Worlds Away (10 page)
Catching my father looking at me thoughtfully, I realized
that I had spoken the ritual word-for-word. I did not make a single mistake. It
was as if I had performed the rites of burial a hundred times before. The
thought came to me that, had I never met Ekahua and learned his Song, I would
never have been able to remember the words of prayer today. Somehow, when he’d touched
me with light, he’d changed me.
The men filled in the grave, and then lowered the platform
floor over it.
We would begin building my home on top of the priest’s grave
tomorrow. His spirit would watch over and guard the new dwelling, and perhaps
visit me in my dreams.
Qin
Station :
Sol
System :
Alex knew he
couldn’t use any more delaying tactics right then, at least, not under direct
threat of being shot.
“As long as you can promise to give me periodic updates on
my friends’ progress home, I will cooperate. I gave Chow Yin my word.”
“His Highness,” Alice corrected, but it sounded more like an
automatic response. “So,” she said, “what’s the big secret?”
“The big secret is that I don’t know what Klaus discovered.”
Seeing Alice’s eyes widen in outrage, Alex held his hands
up. “However, I know the road he took to get there.”
“The Song of the Stars. Is the formula hidden in it?”
“Yes, though it’s not precisely what you think.”
Alice folded her arms across her chest. “I’m waiting.”
“The words in the story are unimportant. It’s the melody
itself. There are certain notes that translate to sound frequencies. These
sound frequencies have a corresponding light-wave frequency. Those light-wave
frequencies are used to bombard Kinemet before initiating a reaction—in essence,
priming it—to achieve the desired effect on a person. The result, of course, is
irradiating that person, and attuning them to the radiation signature of Kinemet.”
“What notes?”
“I’m not certain. I believe Klaus wrote a computer program
that disseminated the most likely possibilities. Unfortunately, that program
was destroyed along with the station on Venus.”
Alice chewed her lip. “We have many computer programmers with
us. I’m sure we can reproduce that algorithm. I assume you have some idea which
notes are important and which ones aren’t?”
Nodding, Alex said, “I listened to Yaxche recite the song
several times. I have some ideas.”
“Good.” Alice went to her computer and typed something.
“Sian is my father’s best programmer. We’ll get him here to write the code.” A
moment later, a message came back on-screen, and Alice smiled. “Good. He’s
currently finishing an assignment, but should be here in a few hours.”
She logged off the computer and faced Alex. “I will have
some food delivered here for you. If you require rest, there is a cot set up in
the storage room over there.” She pointed to a door on the other side of the
lab.
“Thank you,” Alex said. There was no point in being
impolite. After all, the more cooperative he seemed, the easier it would be to
delay their progress.
“A guard will be posted in this room at all times. He has my
permission to shoot you if you do anything to arouse suspicion.”
“Understood,” Alex said amicably.
Narrowing her eyes at him once more, she strode out of the
lab.
∞
Alex presumed Alice was off either to report to her father,
complain about the working arrangement, or have something to eat. No matter
which it was, Alex wouldn’t have much time.
Confidently, he walked over to the computer Alice had used
to contact the programmer. Just as he started toward it, the guard turned his
rifle on him.
As casually as he could, Alex took a seat in front of the
console and typed in Alice’s password—she had not been careful enough to hide
it from him. Perhaps she thought he could not see what she typed from across
the room, or that he couldn’t use a keyboard with Chinese characters on it.
Though there was a Kinemetic damper in the room, that only prevented Alex’s
electropathy and his
sight
. His eidetic memory was intact, and though he
didn’t know how to interpret the characters on the keyboard, he remembered
precisely which keys Alice pressed and in what sequence.
“What are you doing?” The guard took a few steps forward, and
pointed his rifle directly at Alex.
Forcing a calmness into his voice that he didn’t feel, Alex
said, “Cooperating. What did you think I was doing?”
The guard didn’t reply, but neither did he lower his weapon.
Affecting a sigh of irritation, Alex turned in the seat to
face the suspicious guard. “If you must know, I’m going to access the recording
of the Song the Stars and begin logging the sound waves of each note. It could
take some time.”
Without waiting to see if his explanation satisfied the
guard, Alex turned back to the computer and tapped a key to see what it would
do. A navigation screen appeared. “After all,” he said, “that’s what they
brought me here to do, isn’t it?”
He tapped another key, and then another and another,
memorizing each of their functions. Once he had a baseline, deciphering the
remaining characters only took a few minutes. By the time he had a working
knowledge of the computer’s operation, he noticed the guard had retreated to
his post, and had adopted his previous watchful position.
What Alex needed was more information, both on how much they
knew about Klaus’s progress, and about their empire.
The first database Alex accessed prompted him for a
password. He entered Alice’s and smiled; she was one of those people who used
the same password for everything. It occurred to him that he had no idea what
that password was, and opened a translator and frowned when it spat out the
English letters: qinguangwangfoursevensevenzero.
At first, he thought it might be a random string of
characters, but then he had an idea, and did a general search. Qin Guang Wang
was the Chinese ruler of the first court of Feng-du, the equivalent of the
Western version of hell. He judged the dead and decided whether their souls
went to paradise or were sent into hell for punishment.
Using her password, Alex accessed Alice’s personnel file and
confirmed the date of her birth. 4770 was the Chinese equivalent to 2073 in the
Gregorian calendar.
Alice used the Chinese god of retribution and her birthday
as her password.
What events had occurred to make Alice Yin the person she was?
There was such anger in her.
Quickly, Alex skimmed the rest of her file. It gave some
basic details, but not enough to paint a complete picture. Alex didn’t know how
much access he had, but he did a comprehensive search throughout the entire
station’s databases for any document that would give him a hint to Alice Yin’s
background.
With his enhanced memory, he only needed to glance at each
document once to retain everything on it. By the time his lunch arrived, Alex
had read all the information in the database concerning the Emperor’s daughter.
Whatever wasn’t there, he could fill in himself.
∞
When Chow Yin had started to build his criminal organization
in the depths of Luna Station, he’d done so despite his disability. For the
kind of man he was, he believed the only women who would be attracted to him
were those seeking his money, power, and security. To let himself become
romantically involved with someone was a weakness, a vulnerability he could not
afford. He was still a man, however, with a man’s needs. Those needs were met
by those women who provided such services.
To prevent any possibility of such a woman becoming familiar
with him or his operation, he never contracted the same person twice, and
always ensured they were on Luna temporarily.
Chow Yin took as many precautions as he could, but no
safeguard was infallible, as he found out when one of the women contacted him
and attempted to extort money: their union had produced a baby girl. Alice.
In an attempt to plug the breach in security, Chow Yin sent
a man to eliminate the two. Some paternal weakness in him made him change his
orders at the last moment: let the baby live.
Since the woman had no living relatives, Alice ended up in
China’s orphanage system. Though Chow Yin had no desire to meet or publicly acknowledge
his daughter, he nevertheless checked in on her from time to time.
When he received a report that Alice had an affinity for the
sciences, he arranged a scholarship to Peking University in their Astrophysics
department, and ensured various professors and university officials monitored
and encouraged her progress.
After Chow Yin was arrested on Luna Station, the media dug
into every aspect of his life.
A reporter from Beijing broke the story, linking Chow Yin to
Alice.
It became a media circus for her: daughter of the most
infamous criminal of the century. Her scholarship funds were seized by the
government. Trying to dispel any suspicion of bribery, the university
administration immediately expelled her from their program. She lost her
apartment and all her friends.
No legitimate company would hire Alice after that, and—homeless,
destitute, and desperate—she ended up working for an arms dealer who was
developing biological weapons.
Three years after her father was prosecuted and sent to the
penal colony on the other side of the Sun, the organization Alice worked for
was raided. Alice was convicted and sentenced to life in Chongqing Prison.
A follow-up piece several years later illustrated how prison
life was unkind to Alice. The prison had a reputation for torture by the male
guards, severe deprivation, and brutality among the inmates.
The last article Alex read was about an unexplained fire in
a poorly maintained section of the prison that killed more than a dozen inmates
and guards, including Alice Yin, a month before Chow Yin’s own escape from the
remote penal station.
Alex guessed Chow Yin had arranged for her escape and
brought her to Qin Station to work for him.
She’d been working on the Kinemetic process since then. The
only means of testing any Kinemetic theory was to use human subjects; and there
had not been any successes in all that time.
With horror, Alex wondered how many people had died in her experiments.
At thirty-six, Alice Yin was as brilliant and insane as her
father.
Tegucigalpa,
Honduras :
Central
American Conglomeration :
As much as
the radical events that had occurred in the four years he’d been away had
alarmed Michael, the overwhelming sameness of the Honduran capital was a sharp
contrast. The country had always had a struggling economy, and the war that had
ravaged the world since Michael had left hadn’t improved the standard of living
for the people of Honduras.
The last time Michael had been here was with George, and
they’d been on a fact-finding mission. This time, the only difference was that
he was accompanied by Yaxche. For the duration of the flight, through the
landing at the Toncontin International Airport, and the sluggish wading through
the country’s customs procedures, neither of them spoke of anything of
importance. They kept their conversation light, and off-topic from their
mission, just in case any other curious passenger or official overheard them.
Yaxche, as a returning national, had an easier time passing
the customs interview, but when Michael offered up his identification, he was
flagged. He had to spend an hour in a small room while the officers contacted
Canadian officials. Michael’s name had been plastered all over the local
newsvids after his involvement in the events at the Ruiz plantation four years
before, then again after his disappearance from Canada Station Three. Whoever
the Honduran officers contacted back home, they managed to convince them that
Michael was not only
not
under suspicion for any wrongdoing—any
outstanding charges had been rescinded—but he was a fully authorized government
agent, whose current mission was to escort Yaxche to his home.
Michael’s first task was to check in to the consulate, and
then head to the bus terminal to catch the daily shuttle to Santa Rosa de
Copán. Customs had taken so long, they only had half an hour to get to the
Tegucigalpa bus terminal, which was almost across the city.
It proved harder to find an autotaxi than to get through
customs. When Michael, with Yaxche quietly trailing behind, went to the kiosk
to get one assigned, there was an attendant there, a young kid who couldn’t
have been more than fifteen.
Though his Spanish had improved over the past while, Michael
was glad he’d remembered to bring his translator with him.
“Sorry, sir,” the attendant said. “All the computers are
down this morning. The autotaxis are grounded.”
“For how long?” Michael asked.
“They’re doing some kind of upgrade—it’s been needed for a
long time. They were supposed to be finished overnight, but it’s taking
forever.”
Michael made a grunt of displeasure and looked around.
“A city bus should arrive in twenty minutes, if you want to
wait.”
There was no way they would make the terminal in time.
“How far away is a car rental office from here?” Michael
asked.
The attendant said, “Oh, the del Angel Vehicle Hire is right
over there, near the north end of the terminal. You could walk there in five
minutes.”
“Thank you.” He gave the attendant a tip, and then hefted
his luggage. He glanced at Yaxche. “I don’t think we’re going to make the daily
shuttle in time. If we can rent a car, we could drive to Santa Rosa ourselves
after we check in with the consulate.” Yaxche gave Michael a nod that he agreed
with the plan. He had a backpack full of souvenirs he’d bought at the Pearson
gift shop, and he slung it over his shoulder before following.
When they entered the rental agency, the harried clerk
behind the counter shook his head. “If you’re looking to rent, all our cars and
trucks are gone. With the autotaxis down, we sold out almost an hour ago.”
If they hadn’t been so delayed by customs…
Not only would they miss the shuttle out of the capital, but
they also seemed to be stranded at the airport.
Michael grimaced, and looked at Yaxche. The older man was
looking pale; after spending so long in air-conditioned space craft, and in the
cool Canadian climate, it would take a bit of time for them both the
acclimatize to the heat of Honduras.
“Maybe I’ll call the consulate, and see if they can send a
car.”
They stepped back out of the rental agency, and Michael
scanned up and down the terminal for a comm kiosk. He strode over to it, logged
in, and placed the call. A young-sounding female voice answered.
“Thank you for calling the Canadian Consulate of Honduras. Beth
speaking. How may I direct your call?”
“This is Michael Sanderson. I’m a special emissary escorting
a Honduran national. I believe Allan Perkins was informed of my arrival. It
seems we’re stuck at the airport without transport, and we’ve missed the daily
shuttle to Santa Rosa de Copán.” A moment later, he remembered to give her his
official access code to verify his identity.
The secretary said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Sanderson. Consul
Perkins had an all-day conference today. Unfortunately, because of budget cuts,
we no longer have any vehicles for official use. We contract with a chauffeur
service, but they don’t travel outside the capital. I could send one to bring
you here. There’s a hotel near here where you can stay until tomorrow.”
Trying not to sound ungrateful for the offer, Michael said,
“We were hoping to make Santa Rosa de Copán today.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sanderson,” the secretary said.
It seemed they didn’t have any other choice. “Thank you,
Beth. We’ll be waiting at the north parking lot.”
After disconnecting, Michael said to Yaxche. “We might as
well find a shady spot and sit down.”
There was an outdoor food vendor, where Michael bought two
iced teas. They sat at one of the round patio tables and took refuge in the
shadow of its umbrella.
“How does it feel to finally be back home?” Michael asked.
Looking around the busy streets, Yaxche said, “This is not
home.”
“Well, with luck, we should be in your village tomorrow
evening at the latest.”
“It has been a long time since I slept in my own bed.” He
gave Michael a toothy smile. “Your beds are all too soft.”
Since his release from the detention center in Ottawa,
Michael hadn’t pressed Yaxche on specifics, taking the older man at his word
that he might know the whereabouts of the alien race Ah Tabai called the Grace.
Thinking about it, the information the Mayan had given them was fairly
thin—that he
might
know where they’d gone—but then again, everyone had
discounted that the ancient Song of the Stars document contained the key to
unlocking the photonic properties of Kinemet. Michael was prepared to go on a
little faith, but his curiosity got the better of him.
Casually, he asked, “So, what is it we’re looking for?” When
Yaxche glanced at him questioningly, Michael added, “I mean, is there another
ancient scroll or something?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“It’s possible, but I do not think so.”
Michael looked at Yaxche pointedly. “If it’s not a scroll,
then what is it?”
“It is a story.”
“What story?”
“I cannot tell you. It is not my story.” After a moment, he
said, “I already told you
my
story.”
Michael cleared his throat. “Now you’re just being cryptic.”
Yaxche, as if enjoying teasing Michael, smiled wide. Letting
out a small laugh, he said, “We need to speak to an old friend of mine.
Perhaps, if he likes you, he will tell you his story.”
“The story of the Grace?”
Keeping his smile firmly in place, Yaxche shrugged helplessly.
“It is best to hear the story from the storyteller.”
Michael recalled that the key to the Song of the Stars wasn’t
the story itself, it was in the telling, and he resigned himself to be patient.
Yaxche patted him on the arm. “Do not worry. I think my
friend will like you.”
By the time they finished their iced teas, they spotted a
long black car pulling into the parking lot. The decal on the door read ‘Tegucigalpa
Chauffeur Service’. Michael stood and hefted his luggage as the car pulled up.
The driver spoke in English with a heavy Spanish accent.
“Mr. Sanderson for the Canadian Consulate?” The man, who was short but quite
stocky, wore an odd-fitting black suit. The tie around his neck was loosened,
and the top button of the collar was undone. As if realizing the fact, he
quickly did the button up and tightened the tie.
“Yes, that’s us,” Michael said.
Reaching into his vehicle, the driver pressed the trunk
release, then hurried over to help Michael and Yaxche with their luggage.
Once Michael and Yaxche climbed into the back seat, the
driver engaged the navigation computer and typed in their destination.
They drove along the Bulevard Fuerzas Armadas, weaving in
and out of traffic, and Michael looked out of the window at the city. When he
glanced over to Yaxche, he saw that the older man seemed not to take any
interest in the city.
When they reached the Boulevard Centromerica, instead of
turning north toward the Canadian Embassy, they kept going east.
“I think you missed the turnoff,” Michael called out to the
driver.
“Construction,” the driver said. “We’ll take a side street
around. It’ll be faster.”
Sitting back uneasily, Michael searched his memory. It had
been a few months—his time—since he’d been in Tegucigalpa, and though he didn’t
have as keen a memory as Alex or Justine, he’d taken the time to look at a
street map of the capital more than once. There were no side streets from the
turnoff until they crossed the Anillo Periférico. Even in a roundabout way,
that would more than double their travel time.
“City’s going through a lot of problems this morning,”
Michael said.
“Sí.”
The man didn’t seem to be acting suspiciously. Perhaps
Michael was just being paranoid. He decided to wait and see what happened.
When they reached the turnoff to Anillo Periférico, and
continued heading east, Michael sat forward.
“Where are you taking us?”
“Please relax,
señor.”
The driver drew a pistol from
inside his suit jacket and held it up a moment for Michael to see before
putting it back. “It’s for your own good.”