To Save the Sun Read online

  Bomeer stood frozen and felt sweat trickle down his neck, back; his armpits burned, and at the same time an incongruous wave of cold swept over him. He moved his lips several times to speak, but no sound came out. He glanced pleadingly to Wynne, still standing at the sofa, but realized that the older academician was even more terrified by what was happening than he was. The standoff continued a few agonizing moments longer before the bearded man laughed aloud and turned away, smoothly replacing the laser into his coat, and sat nonchalantly in one of the chairs opposite the sofa.

  "Perhaps a review of what you feel to be 'practical caution' is in order, Mr. Bomeer?"

  Bomeer tugged at his tunic, nervously trying to regain his composure, and sat on one side of the sofa. He regarded Wynne, still standing speechless, and managed to relieve his own anxiety somewhat by concentrating on just how much more afraid Wynne was than he. He cleared his throat once, then again.

  "Wynne, please be seated," he said, using every bit of will he possessed to make each word sound calm, steady. He watched the visitor carefully as Wynne sat, trying to take the measure of this stranger from Earth, and at the same time trying to utilize every additional second of silence to further calm himself.

  "As I started to say," he went on, feeling more of his confidence returning, "I'm pleased that you've asked to meet with us this afternoon. This is Plantir Wynne, Director Emeritus of the Imperial Academy of Science." He nodded at Wynne, who sat looking even less comfortable than he had before the Earther had arrived. Wynne extended a quivering hand.

  The bearded man regarded Wynne with disdain, and even Bomeer had to admit, if only to himself, just how pitiful his colleague appeared. "Please refer to me as 'Johnson' in this and any other transactions we may have," he said, reaching to shake hands finally.

  "I must be frank," Bomeer went on, anxious to get this meeting started—and ended. "I was a bit surprised to receive your message several days ago. However, I'm not sure exactly what it is we have to discuss."

  "Johnson" stared at him, half smiling through his beard. "It's very simple. You wish to stop this plan to save the Sun. The entire 'Academy of Science,' as you call it, has been on record as opposing the project from the beginning, but the two of you have been the most vocal in your disagreement, am I correct?"

  And just how much else do you know? Bomeer wondered to himself. "I have been loyal to the Emperor all my life," he said, "but I've not kept secret my feelings that this project will severely undermine the Empire, potentially bankrupting it. I have gained few friends among the Imperial Court for my beliefs, but to keep silent about my feelings would be a disservice."

  "I see." Johnson nodded thoughtfully, then turned sharply to Wynne. "And you? Do you mimic every thought of your colleague, or do you actually have a voice of your own?"

  Wynne seemed to have regained some of his composure and raised an eyebrow to the Earthman. "The Emperor has been a good leader for many years," he said without hesitation, surprising Bomeer with the unexpected confidence in his voice. "But this plan will destroy the very fabric of the Empire."

  "I see," Johnson repeated. Rising from his chair, he approached the window and stared solemnly out over the lunar landscape for a moment before turning to face the two once more. "I, and those I represent, could not possibly care less about the so-called 'fabric of the Empire.' " For the first time since entering the suite, the Earthman allowed genuine emotion to show in his voice—whether intentionally or not, Bomeer couldn't be certain.

  "We do not care for your Empire," he went on, the disgust plain in his voice. "Your goals are not ours. Your values, your government, your very way of life is abhorrent to those of us here who strive to cleanse ourselves of your influence."

  "You've damn well accepted the benefits of membership in the Hundred Worlds, though, haven't you?" Bomeer countered, feeling his own anger beginning to rise. "The powersat network. Medical and agricultural research. Somewhat hypocritical of you pure, clean Earthers, eh?"

  "It is a compromise that benefits us, yes!" Johnson hesitated as he returned to his chair, where he sat and crossed his legs, resuming the nonchalant manner he'd exhibited earlier. When he spoke again, all traces of emotion had disappeared from his voice. "We're not stupid backwater natives, as is so popularly believed among the Worlds. We like our life the way it is, and accept those benefits from the Empire that we see fit to accept. Our dealings with the Empire these many centuries have been regarded as a necessary evil to maintain our life-style.

  "Sol system is a harmonious system. Those Earthers not wishing to be a part of the life-style on the home world are free to settle elsewhere, and many relocate here on the Moon or in the Orbitals. Some have joined the project to reclaim Venus or have settled on the moons of the gas giants; still others accept the Imperial way of life or elect the harsh life on one of the frontier worlds. They do so with our blessings, leaving our values, and theirs, intact. Is that so difficult for you to understand?"

  Bomeer looked once at Wynne, then regarded Johnson steadily. "What I seem to understand," he said, rising from his spot on the sofa, "is that there is apparently little purpose to our continuing this discussion." He reached for the blocker on the tray, but Johnson's hand on his wrist stopped him. The man's grip was incredibly strong. Bomeer stared at the Earther's hand, envious of the great strength hidden in his deceptively thin fingers, and noticed a gold bracelet encircling his wrist. But for an etching of a majestic flame-enshrouded bird on the metal's curved, gleaming surface, the bracelet was plain and otherwise unadorned.

  Bomeer looked up and found himself gazing squarely into Johnson's face. This close to the man, he noticed a musky scent about him that mingled pleasantly with the smell of his leather jacket. Further, there was something about the look in Johnson's eyes as he leaned close that made Bomeer want to listen, something that made him want to trust the man.

  "Let us understand this, then: We are a different people, you and I, and have differences in philosophy." He released Bomeer's arm and, sitting upright once more, addressed both academicians. "But in this instance we share the same goal. You, to maintain the physical integrity of your Empire, wish this project stopped. So do we. Only our motives differ."

  Bomeer idly rubbed his wrist. "And just what are your motives?"

  Johnson was silent a moment, then, "We believe that the death of the Sun is part of the natural order of things, part of His plan for us. We wish to maintain our spiritual integrity."

  "Religious fanatic," Wynne spat once the door had slid shut. "I've detested them wherever I've encountered them."

  "I heartily agree," Bomeer said, retrieving his glass from the tray. The ice had melted, diluting his drink, and he crossed to a waist-high cart placed to one side of the room to fix himself another. "But they have their uses. Did you see his eyes? There was something there, something that made me want to—When he grabbed my wrist I wanted to reach out and throttle him. But something in his eyes, in the tone of his voice, made me stop, made me listen. That's a powerful strength. If he can control and convince his followers, his own people, as easily as he did us…" Bomeer shuddered with the memory of the man's stare.

  "Yes, but can we control him?"

  Bomeer exhaled heavily and, turning to stare out at the landscape, added, "Perhaps a better question would be: Do we dare try?"

  Rihana sat before the dressing table in her private chamber, studying her reflection in the mirror as she slowly brushed her long coppery hair. She was not displeased with what she saw. Before leaving Corinth, she had accepted the fact that she would most likely need a rejuvenation upon arriving at Sol system, but a smile came to her lips as she observed just how little the trip had affected her.

  There was a soft, polite tapping at the door. "Mistress Valtane?"

  She paused, mid-stroke, at the interruption but finished with the brush and set it on the table before responding.

  "Yes, what is it, Linn?" She made no effort to turn to face her attendant when she entered,
and instead concentrated on her own image in the mirror as she considered which jeweled comb would best accentuate the outfit she'd selected for this meeting.

  "The Ambassador's liaison is here, Mistress. He is waiting in the receiving room."

  On that, Rihana did turn. "His liaison? Not the Ambassador himself?" Since it was the Ambassador who had requested this meeting, she was surprised at the news. "Very well," she said, "I'll be there directly."

  The attendant nodded and quickly left the chamber. Rihana went to a full-length mirror near one of the room's several closets and examined herself. She'd selected her outfit specifically with the Ambassador in mind, being careful to choose a color pattern visible to the alien. She quickly undressed, tossing the expensive gown casually across a chair, and selected a two-piece pantsuit of shiny satin. Only slightly less expensive than the outfit now lying in a heap on the chair, it was considerably more comfortable. Glancing in the mirror, she confirmed that it would also be more appealing to the all-too-human eye of the Ambassador's liaison.

  He was already standing when she entered, idly watching the comings and goings in the small landing facility adjacent to the receiving room. Over his shoulder she could see the Sarpan shuttle parked and being tended to by members of her staff. He wore a loose open-collar white shirt, short-sleeved, with pants of a matching light material and looked more like a man on holiday than an official emissary for an alien race. Another of her attendants had remained with him since his arrival, and she nodded to dismiss him. The Ambassador's liaison had his back to her, and he started slightly at the sudden movement behind him and turned. Rihana recognized him as the same man who had contacted her to arrange the meeting the day before.

  "Mistress Valtane," he said with a polite nod that was almost, but not quite, a formal bow. "On behalf of Ambassador Press, thank you for receiving me."

  "Please, be comfortable." She led him to a circular sofa grouping at one side of the room and waited until they were both seated before continuing. "I must admit Mr.—Carrigan, is it?—that I'm a bit surprised. When we spoke yesterday, I was of the impression that the Ambassador himself wished to speak with me."

  Carrigan cleared his throat, but if he was at all nervous or unsure of himself, he didn't show it. "I apologize for any misunderstanding, Mistress. Valtane, but the Ambassador never meets in person with anyone, including members of his own race, during what they refer to as a 'first touching.' It is customary for important members of the Sarpan race to meet first through an intermediary, even when all are present in the same room, and they have extended that custom to members of the Hundred Worlds as well. I'm sorry, but I'd assumed you knew."

  "First touching," she replied, almost to herself, and extended a tentative hand. "Very well, then."

  He took the offered hand. "Ambassador Press extends his greetings and good wishes to the House of Valtane."

  She nodded agreement and Carrigan started to release her hand, but Rihana held it a bit longer, studying his reaction, before slowly letting go. Again, he seemed in complete control of his actions.

  "Now," she asked, leaning back into the chair, "may I inquire as to the purpose of this meeting?"

  "Since it is widely known that House Valtane is no longer linked with that of the Emperor, the Ambassador is curious, Mistress Valtane, as to the reason for your presence here on Luna," he said without hesitation. "May he inquire as to your purpose?"

  Rihana smiled inwardly. You do get to the point, don't you? she thought. Why not? "Yes. He may."

  "Very good. Let me go over a few points of protocol before you meet him."

  Rihana was taken aback. "He's here?"

  "Yes; on the shuttle in which I arrived. I thought I made that clear."

  Rihana was grateful for the quick lesson in interspecies protocol that Carrigan had given her as she waited for the Ambassador to enter his side of his shuttle's small receiving room. The chamber was divided by an air shield similar to that used in the shuttle bays. Each side of the room, as far as she could tell through the haziness of the Sarpan-normal atmosphere on the other side, mirrored the other, with three chairs facing the shielding on either side. Closer scrutiny, however, showed several differences. While the chairs on the alien's side were roughly of the same size and design, they were padded with thick cushions of waterproof plastic. The chair in which she sat was fabric-covered. Moisture dripped freely down the walls on the other side, and even the window-shield fogged slightly from time to time as moisture adhered to it. The Sarpan shield was nonpermeable and kept the wetness inside, but was not designed for insulation; considerable heat radiated from the window's surface, and her side of the room was uncomfortably warm. The reason behind Carrigan's choice of light clothing became suddenly clear.

  "Ambassador Press," she said when he entered his side of the chamber, remembering to look him directly in the face, "it is with great honor that I welcome you to my House." She swept an arm to indicate, not the shuttle itself, but rather the landing bay in which it was parked. Carrigan, seated next to her, nodded and she rose and approached the window-shield, tentatively placing the palm of her hand flat on the sultry surface. The shield was firm, but gave slightly beneath the pressure of her fingertips. The Sarpan was somewhat shorter than she, and needed to reach up to place a webbed, four-fingered hand opposite hers. As their hands met, separated by the molecular thickness of the shield, Rihana could feel the warmth and softness of the alien's fleshy palm against hers. He nodded several times, puffing gill slits at the sides of his neck with each movement. The "touching" completed, he reclined in the centermost chair.

  The Ambassador wore a short kilt of bright orange with a matching sash over one shoulder, soft-looking leather boots and little else. The edges of his gill slits were pierced, Rihana noted, and sported several tiny silver bobs that glinted brightly against the gray-brown moistness of his skin when he spoke.

  "Mistress Valtane," he said in a strangely melodious voice through the comm speaker. "It is my honor." He turned to his liaison. "Mr. Carrigan?"

  "Ambassador, I have informed Mistress Valtane of your interest in her House, and she has agreed to discuss the situation frankly."

  "Good." He returned his gaze to Rihana, blinking away excess moisture with transparent nictitating membranes. The drops rolling down his face gave the appearance that he was crying. "Why have you come to Sol system? We know that you are out of favor with the House of the Emperor of the Hundred Worlds. So. Why are you here?"

  "Ambassador, my ouster from my husband's House is unprecedented. I have come to make claim on several rights due the wife of the Emperor's son."

  "But you are no longer his wife. You no longer have claim."

  Had she been speaking to another human, Rihana would have been outraged by such effrontery. She suppressed her feelings of anger and stared evenly at Press, rationalizing that he was speaking candidly and decided to return his frankness. "You are correct in that I am no longer the Prince's wife, but that does not change the fact that I am to be the mother of his son."

  Press blinked eye membranes and laced and unlaced his fingers several times as he considered this new bit of information. "So. I see. Another question, then: Is your"—Press hesitated, groping for the word she had used—" 'ouster' from your husband's House related in any way to that scientific endeavor ongoing now to halt Sol star's rebirth?"

  "Yes. I opposed his support of the Emperor's project. But I am confused, Ambassador. My reason for being here has only to do with my rights, and nothing directly related to the project—"

  "A moment, a moment," Press interjected, "a moment. Understand. I thought perhaps because of your estranged relationship to the Emperor's House, that you might be less reluctant to inform me of this project. So?"

  "So" indeed. That's it, then. She waited for him to continue.

  "Consider, please: We see a massive building of starships by your people. We see your Court moved farther from the Sarpan sphere of influence. We see a traveling of your people fr
om all the Hundred Worlds to here. So. Consider: What are we to think?"

  Rihana did consider. The Sarpan were, simply enough, nervous about the Empire's massive buildup of equipment and ships. And why not? The relationship between the Empire and the Sarpan had been tenuous at best, and deadly—on occasion—at worst. How were they to know that the Hundred Worlds hadn't decided it was time to change the relationship to their favor once and for all at the Sarpan's expense?

  "To the best of my knowledge, Ambassador, the stated purposes of the Emperor are true and without darker motives."

  "But, to stop a star's rebirthing! Surely this is a folly?"

  Rihana nodded in understanding. "I know," she admitted, "it does seem foolish, just as I told my former husband." A thought suddenly came to her. "Ambassador, despite the treatment of my House by my former husband, I am not without influence. It would be no difficult matter to confirm or deny the truth of this."

  "So? And in return for this truth?"

  He's sharp, Rihana thought, a smile spreading across her lips.

  "Suppose," she began, "that House Valtane were able to confirm that the nature of the Emperor's endeavor is, indeed, scientific only—that this plan to 'stop the rebirthing,' as you describe it, is exactly that?"

  A disturbingly human grin appeared on Ambassador Press' face. "Mr. Carrigan, leave us." The Ambassador's liaison stood, nodding politely to Rihana, and quickly exited the small chamber. "What we say now should be between us only. If House Valtane could confirm this, then this one of the Sarpan would be much in debt to House Valtane."

  "Perhaps. But it need not be a onetime arrangement," she hinted. "Think of the future, Ambassador: trade, information, materials; both my House and yours could profit greatly from such a cooperation."

  Rihana paused as he blinked in consideration, then tilted her head and smiled wryly, adding, "Think, too, of a human Empire ruled by a son of my House."