Althaea was in the master bedroom. It was painful for him to look at her. Two minutes ago she'd been a radiant seventeen-year-old a week from her wedding day.
«Almost made a hundred and twenty,» she said from her bed. Her chuckle became a thin cough.
He bent over and kissed her. Small black plastic patches were clinging to the side of her wrinkled neck. He could see the outline of more beneath her shawl.
«Still want to fight dragons for me?» she asked.
«'Fraid not. I was rather impressed by that great-great-granddaughter of yours.»
She laughed and waved him into a seat beside the bed. «You haven't changed. Mind you, you haven't had the time.»
«How's Mullen?»
«Oh, him. Been gone five years, now.»
«I'm sorry.»
«We had a century together. That's why I wanted to see you again. I wanted to thank you.»
«What for?»
«For doing what you did. For leaving us alone.» She tilted her head towards the open window. «I loved him, you know. All the time he was alive, and even now, a whole century of love. It was an excellent life, Eason, truly excellent. Oh, I wasn't a saint; I had my share of fooling around when I was younger, so did he. But we stayed together for a hundred years. How about that?»
«I'm glad.»
«I lied to you about the children. Remember the day after you arrived I said I wanted ten.»
«I remember.»
«Course you do; it's only been two months for you. Well, I only had eight.»
«That's a shame.»
«Yes. But, ah, what they achieved. Take a look.» She flicked a pale finger at the window. «Go on.»
So he did. And there was his dream waiting outside. The neat ordered ranks of fruit trees stretching right round the island, a fleet of tractors buzzing down the grassy avenues, and Edenist-style servitor chimps scampering through the branches in search of the bright globes. The red-clay rooftops of a small fishing village; boats bobbing at their moorings along the seven jetties. People walking and cycling everywhere. Adults and children setting up tables and parasols in the garden ready for a party. And, as ever, the firedrakes, noisy flocks of them spiralling and wheeling overhead.
«That's all thanks to you,» she said. «I don't know what would have happened if you'd stayed around. I was so torn. I loved Mullen for a century, but I kept the guilt, too.»
«It's beautiful,» he said.
«You can stay if you want. I'd like you to enjoy it.»
«No. My time here is over.»
«Ha! That's Mother talking.»
«She told you?»
«Oh yes. Mind you, I never told Mullen. It was too weird.»
«She was right, though, wasn't she? You two were made for each other.»
«Yes, damn her, she was right. But that guilt always made me wonder.»
It was called the Torreya Memorial Clinic, a mansion sitting astride the foothills above Kariwak. Long since converted from a private residence, its main wings provided free health care for the city's poor. Of course, such charity was expensive, so the foundation which ran it also provided first-class treatment for those who could afford it. As well as standard medical facilities there was an excellent rejuvenation centre, and for those who wished to give their offspring the best start in life, a geneering department.
Eason waited for Dr Kengai to complete his credit checks, remembering the last time he was in an office, facing down agent Tenvis. The doctor had a much better view over Kariwak than the old Kulu Embassy provided. Although the city was much the same size as it had been a century ago, he was disappointed to see the number of skyscrapers that had sprung up. The sequoias were still there along the central boulevard, and prospering, tall green spires waving gently high above the clutter of white buildings.
«Your financial status appears quite impeccable, Mr Eason,» Dr Kengai said happily.
Eason grinned back with equal sincerity. «Thank you. And you'll have no trouble providing the service I want?»
«A parthenogenetic clone is a relatively straightforward procedure. It poses no difficulty.»
«Good.» He unclipped the silver chain around his neck, and handed over the locket. «Is there sufficient genetic material here?»
Dr Kengai removed the tuft of gold-auburn hair it contained. «You could reproduce several million of her from this.» He teased a single strand loose, and returned the locket.
«I only want one,» Eason said.
«I understand you don't intend to raise the girl yourself?»
«That is correct. I'm going to be away travelling again for a few more years, my ride isn't quite finished.»
«Unfortunately, we do have to reassure ourselves that the child will have a viable home to go to once she is removed from the exowomb. The clinic is not in the business of producing orphans.»
«Don't worry. My lawyer is currently seeking a suitable set of foster parents. A trust fund will pay for her to be brought up out in the archipelago for seventeen years.»
«Then what will happen to her?»
«I'll come back, and she'll marry me. That's when she loves me, you see.»
Timeline
2550 - Mars declared habitable by terraforming office.
2580 - Dorado asteroids discovered around Tunja, claimed by both Garissa and Omuta.
2581 - Omutan mercenary fleet drops twelve antimatter planet-busters on Garissa, planet rendered uninhabitable. Confederation imposes thirty-year sanction against Omuta, prohibiting any interstellar trade or transport. Blockade enforced by Confederation Navy.
2582 - Colony established on Lalonde.
Sonora Asteroid, 2586
Escape Route
Marcus Calvert glanced at the figures displayed on the account block, and tried not to make his relief too obvious. The young waitress wasn't so diplomatic when she read the amount he'd shunted over from his Jovian Bank credit disk and saw he hadn't included a tip. She turned briskly and headed back to the Lomaz bar, heels clicking their disapproval on the metal decking.
It was one of life's more embarrassing ironies that the owner of a multi-million fuseodollar starship didn't actually have any spare cash. Marcus raised his beer bottle ruefully to his two crew-members sitting at the table with him. «Cheers.»
Bottle necks were clinked together.
Marcus took a long drink, and tried not to grimace at the taste. Cheap beer was the same the Confederation over. He was quite an expert on the subject now.
Roman Zucker, the Lady Macbeth 's fusion engineer, shot a mournful look at the row of elegant bottles arranged behind the bar. The Lomaz had an impressive selection of expensive imported beers and spirits. «I've tasted worse.»
«You'll taste a lot better once we get our cargo charter,» said Katherine Maddox, the ship's node specialist. «Any idea what it is, Captain?»
«The agent didn't say; apart from confirming it's private, not corporate.»
«They don't want us for combat, do they?» Katherine asked. There was a hint of rebellion in her voice. She was in her late forties, and like the Calverts her family had geneered their offspring to withstand both free fall and high acceleration. The dominant modifications had given her thicker skin, tougher bones, and harder internal membranes; she was never sick or giddy in free fall, nor did her face bloat up. Such changes were a formula for blunt features, and Katherine was no exception.
«If they do, we're not taking it,» Marcus assured her.
Katherine exchanged an unsettled glance with Roman, and slumped back in her chair.
The combat option was one Marcus had considered regrettably possible. Lady Macbeth was combat-capable, and Sonora asteroid belonged to a Lagrange-point cluster with a strong autonomy movement. An unfortunate combination. But having passed his sixty-seventh birthday two months ago he sincerely hoped those kind of flights were behind him. His present crew deserved better, too. He owed them ten weeks' back pay, and not one of them had pressed him for it yet. They had faith in him to deliver. He was determined not to let them down.