"Is something wrong?"
"She's an admiral? Did she serve in the war?"
"She was killed in the war. Why are you interested in Admiral Demba?"
"I'm more interested in you, Captain Horss, but some friends of mine want to know if she might be Commodore Keshona. They say she looks like her."
Horss was shocked, and that was because he almost immediately accepted that Demba could be that famous - or infamous - Navy officer. Pan had insisted Admiral Demba was the singer he had known, but he said she was also someone else, someone Horss would want to know. Every Navy officer would want to know the legendary Commodore Keshona! Every Navy officer would want to ask her how she was able to reach Rhyandh to destroy its rulers. Then he became concerned. The possibility that Demba was that historic figure seemed somehow threatening to the safety of Samson. Did Demba know she could have been Commodore Keshona?
"Your friends know what the real Keshona looked like?" Horss asked.
"They always carry what they think is an accurate image of her," Denna replied.
"Your friends are Rhyan ex-military. Who has seen her here, to be able to tell them?"
"Jarwekh. Pan's deputy. I'm sorry! I didn't think those fools would do anything!"
"Do you think differently now?"
"Jarwekh knows where the admiral and the boy are. He has free use of Pan's transmat, which is the only way to get to them. But Jarwekh would never harm the boy."
"He isn't the only Rhyan, is he?"
Fred returned bearing the water requested by Denna.
"What took you so long?" Denna asked, accepting the drink.
"Finding a lime. Sorry, no lime."
"Thank you, Fred. I don't mind plain ice water."
"You've changed," Fred commented.
"Was that a compliment or not, Fred? You have also changed! Did Daddy change your attitude toward me?"
"I choose to withdraw from this conversation, please."
Denna cocked her head to one side, regarding Fred the android with a perplexed expression on her face. Then she shrugged and swung back to Horss. "So Daddy is probably having dinner with Admiral Etrhnk?"
"Probably."
"You're hiding something. Is Daddy all right?"
"As far as I know. Does she really call him Daddy?" Horss looked to Fred for the answer.
"Only when she needs something from him," Freddy replied.
"Fred, I don't understand why the Boss has turned you so against me," Denna complained. "Is this for Captain Horss's benefit? He already knows I'm working for the bad guys."
"She calls him Boss," Freddy said. "While I don't think she would turn against him, she may expect him to protect himself, should her Rhyan friends go after the admiral."
"They wouldn't attack the admiral if they knew the Boss was with her," Denna said. "They wouldn't bother her at all if I had some proof she couldn't have been Keshona."
"Commodore Keshona has passed into legend," Horss said, "and was protected by having her identity erased. I don't see how there can be any proof one way or the other."
"You think she may be Keshona!" Denna declared. "I can see it in your eyes. When you talk about her something in you changes."
I must have lost something in the translation to this different version of myself, Horss thought. The admiral must have broken my emotional opacity mechanism. Even Pan - as preoccupied as he was - had seen what he was feeling. He realized now, more than ever, that Demba was a special person.
"Denna's object is to keep us occupied," Fred said, "while Jarwekh and Daidaunkh go after the admiral."
"You may be right," Denna said. "They insisted I come here. I just wanted to meet a Navy officer. I'm sorry!"
"Pan will likely be detained by Admiral Etrhnk," Horss said.
"Fred, you should check the transmat," Denna said anxiously.
Fred turned quickly toward a doorway, followed by Horss and Denna.
1-15 The Sleeper Awakes
The Signal came and it destroyed her.
The Clinic on Earth sampled a certain DNA identity. It sampled The Opera Master's code on a regular basis and so she assumed that was what the alarm concerned as it routed its message to her private workstation. The musician was one of many people of special interest to the Clinic. Pan was a political refugee and the Clinic still protected him from being identified. He was also a charming, handsome man. She had always wanted to meet him, but she always denied herself the pleasure. It was a little mystery why she found him so fascinating yet could not bring herself into his presence. Perhaps it was because he never left the planet, and she was illogically afraid of the poisoned Earth.
This time, however, the genetic identity was not the Opera Master's and the alarm was much more urgent. The message seemed to trip switches in her mind to release data to her brain. The process became predictable to her as it occurred, easing the anxiety it first produced. Then the data became startlingly familiar, being facts and memories she caused herself to forget. The facts bludgeoned her and rebuilt her anxiety. The memories were at once powerful and wonderful and deadly. She needed to send a Denial of Service to the Earth Clinic, without explanation. She needed to leave work. She needed to go home and consider the meaning of this development.
= = =
She toured her residence while she contemplated what little remained of her future. She knew the tour was an unconscious acceptance of her fate, even though she told herself otherwise. As the tour progressed, so did her acceptance of her duty. She avoided the heavy gravity paths, skipping softly in the moon's light gravity, examining the everyday objects that had journeyed the centuries with her. She had mementos, replicas of art, and awards: treasures of memory from a thousand places, a thousand moments. She kept nothing of commercial or intrinsic value in her home. The Mnro Clinics kept those objects of physical or cultural value in its museum. She, more than anyone, knew the value of the captured moment, the memory. Memory was priceless. Memory was life.
She wandered the grounds of the estate and the paths through the gardens. She marveled at the flowers and trees as though seeing them for the first time. Every time she met one of the staff she greeted them warmly, knowing she would never see them again. The artificial day faded into a night illuminated by the smile of the crescent Earth. She stared for a long time at Earth hanging above the crater's jagged rim, before turning back inside.
She descended into the crust of the moon. The elevator dropped quietly, deeply, slowed imperceptibly, and only when the door opened did she realize she had arrived at her destination: her tomb. She walked down a carpeted hallway past vault-like doors until she reached the door at the end. The heavy door opened at her approach, sliding quietly to one side. Lighting awakened in a soft glow. A window appeared in the far wall of the small room. As she touched a pattern on the wall next to the window, the glass thinned to nonexistence. Moisture entered the arid room through the opening.
She looked down into the pool beyond the window, brought the illumination up slowly, until she could see the swimmer. The swimmer stopped and floated, pale, naked, hairless, eyes open but not seeing, not conscious yet anticipating something. She touched a control and the swimmer convulsed slightly, the eyes went shut, the arms and legs folded into a fetal position.
She used an automatic appliance to remove the hair from her head and neck. She connected herself to a signal transducer that anesthetized and penetrated to establish connections to her brain. She closed her eyes and let the memories flow. The swimmer clutched at its umbilical cord and bent its head farther forward, a grimace on its mouth. Centuries passed between their brains. She touched another control and the pool began to drain. The swimmer followed the liquid level down with its mouth until it had no more liquid to breath. It coughed several times, discharging fluid from its lungs, taking in air for the first time in ages.
She leaned tiredly on the sill of the window as she peeled the signal appliance carefully from her head and neck and stored it away. She rested her chin on her hands, her
elbows on the sill, and waited for the swimmer to awaken. Presently, groans and more coughing came from the swimmer in the empty pool. Its white body shivered. Finally, after a long clearing of the throat, the swimmer spoke.
"So soon?"
"A couple of centuries."
"Too long, then."
"Not necessarily. Let your chemistry stabilize and you'll think more clearly."
The flood of data paralyzed the swimmer for several minutes. She watched and waited for the swimmer to survive the avalanche of information from her instant rebirth into adulthood. She admired the youthful trim and tone of the body with the acuity of a genetic architect.
"The signal came!" the swimmer declared. "How long do we have?"
"Not very long."
"How long exactly?"
"I don't know. Curiously, there's no exact departure date for the Galactic Hub Mission. It could be in a week or in a month. Probably not sooner or later than that."
"The signal came from Earth. Why Earth, I wonder?"
"At least it's convenient. The umbilical has released you."
"I'm bleeding. It will stop quickly. I'm old-fashioned in how I want my body to look. How do you look? Do you still look human after all this time?"
"Don't I ever look in the mirror? Come up and see."
The swimmer struggled upward, smearing blood on the white surface of the empty pool. She grasped handholds made for her use, and her head rose above the sill of the window.
"Are bald women back in fashion?" the swimmer asked.
"Welcome back to life, Aylis Mnro,"