.”

The irony of the situation struck him that it would be he who gave the order for the test. A test that everyone involved in the research—indeed, everyone now watching in realtime through the tachyon link—already knew would be a failure. He felt suddenly old and wondered how he would be remembered for his actions this day.

“Begin,” he said simply.

Rice spoke into the headset, his eyes not leaving the twin projections before them.

Nothing happened visually. They continued watching, and Rice received reports over the headset almost as rapidly as the figures scrolled through the air around the various parts of the display. The readings were changing, much as they had in the second model, but still no visual changes occurred.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen, twenty, twenty-five. Nearly thirty minutes had gone by before Bomeer noticed that the glow of the Sol star had increased slightly.

The radiance grew steadily, becoming almost too bright to watch before the computer-controlled projection dimmed the image on the left. The brightness still increased, the familiar yellow glow lightening to a whiter shade as the energy heightened.

“Academician…” Rice started to say, then hesitated and cupped his hand over the headset’s earpiece. He stood suddenly and stared, not at the Sol star where most of the effects were being manifested, but at the feeder star.

Bomeer followed his gaze, puzzled by the expression visible in the glow cast from the bright objects. The feeder star was visibly unaffected, the energy drain having the effect of speeding up its aging process. There should not be noticeable change in a feeder star until much later during its lifetime; certainly, since this mini-star would be dissipated at the conclusion of the test, nothing would be seen here. But still Rice stood riveted, his mouth open.

What is he—? Bomeer stopped himself when he saw what had captured Rice’s attention. Where was the fourth generator ship?

“System! Increase right side image!”

“What magnification would you—”

“Double it!” Bomeer demanded, cutting off the system’s query. The image enlarged immediately and the remaining three ships were easily visible. All were clearly in trouble.

One was breaking up in space, the wet Sarpan atmosphere puffing out in a frozen crystalline cloud for a brief second before dissipating. The craft crumpled, as if being squeezed by a giant invisible hand, its size shrinking as it formed a tight ball of debris before he lost sight of it. The other two ships managed, through either their pilots’ skill or good fortune, to get farther away and, although they suffered nothing like the damage that had just occurred to the other ship, they now appeared to be dead in space.

The two men stood transfixed at the sight, unable to speak until a warning claxon jarred both of them.

“System!” Bomeer yelled. “What’s happening?”

There was a brief pause as the room system analyzed his voice patterns, determining if he had clearance for the requested information. “Commander Fain has ordered the Port of Kowloon to begin an immediate pullback.” It offered nothing further and Bomeer knew that asking for additional information would be fruitless.

“Academician!” Rice had grabbed him by the shoulder and was pointing to the image of the Sol star. Bomeer turned, incredulous at what he saw.

The mini-star glowed nearly white-hot, and had expanded to the limit of the innermost of the concentrically arrayed holding shields. The generator ships were moving away, but as the energy level increased, the inner shield disintegrated before his eyes, the star “jumping” in size to fill the space to the next shield. With more room inside the shields, the glow softened slightly and the brightness lowered, but immediately began to build again.

The energy released by the ruptured inner shield traveled out from the mini-star in an invisible wave, catching the nearest of the fleeing generator ships in its grasp. The ship flared instantly, incinerated. There was a second flare on the opposite side, then a third and fourth as the energy wave caught up with them.

The next shield burst, like the thin bubble it was, much the same as the first had minutes earlier. Two more flares followed and, although he hadn’t seen them in the projection because the system had steadily dimmed the image in response to the intensified brightness, Bomeer knew that the two Imperial support ships had just been destroyed.

The two projections had begun shrinking in size, and Bomeer reasoned that the Kowloon was accelerating fast enough now that the distance between them and the test site had been widened significantly. He hadn’t realized that he’d risen to his feet, and he fell wearily back into his chair as he regarded the receding stars. He didn’t bother to order the system to compensate the projection for the distance.

There were no more flares as he watched the image fall away.

Commander Fain’s holographic image at the front of the viewing chamber remained so still that for a moment Rice wondered if the system had malfunctioned. He stood—had remained standing, in fact, since the conference started—lost deep in thought as they awaited the next report from the shuttle now surveying the test site.

In contrast, Academician Bomeer, seated next to him, refused to sit still and fidgeted constantly. The man was severely distraught by what had happened and became increasingly so as the reports of additional fatalities came in. There were dark circles under his red eyes and his academician’s garb was untidy for the first time in memory. Rice knew Bomeer had gotten no more sleep in the last day than he had. The academician ran his hand for the hundredth time through his disheveled hair, the sudden motion catching Fain’s attention.

There was no one else in the room, and although only the three of them were involved in this conference, Rice knew that everything they discussed would be relayed to the Emperor’s top scientific aides on Luna. Emperor Javas himself had not been available for this conference. Rice had no way of verifying it, but he suspected that the Emperor was at this moment occupied in intense discussions with the Sarpan.

“Commander?” The sudden disembodied voice of the reconnaissance shuttle pilot filled the chamber.

Fain raised his head. “Yes, Captain?”

“Sir, the craft the Sarpan sent out is between us and the two generator ships that tried to get away from the feeder star. They’ve got them in a gravity harness and refuse to allow us to get any closer. We’ve done a complete scan, though, and as far as we can tell there’s no life on either of them.”

Fain nodded to himself, then, “No sign of the other two generator ships?”

“No, sir; nothing appears on our scans and the gravity field here is too distorted for us to safely go any closer to the feeder to mount an effective search. We’re having a hard time maintaining this position as it is.”

“Very well, Captain. Return to the ship.” Fain, still on his feet, turned to face them. “I think we can assume that there were no survivors inside a radius of four thousand kilometers at either star,” he said bluntly. “All the Sarpan on the eight generator ships, thirty-two of them in all, were killed; along with the eight human crew members assigned to accompany them.”

Bomeer shifted again uneasily as Fain listed the casualties.

“The Imperial support ships Dendam and Powell were incinerated in the flare, with the loss of all hands—more than three hundred.”

He hesitated and, although there was no outward change in his features, it seemed to Rice that Fain was pausing in a moment of reverence and respect for those killed in the accident—human and alien alike.

Fain’s mouth tightened into a straight line for several seconds, then, “I’m ordering that preparations for the return trip to Luna be finalized immediately, Dr. Rice. We should be ready to leave in under two weeks. Is there anything else your analysis requires here at the test site before we depart?”

“What more analysis could you possibly want?” Bomeer demanded angrily before Rice could respond. He was on his feet and gestured at Fain in frustration. “The mistake we have made here should never be repeated! We should be the master of technology, but in our attempt to move technology too quickly into the future, we allowed technology to become master over us.”

Fain shook his head at the academician’s outburst, but said nothing.

“I’ve been warning of a failure like this since the beginning of the project.”

“May I remind you, Academician,” Rice countered, “that it was you who rushed this experiment to its completion?”

Commander Fain arched an eyebrow. “Is this true?”

Bomeer stood speechless. He tried several times to refute what had been said, but gave up before turning back to his seat and falling heavily into it. “Yes,” he said finally, his voice shaking.

“Then you’ve not only interpreted the data incorrectly,”

Fain said, staring down at them, “but you are also a fool with blood on his hands.” The Commander said nothing more for several moments, then silently broke the connection.

Rice stood, inhaling deeply and rubbing at his sore eyes, and regarded the academician. He sat slumped in his seat, his shoulders drooping, and stared at the darkened display area. Everything that Rice had come to associate with him—the arrogance, the self-assured air, the importance of his position—seemed to drain from him as he watched. The man was a mere shadow of the figure he had been when they left Luna.

“You think this was a failure?” Rice asked in a tone of voice he would never previously have dared use with the academician.

Bomeer didn’t turn, and continued staring wordlessly at the empty area in front of him.

“A tragedy, yes,” Rice went on, “a senseless act of stupidity that could have been avoided if you had put our goals ahead of your own. But this was no failure. We have the proof that Dr. Montgarde’s theories are valid, and we have the figures we need to restructure the equations to allow for the characteristics of the shielding. Far from bringing this project to an end, or even slowing it down, the test shows us that what we’ve done here is only a beginning.”

Rice walked to the exit of the viewing chamber. “What we’ve accomplished here was worthwhile, and your efforts to stall us can’t change that.” He thumbed the control to open the door, then turned back to Bomeer one last time as the door slid aside. “You’ve only succeeded in changing its cost.”

Rice turned away and, although not bothering to close the door as he strode away, didn’t see Bomeer bury his face in his hands.

“Temple? Do I disturb you?”

Rice sat upright at his desk in the open lab, blinking rapidly at the light, and looked at Oidar standing before him in a Sarpan E-suit. The last two weeks had been busy ones. He had been going over some last-minute details before the Port of Kowloon prepared to return to Luna and had fallen asleep over his handheld. The alien stood motionless, his arms gently cradling a bulge in the front of the suit, and waited for him to come fully awake.

“Oh… Oidar. No, no; I’m fine.” He hadn’t been expecting a visit from the alien and as he became more awake he suddenly remembered that the temperature settings in the open lab would be uncomfortable for Oidar once he’d removed his suit. “System! Increase lab temperature and humidity to—”

“System! Cancel!” Oidar said, cutting him off. The room system beeped once as it reset itself to accept the alien scientist’s voice pattern. “I am sorry, Temple, but I cannot stay.” His voice was tinny as it came from the suit’s small speaker, but Rice could easily tell that he was uneasy.

“Oidar, what’s wrong?”

He took off the E-suit’s bubble helmet and set it on the corner of the desk. Water dripped from the helmet’s collar ring and ran in a thin trickle over the edge. Rice ignored it.

“There is something here for you to see.” Oidar pulled a data stick from a sleeve pocket and handed it to him, then again caressed the suit bulge. “It is a recording of the accident at the breeder star. I am sure you have such recordings, but our scans”—he paused briefly, a hint of apology in his tone—“are better at penetrating our own shielding than yours. It is not visible, but please to note if something strange appears in the readout.”

Rice took the stick and inserted it into his handheld. “What should I be looking for?” Oidar shook his head, and Rice understood that the alien didn’t want to influence him. Perhaps Oidar wasn’t sure what it was either.

He started the playback and the figures ran through in the same sequence and values as on the Imperial recordings of what had happened. “I’m not sure I understand what it is you want me to—” There was a sudden anomaly in the readouts that stood out sharply from the familiar sequence. “What was that?” Oidar smiled and nodded. Rice reversed the playback a few increments and started it again. Again, the anomaly appeared. Rice removed the stick and replaced it with another, then watched as it played back and compared the two. When it finished, he set the handheld back on his desk.

“What did you see?” Oidar tilted his head curiously.

“I’m not sure,” Rice replied. “Everything matched the figures we got. The energy levels in your recording, made at the time the shielding ruptured, are the same as ours. The energy released by the destroyed ships shows up at the same intensity as in ours. But where our recording showed six explosions—the four generator ships and the two Imperial craft—this one shows a seventh.”

“So.”

“Yeah, ‘so’ is right.” Rice leaned against the desk and crossed his arms as he considered what he’d just seen. “Can I assume your scans of the feeder star are as good as this one, and that you’ve detected no trace of the generator ship that disappeared there?”

Oidar nodded.

“Could it be the missing ship?” Rice asked, more to himself than to Oidar. He looked up, then, “Do your people think it could somehow have been drawn through the wormhole when the energy balance went critical, only to be incinerated with the other ships at the breeder star a few seconds later?”

“They do, Temple. But—” He hesitated, his voice again taking on the apologetic tone. “But they do not wish to share this information with you at this time.”

Rice understood. The feeder star had been separated from the breeder by a distance of 900,000 kilometers. If the anomaly on the data stick proved to be the missing ship…

“Temple?”

Rice looked up and saw that Oidar was shaking. The air in the open lab was dry, and his skin no longer glistened as it had when he’d first removed his helmet.

“My God,” Rice said, grabbing the helmet, “you’ll hurt yourself. Put this on. Now.” He snatched the helmet from the desk and tried to slip it over his friend’s head, but was stopped by Oidar’s hand firmly grasping his shoulder.

“A moment more, then I promise to put it on.” Rice stopped, but continued to hold the helmet. Oidar’s hands moved to the bulge in the E-suit, and he rubbed at it in a circular motion. Rice noticed that the bulge moved slightly at his touch.

“They move now without benefit of tails,” Oidar said, and Rice knew that meant they were walking on newly developed legs. There was both pride and sadness in Oidar’s voice. “They will be mature soon and will choose their way. I am hoping they will all choose science and will investigate what we have found here. When you are again back at Luna I will be gone, but they will work at your side as I have done. As did my father before me.”

“And they will be…” Rice groped for the phrase he’d once heard Oidar use. “They will be gladly received.”

There was an awkward silence that seemed to last forever before Oidar reached for the helmet and lowered it over his head. The helmet sealed at the collar ring, he inhaled deeply for several seconds, then held out his hand, palm forward. Rice placed his own palm flat against the other’s in a Sarpan gesture of final touching. Their hands parted, and Rice grasped the alien’s hand in a firm handshake. Oidar said nothing when he released his grip and walked for the door. Rice remained standing at the desk.

When he reached the door, Oidar stopped and turned back. “Temple,” he began tentatively, his voice again thin and tinny in the suit speaker. “I have studied your medical records most thoroughly…”

“Yes?” Rice crossed the lab and stood facing his friend. “And—?”

“Your rejuvenation methods. They would not be as effective on this one as on your species, but they would work, no?”

Rice exhaled heavily, his cheeks puffing out, and shrugged uncertainly. “I… I’m not sure. It’s never been tried, but I don’t see why it couldn’t be adapted for Sarpan chemistry.”

“And cryosleep could be used to make the rejuvenation more effective, no?”

Rice nodded nervously. What Oidar was suggesting represented a level of interspecies cooperation that was unprecedented.

Oidar twisted off the helmet and held it under one arm as he stroked the front of his suit with the other. He lifted his chin in a way that suggested both pride and courage and said, “Temple, this one wishes to work with his children, and to remain a part of the project until its conclusion.”