he told him, played back through his shiplink. They took glasses of wine back to the stark black and white room and listened to an Essiin composition chosen by Etrhnk. It seemed the Navy Commander was delaying what would come next. Pan was certain he had not exhausted his topics of interest. When Etrhnk resumed, Pan was almost startled. The music stopped.
"Your name was Harry."
"Yes."
"I found that name linked to Ruby Reed. Harry Jones, a very old and common English name. There was another member of the trio - Richard, nicknamed Dick. No biographical data. Stage names, I assume. Do you remember what happened to Harry?"
"No. I had forgot... Dick..."
Another memory assaulted him and confused him. Dick was his brother but there was something wrong in how he remembered him. Then the images flew away, relieving him of their intensity and their threatening content.
"Another flashback?" Etrhnk inquired.
"Yes."
"I had the scan chamber sample you genetically. It appears that Harry was half Rhyan, whoever he was."
"Yes." Pan felt his heart sink and send its signal to every detector in the room.
"Have you remembered anything about your parents?" Etrhnk asked.
"Yes. My mother. She died in Keshona's attack."
"If you are Harry, you are old enough to have had at least one full rejuvenation. By a Mnro Clinic. Do you see the implication?"
"The Mnro Clinic record - and my Citizen Record - must be in error," Pan admitted.
"I think the Mnro Clinic has sampled your identity enough times to have your correct data. It is, therefore, hiding something."
"The director of the Earth Mnro Clinic is an insistent friend," Pan responded, now even more worried about Sugai Mai. "I'm often checked even when I don't see the need. Their excuse is that I live on a poisoned planet. Yes, I see that as a logical deduction - it is hiding something."
"In between the time of Ruby Reed and Harry Jones and your current traceable history lies the Rhyan War," Etrhnk said. "A blank spot, except you remember your mother died in the Massacre. Is that all you remember?"
"I was in the war. That is what my latest memories involve."
"In what capacity?"
"Those are memories I will not describe for you."
"You disappoint me."
"I knew I would."
"You were Rhyan military?"
Pan took a long sip of his wine and set the glass down.
"Thank you for dinner, Admiral," Pan said.
1-18 Collateral Death
She closed her eyes and saw...
"It's over. The shadow government has accepted our terms."
He stood at a glass window that gave a view of an arid rural vista. He didn't respond. She knew something was wrong. She knew everything was wrong. "Where is your mother? She was not with the shadow government."
He handed her a plastic card. She knew what it was and what it meant. Helplessly, she asked the questions that would verify and finalize tragedy. "This is her transponder. She isn't here? She left her transponder here and went somewhere?"
He nodded. He wouldn't look at her. She couldn't see his face, and that was probably best. The military procedure was quite distant and abstract, until now. "When? Not before the procedure, I hope."
He cleared his throat. When he spoke he sounded resigned, but no less grief-stricken. "I told her what I thought would happen, the last time I saw her. She was appalled. Even though she felt the need of it, I don't think she could justify any loss of life. We discussed the ethics of it for a long time. Finally I told her the mismanagement of the Rhyan Empire wasn't the most important threat to the Union. We were, in effect, unwilling instruments of a greater threat. And we would proceed at any cost and at any risk."
She turned away from him, spoke to the empty room in the house where he was a child. It was strange that she felt nothing, yet she knew what she should feel. "What greater threat? I don't understand your reference. She left the transponder here, so that you would think her safe at home?"
"I suspect she was with that largest group of nobility. My mother probably tried to arrange their meeting in the isolated estate in order to minimize collateral deaths. I suspect she intended to die with them, rather than live with the guilt of killing anyone."
It mattered greatly to her that this young man should know how wrong she felt all of this was. She knew it would forever poison their relationship. Fortunately, neither of them would be allowed to remember any of this.
"We'll begin a search for her. We hoped she would lead the new government."
"I killed my mother," he said.
She pressed fingers against her eyelids and willed the years to pass.
She blinked. The light of another day went dark. The light of the studio entered her eyes. Rafael still sat on a stool surrounded by his paintings and sculpture. The Rhyan who took Samson in the morning still stood behind Rafael. Time restarted.
"My God!" Rafael exclaimed. "How can you still sing so well?"
Fidelity didn't understand Rafael's words, not hearing them above the clamor of her thoughts: her reaction to the flashback she just had. Was it a real memory that belonged to her, that spoke a truth of her past? She didn't want to believe it but it, like the other visions, contained a pain that seemed to fit her, like a well-earned punishment. She felt agony and grief to discover who she had been. It was not a total surprise, for she had some warning of the possibility from a source she had tried to ignore. She took several moments to gather herself together, then managed to speak.
"Good evening, Jarwekh," she greeted the looming Rhyan.
"Good evening, Admiral Demba," Jarwekh rumbled.
Rafael turned around, surprised to see the big Rhyan. "Jarwekh! Isn't Pan with you?"
"He didn't come. He was invited to dinner. I believe he's aboard the Navy flagship."
"Etrhnk is here," Fidelity said, tasting the name of doom. So soon would she be held to account for her sin against the Navy Commander. So soon would she lose Samson.
"That is my understanding," Jarwekh said. "I saw Pan's communications log."
She remembered the Rhyan was a deputy for Pan and had access to his dwelling. "And Captain Horss?" she asked.
"He remains at the residence. He doesn't know I'm here."
"Why are you here?" She asked the question because she was impatient. Jarwekh seemed in no hurry to do what she guessed he might do. She had seen the tattoos on his arms, knew he was in the Rhyan military at the time of the war. He had been a member of an elite unit serving the royal families, a unit that was almost totally destroyed in what the Rhyans called The Massacre.
"There was a question I wanted to ask," he replied in his deep voice.
She knew what the question was. What perfect timing, that her memory of Pan and the death of his mother had just assaulted her, proving beyond doubt that the steel person within her was Keshona, murderer of millions of Rhyans. A moment of silence extended to more silent moments, without Jarwekh continuing.
"You want to know if I am Keshona," Fidelity said. She was puzzled and irritated that the Rhyan couldn't bring forth what must be of unique importance to him. They stared at each other: ancient enemies, testing the separation between them, to see if it was a battlefield or a cemetery. It seemed unfair that she must inherit this burden of a crime she committed as another person. Curiously, the big Rhyan still didn't set off alarms in her defense system.
"Why would he ask that question?" Rafael wondered, a troubled surprise on his wrinkled face.
"How would you anticipate such a question?" Jarwekh asked. "Unless..."
"Apparently I bear some resemblance to the commodore," Fidelity said, "even though official images of her no longer exist. There are a few young female Navy officers who identify me as Keshona, perhaps for the purpose of finding meaning in otherwise boring lives. They often visited Archives to catch a glimpse of me. It was annoying." She turned to Rafael. "As to why Jarwekh asks the question - it's the duty of e
very surviving Rhyan soldier to seek vengeance upon the person who killed so many of their people. I believe they always carry a picture of Keshona with them."
"Let me see it!" Rafael demanded.
"I no longer carry it," Jarwekh said. "I thought I remembered her features."
Rafael looked at Fidelity and back at the tall Rhyan, seeming to plead with each of them. "She can't be Keshona! She's a great singer, not a mass murderer!"
"She is indeed a great singer," Jarwekh agreed. He breathed deeply, then relaxed. "I would hate for her to also be Keshona. I didn't ask the question. I don't expect an answer. I don't need to know. I don't need vengeance. I think the fire went out of me when I was killed by Pan and rejuvenated. For a brief while today I thought I had the fire again. I'm afraid I gave some provocative news to another who still burns. So let my unspoken question be a warning. He will speak the question and will not even need your answer. But I've heard you sing and I prefer to believe you are the singer Pan seeks, not the murderer who destroyed my family. I am ashamed and dishonored for my actions."
Jarwekh backed slowly toward the night. Fidelity was shocked, as the praise of her singing began to have meaning for her. How could she be that good as a singer, so good that she may have stopped an execution attempt? She held up a hand to keep Jarwekh from leaving. She responded to the big Rhyan emotionally, strangely grateful to be called a great singer, as though that should have special meaning for her. But she had received the first evidence of her crime from within her own self and knew she was guilty.
"Tell him nothing!" Rafael