forbidden to make eye contact, and he waited for Etrhnk to say something else.
"I have a medical question for you," Etrhnk said, moving forward in his seat, so that his knees almost touched Ramadhal's, who sat across from him.
Etrhnk didn't need to say a thing to Ramadhal. His inclusion on this investigation was almost an afterthought. It was one of many decisions Etrhnk had made lately for reasons he could not entirely explain to himself.
"There is a certain type of weapon," Etrhnk began, "one of whose uses is as a thrown missile with a 10-centimeter blade. I observed this weapon being used against a live human target. It embedded its full length in the man's back in the area of his left lung. Could this have been fatal?" He realized too late the violence in the question would make the physician more uncomfortable than he already was, but Ramadhal answered promptly and Etrhnk dismissed his odd concern for the man's sensitivities.
"It doesn't seem so to me," Ramadhal replied. "Did the man die?"
"I hope not," Etrhnk replied with sincerity, "but simple penetration was not the limit of the weapon's ability. Let us imagine a small explosion, usually enough to just perforate the body in several places."
"With prompt medical treatment we could prevent death," Ramadhal answered after a brief pause. "Stasis might be required to await fabrication of new organs."
"Good," Etrhnk said. "Good." He had not wanted such an act of bravery to end in the man's death. He briefly wondered why he had often forgiven individuals their errors but had more often condemned multitudes to Navy retribution.
Ramadhal tried to turn his attention back to the window and Etrhnk let him. They rode in silence for a few more moments. Etrhnk had, on impulse, chosen the rail car over the quicker transmat and he was not disappointed. He was no longer in a hurry to go anywhere. The private car began the terminal segment of the route that slanted upward toward the rim of a crater. Ramadhal turned back to Etrhnk with surprise and noticed the Marines checking their weapons.
"This is the way to Doctor Mnro's home!" Ramadhal observed with some alarm. "Why are we going there?"
"To see if she's at home." His mind being unusually full of personal thoughts, Etrhnk had overlooked explaining to Ramadhal the objective of their trip. The physician had not questioned him about anything until now, perhaps because of a sense of fatalism.
"But she departed on the Freedom," Ramadhal said.
"Perhaps."
"Why do you need me to be present?"
"Your reaction. Your medical expertise."
The car climbed the flank of the crater, entered a tunnel through the wall of rock, and emerged into a pressurized terminal. The Marines led the way from the rail car, checking for automated defenses. They emerged from the tunnel airlock and walked out into sunlight filtered by a pressure canopy that spanned the rim of the crater. The canopy made of itself an afternoon sky on Earth, the blue sky dotted with white clouds. It was not a more expensive and realistic simulation, even though Doctor Mnro could have afforded the best of fake skies. They walked along a gravity-enhanced path through an orchard into an English garden and from there onto a small stone patio at the side of a modest house. French doors stood open. A breeze fluttered the drapes by the doorway.
The Marines searched the house. Etrhnk and Ramadhal waited for them at a central stairwell that led to lower levels.
She climbed the wide staircase toward them: pale sandaled feet on dark lunar rock. Short blonde hair just covered the top of her head. Bare legs, slender but not lunar weak, propelled her in short parabolas up the steps. Her attire seemed proper for sleeping, but not for entertaining guests. Ramadhal backed away as she approached, clearly embarrassed at seeing too much of Aylis Mnro's epidermis. The Marines remained on the upper stairway, their weapons at the ready.
"I'm so glad to see you again, R.K.," the woman said to Ramadhal, giving a long glance to Etrhnk as she passed him.
She took Ramadhal's arm and led him through the French doors and out into the afternoon on the patio. Etrhnk and the Marines followed.
"I see the gardeners were here recently," this Mnro remarked. "The roses were getting unruly. How are you doing in your new job, R.K.?"
"Is it you?" Ramadhal asked. "Is the other one also... you?"
"We are Aylis Mnro, both of us. The other me is the original, but I'm the one who built the Mnro Clinics. I'm the one you always argued with."
"Are you a clone or a twin?"
"Not exactly. I am Aylis Mnro. Yet... I am not."
"But are you human?"
"You've known me for more than a century, R.K. Wasn't that proof enough?"
"Examine her," Etrhnk ordered Ramadhal.
"I didn't bring any instruments. I didn't expect..."
"I suspect they would be useless. You have medical augments."
She opened her blouse partially. Ramadhal placed his fingertips upon her chest. He listened. He viewed data written into his optic nerves.
"Her heart is beating too fast," Ramadhal reported. "All other data are normal for a human female."
"No indication of machinery?"
"We all have some machinery in us. I cannot identify what is an augment based on current technology and what is something... other."
"No matter. Leave us now. Go with the Marines. I'll speak to Doctor Mnro alone."
"Goodbye, R.K.," she said sadly, closing her blouse.
Ramadhal opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, appearing to measure the tone of her voice. His eyes became moist. "Goodbye, Doctor Mnro."
"Aylis!" she declared. "How many times have I told you to call me Aylis?"
"How many days in a century, Aylis?" His lips forced a false smile. "Goodbye!" He turned away with a jerk of his head, stumbled slightly, and followed the Marines across the English garden toward the orchard.
For some reason Etrhnk felt nothing for this counterfeit being. For some reason this being felt no fear of him. She was, in every noticeable facet, exactly Aylis Mnro. But she was not Aylis Mnro. It was an impenetrable mystery.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Thank you for bringing R.K. with you."
"You are not Aylis Mnro."
"Neither of us, I think, is who we are. Do I seem so different from her?"
"She was afraid of me. You are not."
"She lives for life. I live for death. Did she have cause to fear you?"
"Yes."
"You hurt her?"
"I did."
"You would hurt me?"
"Never. Nor her. Never again. You are a mystery to me."
"You are also a mystery to me. I feel I should know you better."
"Who am I then?" he asked.
"A very dangerous man," she replied, "more dangerous than you may imagine."
He recognized that this person might never help him explain his own mystery of identity. He also sensed that this conversation could not last very long. He changed to his most important topic. "Who is Fidelity Demba? Zakiya."
Aylis Mnro required several minutes of apparently difficult introspection to find an answer.
"Zakiya. Yes. Someone you must not harm. Have you?"
"No. Why can't you give me a more complete answer?"
"Not much is clear or complete to me. I'm letting go of our memories, even as I weep to see them recede."
"I have always known," Etrhnk said, "that I do not... fit where I am, that I am not who I should be. Do you know who I am?"
She paused again to strain at remembering, studying his face with a deep frown. The frown flew away in a cascade of feelings transposed to her face: perhaps recognition, joy, dismay, pain, sorrow, and finally resignation.
"You are the best and the bravest," she said solemnly. Then she appeared puzzled at her own words. She continued to stare at Etrhnk with great concern. She wavered slightly. Mnro started panning her gaze around the lunar estate.
"Something is wrong," he said.
"The memory! The memory! How sweetly sad. And how deadly."
"What mem
ory?" Etrhnk now suspected he was about to lose more than what he had come to learn.
"Of what I did," Mnro said, "even though I loved you."
"You loved me?" Etrhnk watched her continue to waver. He tried to reach for her, to steady her but she pushed his hands away, even while stumbling. She kept looking at him, her expression changing too much for him to decode. She reached the edge of the patio. She looked back at the house for a moment. She wandered into the green grass of the lawn next to the English garden.
She fell.
Etrhnk dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering over her with nothing to do but tremble in frustration.
"Forgot you," she said, forcing the words onto frail breaths, and struggling as though she had more words which she could not bring forth.
I do not want you to die! He wanted to shout the words but did not, for fear of missing what she might say next.
Her body deteriorated in a strange way, as though dissolving and collapsing from the inside. Etrhnk positioned his ear near her mouth, hoping for some further response.
"Petros," she finally whispered.
Her body collapsed, melted, and was only briefly contained by her clothing, until her pale skin darkened into a viscous mass and thinned away into the grass. He had to move away to avoid the chemical residue which was harming the grass while it dissolved even the clothing she had worn.
Etrhnk knew he would die, in order that Fidelity Demba and the real Aylis Mnro might live. He did not know why. He would die in ignorance. He would die mourning this person who called him Petros.
2-17 Khalanov Meets Wingren
"The ship has no bow, of course, no fore and aft," Iggy said, "but the damage at Ring Zero East is still serious."
He was grateful