loveyoudivine His and His Kisses

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Portrait of an Artist Copyright©2009 Max Griffin ISBN 978-1-60054-386-9 His and His Kisses Edition Cover art and design by Anastasia Rabiyah All rights reserved. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation. Published by loveyoudivine Alterotica 2009 Find us on the World Wide Web at www.loveyoudivine.com

Portrait of an Artist By Max Griffin

For Martha Gallagher, for her support and advice.

Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time. --Albert Camus

Portrait of an Artist

Chapter One The Painting

The painting's grimy crimsons and mossy greens glimmered in a dusty beam of sunlight. Peter ignored his companion, balanced on his cane and wobbled through the cluttered cellar. The motors in his brace whirred and tingled while they boosted the tattered remnants of muscle in his leg. Curiosity nibbled at his mind and quelled the nagging ache that was his constant companion. He suppressed a cough at the musty smells his movements stirred and squinted at the faint light that filtered through the narrow basement windows. His advance stopped where the canvas rested on the floor and he pointed with his cane. “Mr. Cantwell, what's this?” The lawyer flipped his phone open and peered at the holodisplay that materialized before his face. He tugged at a corner to enlarge it and flipped through several screens. “This says it's an item your Uncle Adam acquired on 18 Scorpii B some time ago, sir.” His eyes flickered from his display to Peter's face and back again. “That's the star catalog listing for the planet Helios.” He poked at the canvas with a foot and a sneer played with his narrow features. “I can see why he left it down here. It's hideous.” Peter knelt to examine it, and the muscles in his right leg writhed as the brace amplified their meager impulses. He ran a finger along the painting's surface and cleared a trail of filth. “It's got interesting use of color and form.” Cantwell snorted. “I suppose, if you like that kind of abstract thing. I prefer paintings like yours, of real things that I can recognize.” Peter leaned on his cane and struggled back to his feet, while his brace buzzed in his bones. “Send this one to my studio, will you? I'd like to see what it looks like once I clean it up.” His eyes roamed over the debris in the cellar and took in a jumble of insipid clay pots, quotidian landscapes, and naked women frozen in granite. A heavy sigh relieved the weight in his chest and he wondered again why his uncle had named him executor. He barely remembered even having an uncle, and now he was in charge of bringing order to the chaos left by his death. “I wish I had a better idea of Uncle Adam's wishes. He left no instructions?” “Just that you be named executor, and guardian of his spouse.” Cantwell shrugged. “I would have thought he would have spoken to you about it.” “I hadn't seen him or Aunt Caitlin in over twenty years, since I was sixteen and he took a job at the Guggenheim on Lonewolf Four. Before that, they'd be around every year or so, when he brought things back from the Far Beyond to the museum he worked for.” Peter's eyes scanned over the dusty clutter in the cellar. “As far as I knew, they never returned back to Earth after they left that last time. I was shocked to learn we both lived in Dallas.” He let his gaze return to Cantwell. “I suppose your team has gone through all this?” The lawyer narrowed his eyes and a sly grin creased his features. “Yes sir. We hired the best. Christie's has examined the inventory and is eager to assist us with an auction. This junk 6

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should bring the collectors out. It's supposed to be worth a fortune.” He tightened the knot on his tie, squinted at his phone's display shimmering in front of him, and then nodded toward the painting. “They marked this thing for the trash, I'm afraid.” Peter glanced at the lawyer's predatory gaze on his uncle's belongings and thought of wolves closing in on an injured deer. “Well, no one will mind if I just take it then.” He paused. “Unless you think Caitlin would want it.” His companion rolled his eyes and chortled. “Not likely, with her diagnosis of spongiform encephalopathy.” He rattled the term off with elaborate care. “Your aunt's been more or less a vegetable for the last year, in case you didn't know. My firm administers the trust that pays her hospital bills. That's why you're the executor. Your uncle has no other living relatives, and she's non compos mentis.” Peter's face heated at the lawyer's words. “Mister Cantwell. I read the letter your firm sent, so I know she's ill. But she's still alive. As I understand it, she's even lucid some of the time. She just can't care for herself.” “You can say that again. Her brain's a sponge by now. I've spoken with her doctor.” He looked smug. Peter's leg twinged and fatigue dragged at him. “Whatever. Just deliver the painting.” He reached into his pocket, pulled a white capsule from a pill case, and swallowed it without water. The lawyer's eyes looked away from Peter's trembling fingers. “There will be other documents for you to sign, after the auction.” “Send them to my husband, will you? He handles my business affairs. You have his information?” Cantwell tapped his phone. “Right here. Aaron Goodman, right? I keep my life in my phone.” **** Golden afternoon sunlight flowed through the skylight and puddled on the ancient hardwood floor of Peter's studio. He blinked and grains of fatigue scraped at his eyes. His palette tugged at his arms, his leg ached, and the rank odor of dried sweat in his armpits invaded his nose. He dropped his tools on the work table at his side and peered at the pointillist composition on his canvas. Thousands of pastel specks conspired to imitate the bouquet of carnations sitting on the pedestal before him. The brilliant colors of the living flowers sang a merry counterpoint to the austere dirge of his pallid still life. The muscles in his neck kinked, and he twisted his head in annoyance. From a shadowed corner of the studio, the dusty painting called to him. He reached for his cane, but the oils still gleaming on his hands stopped him. He sighed and used a rag to swipe away the paints in a swirl of callow hues. When he gripped his cane, it was hard and rigid in his hand, like a third leg. He hobbled across the room, irritated at the low frequency hum from his brace. He lifted the painting to an easel and gazed on its inchoate forms. There was something there, some primitive emotion that cried out for understanding. The buzz of the intercom jerked him from his reverie. He limped across the room and pressed the talk button. “Who is it?” 7

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“Irv Cantwell. I've got something for you, sir.” Peter sighed and released the door. “Come on up. It's unlocked.” He turned back to the dusty painting and picked up a clean brush. With the same care he'd use on a Raphael, he stroked the grimy surface. Even this hack's work deserves some respect, he mused. Billows of dust puffed like smoke into the beams of sunlight. The stairs behind him creaked and Cantwell's feet thudded on the old wooden floor. “Uh, I didn't mean to disturb you.” His voice, confident and a bit loud, belied his words. Peter turned and nodded to where the man stood in a shaft of light, like a figure just stepped down from the Sistine Chapel. A golden glow that Vermeer or Sengupta would have longed to portray shone from his bald pate. He gripped a leather-bound notebook in his left hand, while he extended his right in greeting. “It's good to see you again.” Peter tried to cross the studio to shake hands, but a flash of agony from tortured muscles gripped his leg and he stumbled. He caught himself on his cane and collapsed onto the sofa bed he kept in the studio. He gestured to a model's stool by his work table. “Please sit. You'll forgive me if I don't greet you properly. My leg is acting up again.” He ran his hand through his tangled hair and scabs of paint caught in his fingers. “I thought I asked you to run these things through Aaron?” The lawyer grimaced. “I did, but he said you should look at this personally. He didn't seem keen on bringing it to you himself.” He polished the seat with his handkerchief before he perched on it. “I know I should have called first, but I was in this part of town and, well, I thought I'd just drop by.” Peter sighed and kneaded his leg. “There's coffee over there, if you want. I'm afraid it might not be very fresh. I made it hours ago. Maybe yesterday. I'm not sure.” The attorney eyed the blackened pot sitting on a hot plate and shook his head. “Thanks, but I think I'll pass.” His eyes turned to Peter's still life. “That's wonderful. Is it your latest work?” “Yeah. It's a commission from the Dallas Red Wings. It'll be part of the artwork in their new arena.” “I love it. It's like you've tamed the colors, and digitized them at the same time.” His gaze cast back and forth from the carnations to the canvas. “You do magnificent work. It's so realistic, yet it has your own stamp as an artist. They pay you good for this kind of thing?” “Enough.” Peter's eyes drifted from his painting to the splotchy canvas sitting in the corner and then back to the lawyer's face. "I'm a bit fatigued. I've been working non-stop for over sixteen hours. May I ask what brings you here?” “Sure, sure. Partly, I wanted to brief you on the auction. It went well, very well indeed. We haven't cleared the accounts with Christie's yet, but the preliminary numbers are excellent. Oh, and I'm afraid there's a lawsuit over a couple of paintings in the collection.” “Lawsuit? I thought there no other heirs. Who has standing to sue?” “Your uncle had three original works by Joshua Maartens. You've heard of him?” Peter shrugged. “Of course. His use of color and form was revolutionary, in its day.” “Well, there's a provincial museum on Helios that claims these paintings belong to them. Something called...” He flipped open his phone and scanned the screens. “Here it is. The Lucastown Great House claims your uncle took the paintings unlawfully.” “That's hard to believe. His reputation was impeccable. He would have been working for 8

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the Texhoma University Galleries when he was on Helios. They wouldn't have tolerated anything unethical, nor would he.” “Their claim doesn't look very strong. We'll work out some kind of settlement if we have to. In any case, it's a small part of the estate. There's going to be a substantial sum from the auction.” “That's good, I guess. More for Aunt Caitlin's trust.” “Don't forget you get a commission as executor.” “I don't need it. Take your fee out and leave the rest for that poor woman.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Aaron will handle the details.” “Whatever you say, sir.” He shifted in his seat. “When we cleaned out the inventory, we came across this.” He tapped the notebook with an index finger. “Your uncle kept a journal of his voyages through the Settled Realms, collecting folk art from the colonial planets.” “I should think you could sell it. Someone could write a book or something.” Fatigue pulled at his mind and disinterest fogged his thoughts. “Oh, no doubt. Christie's thought this would bring a nice price at auction.” He pursed his lips. “But there's an inscription from your uncle. It seems he wanted you in particular to have it.” “Really?” Peter yawned and ran fingers through his snarled hair. “I can't imagine why. The old coot hadn't spoken to me since I was a teenager. Why would he want me to have his blasted diary?” “Well, it's not too late to put it up for sale.” The lawyer's eyes gleamed and his fingers clutched at the leather binding. Peter shrugged. “Tell you what. Leave it here and I'll glance at it. Maybe there's something interesting there. We can always sell it later.” “If you wish.” The words oozed from Cantwell's lips like reluctant syrup from a pitcher. “Is there a clean place I can put it?” He stammered, “I mean, in case you decide to sell it, you wouldn't want it damaged by paint or anything.” “Sure. Just put it here on the end table beside the sofa. I'll look at it and let you know.” **** He woke in the middle of the night and unglued reluctant eyelids. Moonlight and shadow greeted him. He struggled to sit up and knocked his cane from its resting place. It clattered against the end table and a photograph tumbled to the floor where its crystal frame shattered into a million glittering pieces. Aaron's sweet features smiled up at him from the scattered shards. Peter's face was there too, still youthful and surrounded by dreadlocks of chestnut hair. In the photo, Peter stood on two legs that were still strong, and Aaron's arm rested on his shoulder. Their faces shined with joy that hadn't yet met sorrow. He sighed and thought about the gray that now streaked his shoulder-length curls and the pain lines that scoured his face. Reluctant fingers picked up the photo. His eyes glistened as he thought of Aaron, who, though Peter's age, still enjoyed the vigor of the youth in the photo. Wisps of blond hair floated about his head like a halo, and his broad shoulders and narrow hips sang of an athleticism that Praxiteles would have loved to immortalize. He shuddered as unwanted memories cascaded 9

Portrait of an Artist

through his mind and splashed against the lonely shoals of his heart. Aaron's sweaty body above him, their passions merged in an erotic pas de deux. Aaron's merry smile in the morning when they woke together. Aaron's hurt when Peter stalked out of their condo that last time. Peter's own anger and resentment remained buried deep in his core, where it bubbled like magma. Their separation had torn a hole in Peter's heart. Fuck him. Who needs him, anyway? He held his head in his hands and fought back tears. From the counter in the kitchen, an amber bottle of pills called. He hobbled through the darkness and his fingers quivered as he unscrewed the lid and stuffed a white capsule in his mouth. He sighed and wished it would ease the pain in his soul. He would settle instead for a brief surcease from the misery that plagued his leg. Muffled harmonics plummeted against his ears from the composer in the adjoining loft. High notes bored through the ducts and the deep bass rumbled in the walls. The middle tones, though, were too feeble to penetrate the soundproofing. A deep ache clenched at his bladder and he groped for his cane. The painting loomed over him, begging him for affirmation. The colors slithered after him in the faint lunar illumination as he lumbered to the bathroom, harassed by the dull burr from his brace. The forms haunted his mind even as his body expelled the foul-smelling fluid that pained him. He returned to the studio. His still life accused him with shallow abstractions while the dusty painting screamed in anguish. Light. He needed light to see with. He flipped a switch and winced when the solid state imitation of sunlight flooded the studio. His bones ached and his skin crawled with greasy sweat and crusty paint. The brace gripped at him and its tendrils dug into his nerves like wasps. He grasped his cane and hastened across the studio to where the harsh lights washed across the pastel shades of his painting and transformed it to a sallow pastiche of academic maunderings. But the other painting! Its violent gobs of color compelled his gaze. His hand trembled as he picked up a brush and stroked dust away. His breath quickened when the arid puddles of oil assumed a new sheen and the shapes they formed twisted at his mind. He leaned close and saw that the varnish was still clear. With a soft, flannel rag and painstaking fingers he removed the grime from the surface, inch by inch. The moon sank below the urban horizon, and the composer next door silenced his synthesizer, but Peter worked on. The sun rose, and birds sang outside his window, but Peter stayed focused on the fraction of the painting's surface underneath his rag. At last he finished. He stepped back and examined the result. His analytical mind at once saw the clumsy technique. Paint coiled in hopeless blobs, so that the surface rose and fell in chaotic hills and valleys that bore no relation to the overall composition. The shapes twisted from random swirls to crude geometric figures. It was as though Euclid had drawn by manipulating a child's Spirograph using his tongue. He recalled Cantwell's words in his uncle's basement. The painting was, indeed, hideous. Disappointment huddled in a dismal corner of his soul. Like the pain in his leg, it was a familiar companion. He tossed his rag aside and yawned. When his gaze fell on the pristine perfection of his just completed still life, a smile tugged at his lips and satisfaction with his mastery of craft swelled in him. He was an artist, not some amateur hack producing crap that tasteless snobs 10

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called “folk art.” His glance turned once more on the canvas from Helios. That was when the flowers trapped inside the artist's tangled creation bloomed and filled the room with glory. In that instant, their beauty took his breath away. He collapsed to his sofa and stared in wonder. Nothing about the painting had changed. It was still an inept clump of colors and contorted shapes. What changed was that Peter looked deeper into the images and saw with the artist's tormented eyes. Bumbling, incompetent, graceless: yes, the painting was all those things. But the painter had found beauty in a bouquet of flowers and had poured his soul onto this canvas, in the anguished hope that others might know the same joy he felt. Peter wept, for the painting's very imperfections amplified the tragic magnificence of its creator's vision. His eyes roamed over his studio. The carnations that he had painted yesterday still stood in their vase, now wilted from the heat of the morning sun. His still life glowed, like a pure and delicate theorem, filled with form and color and no meaning. Next to him, on the table, rested the leather notebook Cantwell had delivered yesterday. It creaked when he opened it. An inscription inside, written in an ancient Spenserian hand, read, “This journal is for my brilliant nephew, Peter. Within, I spin the tales of my many journeys off-world in search of beauty and truth. Contrary to the poet's wisdom, I have rarely found these two in the same urn, for often truth is filled with sorrow while beauty brings but frivolous joy. For the diversion of his muse, I commend to him the narratives within.” A faded ribbon marked a page in the journal. Peter opened the book and a tattered photograph fell into his lap. He picked it up with two fingers and peered at a handsome couple standing before a corrugated building. Wind whipped at her long skirts and lifted his blond hair in a golden halo, while auburn braids framed her face. They gazed upon one another with smiles that glowed with the serenity of a Klimt portrait. An endless smudge of carnations covered the ground, as though a fantasy of van Gogh had come to life. What appeared to be a large badger with purple fur nuzzled at the woman's hand. He flipped it over and found the words, “Caitlin, Adam, Sebastian, January, 2359, Spirit Lake, New Iowa, Helios.”

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Portrait of an Artist

Chapter Two The Great House

Adam grinned and danced through the puddles on the gravel walkway leading to the Great House. Overhead, purple clouds sailed through the pearl-white sky, and the green glow from the local sun warmed his features. “Helios is a beautiful planet. I love it here, Caitlin!” He grasped his companion's hands and swept her up in an impromptu waltz. “Stop it! People will see us. Dancing is forbidden.” She pushed him away and clutched at the black ribbon on her bonnet. Her features heated from peaches and cream to apples and cinnamon, but her eyes sparkled with delight. “The Council chose me to be the guide for ye, and glad I am for it. People will make allowances, ye bein' from Earth and all. But if my Uncle thinks ye are too familiar, he will find an old crone to show ye our village and send me back to his kitchen.” Adam thought he could dive into her blue eyes and swim to eternity. “We can't have that! If he sent you back to the kitchen, why I'd have to spend the rest of my time on Helios there, too, in the kitchen with you. Then I couldn't do what I was sent here for, and the museum back on Earth would fire me.” A sweet smile eased across her features. “Aye, Mister. I, too have enjoyed the last six weeks as yere guide. It was good to show ye New Chicago, and to be back at the University for a bit. But our farms and the Great House, these are the heart of New Iowa, and what ye came to see.” She spread her arms at the lush fields, colorful beds of flowers, and tidy metal buildings gleaming in the sunlight. “It's lovely. Thank you for showing me the wonders of your home. Today the sun's out. It's stopped raining at last. I get to see your Great House.” He beamed at her. “Now if you'd only agree to marry me, my life would be complete.” She lowered her gaze and murmured, “Really, now, Mister. We take marriage serious here abouts.” She glanced up at him and blinked sorrow out of her eyes. “I wish ye would not toy with me so.” He couldn't hide a smile at the endearing way her accent chewed on her vowels. “What makes you think I'm toying?” She spun away and lifted her long, gray skirts to step over a puddle. “Ye shouldn't laugh about serious matters like marriage, and me a maiden.” He reached for her, his heart sinking at her anger. “Wait! I'm not laughing at you. You're beautiful. I'm told I'm not bad looking. We're both available, right? A nice month-long contract is just what we need, don't you think?” He beamed at her. She squeezed his hand, and a finger lingered on his cheek. “I admit ye are fair, Mister. Brown eyes like yeres I have not seen before, and yere waist is trim and shoulders broad.” She leaned closer, ran her fingers through his hair, and whispered in his ear, “Such gentle curls ye have, and a heart like an angel.” She pulled back and a stern frown creased her forehead, but it 12

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couldn't hide the smile that played with her lips. “Ye must mind yere manners here, Mister. My good Uncle has arranged for Mister Silas Marley to come courting. He's a good and honorable man, and his meat packing plant prospers. Uncle would send ye back to the Alcubierre Landing at New Chicago if he heard such talk from ye.” His heart sank. “So you have a boyfriend? I'm so sorry. I meant no offense.” “Ach, I won't marry Silas even to please Uncle. And I could not take offense at ye, Mister. But my Uncle and Mister Marley, they are another matter. They believe in the old ways.” “You mean like an arranged marriage? That seems unfair to you.” “The Scriptures teach we must honor our Father and Mother. Uncle Gideon raised me up when my parents passed, and so I am bound to him.” She sighed. “When I marry, my husband will join the family that Uncle heads. Of course he must have a say, even if good Silas isn't the one. Marriage is for life, as is family. Ye're in New Iowa, and we're a civilized lot here. Don't ye forget it, now.” Affection twinkled in her blue eyes and a smile dimpled her cheeks. He avoided looking at the horse-drawn carriage clattering down the cobbled street. “I'm sorry, Caitlin. You're the last person in the Universe I'd want to hurt. I'm still a stranger here, and don't know your ways.” “Aye, and ye'll stay a stranger if ye don't mind yere tongue. Uncle Gideon will lock ye up in the stocks, he will, if he thinks ye are challenging our ways.” In his eyes, her merry smile was brighter than a thousand suns. “Maitreya bless you. The Master counsels patience with the uninitiated and teaches us to guide them to the Truth by example.” He reflected that he could listen to her sweet voice all day, even preaching religious nonsense. “What truth is that?” “Why, the Truth of the High Lessons, the Enlightenment that the Maitreya Buddha brought the world, of course. God loves ye, and ye should love others. God is Great. His Truth is beautiful.” “Truth is beauty, and beauty is truth,” he murmured. “Yes indeed. Ye know the words spake by the Grand Imam, then?” “I'm afraid Grand Covenant has replaced the Old Religions on Earth, Caitlin. But their wisdom, your wisdom, is part of our shared heritage. Our leaders want to preserve knowledge of the past, so that we can respect our forebears. Here, in New Iowa, you have a living outpost of those traditional values. That's why the Texhoma University Galleries sent me here: to carry knowledge of your ways and especially your arts back to Earth.” “Aye, to see our holy art, and perchance to acquire some for Earth Home. People come from as far as New Chicago to marvel at the paintings in our Great House. And now ye are here, engineering space and time itself to make the same voyage.” “I didn't engineer anything, I'm afraid. I just rode along while someone else did.” “Aye, but someone did the hard task of warping space-time, this I know.” She twitched her shoulders and tucked a stray, auburn hair back into hiding inside her bonnet. “In truth, only the Enlightened can create beauty. Ye shall see, and carry the Word back to Earth.” “Well, then, lead on and show me!” He followed her down the winding path toward an immense, stone-clad building. The village clustered behind them in a series of efficient metal dwellings. The Great House soared at the edge of the community, on the boundary between the townsfolk and the fields that 13

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sustained them. Behind the flowers and native bushes that surrounded the stone temple, endless rows of corn marched in geometric perfection to the horizon. In the distance cows grazed on a grassy knoll and young calves romped in joyful play. He inhaled the sweet scent of the carnations that lined the walkway. The blooms meandered into the rusty indigenous foliage and merged as though they were native to Helios. “The flowers are wonderful. They're just like the ones on Earth.” Dimples again exploded in her face. “Aye, and that would be because they are identical with those on Earth. Their seed escaped the old research station at New Evanston during the Time of Abandonment and spread planet-wide. They be God's gift of beauty to those who settle here.” “New Evanston. You mean Evanston University, where you were a student?” “That be the spot. The professors, they renamed it when the good starship Argo arrived and delivered Helios from the Time of Abandonment.” Adam nodded. “Got it. That's about the time things fell apart on Earth, before the Grand Covenant.” She nodded and pushed the door to the Great House open. “Please leave yere shoes in the rack, Mister. 'Tis a sign of respect for the Lord.” He slipped off his boots and inhaled the spicy, musky odors of the Great House. His head twisted and turned as he entered the wide meeting room. Overhead, steel beams supported a vaulted ceiling, broken by frosted skylights that let in diffuse natural light. He ran his fingers over one of the dressed stone columns that ran skyward from the yellow ceramic floor. “Surely the stone isn't structural,” he muttered. “Masons dressed the stone about steel frames, Mister.” Caitlin crossed herself and bowed to the statue of Buddha in the entry. “What do ye think of our windows?” He eased forward a few steps and stopped amidst a dazzling array of speckled light beams. “It's like all the colors of rainbow at once, marking the path to heaven.” “’Tis that indeed.” She gestured to the windows that lined the upper walls. “People have many faces, and so does the Lord. The colors of the glass remind us that we are different, but we are joined by God's grace in this holy place.” “This is amazing. When was it built, again?” “In the year of Maitreya, 183. By your reckoning, 2162.” He closed his eyes and his lips moved while he subtracted. “That's 296 years ago!" He paused. "The colony was only, what, maybe fifty years old then?” “Humans have lived on Helios since the year 83, or 2062 as ye count the ages. That's longer than any planet in the Settled Realms except Earth.” Pride shone in her voice. “But that was just the original settlement, the professors at New Evanston. In truth, the Pilgrims of the Enlightenment of Maitreya did not arrive until 139 and finished the Great House forty-four years later.” “That's amazing. Their story reminds me of the Mormon trek across North America.” “I know not of whom ye speak.” She shrugged, but her voice glowed with pride. “Our ancestors made great sacrifices to honor the gifts of the Lord.” Her face brightened as a man in black robes and a peaked cap approached them. “Uncle! I have missed ye.” She opened her arms in welcome. His teeth flashed in white perfection as a smile split his rugged features. “Caitlin, my 14

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dear, 'tis good to see ye. I have missed yere good cooking and yere bright face.” He hugged her and then gripped her by her shoulders and peered at her. “Yere face glows, lass, like the harvest moons. Have ye so missed this old man, or has Mister Marley been courting to make ye so?” “I always miss ye, uncle, and I'm always glad when ye return. I don't need Mister Marley to find me way to happiness. Ye know he's not the one for me.” She turned to Adam. “Mister Sandoval, I'd like ye to meet my Uncle, Gideon Mather. He's been at the Planetary Assembly in Malibu all summer.” Gideon snatched at Adam's hand and shook it. “Mister Sandoval. So good to have ye here, and to finally meet ye.” Adam blinked and wondered if those penetrating eyes Mather turned on him had X-Ray vision. Certainly his handshake seemed determined to show that he had super-strength. “It's good to be here, sir. Caitlin has been a most gracious hostess.” He turned his professional smile on his niece. “See, girl, I knew ye would do fine.” He quirked an eyebrow at Adam. “Would ye believe she didn't want this commission, lad?” Caitlin blushed. “Now, Uncle. 'Tis true I didn't seek it, but was glad for it when the Council offered. I have enjoyed showing Mister Sandoval our world, and now that we are here, I will enjoy showing him New Iowa.” Gideon turned and glowered at Adam. “Have ye minded proper morals while ye've been here, sir? Did Caitlin instruct ye in our ways?” “Uh, yessir. Caitlin is an excellent teacher and guide.” Adam blinked at Caitlin, but kept his face impassive. Her eyes twinkled as she signaled him with a tiny shake of her head. “Now, Uncle, Mister Sandoval is from another world. His ways are not ours, but he's been most respectful and attentive. Ye leave his instruction to me, and all will be well.” Gideon glanced across the chamber where another robed finger waved to him. “I see Master Benedict calls to me.” He reached out and crushed Adam's hand a second time. “Good to meet ye, lad. Caitlin, I'll have dinner at the abbey tonight. Perhaps ye will bring our guest?” Without waiting for an answer, he raced away in swirl of black. Adam caught his breath and flexed his fingers. “Well, that was interesting.” He raised an eyebrow at Caitlin. “Are you sure you won't get in trouble? You didn't tell me anything about all the religious restrictions here until two days ago, right before we caught our flitter.” She giggled. “Dear mister, ye be so sweet. There was no need to trouble ye with the ways of New Iowa while ye were elsewhere.” Adam let doubt seep into his voice. “But there're all these rules here.” He swept his hands to include the hamlet around them. “We can't dance, we can't be alone together, you have to wear that silly bonnet. Not that it's not cute, but...” A smiled gleamed at him as she tucked an auburn curl under black lace edging. “Now, now, sweet Mister. We show respect to the ways of Lucastown by obeying its customs while we be here. We do the same for the customs of New Chicago while we be there. The ways of this province are not the laws of the universe, despite what Uncle may think.” She took his hand and squeezed. “I know what's moral in me heart. Ye leave it to me. What Gideon doesn't see won't hurt him.” “Well, you know best.” His eyes roamed the interior. “This is as impressive as Notre Dame, in its own way. Can you show me the paintings now?” 15

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“If ye will follow me.” She tugged at his hand and let him toward the opposite end of the structure. Her grasp warmed his palm as she pulled him forward. Other pilgrims sat in silent meditation, or lit candles, or knelt in prayer. A chorus of male voices murmured a hymn that echoed against the cavernous walls. He stopped and tipped his head. “Who is that singing?” “'Tis the monks of the abbey, Mister. They are in the upper nave. Listen and their song will ease yere soul.” Her whisper puffed from her lips and lingered in the air before it vanished into the vastness of the sanctuary. Adam tipped his head and let the words and melody flow over him. “That's beautiful. It's so true that the simple things are the greatest gifts of all, don't you think?” A serene smile glowed on her face and warmed his heart. “Aye, when we turn 'round and see the simple gifts, 'tis then our hearts enter the valley of love and delight.” She tipped her head and pointed. “Come, now. The art that ye seek is in the transept.” He followed her into an alcove a little more than midway along the main hall. There he spied the paintings hanging in a perfect, Euclidean line, suspended from the chalky stone surface. Natural light entered from the windows overhead and reflected off the straw-colored tapestries clinging to the walls. He paused to take in the group as a whole, inspecting the use of color and the textures of the oils. He viewed them from the front, and then from several angles. “It's amazing,” he murmured. “There's hidden images, depending on your perspective. A trompe-l'oeil, like in Renaissance works.” He turned to Caitlin and pointed to a hidden bouquet of flowers in a portrait of a brooding prophet. She nodded. “The universe hides its secrets, as well, Mister. The Enlightened learn now to look to discover them, and learn, too, that there is no single Truth. Our greatest artist, Joshua Maartens, taught me that's why the masters painted in this way, revealing many Truths in one work.” Adam nodded and moved on to another painting. “Symbols are so important in understanding religious art, and yours are unfamiliar to me. Can you tell me what these mean to you?” He gestured toward a set of glyphs in the lower right corner of the painting. “Aye. Ye see the crescent moon? That is for the Imam Mahdi. The six-pointed star is for the Messiah. The cross represents the Christ. The mounted horseman is Kalki, Avatar of Vishnu. The Maitreya Buddha is the Fusion of all the ancient and holy prophesies of the ages, these and many more. He is the One who brings unity in diversity to humankind.” She crossed herself, kissed her forefinger, and touched the frame of the nearest painting. “So the paintings stand for truth?” “Nay, the paintings lead the way to many Truths. Each portrays an event in the life of Maitreya and teaches a lesson to those with eyes to see and ears to hear with the wholeness of the spirit.” She pointed. “In this one, Maitreya illuminates the way to peace and deliverance from hatred. And here, Maitreya teaches love for creation and his wisdom makes the Destroyers of Mother Earth weep.” “I see. Each tells a story, then, in its own way. Like Da Vinci's Last Supper, or Picasso's Guernica.” She gave him a blank look and turned to gaze at the holy paintings. “They show Enlightment.” Her hand squeezed his and she let herself brush against him. 16

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He came closer and examined each canvas. “The landscapes seem to be of Helios. The sun has a green tinge, for example, and the skies are pearl-white.” A gentle smile graced her lips. “And what other color might the sun or sky be, my sweet Mister?” He smiled. “What other color, indeed?” He moved from one painting to the next. “The people are posed, to tell the story, so the composition is forced. But the forms are natural, and drawn with great skill. The artist did marvelous things with light and shadow, too. He must have studied the Dutch masters.” “Nay, the Lord inspired the artists to reveal Enlightenment for all to see.” “I'm sure that's right.” He stopped before the last painting in the row and frowned. “This one seems more recent than the others. The varnish looks fresh, and clear. Has it been restored?” “Tis the work of Joshua Maartens. The Lord speaks to artists today as he spake three hundred years ago and for all history. The Grand Council added this work to the Great House at feastide last.” “There's a local artisan with this skill? I must meet him! People on Earth would pay much to own this kind of marvelous work.” “Art is a gift from the Lord, to Enlighten the soul. Enlightenment cannot be owned but only shared.” “Well, I can't argue with that. But don't you think the people of Earth should be enlightened by this art, too? The museum that employs me would give much to display works like these in its galleries.” She frowned. “Ye have a point. That would be for the Grand Council of Masters and Mister Maartens to say.” She smiled at him. “If he's willing to have us, I'll take ye to his workshop on the morrow. It's by Spirit Lake, in the foothills of the Governor Lucas Mountains, a day's ride from here by carriage.” She pulled out her phone and beamed at him. “He's a friend of my Uncle Gideon, and we have spent many a holiday at his studio. My dear Mister, I'm sure he'll welcome a visitor with tales of Earth to tell. We'll make a holiday of it, for him and for us.” Her fingers stroked the keypad. “A holiday it is, dear Caitlin. I'll look forward to it.”

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Chapter Three The Husband

Peter scowled as the buzzer announced a visitor at the front door to his studio. He glared at the speaker across the room and considered whether to ignore it just as it buzzed three more times in rapid succession. “Screw it.” He closed his uncle's journal, gripped his cane and stumped across the room. “This better be good,” he snarled into the intercom. His leg throbbed and he massaged his thigh. “Peter, it's Aaron. We've got an appointment, remember?” “Shit. Is it Tuesday already?” He glanced at his still life, but his uncle's journal was what filled his mind. “Can we reschedule? I'm kind of in the middle of something.” “You're always in the middle of something. Buzz me up, will you? I can drop off the proofs of the program for the Denver show, and I've got some papers for you to sign. It'll take thirty minutes, tops. I promise.” “I'm painting,” he lied. A sigh gusted from the speaker. “Look, Peter. This isn't like a date with one of your boytoys that you can just blow off. I'm still your business manager. I keep you out of trouble with the galleries, with the banks, and with the tax collector. These things won't wait. Now, let me up. We'll do our business and I'll be on my way.” He tapped his cane against the floor and closed his eyes. At least he was polite enough to buzz instead of just using his key. “I'm sorry. You're right.” He pushed the button. “Come on up.” His brace whirred as he limped to the kitchenette to make coffee. He'd left the pot on overnight again. A crusty layer of carbon clung like a stubborn barnacle inside the filthy glass. He swore and filled the sink with hot water and detergent. “Good to see you, Peter.” He glanced back and his heart quickened at the sight of his husband. “You too. I'll fix you coffee if you'll give me a second to clean up.” His eyes lingered for a moment on the other's trim waist, broad shoulders, and flaxen hair. Smile lines danced about Aaron's mouth and crinkled at the corners of his eyes, but flecks of gray marred his temples. Peter thought of times past and of mortality. Regret suffused his soul and he turned back to the sink. “Throw your stuff anywhere.” Aaron strode to the sofa and shoved the journal to one side to make room for his briefcase. “You forgot to turn the coffee off last night, didn't you? You'll never get it clean that way. Give it to me and I'll do it.” In a heartbeat, he closed the distance that had been such a painful challenge for Peter just moments ago. He reached for the offending pot. His leg throbbed and he held fast to the flask. “I'm not a cripple. Don't hover over me like that,” he snapped. He regretted saying it at once, but he couldn't take it back. Not knowing what else to do, he growled, “I don't need you to wait on me.” 18

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Aaron's head tipped to one side. He reached out and dragged a knuckle across Pete's cheek. “I know that. It never occurs to you that it might be the other way around, that what I might need is to care for you.” He glanced at the dirty dishes on the counter. “Tell you what. I know a trick to clean coffee pots, so why don't you let me do that, and you wash up a couple of mugs for us?” “Whatever.” He thrust the pot into Aaron's manicured hands and dumped the dishes into the suds with a clatter. Aaron walked to the refrigerator and filled the coffee pot with ice cubes. He opened and closed cabinets, searching. “I see they've been delivering the groceries that I order for you. Ah, here we go.” He dumped a healthy helping of salt into the ice and swished the mixture about, cradling the pot with both hands. “Yeah. Thanks. They even put the crap away for me.” He rinsed two mugs with steamy water from the faucet and pointed to the cabinet behind Aaron. “Coffee and filters are in there.” “I saw.” He held up the pot. “See? All clean.” He passed it to Peter and turned to the cabinet. Peter dumped the slurry out into the sink and stared at the gleaming glass that resulted. “That's amazing. Where did you learn to do that?” “I worked in a convenience store when I was in college. It's a trick the manager taught me.” Aaron beamed at Peter, who marveled at how his smile lit up even the messy little kitchen alcove. “Is that ready?” He nodded to the pot. Peter jerked his eyes away from Aaron and filled the carafe with cold water. “Here.” He thrust the container at Aaron. “Can you finish? My leg's acting up today.” That was as close to an apology as he was willing to go. Aaron quirked an eyebrow at him. “Are you out of Amyldin? I could call the pharmacy.” “I've got plenty. It helps with the pain, but it dulls my mind. I can't take it when I'm working.” He opened the amber bottle and tossed off two capsules. “Hey, be careful. I don't want you to OD on me.” “Right. Wouldn't want to inconvenience you.” He closed his eyes, wondering why he said such things. His brace droned and reverberated at against his thigh bone. He balanced on his cane and thumped back to the sofa. Aaron called from the kitchen, “Hey, it sounds like your brace is out of tune. Have you run a diagnostic on it lately?” “Let's see, that would mean using my computer, right? Last time I turned it on, it wouldn't shut up about selling me life insurance. I had to unplug it to get it to stop.” “Sounds like you need to update your anti-spam files.” Peter caught a playful grin on Aaron's face. “You’re such a dweeb when it comes to tech. I'll work on it later, and we'll check out the programming on your leg.” “Yeah, maybe you can program my leg so that it has muscles again, and it doesn't hurt.” Self-loathing drenched him as soon as he uttered the words, but he didn't know how to unsay them. The sound of dishes clanking in the sink filled the void between them for a moment. Aaron paused and spoke without looking at him. “You know what I meant. I'm sorry your leg hurts.” 19

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Peter sighed. “I'm sorry, too. I guess I shouldn't take it out on you.” “You can take it out on me anytime, sweetheart. I'm tough.” Aaron returned to scrubbing in the kitchen. Peter put Aaron's briefcase on the floor and placed his uncle's notebook on the end table. The brace clenched at what was left of his thigh muscles and an instant of agony pulsed through his bones. He suppressed a groan as he massaged his limb. “So how have you been?” May as well be civil. “Busy. You remember Francie Stryker? She's the sculptor who uses brushed aluminum as her medium.” “She's a hack. Why are you wasting your time with her?” “You and I know her work's crap, but Senator Kondrashchenko thinks she's the next Hayward Jasper. So, as a favor to the high and mighty, I've set up a solo show at the New Hirshhorn for her. I've been in DC making arrangements for that. It never hurts to have connections in high places.” He finished fiddling with the coffee maker and continued to wash the rest of the dishes. “The cherry blossoms were lovely. You would have enjoyed it.” “Mmph. I've been working on that Red Wings' commission. I finished it last night.” Aaron glanced at the still life. “I saw when I came in. It's fantastic. It'll be wasted in a hockey rink. You know, the Senator's husband owns the Red Wings. That's why you got that commission.” “Well, at least it pays well. I'm glad your connections pay off. For both of us.” Another beat of silence. “Yeah, well, it'll pay the rent on both this place and our condo for a year. You know, jobs like that free you up for more serious work.” He wiped his hands on a towel and scanned the studio. “So, what were you working on when I buzzed the door?” “Well, I wasn't, exactly. I was doing research.” He looked at the floor and shoved a paint-crusted rag to one side with his cane. Aaron cocked an eyebrow. “Research?” Pete squirmed on the sofa. “It has to do with my uncle.” “Your Uncle Adam? That lawyer, Irv Cantwell, called me about his estate last week. You know, I think we'll need to revise the guardianship for your aunt. How did you wind up as executor and guardian, anyway? I thought the two of you weren't close?” “We weren't. It's been twenty years, at least, since we spoke, when he and Caitlin left for Lonewolf. She's from one of the outer worlds, Helios, so I'm the closest thing to a relative they've got on Earth.” He shrugged. “I thought I'd just let Cantwell handle the details of the guardianship.” “I wouldn't trust him. He's a little too literal-minded for my taste.” Aaron wiped his hands on a towel. “I read through the preliminary report from Christie's. There were some interesting items in his collection and it looks like they brought in a small fortune. Cantwell's supposed to send me the final financial statement next week.” He grinned. “So, are you planning to retire?” Pete shook his head. “Hardly. The estate goes into a trust for Caitlin. She's in a rest home. Her mind's gone -- some disease I never heard of.” “Cantwell told me. That's sad.” He wandered across the room and the painting from Adam's cellar caught his eye. “What's this? Not your work, surely!” “No. It's something I spotted in my uncle's things. It's got an interesting use of color and 20

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form, don't you think?” Aaron peered at it. “Pretty raw. Abstract expressionism has been out of style for a few centuries now.” “See, I'm not sure it's abstract. If you look at it right, it's a painting of flowers.” “You're kidding.” Aaron walked closer and removed the canvas from its easel to hold it in the light. “Where do you see....ah!” His eyes widened and his voice oozed with pleasure. “Yes, I see now. You're right. There're flowers trapped inside those swirls. Amazing. Where did you say he got this?” “I'm not sure. I think it might be from a folk artist on Helios, maybe an apprentice of Maartens. Have you heard of the place?” “One of the outer worlds, right? Seems to me some religious sect settled there after the Disorders.” “Yeah. One of the fusion cults. Anyway, my uncle kept a journal of his travels to the outer planets, looking for folk art. You must know about it. Cantwell said he showed it to you. I've been reading about his time on Helios. I think maybe that's where he got this. He seems to have picked up some religious art there.” “I recall. Joshua Maartens was from Helios. His work made quite a stir about forty years ago. But it was nothing like this.” He nodded at the painting. “Maartens launched the neofusion school, not the school of paint glopped on a canvas.” “Right, a fusion of Raphael and Sengupta. According the journal, my uncle planned to visit Maartens' studio. I still don't have the whole story. I was reading when you came.” “That was your research? Here I thought it was something productive.” He put the painting back on its easel and dropped onto the sofa. For just an instant, Peter's heart quickened at having him so near, but then he remembered. Best to not think about it. “Well, there's something about that painting. I can't quite put my finger on it. You saw it too, I could tell.” Aaron's briefcase clicked open, but his eyes roamed back to the mysterious canvas. “Yes. There's something beautiful there, all right. It sneaks up on you, but it's haunting once you see it. Kind of a trompe-l'oeil. Unforgettable.” He always could see things that others couldn't. I do miss that. Peter nodded. “Exactly. I want to learn how that artist did what he did. It's not craft -- it's a mess from a technical standpoint. But somehow he put a piece of his soul onto that canvas. I want to do that, to be able to speak with that kind of truth and beauty.” Peter watched while Aaron's eyes looked first at the ugly-beautiful painting, and then at the perfect pointillist still life in the center of the studio, and finally back again. He shrugged. “If the artist is still alive, he's on Helios, light years away. If he was a contemporary of Maartens, he's long dead. What do you plan to do?” “I'm going to finish my uncle's journal first, see what clues are there. I need to visit my aunt in the rest home anyway, and maybe she can tell me something. I wonder if there're more works by this artist. If so, I'd like to study them. If I have to, I'll go to Helios myself.” Aaron glanced at Peter's leg and looked away. Heat flushed his face. “Dammit, I'll go if I want to! Fuck my leg! I'm going to find out how he did it, one way or another!” Aaron reached out and stroked his hand. “I know you will. When you make up your 21

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mind, there's no stopping you. I'd like to help, if you'll let me.” His eyes glowed and his voice was hushed. Fear and resentment clenched at Peter's soul then, like a black hole that sucked hope and love into a dark oblivion. He loathed his weaknesses and fled from them. He snatched his hand back. “Didn't you say you had urgent business for me?” Aaron's face hardened and he pulled a docupad from his briefcase. “Yeah, I did.” The coffee maker gurgled and announced it was done. He handed the device to Peter. “The proofs for the gallery program are on here. Look them over, will you, and I'll get us coffee.” Peter wanted say something, anything, but Aaron avoided his eyes and walked away.

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Chapter Four The Mudcat

Adam squinted against the emerald sunlight that danced on Spirit Lake and blazed through the broad windows of the cluttered studio. The heavy scents of oil and canvas mixed with a delicate overtone from the herbal tea by his side. The subtle odor of Caitlin's perfume wafted his way from where she sat across from him and their host, Joshua Maartens. He raised his cup to his lips and inhaled the steamy aroma before taking a sip. “Thank you again for your hospitality, sir.” He settled back into the leather easy chair, squirmed to work out the kinks from a long day of travel, and rested his bones. The road that wound through the corn fields of New Iowa hadn't been rough, exactly, but the suspension of the horse and buggy made him long for the flitter they'd rented while in New Chicago. Wisps of white hair floated about the old artist's bald pate. “Aye, the pleasure 'tis mine. It's not often I get such an interestin' visitor. Please do call me Joshua, Mister Sandoval.” His crisp tenor matched his lean body, weathered by the challenges of the frontier. The warm smile that creased his rosy features spoke of a life that knew joy, love, and serenity. His eyes inspected Adam with the delight of a biologist meeting a new species of amoeba. A smile tugged at Adam's lips. “And my name's Adam, Joshua. If we're to be friends, we should use our familiar names, no?” “Indeed, my friend Adam.” His eyes twinkled as his gaze fell on Caitlin. “Thanks be to ye, lass, for bringin' my new friend Adam to this little corner of fair Helios. An off-worlder has never been to my humble studio before.” Caitlin fussed with her skirt. “I wanted to visit, too, Joshua. Ye always have new wonders to show.” Her eyes roamed over the paintings that filled the room. Some hung on the walls while others perched on easels. Plastic sheathing covered more canvases that leaned in stacks against the corrugated metal walls. “Perhaps ye can take a few back to town with ye. I need to get rid of some of the clutter around here.” He stopped to ruffle the ears of the bulky animal that lounged at his slippered feet. “It's getting too crowded here, isn't it Sebastian?” The creature gazed up at him with golden eyes while Joshua stroked its sleek, purple fur. Its eyes reduced to slits and it spread its whiskers while a throaty buzz emerged from its chest. Adam eyed the pointed teeth in the beast's mouth and thoughts of a carnivorous, oversized badger filled his mind. “That's a beautiful animal, Joshua. His species must be native to Helios?” “Aye, he's a mudcat. They live here abouts, in the Lucas Mountains. But, he's no more animal than you or me. He's intelligent, like a human. It's just that his kind are handicapped.” He raised his palm and flexed his hand. “No hands, no thumbs.” “Intelligent? I thought I'd studied this planet before I arrived. I don't recall reading about mudcats.” Adam wondered what else he didn't know. Those teeth looked sharp. He thought 23

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about the intelligent furrymats he'd seen on Artemis. They looked cuddly too, until they went into heat. Joshua grinned like he knew a secret and glanced across the room. “Sebastian, go get your voder so you can introduce yourself to our new friend Adam proper-like.” The creature mewled at him and shook his head. “I know, it hurts your ears, but it's rude to not talk to our guest. Come on now. Caitlin will help you with it.” A wet sigh escaped from the creature's thin lips and he waddled across the studio; the claws on his four feet clicked against the stone floor with each step. In the corner, he stopped at a pile of wires, earplugs, and a collar. He opened his mouth and four slobbery tongues snaked out. With great care, he used them to pick up the equipment and carry it back to Caitlin. Adam blinked and closed his mouth. “My god, were those his tongues?” A hoarse laugh wheezed from Joshua's chest. “Aye. He can use 'em like fingers. Mudcats is better off that way than some handicapped species, like dolphins on Earth or slitherzards on Q'Galla. At least they can manipulate simple tools on their own.” Adam watched while Caitlin fitted the headphones into Sebastian's ears. “I guess. You know about dolphins?” She nodded. “The colonists brought them along, to help with the fishing industry.” She put the collar on Sebastian's neck and adjusted the microphone over his throat. “There. Can you say hello to Adam, Sebastian?” The creature cocked his head and blinked. “Hello, Adam.” The voice that buzzed from the voder was flat, with no inflection. “Sebastian happy to smell ye.” “I'm pleased to meet, er, smell you, too, Sebastian.” Adam grinned in delight. The comic voice allayed his initial concerns about the creature's natural weapons. “Do you know English?” Caitlin spoke up. “He doesn't, not really. His ears can't differentiate the sounds of human speech. Just like mudcat speech sounds like bunch of kittens mewing to our ears.” “But he understood when Joshua told him to get his voder.” Joshua nodded. “He's been with me a long time. The scientist at Evanston University who built his voder told me mudcats are even better than dogs at understanding human body language. Sebastian knows maybe two or three hundred English words, but mostly he picks up on gestures when he's not wearing his voder. It basically translates between English and Mudcat and vice versa.” He grinned at Sebastian. “I know he'd like to shake your hand.” “I'd be honored!” Adam stood and walked across the room to meet Sebastian halfway. He extended his hand and didn't hesitate to accept the squiggly tongues offered in return. They wrapped about his fingers in a slimy embrace and the two shook. “I'm honored to meet you properly, Sebastian.” “Sebastian happy. Sebastian likes new friend,” the voder buzzed back. “He likes it if you pet his fur, mister.” Caitlin's eyes sparkled while she watched Adam and Sebastian. Sebastian's head bobbed up and down. “Petting good. Petting dry Adam's hand. Make Sebastian feel good. Make Adam feel good. Happy thing for both friends.” A laugh bubbled up from Adam's throat as he reached out and stroked the purple fur. “It's so soft and plush. I like the way you feel, Sebastian.” He paused and glanced at his hand. “My hand's dried off, too. It's like a super-absorbent towel.” 24

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A low buzz rumbled from Sebastian's chest and his head stropped against Adam's leg. “Adam feel nice. Sebastian like Adam.” Two of the tongues looped out and lapped at his free hand. “Adam taste good. Adam taste like Caitlin. Not like Joshua. Joshua taste bad.” “I guess I eat too much garlic for his sensitive palate.” Joshua chuckled, happiness and pride showing on his face. “Sebastian, you're charming. Humans everywhere would love to meet you.” Adam glanced up. “Seriously. If all mudcats are this delightful, they'd be a big hit. There'd be a huge investment for better technology. You said the voder hurts his ears?” Sebastian stopped licking his hand and raised sorrowful golden eyes to his face. “Ears hurt. Sebastian like hearing friends talk. But voder hurts ears.” He returned to buzzing and licking Adam's hand. “The earbuds plug them up. He can't wear 'em very long.” Joshua leaned back. “Most aren't as friendly to humans as Sebastian, here.” “Aye, and they can't leave this habitat for long. If they leave these parts, the Lucas Mountains and these foothills, they waste away and die.” Caitlin's face turned sad. “I worry, too, that Sebastian may be lonely for his kith and return to his tribe to find a mate.” The licking stopped again for a moment. “Sebastian no go. Go make Sebastian sad. Stay make Sebastian happy. Sebastian love friends.” He nuzzled against Adam's leg. “I love you too, Sebastian.” Adam's voice caught in his throat and his face heated at the emotion he felt. “Somehow we've bonded already, in a way I don't quite understand.” Caitlin beamed at him. “Mudcats can do that, Mister. They're special, they are. God has blessed them with an extra measure of love.” Her smile lit up Adam's heart. He averted his eyes. “You said they can't leave the area? Maybe diet supplements, or something, would let them range farther?” “The scientists say no, Mister. 'Tis a rare earth that they need, in a particular protein. Lanthamum. There's a geological bloom hereabouts, maybe from an ancient asteroid strike. Anyway, it's in the rubyberries and the culveroot that they eat. But it degrades and is useless once the plants are harvested.” A heavy sigh escaped her lips. “Alas, they are doomed to live in these parts only.” Sebastian buzzed. “Mountains pretty. Sebastian like mountains. Lake pretty. Sebastian like it here.” “He's content, lad. Mudcats don't like change, even a little bit. It's a stretch for Sebastian to visit here with me. Most of 'em don't take kindly to even that bit of change.” Joshua stood and stretched. “Would ye like some victuals? I got plenty to eat. Plain cookin', but fillin'.” “That sounds wonderful, Joshua. Can I help with anything?” “Ye two is my guests, ye are. Take ye're rest while I cook. Take a walk outside. Look around the studio. Maybe ye will find somethin' that catches ye're fancy.” He limped from the room, leaving Caitlin, Sebastian and Adam alone. When he was gone, Adam turned to Caitlin. “Thanks again for bringing me here. This is a marvelous place.” “It's one of my favorite spots. Joshua says that the lake and the mountains are what inspire him. Methinks it's God's great creation.” “I noticed he was limping. Is his health all right? Should he live all this way out here, alone?” 25

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“He moves slower and slower as he gets older. He says it's just the age creaking in his bones. But, he's safe. We have a helicopter for emergencies. It has the most modern technology: Ling cells and a Stirling engine. He could be in New Chicago in an hour, if needed. We're simple, but not primitive, Mister.” “I'm sorry, Caitlin. I keep forgetting.” He looked around the studio. “Shall we look at some of the paintings? These are even more amazing than the ones in the Great House.” He wandered to the ones displayed on easels. “Look at how the light seems to glow from within on this one. And the shadows are alive.” “Aye. That is Maitreya blessing the golden apples of the sun.” She pointed. “There, the despoilers are in awe of him, and throw down their wicked machines.” “I see that. This is portraying an episode from the Disorders, then?” “Aye, 'tis the time after God spoke to Maitreya and gave him the Grand Covenant, but before the Enlightenment, when the despoilers yet poisoned the Earth.” Adam decided to not argue the history of where the environmental accords in the Grand Covenant came from. If she wanted to believe they were a gift from God, or Maitreya, that was as good an explanation as any as far as he was concerned. He moved on, and painting after painting was a wonder of form, color and craft. Adam marveled at their beauty, and Caitlin related the truth that each portrayed. Sebastian padded along while they walked, listening but not speaking. Near one end of the studio, in a dusty shadow, a canvas leaned against a low easel. Paints smeared against the surface in a colorful mishmash. Adam stopped before it. “Are there children who visit here?” It looked like a child's finger-painting. A small child, with coordination problems. Caitlin cast a hasty glance at Sebastian and held her fingers to her lips. “Hush, now. That's Sebastian's painting.” Adam felt as if his shock circuits were overloaded at last. “Sebastian? He paints? I've heard of other exo-species singing and dancing, but I thought only humans used the visual arts.” The voder buzzed. “Sebastian paint good.” He waddled up to the canvas and inspected it. His nose dropped and his tongues grasped a brush resting on a palette. With infinite delicacy, he mixed red and blue together and added a few details to the mess on the canvas. “Sebastian paint flowers. Sebastian love flowers.” His chest rumbled with a proud buzz. Caitlin knelt by Sebastian's side and stroked his head. “It's beautiful, Sebastian. Tell him, Adam. It's lovely, isn't it?” “It's stunning is what it is. Sebastian, that's the most beautiful painting by a non-human I've ever seen.” It's hideous, but it's the only painting by a non-human I've ever seen. Sebastian looked back and forth between his painting and Adam's face. “Sebastian wish he could do better.” His brush clattered to the floor. Adam's heart broke to see a tear puddle in those golden eyes. He looked once more at the painting and it was still a swamp of whirls and unbalanced geometric shapes. But then, a cloud parted outside and a ray of sunlight splashed through the shadows. A thrill pulsed within Adam at that instant, as the canvas bloomed in a glorious array of flowers, the colors dancing a radiant pas de deux with his soul. Somehow, Sebastian had captured their whole wheel of existence at once. It was all there: seed, sprout, flower, husk, and seed once 26

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more, round and round again. Birth, death, and rebirth, all captured at once. “Sebastian...it is beautiful. It really is,” he whispered. His words puffed into the room as if in a dream and floated away like moats of dust in a sunbeam. Golden eyes gazed upon him. A low moan escaped from deep within Sebastian's body. “Flowers pretty?” Adam looked back, and the painting was a senseless mishmash once more. His spirit wept as loss cascaded through him. He longed to see again with the wholeness of Sebastian's eyes. But knowledge and analysis poisoned his mind, chilled his heart, and beauty fled. He reached out and caressed Sebastian's furry form. “Yes. Flowers pretty. Flowers very pretty, Sebastian.” He squatted and gazed at the painting, trying to see once more that elusive explosion of beauty. Tears trickled down his cheeks and mourning gripped his spirit. Sebastian buzzed and four wet, bristly tongues licked his tears away. Caitlin heaved a shaky breath. “Aye, Sebastian, ye paint pretty flowers.” Adam gazed at her and knew that her eyes had seen, had always seen. He yearned to know once more that perfect moment, that immaculate instant when the beauty of creation fused into glory and tragedy, triumph and loss. He longed to share it with her, but the idea of beauty had transfigured the truth of it and shuttered his eyes. Sebastian pulled away and shook himself. “Ears hurt. Take out voder?” he buzzed. “Ye poor thing! Come here and Caitlin fix,” she cooed. Adam watched in silence while she removed the mechanism and tousled the mudcat's ears. Her cheeks glowed with the purity of fresh peaches, and her crystalline blue eyes sparkled with green highlights from the afternoon sun. “There, does that feel better? I bet it does.” She swept a strand of chestnut hair from her brow. He bounced away toward the door, stopped, and looked back. “I think he wants to go outside,” she said. Sebastian's head bobbed up and down. She eyed Adam. “What say ye? I'd like a breath of fresh air. The flowers are beautiful up here this time of year.” She squeezed his hand. “Shall we take a walk, dear Mister?” He gazed at the canvas, praying for the vision to return. Instead, he saw only a tangled swirl of oils. Sebastian whined and tipped his head to the door. Adam sighed and let her lift him to his feet. “I guess I could use a breather.” He gripped her hand and rejoiced at the warm comfort of her presence. “Show me the flowers.” The sun was a deep turquoise orb that hung low in the west. An endless sea of carnations danced in the gentle evening winds, their colors swirling into an Impressionist rainbow of pastels. The ruddy brown native grasses swayed in counterpoint and serenaded the blossoms in perfect harmony. A yellow limestone fence lined the walkway that led between the studio and the lean-to that held the horses. The corrugated metal of the buildings seemed to shine with an internal glow in the late afternoon light. Caitlin tugged him forward. “We must have a photo of this.” She fiddled with her phone and perched it on the fence. “Come, gather ye around. All three of us must be in this picture on this wonderful day.” She gazed at Adam and his heart sang. In that instant, he knew he loved her. Sebastian lumbered to them and nuzzled her hand. The camera in the phone whirred and clicked, freezing a perfect moment in time for eternity. 27

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Chapter Five Caitlin's Lament

Peter leaned on his cane and paused on the subterranean platform while the rest of the train's passengers jostled away from him. The subway's doors sighed closed and it whooshed away in a billow of chilled air. The draft whipped his hair into a medusa-like swirl of sepia curls while he squinted against the tempest of dust. He waited while the other passengers disappeared into a tunnel that opened before him. He eyed the corridor, filled with crystalline shop windows, glittering lights, and jostling crowds, and was grateful Aaron had fixed his brace. Odors of garlic, tamales, and curry lured him into the crush of busy shoppers and business people on break. He gathered his strength and hastened as best he could into the maelstrom. Just beyond the sushi bar and its patient line of patrons, he spotted the faux marble columns that marked the entry to Elysium Clinic. A young man on a uniflitter raced down the corridor, darting in and out between opportune holes in the mob. Peter smiled at the youth's scant attire. Tight latex shorts clung to his waist and a rainbow of body paint gleamed on his torso. Pete remembered his own youth, spent in the depths of the city, when he could fly like a swallow and dance like a slitherzard. The young man used the knapsack that dangled from one fist as a counterweight while he careened through the crowd. The muscles in his legs flexed with each gyration. Pete's leg throbbed and he sighed. A nasal voice coalesced from the din of the crowd. “Disgusting, isn't he?” Peter twisted his head to see one of the businessmen glaring at the young man as he sped by. “He's not harming anyone.” “He should be working, or in school. He's up to no good, running around half-naked like that, this time of day.” The florid overhead lighting gleamed off the man's barren skull and his eyes flashed out of hollow sockets. Peter shrugged. “His knapsack had the CitiFargo logo on it. I think he might be a courier.” “Well, he should be in school.” The other tightened his necktie, sniffed, and turned away. Peter steadied himself and his eyes sought out the reminder of his youth, but the young man and his flitter had vanished. He leaned on his cane and stumped on into Elysium Clinic. Inside, he paused to let his vision adjust to the muted, amber illumination. Polished marble walls and plush carpets comforted him after the clamor of the corridor. The young courier stood in front of the reception desk, his turquoise Mohawk a stunning contrast to the muted interior tones. His uniflitter rested on the floor while he rummaged through his pack. “Here it is, Gammy!” His tenor filled the somber spaces like a song from Pan's pipes. He whipped out a parcel and shoved it and his signature pad forward. “Thanks, Derek.” The receptionist shifted her wad of gum from one side of her mouth to 28

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the other and waved enhanced eyelashes at the delivery boy. She signed the pad and handed it back. “How's Hazem? The two of you still boingin'?” “He's so yesterday's photon, Gammy. I'm free as dole prole.” She beamed at him. “So, how'd you like to switch for awhile and boing with a fem?” Her eyelashes flashed again over the silvery sheen of her holo implants. “I'll spang for the hetero poppers if you're short on stash.” He grinned and shook his head. “Nah. Guys are my thing. I don't want no drugs boingin' with my head and makin' me into a breeder, thanks just the same.” Derek stooped to pick up his knapsack and bumped against Peter's cane, making him stumble. His strong hand gripped Peter's shoulder and saved him from falling. “Thanks, Derek.” “Sure, Mister. Sorry to whack into you, you bein' a crip and all. I just didn't see you.” He shrugged into his knapsack and mounted his uniflitter. Peter's balance wavered and he gripped the other's shoulder. An electric thrill passed through him at the solid muscle that coiled under the lad's bare skin. “A moment, if you don't mind?” Derek glanced at the watch sprayed on his arm and his eyes narrowed. “I'm kinda rushed, Mister.” “Please. I'm an artist. I'd love to paint you.” He fumbled for a card. “If you're interested, give me a call. I'll pay you well for your trouble.” “Paint me? You mean a new skinjob?” He looked at the cartoonish drawings on his torso. “No. A portrait. It will hang in a fine art gallery.” “Like at a museum? People still do that kind of crap?” He flipped a switch on his belt and the uniflitter hummed and levitated. Peter smiled. “Yes. Not many, but some still follow the craft. Call me tonight, after five, and we can talk.” Derek looked from Peter to his business card and back. “You seem like a harmless old snark.” His face firmed in decision. “After five. I'll call.” He whizzed away and back into the commercial corridor. Peter's eyes lingered on the door as it closed after him, and then he turned back to the receptionist. “Can I help ya, Mister?” Her jaw worked her gum. “I have an appointment with Doctor Swoboda about one of her patients.” “Just a sec, hon.” Her fingernails clicked against the desktop and tiny letters danced across the holoscreen embedded in her silvered eyes. “Yeah, I see it.” Gammy pushed an invisible button on her desk and chrome-yellow tiles of light glowed in the carpet. She waved to where they disappeared down the corridor behind her. “She's down four floors. Just follow the lighted path.” The yellow light-tiles led him through the quiet bustle of the clinic and down four escalators to a silent corridor with plush carpet and amber lighting. The path ended at a glass door etched with the name Magda Swoboda, M.D., F.C.N, Ph.D. The interior of the office was dark and empty. Peter grunted, rubbed his leg, and looked about. A dwarf of a woman, dressed all in white, bustled up. Her faded red hair grew in discouraged patches, like a lawn with uneven fertilizer. “You must be Mr. Jaeger?” she rasped. 29

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“That's me. You're Dr. Swoboda?” “Guilty as charged.” She gave him a merry smile and offered an apologetic chuckle. “I'm so sorry I'm late.” She dug into her pouch and pulled out her ID, which she passed over the keypad. “Come in, come in.” “I just got here myself, Doctor. No problem.” Peter limped after her into the cluttered office and resisted the temptation to groan as he settled into the plush visitor chair. She squished into her seat and shoved a pile of datachips to one side on her desk. “Can I get you something? Coffee?” She waved at the pot and supplies that littered the top of a second desk in her office. Her eyes caught the amber light from the corridor and sparkled at him. “I'm fine, thank you.” He hesitated. “Did you know your eyes are the most magnificent cerulean I've ever seen?” Her mouth made a little "o" and she stared him. “What?” “Nothing. I'm sorry. I'm an artist and I notice colors, and interesting faces. Would you mind if I took your photo?” He pulled out his phone. She blinked and her hands puffed at her hair. “My photo? This isn't a joke?” “Not at all. You have a kind face, and your eyes are an amazing blue, almost green.” “Well, I guess. But if you break your phone, it's not my fault.” She shuffled through the chips on her desk. “Thank you. These things are better if they're not posed. Just talk to me. Now that I'm her guardian, maybe you could tell me about Mrs. Sandoval, and I'll just take a few shots while you speak.” “Sure, I guess. I know you want to visit her. Do you have any questions? Did you read the material I emailed to you after we spoke by phone?” He nodded. “I read it, but I do better with visual information. I'll follow it better if you show me.” Her fingers rifled the disks. “You know she's got a prion disease. It's similar to mad cow disease, but the usual therapies aren't working. Ah, here it is.” She shoved one of the chips in a slot on her desk and medical notes floated in a holodisplay between them. She rotated it so they could both see and her thumb bounced on the desk as she flipped through the images. “Here's a scan of her brain a year ago.” She pointed. “You can see the spongiform lesions here, and here.” Her thumb tapped again and brought up a new page. “This scan is from last week. The lesions have expanded over half of the frontal lobe.” He put his camera away and stared at the images. “Do the colors mean anything? They're quite lovely.” “The creamy parts are normal brain tissue. The darker blue lines that outline those are the dura mater, the outer part of the meninges, the lining of the brain. The violet and purple lines are the arachnoid mater and pia mater. See the yellowish parts that look like foam, here and here? Those are the spongiform encephalopathies.” “And those are what make her ill?” “Right. We know they're caused by an improperly folded protein, a prion. We've had treatments for those for centuries. But this is a new variation, and the standard therapies aren't working. We wonder if she might have picked it up on Helios, where she grew up. There could be a genetic component, too.” 30

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“Wouldn't it have shown up before now, if she caught it as a child?” “Might, might not. The first reported cases in the literature, from the twentieth century, took years to become symptomatic.” He sighed. “So what's her prognosis?” She shook her head. “The progress of the disease is accelerating. She still has episodes where she's lucid, but they're intermittent. She has some speech impairment, repetitive behaviors, and problems with impulse control.” She hesitated. “Were you close with your aunt and uncle, Mr. Jaeger?” “No. I hadn't seen either of them for nearly twenty years. I didn't even know we all lived in Dallas. I'm just the only living blood relative.” He hesitated. “I knew she was from Helios. I think she might have relatives there.” She sniffed and closed the holodisplay. “If they were here, it would make it easier to test for a genetic component. You're sure they are still on Helios?” “No, I'm not sure of anything. I've just read a few entries in my uncle's journal, from almost forty years ago when they were on Helios.” “Well, if you hear of any other relatives of hers here, let us know. You asked about her prognosis.” She hesitated. “At the rate the disease is progressing, she has at most three months left. I'm sorry.” He nodded. “And what happens over the next three months? What will be her quality of life?” “It's hard to say, since this is an atypical case. But I'd expect that she's got only a few more days, a couple of weeks at most, before she loses all cognitive function. After that, we'll keep her comfortable until the end. Are you ready to see her?” A weight tugged at his chest. “Is there anything else I need to know?” “Just prepare yourself. I can't say how she'll be today.” She stood. “If you'll follow me, she's two more levels down.” Peter limped after her. “Why isn't she in a tower room, with a window?” “We think she'd do better in a more stimulating environment, but her husband's lawyer... a Mr. Cantwell, I believe?” Peter frowned and nodded. “I know him.” “He wouldn't authorize the extra cost of a room with a view. He said it would be a waste of good money.” Heat flushed Peter's face. “Well, I've got her power of attorney now. If you think she'll be happier in a room with a view, please move her. Her estate has enough resources to cover the cost, and even if it didn't I'd pay for it myself.” “Thank you, Mr. Jaeger. We should be able to move her tomorrow. I know she'll be happier.” They rode an escalator down in silence. On this lower level the faux marble walls gave way to fabric panels the shade of dried sage, and the plush carpets turned into creamy terrazzo. Clear sliding glass doors lined the corridor and Peter avoided staring at the patients on the other side. They passed a cheery work area where one of the nurses glanced up and smiled at them. When they were again alone, Swoboda cleared her throat. “Would you mind if I asked you a personal question? You don't have to answer.” 31

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“Ask away. I don't guarantee you'll get a response.” “Now that you've mentioned that you're an artist, I recognize your name. I've read about your work on DallasNet, and I've seen it at the museum. You must be well off, yet I see you have a robotic brace, and you use a cane. So I'm thinking your leg must have an unusual pathology, that it's not fixed.” She blushed. “Sorry. Clinical interest.” “I understand.” He hobbled a few more steps alongside her. “I was in… a friend's flitter and there was an accident. The Ling cell ruptured and the dark energy core splattered on my thigh. It ate into muscle, nerve, and bone and they can't get it out. I've only got about seventy percent function without the brace. It helps a lot, but I still need the cane for balance.” She nodded. “I've heard of a few industrial injuries like that. I thought the Ling cells in flitters were sealed against leakage.” He kept his voice even. “I think my friend was going a little fast.” The bastard. Her eyes searched his face. “I see.” She halted in front of a closed door. “Your aunt is on the other side.” “Caitlin. Her name was Caitlin. I remember she had the nicest smile.” She blinked and hesitated. “Would you like me to go in with you?” He frowned. “Is there some reason I shouldn't go in alone?” “No, but her condition might be difficult for you to see.” “I'm tough.” She gave him a grim little smile. “I'm sure you are. Before he died, your uncle came here every day and sat with her, bless his heart. He brought her fresh carnations.” She sighed. “There's a call button on the wall by the door. You can't miss it. It's bright red, and right under the light pad. Most likely you won't need it.” “Okay. Anything else?” “I guess not. Can you find your way out?” “I turned on the location tracker in my phone when I came here. If I can leave by retracing our path, I'll be fine.” “Good. Well, if you need anything, you know how to reach me.” She extended her hand. “It was an honor to meet you, Mr. Jaeger.” “Thank you, Doctor.” He watched her retreat down the hall and disappear around a corner. He heaved a sigh and longed for warm sunlight instead of the languid amber glow that permeated this place. Setting his jaw, he pushed the door open and entered the room. An elderly woman slept on a hospital bed in the center of the cramped room. A halo of thick, white hair flowed about the ruin that was her face and fell onto her shoulders. She stirred, and her eyes roiled under closed lids. Her mouth quivered with nonsense syllables that muttered from her chapped lips. Beside her bed, a machine chirped in rhythm with her breath and a light pulsed with the beat of her heart. Her pallid hands jittered over the crisp sheets like nervous spiders. The dozens of photos that lined the table by her bedside drew his eyes. He recognized a copy of the photo from the journal, the one of his uncle Adam, Caitlin, and a purple badger. He turned it over and found the inscription, Caitlin, Adam, Sebastian, January, 2359. Outside Joshua Maartens' studio, Spirit Lake, New Iowa, Helios. His hand shook as he looked at the images from nearly forty years ago, frozen in time on a slip of tattered 32

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paper. In the photo, her chestnut hair billowed about her joyful face and gleamed in the sunlight. In the photo, she glowed with hope and happiness, her whole life still in front of her. In this colorless little room, the machine beeped and his gaze returned to the aged woman in the bed. His heart ached. Her eyes flickered and she peered at him. “Adam? Is that you?” He stroked her brow and held her hand. “I'm here, Caitlin.” What else could he say? “Adam, we have to help Sebastian. They'll kill him!” The machine beeped faster. “Sebastian's fine, Caitlin. We took care of him, remember?” “And his painting? Adam, what of Sebastian's art?” The light flashed in ruddy pulses, a steady cadence that marked the moments of her life as they marched toward eternity. “We brought it back with us to Earth, remember? To our home.” That was a safe bet, given all the art they collected. She stirred and tried to sit up. “No, no. It has to go in the Great House, for the glory of God. You'll take it there, Adam, won't ye? Promise me!” One hand flopped at the wrist, up and down like an insane metronome that lurched in rhythm with the light. “For the glory of the sublime God, the One who breathes life into us, take it there. Promise me ye'll exalt his images.” A moment of anger flared in him. God is just an idea, the monster who ends the world. But the yearning on her face made him relent. “I promise, Caitlin. Rest now.” Fingers like sticks, brittle and cold, squeezed his hand. “Adam.” She relaxed and a soft sigh wafted from her lips. “Adam, I love ye.” She closed her eyes again. The beeps slowed and the lights calmed. “I do love ye so.” Her voice was a whisper, a memory, a lament. “I love you too, Caitlin.” What else could he say?

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Portrait of an Artist

Chapter Six Caitlin's Uncle

Adam tugged at the covers and inhaled the chill morning air that permeated the loft above Joshua's studio. The scent of coffee and the clatter of pans from the kitchen had awakened him, and now hunger prowled his belly. He threw off the covers and shivered as he bounded to the bathroom. The happy mutter of conversation floated upstairs and told him that Caitlin and Joshua must already be awake. He twisted the shower knob to the hottest setting, brushed his teeth, and prepared for a new day. While he toweled dry, he inspected himself in the mirror. He didn't have a bad face, lean and a bit ferret-like, he thought. Bristles already sprouted on his cheeks, and he decided to not shave. Maybe I'll grow a beard, like the locals. He slipped into fresh clothes and followed his nose to the others. “Aye, and there's our sleepy-head.” Caitlin beamed at him from where she sat with Joshua at the metal kitchen table. “And aren't ye the handsome fellow this mornin'?” Green highlights from the sun danced in her eyes and sang of the joy in her heart. Her hair coiled in a happy ponytail down her back, while chestnut curls framed her face. Adam thought no one should have lips so red, or cheeks so pure. “That's not fair. I'm still having a hard time adjusting to the longer Helios day.” Sebastian raised his head from where he lounged at her feet. He spread his whiskers and his eyes narrowed while she stroked his chin. Adam yearned for her gentle touch, but then felt silly. Jealous of a mudcat! What was he thinking? “Where's the coffee?” “Rest yere off-world bones, then, and let me bring ye some. Would ye like juice and eggs, too?” She bounced to her feet and gestured for him to sit. “Juice sounds wonderful. I don't usually eat much for breakfast, though.” “How do ye expect to have the strength to catch a wife if ye don't eat right, Mister? It's eggs for ye, and hotcakes too.” She served him coffee and a glass of thick, greenish fluid. “Have some guama juice. It's good for what ails ye.” He sipped at the coffee and eyed the juice. Stringy blue lines of something eddied through the green muck. “Is that a native drink?” Joshua grinned at him. “Aye, that it is, lad. I've had o-range juice in New Chicago, and this is better. Not so acidic and sweeter, it is. Try it. You'll see.” Adam steeled himself and took a tentative sip. A frigid mixture of sweet and tart, with the texture of maple syrup and the piquancy of a fine German wine, met his palate. “This is good! Different. But it's good. It would make a great sauce with just a touch of cardamom.” He took another sip. “Is it alcoholic?” Caitlin laughed at his question. “Nay, Maitreya teaches that spirits interfere with Enlightenment.” Joshua grinned, too. “It's not alcoholic, but it's got a bit of a kick. There's a local ketone 34

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that gives it some bite, but humans can't digest it.” Caitlin swooped back to the table with a steaming stack of hotcakes. “Ah, lass, thanks be to ye.” He shoveled some onto Adam's plate and then loaded his own. “Eat up, lad. We've a busy day ahead, goin' through the collection.” “Caitlin, won't you join us?” Adam patted at the empty chair next to him. “In a moment, Mister.” She flipped enormous eggs onto platters and served the two men before she settled back at the table with her coffee. He raised an eyebrow. “Aren't you going to eat?” “Nay. I rose early. I ate after I gathered the eggs and squeezed the juice. This way I can talk while the menfolk eat.” She grinned at him. “Ye can't talk back if ye're mouth is full!” “I'd never talk back to you, Caitlin.” He looked at the platter with the egg. “So, what laid this egg? Moby Chicken? It's huge.” She frowned at him. “Moby Chicken? Is that an off-world animal? This is a moa egg, nothin' special.” “Moa, huh? On Earth this would cost a fortune, even rarer than truffles. There're so few moa, and they're all protected.” Caitlin beamed at him. “Then people should come here, where moa are common as carnations.” Adam took another bite. “It's delicious. So, if you have moa do you have chickens?” Joshua shook his head. "I saw a chicken once, in the zoo in New Chicago. They don't take to Helios. Something about the air pressure. But moas love it here. The First Settlers had a half dozen moa embryos, and now there be millions on the planet. Everyone eats moa eggs, moa thighs, moa wings, and moa breasts. Roast moa's a tradition on First Landing Day.” “Well, it's not only a huge egg, it's delicious.” He glanced at Caitlin. “You said you gathered the eggs? There's moa here at Spirit Lake?” “Aye, in the coop, out behind the barn. Did ye not see it when we stabled the horses?” “To be truthful, just taking care of horses was a novel enough task for me. You'll have to show me later today.” The shrill of Caitlin's phone interrupted them. She pulled the flashing device from the folds of her skirt and glanced at it before answering. “Uncle Gideon! How nice of ye to call.” She stood and wandered into the studio while she chatted. Sebastian waddled after her, his nose sniffing at her outstretched fingers. Joshua spoke between hearty bites. “She's a good lass, she is.” “She's a wonder. I would have been lost here without her.” Joshua put his fork down and glared at him. “Are ye sweet on her, lad?” His face heated and he let his fork make little piles of moa egg on his plate. “I think she has a boyfriend. She's just being nice to me, helping me out, since I'm a foreigner.” “Aye, she's nice to everyone, lad. But that beau was picked by her Uncle, not by her. Ye didn't answer my question. Are ye sweet on her?” He lifted his gaze and met the old man's eyes. They bored into his soul and he blurted out the truth. “I've never met anyone like her, Joshua. I've fallen in love with her.” A frown twisted the furrows of the old man's face. He glowered at Adam as if he'd threatened to change the course of the sun in the sky. “And what do ye plan to do about it?” Adam kept his voice steady. “I'd like to marry her, and take her with me to Earth. If she won't do that, then I'll stay here, to be with her. But I don't think I could bear to be away from 35

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her, even for an instant.” Joshua's face relaxed and he leaned back. “Ye would do that? Give up civilization and star-farin', just to be with her?” “I would burn in Hell forever rather than forsake her.” He grunted. “I don't believe in Hell, or Heaven either. The world is what we make of it. But ye seem sincere.” He stuck out his hand. “Be good to her, lad. If there be a God, she's one of His angels.” Joshua's hand felt hard and solid in Adam's grip. “She is all of that, sir. Do you think she'll have me, then?” “The signs are all there: the lilt in her voice, the gleam in her eye when ye're about. 'Tis obvious she's smitten with ye, lad.” A cloud passed across his features. “The question is, what will her Uncle do? He raised her up, ye know, after her parents passed.” “She never said. She's an orphan?” “Aye, since she was but a babe. Her family died from a strange disease that took their minds away. It befell everyone in her line, but for her and Gideon.” He glanced up as the rustle of her skirts and the click of Sebastian's paws on the flagstones indicated their approach. “Adam, Joshua! Guess what! Uncle Gideon is on his way here! He'll arrive this afternoon.” **** Adam lifted the canvas and tipped it to expose the texture of the oils. The afternoon sun cast shadows over the ridges and valleys in the composition and it came to life as a threedimensional visualization. “You have a remarkable technique. Where did you study?” Joshua cocked an eyebrow at him. “I spent some time at the Art Institute in New Chicago. Before he immigrated to Helios, my teacher there had studied with Sengupta at the Kaushala Sa'nsthaana.” “Sengupta? Yes, I see his influence. But this style is original. There're traces of Reubens, and even Dali.” He put the painting back on its easel. “When I came here, I expect to find artisans, folk artists. But these...” He waved at the paintings in the studio. “These could start a whole new school of painting if they were on Earth.” “There be artists off-world too, lad.” Adam nodded. “Of course. There's a Master right here, in this room with me! But there're only a few million people on Helios, and almost no one comes here. There's billions on Earth, and if your work is exhibited there, people from all over the Settled Realms will study it. You're a great artist, sir.” The elderly man sighed. “I'm glad ye find pleasure in my work, lad. But I fear 'tis but a diversion, an exercise in craft. The great mystery of being and becoming, that's what gives great art radiance. A Master illuminates that enigma, and so centers the spirit in the wheel of life. That transcends craft. That's divine.” The front door slammed and a baritone voice boomed into the room. “Joshua Maartens, where are ye?” For an instant Joshua's eyes rolled. “In the studio, Gideon. Come on in.” He winked at Adam and muttered, “Not that he'd wait for permission.” 36

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Adam turned and composed himself to meet Caitlin's uncle. A tall, spare man swept into the room, his face smudged from the dusty road and his skull covered with ebony spears of grimy hair. He shed his leather bags onto a folding chair and a huge smile split his rugged features. “Joshua, ye be a sight for sore eyes. May God keep ye and bless ye.” He rushed up to the older man and clasped him in a bear hug, pulled back and gripped Joshua's shoulders. “How have ye been?” “Older, slower. Otherwise the same.” He glanced at Adam. “Have ye met our off-world guest, Mister Sandoval?” Gideon turned and his crystalline eyes probed Adam like the Spear of Destiny. “Aye, we met in the Great House two days ago.” He pumped Adam's hand, while his left hand grasped Adam's elbow. “Bless ye, Mister Sandoval, 'tis good to see ye again. May God's grace fill yere soul with peace.” “Uh, pleased to meet you, too, sir. Caitlin speaks highly of you.” Gideon narrowed his eyes. "Caitlin! Yes, where is the lass?" He cranked the volume on his voice up another few decibels. "Caitlin! Come greet your old uncle!" “Patience, Gideon.” Joshua held up a palm. “She and Sebastian went for a stroll around the lake. She'll be back shortly.” For an instant, a scowl fouled Gideon' handsome features before he replaced it with a hearty grin. “Sebastian. Ye mean that beast ye keep here? The mudcat? Strange pet, if ye ask me.” He ran his fingers through his ebony hair and smoothed the spikes in a puff of dust. “I fear the road is filthy as ever. Is there a place I can refresh myself?” “Ye may use my shower, Gideon. Ye know where it's at. Do ye need help with yere animals?” “Nay, I already took the liberty of yere stable. They be groomed and fed.” He picked up his bags and nodded to Adam. “Nice to meet ye, sir. We shall talk more, I'm sure.” With that, he strode away. Adam heaved a deep breath. “Well, he certainly does know how to fill a room.” “It's the politician in him. Or the preacher.” Joshua chuckled. “Not sure there's much difference twixt the two. Come, lad, he'll crave coffee and cakes once he's cleaned up. Sit with me while I ready things.” “I'll help. I'll make the coffee.” “Are ye sure ye know how, lad?” Adam smiled as if he knew a secret. “I think I can manage. I've made coffee before. Besides, I watched Caitlin use your machine.” “Very well, lad. I'll warm the cakes, then.” Before long the homey scents of coffee mixed with those of honey and cinnamon from the baklava that Joshua heated in the oven. Dishes clattered as Adam set the table. Joshua chuckled. “Don't let Gideon see ye doin' woman's work, lad. He'll think it's a sign of Satan.” “Really? I thought Maitreya taught tolerance and acceptance, that the New Way focused on the spiritual rather than commandments?” “Hah! Religion is a defense against the religious experience. It turns the great mysteries into laws, and parables into doctrines. I'd have thought a smart lad like ye would know that.” “Well, there's not much religion on Earth these days, I'm afraid.” He frowned. “But I'd have to say that there's more heart than I've found in most of the religious folk here. Except for 37

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Caitlin, of course. She's all heart.” “There's a necessary balance between heart and mind, between spirit and idea. She's found that for sure, lad.” He cocked an ear. “I hear her and Sebastian at the door. Just in time.” The timer on the oven beeped, and he started to rise to remove the pans. Adam gestured for him to sit. “I'm already up. Let me get them. You sit and rest.” He gripped the pans with what he thought was a hotpad and his fingers turned to fire. “Ai-yah tyen-ah! That's hot!” He managed to put the pans on the counter before he flung the pads to one side. “Adam! Are ye hurt?” The carnations Caitlin was carrying fluttered to the floor as she ran up to him and examined his hands. “It's just a surface burn. Come with me, my sweetheart, and I'll make it better. Joshua, where do you keep your spalovat smetany?” Adam's heart sang at her calling him her sweetheart, but he felt like a fool, too. “I'll be fine, really. It's nothing. It's all my fault.” Joshua shook his head. “Nonsense, lad. 'Tis me that's to blame, for not watching ye better. Ye don't know our ways, and ye mistook a scrubber for a hotpad. Caitlin, the burn cream's in the pantry, bottom shelf on the right.” “Come with me, Mister. We'll have ye fixed in no time.” She tugged on his hand and led him into the adjoining room. Once there, she pulled a tube of ointment and gauze from the shelves. Her fingers massaged the salve into his red hands with infinite tenderness. “I understood yere curse, Mister. A Chinese brethren from their enclave in New Chicago taught me that Ai-yah tyen-ah means 'merciless Hell.' I would have thought ye didn't believe in Hell, since ye said Earth abandoned religion.” The combination of the cream and her touch soothed his pain. “I apologize for swearing, even in Mandarin. I didn't mean to offend.” He squeezed her hand. “That helps a lot. Thank you.” “No offense taken, Mister. Ye didn't take the Lord's name in vain. But Hell isn't merciless, unless we make it so.” She used the gauze to wrap his fingers. “Hell is where we imprison our own soul. It's only merciless to those who can't find forgiveness within for their sins.” “I'm afraid I didn't mean anything by it, Caitlin. It was just an expression.” A shadow fell across them from the doorway. “Caitlin! What are the two of ye doing, alone together and ye not related?” Gideon stood silhouetted, the sunlight glaring behind him from the kitchen. His voice carried the thunder of the righteous. “Uncle Gideon, how good to see ye.” Her face turned red, but she folded Adam's hands in her own and raised them to her lips and whispered, “I'll seal the healing with a kiss, my sweetheart.” That done, she turned and embraced her uncle. “I'm so glad ye are here.” He pushed her away and glowered. “Have ye forgotten yere morals, lass? When an unrelated man and woman are alone together, Satan is always there too. What were ye thinking? And look! Yere head is uncovered. Where is yere bonnet?” “My bonnet is safe in my room. As to what I was thinking, this poor man was hurt and I needed to tend to him.” She avoided his eyes, but her voice remained serene. “Come, Uncle. I smell coffee and cakes. Let us all break bread together.” 38

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“I'll break bread when ye are properly covered. What would yere betrothed Silas think if he learned of this?” She sighed. “What Silas thinks is his affair. I have not consented to his offer of marriage, so he's not my betrothed. Come Uncle, our family's discord shouldn't darken our host's table. May we please sit and enjoy Mister Maarten's offerings? Does the Master not teach us that accepting hospitality is a path to Oneness?” He scowled. “I know what the Master teaches, girl. Ye have much to learn.” He pivoted on a heel and stomped into the kitchen. Caitlin leaned into Adam and whispered, “Don't mind him, my sweetheart. He who knows all, knows nothing.” “And he who knows nothing, knows all,” Adam whispered back. “Am I really your sweetheart?” “If ye will have me.” Her smile lifted up his soul. “I see ye know the sacred writings after all.” “I've read the classics. That quote's in Plato, and in the Upanishads.” He pulled her close and their lips brushed. “Caitlin, I think I love you.” She melted against him. “As I love ye.” She pushed away and bustled about, storing the salve and bandages back in the cupboard. “We have much to talk about, my dear Mister. But for now, let's not scandalize Uncle further. Perhaps ye could ask him for Enlightenment?” Her eyes sparkled in the dim light and an impish grin played with her lips. “Good idea.” He followed her back into the kitchen and the uncertain realms of preacher and politician.

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Chapter Seven Derek

Peter looked up from his uncle's journal when the buzzer announced Derek's arrival. The clock on the microwave showed that it was fifteen minutes after the appointed time. He sighed and placed the notebook on the end table before he levered himself off the sofa. The muscles in his bad leg cramped and sent needles up his back and out his toes. Earlier, he'd left his cane in the kitchen alcove, when he'd fixed coffee and carried it back to the sofa. Now he shuffled across the studio, taking special care with his balance. The creaking brace was out of tune again, and his bad leg straggled after him like Banquo's ghost. The buzzer droned, on and off in an impatient cadence. His chest heaved by the time he got to the intercom and he paused for breath. “Derek?” “Yeah. You gonna let me up?” “You're late.” He pushed the release. “The door's open.” His eyes rested on the bottle of white pills on the counter, and he twisted the cap off and gulped one down. He'd pay a price later, but it was worth it to dull the pain while he worked. From the sound, Derek must have taken the stairs two at a time. He bounded into the studio and stopped in a shaft of morning light. Dust motes drifted in the sunbeams like snowflakes about his lithe form. He stooped to put his uniflitter on the floor and slipped out of his knapsack. When he stood erect once more, his eyes roamed over the interior like a cat searching for a mouse. “You live in this mess?” “I sleep here, when I'm working. My home is out north, by Lake Dallas.” He didn't bother to mention he hadn't been there in over a year, or that Aaron lived there now. He wondered if it was still the same, and then flushed the thought away with an angry tilt of his head. “You got two lairs? Must be nice. I got a bed I share with two other guys. We take turns usin' it.” Peter's breath came in shallow bursts as he examined his new model. Derek wore the same brief leather shorts from the other day, but his body paint had changed. Now blue and red snakes slithered over his torso and disappeared into the black leathers at his waist. Leaves of grass seemed to grow from his bare feet. Vines coiled about the muscles of his legs and bloomed in a riot of colors just below his loins. Stars and planets swirled from the ebony planes of his face, and his Mohawk shimmered like a silvery crown. He prowled about the room like a wolf stalking prey. His grin ruptured the rings of Saturn. “You paint all this stuff?” “Yes.” Derek pulled the still life from its easel and peered at it. “This one looks like a pic of flowers from a cheap printer. I can see the dots.” “Please be careful. That one's sold. It'll be in the Red Wings new arena.” “No shit? They paid for this? What a racket!” His gaze wandered before it stopped on the painting from Adam's estate. “So what, you paint that one with your foot? Or did you just 40

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slop some paint by mistake?” “No, that belonged to my late uncle. He acquired it on Helios.” Peter balanced on his cane and his good leg while his brace dug into his knee. At least the pill was taking some of the edge off the pain. “Would you like anything before we start? Something to eat or drink, maybe?” “Ya got any beer? How about real meat?” “There's some pastrami and Jarlsberg in the refrigerator. I think there's Lone Star Lager, too.” He pointed to the counter. “There's fresh bread, if you want a sandwich.” Derek opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bulb of beer. He twisted the top open and slurped some down before exploring further. “What's that other stuff you said? Ain't you got no meat or cheese?” “Look in the bottom drawer. There's tomatoes and an onion there, too, and you'll find mayo in the door. Help yourself.” He gripped his cane and clumped across the room to his work area. “If you don't mind, I'd like to go ahead and take a few photos.” “Sure.” Derek built a sloppy stack of bread, meat, mayo, tomatoes and onions. “I've seen pix of places like this, in the movies.” He took a huge bite out of a slice of Jarlsberg. “A real sandwich, just like Covenant Day. Sure beats the prole dole.” The camera whirred and clicked in Peter's fingers. “Mmmph. Glad you like it.” Derek scooted up to sit on the counter and munched on his sandwich. “So, when do I strip? You said you was gonna paint me bare-ass naked, right?” A smile tugged at Peter's lips. “Soon enough. Finish your beer and sandwich. After that, you'll need to shower and scrub off that body paint. I can't see you properly with that covering you up.” “Hey, I paid good stash for this. That wasn't part of the deal.” “Naked means no clothes, no paint.” Peter decided not to argue. “How much did the body paint cost?” “Fifty cracks. Only the best for my bod.” “I'm sure. I'll up your wages for this session by fifty, then. Will that do?” Derek's eyes turned to slits while he considered this offer. “How about my time to have it redone?” Peter shrugged. “Seventy-five?” “Deal.” He stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth and gulped down some more beer. “You eat good. This paintin' stuff must pay well.” He looked around. “Where's the shower? Downstairs?” Peter nodded to the bathroom. “In there. I put out fresh towels, and you'll find soap and shampoo.” “Ya mean everybody comes up here to shower?” “What? Oh, I see. No, it's a private bathroom, just for me and my guests.” Derek shook his head. “Private. Just like the movies.” He slipped out of his shorts, kicked them to one side, and trotted into the bath. Peter picked up the canvas where he had stapled photos of Swoboda and Caitlin. He'd added a set of shots that Aaron had taken when they'd visited the Rodin Museum in Paris years ago. Celle qui fut la belle heaulmière was just the right inspiration for the vision he had for today's sitting. He limped across the room and waved his hand over the stereo. The holomenu 41

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shimmered before his eyes and, with a few flicks of his fingers, a Handel oratorio whispered into the room. When Derek returned to the studio, his skin gleamed like alabaster and his cheeks glowed like rose petals. Without the styling gel, his hair flowed to his shoulders in auburn swirls. The towel dangled before him while he scoured the last of the paint from behind his ears. “Your soap smells good, like mint.” “It's got tea tree oils in it.” Peter twirled an index finger. “Turn about, please. Let me see. Did you get everything scrubbed off?” “I think so. Don't got eyes in the back of my skull.” He dropped the towel, raised his arms, and rotated. “What you think?” “Nice. Stop. There's still some on your back. Come here, please, and bring the towel.” Sinews coiled and muscles rippled with each twist and turn of his perfect body. His feet and hands seemed too large for his lean form, like paws on a puppy. Here and there moles dotted his otherwise flawless skin. A sparse set of coarse curls clustered above where his genitals swung, but otherwise his body was smooth. “Turn around, please.” Peter rubbed the last of the turquoise paint away. The same electric thrill that he'd felt before, when he'd gripped Derek's flesh in the Clinic, coursed its way through his fingers and up his arms. His chest trembled and his breath quivered. Not trusting himself to speak, he pointed to the model's perch in the middle of the studio. “You want I should sit there?” Peter nodded. “Please,” he husked. Derek lounged on the seat and squinted against the sunlight. “It's kinda bright.” His skin glowed as if illuminated from within by nuclear fires. He held a hand up to shield his face from the glare streaming through the skylights. Peter gazed at him for a moment, and then limped across the room. “Here, put your arm here, and shift your torso like so.” He adjusted the other's position, and light and shadow flared across the naked flesh. The sunbeam sang a gentle aria with his body, while a tenor's voice lilted from the speakers. Derek twisted his head. “That's creaky music. What is it?” “It's from Handel's Messiah. Put your head back, please.” “What's he sayin'?” “It's a famous piece of literature. 'Every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill made low; the crooked straight and the rough places plain.’” Peter stepped back and gazed at him. “Hold that position, now.” “What's it mean, make the crooked straight? I ain't straight, but I sure ain't crooked, neither.” “I guess it means you should find balance in life.” He picked up his camera. “Hold still.” “I thought you was gonna paint me?” “In due course. I want to have photos of what you look like, for reference.” “That's snarky music. I ain't never heard nothin' like it.” “Just relax. It's to help us get in the mood. Close your eyes and lose yourself in it.” Derek squinted his eyes shut, and Peter revolved about him, pain forgotten in the joy of creation. “You have wonderful masses, like David,” he murmured. “Who's David? Another model?” 42

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Peter let a sly smile flit across his features. “You might say that. Hold still. I'm going to try a few sketches.” Derek endured this in silence for a few minutes, and then fidgeted. “How long's this gonna take? I need to scratch.” “Restrain yourself. Think about your boyfriend if that helps.” Peter flipped to a new page on the sketch pad. This was going fast. Derek seemed to think about his last words, and then a leer formed on his features. “You want I should get it hard? You like that?” “What? Oh, no, I don't care. If it helps you relax and stay still, go ahead.” “You don't care? Here I thought you brought me here to boing me. You a breeder or somethin'?” “Breeder? No, I'm gay. But this isn't about sex. It's about art.” “The only art I care about is right here.” He waggled his hips and his cock swelled. “You sure you don't want some?” Peter put his sketchpad down and stared at his model. “Look, Derek...” The buzzer interrupted him. “Shit. That's the last thing we need.” He stomped over to the intercom, pounding on the floor with his cane. “Go away!” “Mon cher, il est moi, votre meilleur ami.” A high tenor lisped from the speakers. “Henri.” Peter cursed and shut off the oratorio. “What do you want? And speak English, will you? Your French is execrable.” “Quoi que -- whatever. Monsieur Kondrashchenko sent me here to photograph the painting for the arena. If this is a bad time...” He made sure the "talk" button wasn't depressed and muttered, “It's never a good time, you creep.” He pushed the control and snarled, “You know you should call first.” “Oui, I know. It will take but a moment. And Monsieur wants the photos today, to show the other investors.” Peter scowled and glanced at Derek. “You can take a break. Go use the bathroom or something. Disappear for ten minutes, okay?” Derek shrugged. “It all pays the same.” He bounded off his perch and wandered out of the room. “Come on up, Henri. You've got five minutes, tops. In and out. I'm working.” “Merci, mon ami.” The stairs creaked with his steps. Henri waddled into the room and air-kissed Peter's cheeks. “It's so good to see you, my friend! Sandra sends her regards.” His hair poofed over his forehead and his skull gleamed under its sparse covering. His pants were too tight, and his shirt was unbuttoned halfway to his waist. He wore a florid pink scarf about his neck that contrasted with his pocked, ruddy complexion. Peter thought of the demons in Sengupta's rendition of Shiva battling the Assuras. He wondered what a smart woman like Sandra saw in her husband. “Take your photos and be gone.” “Now is that any way to treat a friend?” He wandered about the studio, picking up trinkets and putting them down. His fingers lingered on a replica of a classic sculpture of Atlas, but then he shrugged and moved on. He spotted the painting from Adam's basement and shuddered. “What is that hideous thing?” 43

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“Nothing. Something from Adam Sandoval's estate.” His mouth made a little “o” and he turned away. “Folk art. How déclassé. Ah, I see the still life. Wonderful!” He pulled a camera from his pocket and took a quick set of shots. “They plan to hang it by the will-call windows, you know.” “Charming. Are you done?” “Now, don't be in such a rush.” He picked up Peter's sketch pad. “Who's this delightful thing? Did you finally find a replacement for that tedious bore Aaron?” “Put it down, Henri. He's a model, a kid I saw in the Richardson Tunnel.” He stomped on the floor with his cane. “Now, I'm busy. You've got your shots. Please leave.” “Is this creep botherin' you, Mister Peter?” Peter twisted his head to where Derek lounged in the bathroom doorway, naked in all his glory. “He was just leaving.” Henri's face lit with what could only be evil delight. “Well! I see now why you were so eager for me to go! I'll just leave the two of you, then. Bonne chance!” With that, he oozed from the room and down the stairs. Derek's eyes watched him and glinted in the afternoon light. “Now that's one slithery snark. He a friend of yours?” “A business associate only. 'Slithery snark' is a perfect description. He's also an insufferable gossip.” His voice trembled as he tried to throttle his anger. Krick knows what he'll tell Aaron about this. He sighed and flicked at the holomenu for the sound system. The glorious oratorio piped into the room, soothed his spirit, and anchored his soul. “Shall we pick up where we left off?” His leg spasmed, the brace buzzed, and he winced. “Just a second. I need to take a pill.” He limped to the kitchen and his fingers lingered for a moment on the amber bottle of painkillers. He pulled out two capsules and stared at them. This sucks. I can't concentrate because my creakin' leg hurts. But if I take these bloody meds, they'll wipe me out and I won't be able to think either. He shrugged and compromised by taking just one. Maybe I can still get some work done before it numbs me. He let his eyes rake over Derek as he headed back to the studio instead of paying attention to his footing. His cane slipped on the floor and he stumbled. Derek was at his side in a heartbeat, his strong hands uplifting him, saving him. “Careful. Don't want you fallin', now.” His fingers gripped Peter's shoulders and his sweet breath warmed his cheeks. Peter reached out and clutched at him, his balance trapped between his mechanical brace and Derek's young body. Their gazes met and Derek edged closer and swaddled him in his arms. Their lips brushed and desire consumed Peter's will. Derek's hands groped lower and slipped under his shirt. Peter yearned to surrender, to conquer, to perfect the eternity of this moment. His leg throbbed and his body sang while Derek lifted him up and carried him to the sofa. Peter stared into those crystalline eyes and thought of Aaron. “Wait,” he whispered. “You don't have to. I just wanted to draw you, to paint you.” Guilt clenched his heart. “I know. But this is what I want, so don't be so snarky. Let someone else give somethin' to you, okay?” Derek jerked at Peter's pants and tore them from his limbs. He knelt and his lips caressed the gnarled flesh underneath the gleaming circuitry of his brace. “Creaky,” he murmured. Peter closed his eyes and arched his back, lost in the forgotten delight of having another 44

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touch his body. His spirit sang and wept at once, both lost and found in this moment. The chorus in the oratorio cascaded in divine harmonies and sang of the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world. Peter surrendered to the bliss that Derek offered; art, beauty, and truth forgotten in the joy of giving and receiving. The photograph of Aaron and Peter sat in its shattered frame on the end table, a silent witness looming over Peter. From the photo, Aaron's eyes gazed on him, eyes that had always watched all, endured all, and forgiven all.

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Portrait of an Artist

Chapter Eight Moses

Adam waited in the doorway to the kitchen and watched Caitlin pull her scarf from her shoulders. With a practiced flip of her hands, her auburn curls disappeared under the grey cotton fabric which she then draped around her neck and left flowing down her back. She walked to the kitchen table and he followed, unsure what to expect after Gideon' sharp words. He took a deep breath and firmed his jaw. Joshua stood by the table, a steaming pot gripped in one hand. The scent of the fresh coffee mixed with the heavy aroma of the baklava filled the room with a homey appeal. Adam squinted against the late afternoon sun that slanted through the broad windows. Gideon stood with his back turned, looking over the lake, his hands clasped behind him. The fresh carnations that Caitlin had dropped earlier now rested in a delicate vase in the center of the table. Joshua's face creased in a smile as they entered. “Is yere hand better, Mister Adam?” “Much.” He flexed his fingers in surprise. “That cream took all the pain away. Amazing.” Joshua nodded and his eyes twinkled. “Some of our local remedies have secrets not yet plumbed by Earth science.” He glanced at Gideon. “Yere niece is here, mein freund.” Gideon turned and faced Caitlin. His eyes took in her scarf, and a broad smile split his features. “Niece, it warms my heart to see ye. If I spoke out of turn earlier, know I did not mean to cause ye hurt. 'Twas the love my heart holds for ye that brought the words to my lips.” Caitlin opened her arms to him. “Uncle, I should not have forgotten our ways. And I took no offense. I knew ye spoke out of love and not spite. Come, give me a hug!” He hastened across the room to embrace her. “Lass, ye will be the death of me yet.” He pulled away and dragged a knuckle across her cheek. “Ye are an angel, and the light of my life.” He turned, faced Adam, and stood at attention. “Sir, I hope my words did not offend. I meant no disrespect, I assure ye.” “None was taken, sir.” Adam smiled. “Nor did I mean offense. I'm ignorant of your ways. Perhaps you would be so good as to instruct me?” Joshua waved his arms at the table. “No instruction for now. Let's have coffee and cakes and be social for a bit.” He nodded toward Gideon. “If this one starts with preaching, he'll nay stop.” Caitlin pulled on Adam's uninjured hand and gestured for him to sit next her, while chairs scraped and the others took a seat. “Uncle, would ye bless this food for us?” They joined hands together and bowed their heads. Gideon stood, and his clear voice filled the room with confident reverence. “We are grateful for our blessings, and pray that we be worthy to receive this offering, which is the gift of the whole universe, each morsel a sacrifice of life. May the energy in this food give us strength to transform the unwholesome within us into that which is wholesome. We pray that we might walk the Path of Awakening and Enlightenment. For the sake of all beings, amen.” 46

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Caitlin murmured, “Amen,” and squeezed Adam's hand. He passed it on to Joshua. A curious peace filled him and he glanced up at Gideon. “That was a beautiful prayer.” Gideon dusted the seat of his chair with his napkin. “'Tis the prayer of thanksgiving that Maitreya taught us to use.” He sat at attention and sipped at his coffee. Before anyone could speak further, Sebastian waddled into the room carrying his voder in his tongues. He dropped the device on the table next to Caitlin, tipped his head and mewled at her. “Ach, Sebastian,” she laughed. “Do ye wish to talk with us?” She wiped her hands on her napkin and reached for the device. “Joshua, could ye please get Sebastian a cup for coffee?” Adam jumped to his feet. “Please, let me. I know where they're at.” He strode to the cupboard and pulled down a ceramic mug that bore Sebastian's name. “Does he take cream and sugar?” “I'll fix it for him, lad. I know his tastes.” Joshua took the proffered mug and scooped cream and sugar into the cup before pouring coffee. “Here ye go, my friend.” He placed the mug onto the floor between himself and Caitlin. Sebastian's eyes gleamed and changed from brown to violet. His mechanical voice buzzed. “Thank you.” He ducked his head and slurped at his drink, using all four tongues to grasp the mug. Gideon's jaws jumped and his eyes narrowed as he stared at the mudcat. He appeared about to speak, and Adam recalled his derogatory comment about the “filthy creatures.” Rather than risk another confrontation, he decided to jump in. “Caitlin showed me the Great House two days ago. It's a beautiful structure. The paintings there are marvelous. Maybe you could help me understand their religious significance?” Gideon's eyes lingered on Sebastian for a moment before turning to Adam. His mouth turned down and he scanned him from head to toe, before a smile bolted across his features. “The paintings tell the story of Maitreya's gift to humankind. They show in art the path to Enlightenment.” “They rival some of the finest religious works on Earth. And Joshua's paintings! They are a wonder. They build on the artistic vision of the great masters, but he brings his own vision of truth and beauty to the canvas.” Gideon snorted. “Maitreya teaches us that beauty is a human vanity. The universe is what it is, filled with pain and suffering. The path to Enlightenment accepts suffering as our fate and renounces vanity as the work of Satan.” Sebastian's head peeked over the edge of the table and his eyes, now a deep purple, moved from speaker to speaker. Cream-colored coffee dripped from his whiskers, and he picked up a napkin with his tongues and swiped at his face. Caitlin stroked his fur and shook her head. “Uncle, 'tis true that Maitreya teaches that pain and suffering are the lot of the living, and that the Enlightened renounce vanity. But he also teaches that there is beauty in our hearts, if we but seek it out. The paintings in the Great House help me to find that place of peace and beauty inside me.” Joshua smiled. “Well said, lass. 'Tis the goal of the artist to show the world as he sees it. Sometimes 'tis filled with pain, sometimes with beauty. The best artists see the wheel of life in its wholeness and show that pain and beauty are illusions, different faces of the eternal. The greatest artists minister to the spirit. In the presence of their work, the soul aches for 47

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completion and oneness with the infinite.” Gideon shook his head. “Nay, the purpose of art is to illuminate the way to Enlightenment. There is but one path, and that is the one Maitreya taught his disciples. For it is written that those who believe and follow these ways shall know eternal life.” Adam jumped when Sebastian's voder buzzed with a question. “Can mudcats follow ways?” Gideon choked on his coffee and descended into noisome hacks. Caitlin's smile glowed under rosy cheeks and gentle eyes. “Sebastian, your paintings are wonderful. They show me that you already know the ways of the eternal.” Her fingers ran through his purple fur and he purred. Adam nodded. “It's true. There's something in your painting, some je ne sais quoi, that touched my soul.” Gideon snorted. “Nonsense.” Coffee still strangled his voice, but he forced out the words. “It's an animal. There's a place in the universe for beasts, but the eternal belongs to man.” Caitlin's eyes sparked at that. “And to woman as well, surely, Uncle.” “Lass, ye know what I meant.” “That I do, Uncle, and ye speak poorly. Yon Sebastian is as human as ye or me in his heart, which is where it matters. He knows hope and fear, joy and sorrow, just as do we. Shame on ye, for speaking so!” Her eyes sparked defiance, though her voice still sang in Adam's ears. “I'll speak as I please, girl!” He twisted his mouth and shoved his chair away from the table. Sebastian's head wobbled back and forth between the two, and the mechanical voice burred again. “Sebastian paint to show flowers pretty. But flowers die, too. All things living die.” Tears seemed to puddle in his eyes, which now turned deep brown. “Great House is place for paintings?” Joshua nodded. “Yes, Sebastian. Some of my paintings hang there. It's a place for beauty and Enlightenment, and for paintings.” The purple head bobbed up and down. “Put Sebastian's painting in the Great House. Then mudcats know life and death like people.” “Nonsense!” The word barked from Gideon's lips and he scowled. “I've seen your hideous painting. A two year old could do better blindfolded and using an ass's tail for a brush.” “Sebastian's paintings no good?” He tipped his head to one side and peered up at Gideon. Caitlin glared at her uncle. “Sebastian, don't you listen to him. He has blinded his eyes and cannot see. Your paintings belong in the Great House, and Maitreya would have us welcome your folk to our communion.” “Blasphemy! They'll never enter the Great House, as long as I shall live and breathe!” Gideon leapt to his feet and his complexion matched the color of Sebastian's fur. “Enough!” Joshua's roar filled the little room. “Gideon, ye are guest in my home and so I owe ye the courtesy of my table. But ye have brought discord to my keep and insulted my friend, Sebastian. I call on ye, in the name of Maitreya and our kinship, to honor our customs.” Gideon glared at him and his mouth quivered. Adam held his breath and readied himself to intervene should fisticuffs break out. Sebastian scuttled under the table and mewled while 48

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his voder emitted a low frequency hum. Tears filled Caitlin's eyes and she clutched at Adam's hand. The tension fled Gideon face and he seemed to collapse like a deflated balloon. He squinted his eyes shut and heaved a deep breath. “Ye are right. I am wrong to bring conflict to the table ye have shared with me. Will ye forgive an old man his passions?” He hung his head but his eyes still glowered from beneath furrowed brows. “Aye, I can forgive ye, my friend. But I cannot speak for these others.” Joshua's eyes flicked to the other two sitting at the table. Gideon grimaced and bowed to Adam. “Sir, I must apologize to ye twice in one day. Verily, I am sorry that ye have witnessed such a disagreeable side to my soul.” Adam recalled he would need Gideon's help to get permission to acquire paintings for the museum. Worse, he sensed Caitlin and her uncle were close, despite this disagreement. He chose his words with care. “Sir, I'm a stranger here. I seek only the chance to learn your wisdom and view your treasures. There are those on Earth who would put much value on what I have seen, and I hope you will assist me in bearing witness to them.” “Aye, the heathens of the home world have forgotten the path to Enlightenment. I will be glad to give ye a hand, as I am able.” He bit his lip and turned to Caitlin. “Niece, I spoke out of turn, with ye, and me as guests in Mister Joshua's keep. May we hold our peace until we are again in our own home?” “We may speak again in private, Uncle. But I won't change my mind.” Her mouth made a firm line and she swiped tears from her cheeks with trembling fingers. Gideon shook himself. “Ach, well then, that's done. Perhaps we can rest by the lake and watch the sunset?” Caitlin leaned on the table and glared at him. “Uncle! You forgot to apologize to Sebastian.” His face turned red. “To the beast? I will not!” He stared for a beat at Caitlin before he sighed once more. “Lass, ye will be the death of me. Ye drive a hard bargain. I'll agree to apologize to the creature, as I would if I'd insulted Mister Joshua's dog. But I don't yield to ye, either. We shall speak more of this. Now bring the beast to me.” Caitlin reached under the table where Sebastian still cowered. “It's all right, Sebastian. Come on out. Uncle wants to apologize.” “Man talk loud. Sebastian afraid.” “He won't hurt you. I promise. Come out now.” A purple snout with gleaming black eyes poked out from under the table. His head turned to and fro, inspecting the tableau of humans. Gideon bowed and spoke. “Sebastian, ye are my friend Joshua's loyal companion. As his guest, I owe ye honor and respect. I apologize for my harsh words.” His voice was steady, but he looked like he'd taken a bite out of an onion. “Man sorry? Man like Sebastian's painting?” “What? Oh, for Maitreya's sake! I apologized!” Caitlin glared at him and said nothing. Gideon scowled at her, licked his lips, and lowered his eyes. “Sebastian, it's the best painting by a mudcat I've ever seen.” He looked up. “That's the most I'm willing to say.” Sebastian waddled out from under the table and all four tongues deposited a slobbery kiss on Gideon's hand. “Man like Sebastian's painting. Sebastian's painting good.” His short tail 49

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thumped against the floor. Adam took in the look of horror on Gideon's face, saw the glee that twinkled in Caitlin's eyes, and stifled a laugh by pretending to cough. “Arghh. Uh, I mean, maybe we should go sit by the lake now? I love these turquoise sunsets. Does anyone want more coffee?” Joshua seemed to be hiding a smile, too. “Ach, the three of ye go on. I'll fix a fresh pot for us and join ye in a bit.” Caitlin beamed and joined hands with Adam and Gideon. “Come, let us sit together and savor the beauty of creation.” She tipped an eyebrow at Sebastian. “Ye too, my friend. Ye can eat some of the flowers.” Sebastian buzzed and his voder rasped. “Flowers taste good.” Outside, they settled on a stone bench near the lake. Scents of sage and mint mingled with the pungent odors of an alien earth. The sky before them flared an iridescent verdigris that faded to deep black overhead. Hueyflies danced over the glistening waters, and a moonowl sang a lonesome dirge in the distance. Adam sighed and squeezed Caitlin's hand. “This is a beautiful world.” “Aye, 'tis a lovely home. We are lucky to live here.” She smiled at Gideon. “Uncle, I meant no disrespect. I love you and honor you.” He sighed. “As I do you, Niece. These new ways are not mine, but they cannot diminish my love for ye. I am proud that ye have a mind of yere own, and speak it.” He heaved a sigh and stretched. Adam relaxed and surveyed the peaceful setting. Sebastian munched on carnations near the lake but then froze and stared out over the waters. Adam called out to him, “Everything all right, buddy?” The mudcat held his head high and sniffed. “Another mudcat here.” His tail wiggled in what could only be delight and he sniffed again. “Moses comes.” He waddled off to where another purple creature emerged from the lake and shook itself dry in a wild spray of water. Adam stared and saw that the new arrival was smaller than Sebastian, and that gray streaks mottled its purple fur. “Moses?” Caitlin frowned as she watched the two alien creatures cavort and sniff at each other. “He's a leader of Sebastian's tribe. We programmed the voder to translate his name as Moses, since he's kind of a combination of priest and king.” Adam blinked. “A combination preacher and politician?” “Ye might say that. He's more than that to Sebastian; a relative I think.” She stood and ambled closer to where the two alien creatures rubbed their heads together and mewed at each other. “Sebastian, will ye give Moses my greetings?” Gideon remained on the bench with a sour expression on his face while Adam trailed after her. Sebastian lifted his head, spread his whiskers, and nodded before he turned back to the other mudcat. Adam's ears picked up a sequence of yowls and low-frequency purrs. He leaned to Caitlin and whispered, “The other one has gray in his fur. Does that mean he's older?” “Nay,” she murmured back. Her eyes never left the two mudcats. “Moses is an elder, for true, but they don't age as we do. The gray in their fur seems to come and go. Perhaps it has to do with the season.” Sebastian romped up to them and licked Caitlin's hand. “Moses says hello.” 50

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“Good. What's he doing here, Sebastian?” “He come for Sebastian. He says it is time for...” The voder rendered whatever words Sebastian spoke as a set of low buzzes. “Ach! It does that when the concepts aren't in its memory. Ye aren't leaving, are ye?” She gazed at her furry friend and concern pooled in her eyes. “Sebastian stay with Caitlin and Joshua. Sebastian paint. Sebastian take painting to Great House.” He looked at the other mudcat. “Sebastian tell Moses.” The two returned to speaking in their own language. Adam shook his head. “They sound like a pair of cats playing bagpipes. Why doesn't the voder translate when they talk to each other?” “There's a switch to turn it off, so he can have privacy. They're funny that way, about conversations with each other.” She gasped at a sudden flurry of activity between the two mudcats. “What are they doing?” She tried to run to them, but Adam held her back. “Wait, Caitlin. Let's watch.” The new mudcat, Moses, snapped at Sebastian's snout and he howled as if in pain. But then he rolled onto his back, waved his tail at Moses, and mewled. The other mudcat reached out with his tongues and wrenched the voder from Sebastian's head. He flung the device to the ground, wound his tongues around two stones, and used them to smash it to pieces. He flung the rocks aside, turned and pounced on top of Sebastian, where he nipped at the other's paws and belly. The two howled and rolled in the dirt, smashing flat the carnations and alien grasses that rimmed the lake. Caitlin's hand went to her lips. “I've never seen them act like this.” Adam put his arm around her. “They look a bit like alley cats in heat.” Her face turned crimson and her eyes widened. “I've heard rumors that their mating habits are strange.” The caterwauling lurched to a stop as Sebastian escaped the other mudcat's clutches. He scuttled away and whirled to face his opponent. He bared his teeth and hissed, his head skulking near the ground and casting back and forth. Moses waddled in a circle around him and shrilled ear-splitting sibilances. Without warning, he launched an attack that rolled Sebastian onto his back. When his fangs raked across Sebastian's belly, Adam ran forward and pulled him off. Sebastian spit at the other mudcat and darted between Adam's legs. Moses howled and Adam waved him away. “Stop it! Shoo!” Sebastian cowered behind Adam while Moses hunkered to the ground, his ears flat against his skull and his fur puffed out. He yowled again, and stared at Sebastian out of eyes turned to bottomless black orbs. Sebastian's body quivered, but then he advanced, turned, and sprayed blue fluid that reeked of ammonia at his elder. Moses yowled again and backed away, those infinite pits that were his eyes never leaving Sebastian. When he reached the shore, he slipped into the waters and vanished.

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Portrait of an Artist

Chapter Nine Disagreements

Peter slouched on the sofa with a sketchpad while Aaron clattered with dishes and pans in the studio's kitchenette. He glanced up and thought better of asking him to be quiet. Pencil and charcoal raced over the paper as the image took shape. Lightning flashed outside and wind whistled through gaps in the windows. He bit his lower lip, reached for a knife, and sharpened his tools. Flakes of wood, lead and charcoal scattered in random heaps on the table in front of him. Aaron's exasperated voice interrupted his concentration. “What are you doing? I just swept in there.” He marched across the room and deposited a trash can by Peter's feet. “We're going to need to work on documents when Cantwell and Rand get here. Try to keep it halfway cleaned up, okay?” He dusted the mess on the table into his hand. Peter glanced at him and returned to his sketch while he muttered, “Who cares if it's a mess? They're both jerks anyway.” Aaron sighed. “Right. They're jerks. I agree. But they've got legal documents that you have to sign and I'll have to keep. It would be nice if we had a workspace that wasn't filthy.” Peter grunted and continued to sketch. “So why bother with the kitchen?” “Because it's a rat's nest. I wanted to make coffee, and every dish in the place looked like a science experiment. I just don't see how you can live like this. I should arrange for someone to come in and clean for you.” Peter glanced up through narrowed eyes. “Don't you dare. I don't want anyone messing with my stuff.” “No one but me, you mean.” He licked his lips. “Look, Peter, I'm glad to help you with things, even personal stuff like the guardianship for your aunt. Just cut me a little slack, okay?” He winced as his leg throbbed. “Yeah, whatever. Could you bring me some Amyldin? I'm in enough pain just thinking about those two creeps coming. I don't need my leg nagging me too.” “You sure? You know it'll tear you up later. How much you been taking?” Peter slammed his notepad shut and snatched up his cane. “My leg hurts, you slithery bastard. I'll take as much as I need. I don't need a snarky nursemaid.” Aaron paled and he held up a palm. “I'm sorry. I spoke out of turn. I'll get it.” He went back to the kitchen where he pulled a glass from the sink and a pill from the bottle on the counter. “Go back to your sketch. How's your brace? Is it better after we tuned it?” “Yeah. Or it was. Now it's digging into my knee, and somehow it's throwing me offbalance more than usual. At least it's not making all those krickin' noises like it was.” Aaron nodded. “I'll hook it up to the computer again later tonight. We might have to take it in.” He surveyed the studio. “What're you working on now? I see the still life is gone.” Peter shrugged. “I'm not sure what I'd like to do next. I've got several ideas.” He tossed 52

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his head as he took the pill. “You're right, I'll probably regret this damned stuff later. But it'll help me tolerate today. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you.” Aaron's gaze rested on him a moment before he spoke. “It's all right.” He scanned the photos tacked to an easel in the middle of the room. “Is the old lady your aunt?” “Yes. I visited her a couple days ago. Very sad. She was so young and merry when they used to visit. Now she didn't know who I was. She thought I was her husband.” Aaron let a finger linger on a tattered photo of a sculpture. “You've tacked up pictures of celle qui fut la belle heaulmière too.” “They're the ones we took at the Rodin Museum in Paris, years ago.” “I thought I recognized them.” He raised an eyebrow. “You aren't thinking of doing a sculpture, surely?” His voice was cool and he avoided looking at Peter's face. Peter shook his head. “No, of course not.” He longed to tell Aaron he was sorry, that he loved him. Instead he continued to pretend to discuss business, as though speaking from a script in a movie. “Look at the photo in the upper right. That's my uncle and aunt when they had just met. I was thinking of trying to do something that brought those two images together, of her young and then of her old. Kind of like the Rodin sculpture, but on canvas.” Aaron peered at the picture. “That's your uncle? I can see the family resemblance. What's the purple thing next to them? It looks like a monster from a bad horror movie.” “That's an interesting story. You remember that painting from my uncle's estate?” He pointed to a cluttered corner of the studio where Sebastian's canvas leaned against an easel. Aaron nodded. “Well, I think that creature painted it.” Aaron's eyes lit and a smile quirked at his lips. “Really?” He inspected the photo and then strolled over to the painting. “So this isn't exactly folk art after all. It's a painting by an alien being? I'd have thought I would have heard of that.” “It seems there's nothing much unusual about these creatures, so no one's heard of them. They're just another species without proper hands. There's not much in their Wiki entry, just a paragraph or two. They're native to Helios, and place-bound due to some kind of environmental dependency. By all indications, they're pretty primitive. The only technology they developed on their own was some kind of wind-up mini-crossbow.” “So did they teach themselves to paint?” “According to my uncle's journal, Joshua Maartens himself taught the one who did this canvas. The Wiki doesn't mention art, though. Apparently they were declared endangered and embargoed after some dispute with the human settlement. That was about the time Adam and Caitlin must have left the planet, and the history is pretty sparse.” Aaron tipped his head and peered at the painting. “Well, I guess most people would probably think this thing was bizarre. You have to look at it just right to see anything but a blob of paint. Still, I wonder why your uncle didn't display it, at least as a curiosity, because of the connection with Maartens.” “I'm not sure. I think he wanted it to go back to Helios.” The buzzer rasped. “Damn. Who's first on deck? Rand?” “Yeah. He'll have the contracts for the painting in the Red Wings' locker room.” He pressed the intercom button. “Is that you, Henri?” “C'est moi, mon ami.” 53

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Aaron rolled his eyes. “Come on up. We're ready.” He glanced out the windows. “I think it's going to storm. Look at that thunderhead.” Dark clouds billowed over the distant skyline of the city. Lightning flashed again, and thunder grumbled. Henri pranced into the room, a valise under one arm and his hair bouncing in a sparse bouffant over his forehead. “Aaron! Combien merveilleux vous voir!” He grabbed the other's shoulders and kissed the air next to his cheeks. Aaron pulled away. “It's nice to see you, too. Speak English, okay? My French isn't so good.” A rigid smile flashed across his features. “And how is your charming spouse, Sandra?” “Ah, ma chère épouse is wonderful, as always. Thank you for asking.” Peter snorted. “Let's get this done with, shall we?” “Certainement.” He hitched his latex slacks up over his flabby hips and simpered. “Peter, I do hope your, er, modeling session went well after my last visit. I didn't mean to interrupt your little tryst. What was his name again?” Aaron raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Peter's face heated and he scowled. “The modeling session went fine. Not that it's any of your creaky business.” A toothy grin split Henri's face. “Do you have drawings to share?” He turned to Aaron and smirked. “He had the most magnifique model up here. All muscle and sinew, and so young and handsome, to say nothing of endowed. I don't know where he finds them.” Peter tapped the table with his fingers. “That's enough. Let's get down to business.” “No rush, my friend. I never let business interfere with pleasure.” Henri's eyebrows waggled on his brow, like black caterpillars squirming in pleasure. “I'm sure a man of the world such as yourself understands that the purpose of life is to please oneself above all else.” Lightning crackled and the windows rattled with thunder. Winds whistled and buffeted the ancient loft while a sudden downpour drummed against the roof and skylight. Aaron cleared his throat. “Henri, we do have other appointments today. Perhaps if you could show me the documents?” He sat on the edge of the sofa, the sketchpad between him and Peter. “How boring. Very well.” Henri plopped into a side chair and pulled a digidoc from his valise. “I don't know why we can't just do the whole thing electronically.” Aaron took the device and flipped through the pages by tapping the lower right corner. “I'm old-fashioned. I like to meet in person when I negotiate a contract with someone.” “Well, technically the contract is with Peter. You're just the agent.” Peter rolled his eyes and grabbed his cane. “Aaron, would you like me to make coffee?” The muscles in his leg clenched when he stood, and he steadied himself before stumping to the kitchenette. Henri's voice oozed, “Coffee would be merveilleux. Do you perhaps have French roast?” That ass will drink whatever pleases me. Peter didn't speak while he pulled supplies from the cupboards and did his best to ignore the business discussion on the other side of the room. Soon the water burbled through the maker and the homey scent of coffee mingled with oil and canvas. He leaned against the counter and stared at the treetops billowing in the storm. He reflected that his loft had good light, and was glad that it fronted on a small, private park. It was worth the painful journey up and down the stairs to have a proper studio. Peter flinched when Aaron's hand touched his and a whisper warmed his ear. “I'll serve Henri his coffee. Why don't you rest, or go ahead and work? This shouldn't take too much 54

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longer.” Gratitude and guilt flooded through him. “Thanks. I'm sorry I was short with you earlier. I don't deserve you.” Aaron shrugged. “I'm sure your leg hurt.” He pulled two mugs down. “They want this painting done in three months. Is that okay with you?” “Three months? I think so. This is pretty much hack work anyway. After that, I was thinking of taking a vacation. Maybe even going off-world. You think I'll make enough on this commission to pay for that?” “I'll see what I can do.” He put the two mugs, cream and sugar on a tray, and then leaned forward and muttered, “We need to talk.” He retreated back to his discussions with Henri, while Peter leaned against the kitchen counter with his eyes downcast. His leg ached and a sick sorrow clung to his soul. Sheets of rain rattled against the windows and a chill tingled over his limbs. He retreated to the little table in the kitchen and warmed his hands about his coffee mug, lost in his own thoughts. “Peter!” He jumped and twisted his head to stare at Aaron. “Yes?” “I think we're ready. If you'll come here, I'll go over this with you. If you agree, you can sign and I'll notarize it.” “I'm sure it's all fine.” He grabbed his cane and limped across the room, glad that the Amyldin had taken some of the edge off. He didn't pay attention while Aaron summarized the provisions of the contract and had him initial several places. Aaron pointed at a line on the last page. “Here's the commission. I think that will meet your expectations?” He glanced at the number and did a quick calculation. It was three times the amount for the earlier painting, and more than enough for Aaron and him to travel to Helios and back in style. “Perfect. Where do I sign?” Aaron touched the screen again and held out a stylus. “Here, and here.” He waited while Peter scrawled his signature and then plugged his notary seal into the port on the digidoc. He pressed two more buttons and watched the display. “There. It's registered, and I've got a file copy in my office. I think we're done here.” Henri lounged back with a predatory grin splitting his features. “Excellent. We should seal the deal with a glass of wine, no?” Aaron glanced at his watch and shook his head. “I'm sorry, Henri, but we've got to prepare for our next appointment. Perhaps some other time.” He stood and looked at the door. Henri's lips turned up but his eyes threw daggers. “Very well, then.” He heaved himself to his feet and adjusted his clothing. “I'll bid you adieu.” He nodded and waddled away. Aaron waited until he heard the downstairs door slam shut. “What an absolute creep. I hate dealing with him, even if you did make out like a bandit.” “That's an amazing commission. I don't see how you do it. But you're right. I can't stand him. What does Sandra see in him?” Aaron stared at him with hooded eyes. “Love makes people put up with a lot, I think.” He shrugged. “But that slithery bastard acts like he's a hero, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life. She deserves better.” Peter stared at him and thought about speaking, but Aaron turned on his heel and 55

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headed back to the kitchenette. “What do you want for dinner? I don't feel like going out in the rain.” He opened the refrigerator and rummaged around inside. “We could call out for something. Kittikchorn's still delivers.” Aaron wrinkled his nose. “I don't feel like Thai. How about that Ethiopian place?” “Okay. They're slow, though. It'll take them at least two hours to get here. You better call now if we're going to have it at a decent hour. The number's on the 'fridge.” Aaron pulled out his phone and dialed. “Same thing we had last time okay?” Peter nodded. “Good.” He placed their order, paid for it with his credit card, and then started to rearrange the contents of the refrigerator. Peter watched for a few minutes, but when Aaron started on the cabinets, Peter sighed and picked up his sketchpad and pencil. Minutes passed with the only sounds the clatter of dishes and an occasional grumble of thunder. Peter looked up when the couch sagged as Aaron sat down. “When is the food coming?” Aaron glanced at his watch. “They said they'd deliver it by six. Still a couple of hours off. Cantwell should be here by now.” “Maybe the subway got messed up by the rain. It was coming down pretty hard earlier.” “Maybe.” He stared out the window where gray skies still drizzled a fine mist. “Henri was certainly a little fountainhead of information today, wasn't he?” A sudden iceberg chilled Peter's stomach. Uh-oh. Here it comes. “What do you mean?” Aaron glared at him. “I think you know what I mean.” The buzzer sounded. “Shit. That's got to be him.” He scowled at Peter. “We've still got to talk.” He stomped across the room to answer the call. “That you, Mr. Cantwell?” “Yes, indeed. Are you Mr. Goodman? Is Mr. Jaeger there, too?” “We're both here, sir.” He pressed the button. “The door's open. Come on up.” Cantwell entered the room wearing a gray, plastic rain sheath and a wilted newsboy cap. Water dribbled from his garments and squished out of his shoes with each step. “Sorry to be late. The Preston line was down, and I had to change trains at Regal Lane.” He shook out his sheath, and spray flew everywhere. “Is there someplace I can put these things?” “I'll take them, Mr. Cantwell.” Aaron eyed his soggy shoes. “We should dry those off, too. Why don't you slip them off and I'll see what I can do.” Cantwell's pallid features turned pink. “Ah, no, I'll be fine, thanks.” His eyes strayed to Aaron's crotch, and then ranged over Peter. He blinked and looked at the floor. “Where should we do this? I mean, sign the documents?” He held up his briefcase. Peter suppressed a laugh. I bet the uptight bastard thinks Aaron was hitting on him. He slitted his eyes, patted the sofa cushion next to him, and purred, “Why don't you sit here by me, Irv? That way we won't have to pass things around.” The lawyer's eyes roamed the room like a rat trapped in a maze and then rested on the Peter's work stool. “If it's all right, I'll just sit in this, Mr. Jaeger.” He dragged it across the room next to the sofa. After he positioned it, he looked at his hand with a sour expression, pulled out his handkerchief and cleaned both his palm and the seat of the stool. At last he perched on the seat with his briefcase held erect in his lap like a shield. 56

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“Would you care for some coffee, Mr. Cantwell?” Aaron started to pull clean mugs from the cupboards. “No, thank you.” A nervous little laugh snorted from his nose. “I'll not sleep tonight if I have coffee. I mean, the caffeine will keep me awake.” Aaron shrugged and seated himself at the opposite end of the sofa from Peter. “Do you have the documents for me to review?” The little man jumped. “Yes, of course.” He opened his briefcase and passed a digidoc to Peter, who handed it to Aaron without a word. “I think you'll find I've done as you instructed, but it is my duty to advise you about your right to charge an executor's fee.” Peter shook his head. “No money. I want it all to go to caring for Caitlin.” He remembered the dark, featureless subterranean room where he'd found her, and his amusement fled. “I have to say, Irv, that I don't think my uncle would have approved of the arrangements your firm made for his wife.” Cantwell turned paler, if possible. “You mean the hospital room? I was just doing my job.” “Don't you think your job was to arrange for the best possible care for her?” “Of course. And to do that, I had to conserve her assets. What if she ran out of funds? She'd be on the public health system. I don't think that would have met with Mr. Sandoval's wishes.” “Are you sure saving money isn't just what you wanted to do, not him?” Cantwell managed to screw an indignant expression on his face. “I assure you, I never do what I want to do. I always do just exactly what I'm supposed to do.” Aaron looked up from the digidoc. “Well, you certainly did as we requested with these, sir. Peter, he's followed your directions to the letter. If you'll sign things, we can let Mr. Cantwell get back to his business.” They repeated the same ritual as with the earlier contract and Aaron handed the digidoc back to the attorney. “Mr. Cantwell, thank you for your professional handling of this matter.” Cantwell clenched at his briefcase and stood. “Well,” he huffed, “I do pride myself on my professionalism.” Aaron helped him back into his rain gear and he pattered down the stairs and away. Peter's breath came in short bursts and his face burned. He knew he should watch his words after taking the Amyldin, but he couldn't hold back. “How dare you call that little piece of vermin professional and thank him! You didn't see where he had her.” “No, I didn't. But your uncle was well aware of her condition. If he wanted something different, he had ample opportunity to make provisions in his will. He didn't, so Cantwell was just doing his job. You didn't have any call to insult the poor man.” “He's a jerk.” “Not so much a jerk that you didn't hit on him. You think I didn't notice?” “I wasn't hitting on him. I was making fun of him. Didn't you see how he panicked when you suggested he take off his shoes? Like we were going to rape him or something.” “What I saw was that you were mean to a guest in your home, and you thought it was funny.” Peter's stomach cramped and he realized that the Amyldin must be wearing off; short temper was another sure sign. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I'm sorry. It must be the drug 57

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talking.” He peered at Aaron. “This isn't really about Cantwell, is it?” Aaron snatched up his coat and wrenched it on. “No, it's not. You know, I'm sorry about your leg. I'm sorry about the accident, and crank knows I'm sorry I was driving too fast. But we both need to just fucking get over it. We both need to stop punishing me. I can't take it anymore.” He stood at the door and stared at Peter, his face flushed and his breath wheezing. “I don't think this is good for either one of us. Maybe we just shouldn't see each other.” Peter tried to control his chin, but it quivered and tears welled in his eyes. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't deserve you.” He smeared at his cheeks and stammered, “I need you.” He hated his weakness, hated the drug, hated himself. Aaron stared at him with no expression on his face, squinted his eyes shut and took three heavy breaths. “I know you're sorry. You're always sorry.” He opened his eyes and his expression softened. “Lunch tomorrow?” Peter nodded and Aaron spun around and disappeared down the stairs. The sketchpad lay open on the table before him. A hand, his hand, sketched another, smaller hand, which sketched yet another smaller hand, and so on in an infinite spiral down to a pinpoint. He grabbed a flake of charcoal, scribbled over his drawing and flung it across the room.

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Chapter Ten The University Adam stretched, glad to be free of the cramped quarters of the commuter flight that had brought them from Lucastown to New Chicago. He lumbered after Caitlin down the flitterway and toward the gate. “Wait for me. My legs are all cramped. I'm too big for these little planes.” Caitlin paused and let another passenger pass. “I think ye be sized just right, Mister.” Her smile warmed his heart. “Give me a second, okay? I just need to work the kinks out.” He shook out his arms and gazed down the tunnel into the concourse. “This place looks mobbed, way more crowded than the other times we've been here.” “Aye, there's two star transports just arrived.” She pointed to an arrivals screen. “The Fafnir and the Queqiao are both in port. The trains will likely be jammed, too.” “I'm glad you know the way. I've been in dozens of star ports, and I always get lost.” “I've only seen this one, but 'tis many times I've passed this way, on vacation from the University.” She flicked at the surface of the arrivals screen and brought up train departures. “If we are brisk, we can make the next subway to the University. Are ye ready?” “I'll manage.” He let her lead him onto the crowded concourse and into the crush of passengers. “I'm glad you suggested we have our luggage checked on through to the Hilton downtown.” “Aye, with starships in port 'tis a blessing to not be toting our bags.” A willowy woman who wore the scanty uniform of the Sessrumnir Hamingja of the Far Beyond pushed by and Caitlin's cheeks turned pink. “Alcubierre Landing is a cauldron of strange off-world customs today.” “But don't you love it? Seeing all the different ways people can live and be happy is such a crank.” “Crank? Ye speak so strangely sometimes. But yes, I do find joy in meeting new people and learning new ways.” She dimpled at him. “Perhaps that is why I love ye, Mister Adam. Ye are always new to me.” “And you to me, Caitlin.” He took her hand. “Show me the way.” He grinned like a puppy romping through flowers as his eyes roamed over the crowds. A businesswoman whose luggage tag read Xin Xianggang on South Continent bustled by, her eyes glued to the screen of her phone. A couple with a gaggle of small children raced in the other direction. Adam recognized them as New Iowans from the man's beard and the woman's severe clothing and bonnet. He grinned when he spotted teenagers attired in body paint and not much else. They must be from the East Continent of New Malibu. “This place is so cosmopolitan, Caitlin. I can't believe there's so many different cultures here. Most worlds in the Settled Realms are pretty homogeneous.” “Aye, since Helios was the first discovered habitable world, we have settlers from all over Earth Home here.” She tilted her head to where a Harvey's Wallabanger from Pantano chittered at his human porter. His orange and pink plumage puffed like a feather duster over 59

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his green beak while he squawked into his voder. “Off-world creatures are even a common sight here in the city. We live in harmony, one with the other and with all creation, as Maitreya taught us.” “But not everyone here follows Maitreya's path, right?” “Alas, no, dear Mister. The Enlightened gather mostly in New Iowa, although we have missions everywhere.” She blushed as one of the teenagers brushed his bare body against her. “Even in New Malibu.” “You're not afraid of becoming, uh, tainted by all these heathen influences?” “Nay. Maitreya teaches where the heart is pure, then there is Enlightenment. There are no heathens, just different paths to eternity.” “But you have missions to convert people?” “Convert them to our ways? Why would we do such a thing? Our missions are for good works.” She pointed to a queue. “That's the way to our train.” When they settled into the line she frowned. “I admit that Uncle Gideon added religious education to our missions' outreach at the last Grand Council. Maitreya teaches us to answer questions about Enlightenment, but that there are many right paths to wholeness.” Before Adam could answer, a woman with a shaved head bustled into line behind them. He wondered why she had squeezed her body into the brilliant orange and green coveralls that she wore, since they accentuated her squat form. Her deep contralto penetrated the thrum of station noise. “Caitlin, is that you? How wonderful to see you again!” A smile like sunrise over Spirit Lake lit Caitlin's face. “Aunt Clair! How have you been?” “The same, the same. What are you up to?” She glanced at Adam and extended her hand. “I'm Clair Dinsmore. I used to be married to Caitlin's Uncle Hans.” Adam took her hand and winced as she crushed his fingers and pumped at his arm. “Adam Sandoval here. Nice to meet you, ma'am.” Caitlin piped up, “Uncle Gideon would love it if ye'd visit us, Clair.” She rolled her eyes. “Right. You know he still blames me for Hans joining the Navy and being killed at the Battle of Monsters' Moons. I'll pass his sermonizing on the proper place for women.” She smiled and touched Caitlin's cheek. “But it's good to see you again. You were my best student, and my favorite niece.” Caitlin lowered her eyes. “I miss ye, Clair.” Her voice blared over the drone of the passengers, like a military band on parade. “Then come with me. I'm shipping out on the Queqiao as chief engineer next week. I could use a good assistant.” “Ye are resigning from the faculty at the University?” Caitlin looked stricken. “You bet your life. Sternreiseliga is looking for starship engineers, and the pay is, well, astronomical.” She smirked at her pun. “You should use that engineering degree of yours, girl. Follow me to the stars.” Adam gaped at Caitlin. “Engineering? You majored in engineering?” Dinsmore beamed. “She certainly did. She was one my best students in space-time engineering. Brilliant. She's wasting her life in that backwoods village.” Caitlin's face turned deep red. “Thank you, Professor, 'tis a nice thing ye say. But I'm happy in Uncle's household.” She brightened. “The Church has entrusted me with guiding Mr. Sandoval on his journeys here in New Chicago. 'Tis an important duty.” 60

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Dinsmore snorted. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.” “I fear my place is here, Aunt. I will miss ye, and I'm sure the students at the University will, too.” She smiled at Adam. “We're headed there now, to meet with Dr. Kuczumov.” “Petra Kuczumov? In the Department of Heliobiology? Are you a zoologist, too, Mr. Sandoval?” “No, I'm an art dealer. I'm afraid science is something of a mystery to me.” Caitlin broke in. “Ye remember our friend, Joshua Maartens the artist? His studio is by Spirit Lake, and he's formed a bond with a mudcat. We're here to acquire a new voder for Joshua's friend.” “Mudcats? Disgusting creatures, with mating habits to match. Petra's the one who can help you with that, if anyone can.” A faint gust of air washed across them and the people in the line jostled forward. “Looks like our train's here.” She surveyed the crowd. “If we can't sit together, it was nice seeing you.” She reached into a pocket and pulled out a card. “Here, take this. It's the number of the Sternreiseliga recruiter at Alcubierre Landing. The Fafnir ships in another month, if you change your mind.” Caitlin took the card. “Thank ye, but my place be here.” Dinsmore shrugged. “Well, stop by and visit me before I ship out, if you have the time.” She reached out and gave Caitlin hug. “We're staying at the Marriott Towers in New Chicago. If ye call, we can have dinner together tonight. We'll have to take tomorrow's flitter back to Lucastown and deliver the voder. Ye still have my number?” “I do, or I can call the hotel. Shall we say about seven?” “I'd like that, Aunt.” “It's a date, then. Mr. Sandoval, nice meeting you.” She pushed into the crowd and vanished. Caitlin turned to Adam. “Hurry, my sweetheart. We don't want to miss our train.” She inserted her ticket in the slot and passed through the turnstile. Adam followed her and they rushed through the platform to the end of the train. He let her take a seat while he stood next to her and grasped a hook hanging from the ceiling. “You never told me that you're an engineer.” “Ye never asked, Mister.” She lowered her eyes. “Do ye think less of me? I know naught of fine art nor culture like ye have studied.” He snorted. “Actually, I'm a dilettante, a jack of all trades and master of none. The only thing I've studied formally is cooking, at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. I dabbled in art some, and helped my mother in her gallery. She didn't have money, but she had connections. She finagled this job for me and I'm lucky to have it. I get to travel, collect beautiful things for the museum, and it sure beats being a sous chef in Vegas.” “Vegas? I've not heard of that system.” She smiled. “But it sounds like ye have found yere calling.” “I guess, although I like the creativity of cooking, too. But how about you? I thought you must have majored in religion or something, since your Council selected you as my guide. Space-time engineering! I would have never guessed!” He shook his head. “For true, I did study religion at University, but my major was in Alcubierre propulsion systems. Aunt Clair arranged a job for me on the Star Ranger, but my place was with Uncle.” 61

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“You were offered a job on a starliner? Why would you turn down an adventure like that?” Her expression turned serious, and a little sad. “This is my home, Mister. How could I leave the place of my birth, where I found Enlightenment and where my kith and kin reside? Besides, I owe my uncle much. He needs me, and I find fulfillment in being of service to him and our Church.” Adam swayed under the acceleration as the train pulled out of the station. When they entered the tunnel, the whoosh of air and the clatter of the cars on the tracks quelled further conversation. He pondered what Caitlin had just said. Despite what he'd told Joshua, he wasn't sure he was really willing to abandon his career to be with her. He hoped he wouldn't have to decide. **** Adam suppressed amusement at the pseudo-Gothic architecture of the Heliobiology building. Like all dealers, he was something of an art historian, so he understood the linkages architecture created to ancient terrestrial institutions and traditions. The solemn gray granite and ornate fenestrations echoed University buildings throughout the Settled Realms, and anchored the academic culture in over a thousand years of tradition. He paused to examine the statues that framed the entry to the building. “Who are these people, Caitlin?” She peered at the names. “Strange, I walked by this building many times but never really noticed those before. Lucas, Cheng, Zimmerman, Garcia--they were the founders of the University during the Time of Abandonment. And, there, it says Amelia Heap-of-birds carried out the first genetic taxonomy of the animals on Helios.” He nodded. “So the monumental art here represents the founding of the University.” He pointed to a statue of an old man clothed in ancient academic robes that stood in the peak of the pointed arch guarding the entrance. “And Darwin watches over those who enter, like an angel of old.” Caitlin read the words graven into the stone ribbon at Darwin's feet. “'It is always advisable to perceive clearly our ignorance.' Maitreya gave us similar wisdom.” The carillon chimed the hour and she tugged at his hand. “Come, Mister. We'll be late.” Adam followed her into the building, while his eyes took in details of design and construction. The floors seemed to be terrazzo, but they glittered in the light as though a thousand tiny flecks of gold lay embedded in the design. The walls were a mixture of stone and metal, but there was no wood anywhere. “Are there no trees on Helios?” She looked puzzled. “There are many trees. Ye saw the forests at Spirit Lake, did ye not?” “I mean Earth trees. There's no wood anywhere in the building. Aren't there any trees like pine, or oak, maybe?” “I have seen pine trees in the arboretum at Central Park in New Chicago, but they do not thrive on Helios. Wooden furniture we have in museums. Helios has metal in abundance, so we have used that since our founding, where on Earth ye might use tree stalks.” “Tree stalks.” He smiled. “The trees around Joshua's studio looked more like giant ferns, with pulpy trunks. I guess they aren't suitable for building things?” 62

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She snorted. “Not anything sturdy, for sure. They're good as fodder for animals, and fuel, but that 'tis all.” They arrived at the elevator. She pushed the button and dimpled. “Ye ask the strangest questions.” “I'm just trying to understand. This building is so like buildings on Earth, except that the interior is metal and stone where I'd expect wood paneling. Other than the Great House, the other places we've been have had architecture with roots more in the International Style, almost Brutalist. It's part of my trying to understand the local artistic traditions, and to put the art I find here in context.” “Ye know more about such than a poor engineer.” The doors opened and they stepped inside. He watched the lights flash as the elevator rose. “Have you met this Dr. Kuczumov before? Your friend Professor Dinsmore seemed to know her.” “Nay, I spent my days in the engineering center across campus, or in the philosophy stacks in the library. This is my first time in this building, though I've passed by it many a time.” The elevator doors opened and they stepped into a hallway of neo-modern stainless steel and glass, incongruous with the pseudo-Gothic exterior. Adam reflected that at least the flooring was the same shimmering golden terrazzo as on the entry. Caitlin inspected the map mounted across from the elevator and took his hand. “It's this way, Mister.” A dozen steps down the corridor and one turn later, they stood before a sign that read Neoaxidea Taxus Helii Laboratory, Petra Kuczumov, Ph.D. PRIVATE. Push button for entry. Adam pushed and they waited. The lab itself hid behind a wall of frosted glass and polished steel. The door slid open with a whoosh and a rangy brunette stepped into the hallway. Her eyes glittered and her smile glowed. “You must be Ms. Mather and Mr. Sandoval?” She extended her hand. “I'm Petra Kuczumov.” Her hand felt like warm porcelain to Adam. He was surprised at her athletic grace and the elegant simplicity of her white lab smock. It was as though she were an Art Deco sculpture of a ballet dancer come to life. “Pleased to meet you, ma'am.” She turned to Caitlin next and shook her hand. “How is your neoaxidia specimen doing?” “We're worried about Sebastian, Professor. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.” “Call me Petra.” She frowned. “Sebastian? You mean the neoaxidea taxus specimen?” “Yes, our mudcat friend.” “Ah yes, an unfortunate choice of name, I fear.” She gestured to the lab. “Come in, come in. I'd like to learn how she's doing.” Adam followed her into the lab while Caitlin asked, “Don't you mean 'how he's doing?'” “Well, it's hard to say which pronoun to use with the neoaxidea. It depends on where they're at in their cycle.” She ushered them into an office that was all right angles of frosted glass, stainless steel, and gleaming white plastics. “Have a seat.” She waved at two chairs and settled in a black leather seat behind her desk. She held up a smaller and sleeker version of the broken voder. “We've got a new voder for you. The team over in computer engineering improved the design some; it's smaller and should fit better.” Relief washed across Caitlin's face. “'Tis a blessing to see that, Professor. Sebastian will be most grateful, as are we. 'Tis a pain to him and us to have his voice silenced in such a cruel fashion.” 63

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Petra nodded and made a tent of her fingers. “So, how is this Sebastian doing? You said she might be injured?” Caitlin frowned. “'Tis hard to say. He had a fight with another mudcat, and it looked like he had bite marks on his stomach. We think there was bleeding, anyway. Mucats have greenish blood, do they not?” “Their equivalent of hemoglobin is copper-based, so it has a greenish tinge, yes. You say there was another neoaxidea there? That's more or less the edge of their habitable zone, isn't it? I thought the nearest village was kilometers away.” “I know not, Professor. The other mudcat has visited before, though. Sebastian had told us he was sort of an elder, maybe a religious leader. They were related in some way, too, but the voder just buzzed when Sebastian tried to explain.” Petra nodded. “The translation algorithm is still pretty primitive. Our work is complicated since they've gotten less and less receptive to our studies. Even with microcams sprayed all over their environment, we haven't made much progress on their language or culture.” She waved a hand over her desk and a holodisplay flared to life in the air between them. “You said there was a fight. Let me show you something interesting.” Her fingers flew across the keyboard that glowed on her desk, and an image of a rocky hillside formed in display. “We recorded this about a year ago. Fascinating stuff.” They watched while two mudcats waddled onto the hillside, weaving in wary circles about one another. They hunkered low and their yowls reverberated against the plastic and glass of the office. Adam leaned closer and inspected the image. “Their eyes are changing color.” Petra nodded. “We think that might be some kind of communication, but we're not sure if it's instinctive or they do it on purpose. Something to ask them on the next field trip, if they'll talk to us. Or maybe you can ask your specimen for us, when you go back.” One of the mudcats nipped the other's snout, and the room filled with caterwauling again. “Now this is where it really gets interesting. Watch.” The two gripped one another and rolled about, while rocks scrabbled down the hillside from their struggles. One seemed to attain a superior position, on top of the other, and raked his teeth across his adversary's belly. Greenish blood oozed forth and Petra froze the display. Caitlin's eyes were wide and her face white. “That's just what happened between Sebastian and Moses. I thought mudcats to be gentle creatures. Do they use their fangs often to hurt each other in this way?” “They have those fangs for a purpose, trust me. But it only looks like he's biting her. Watch.” She twirled her thumb to re-wind and expand the image. In slow motion, and with the magnified picture, it became clear what really happened. It wasn't the mudcat's fangs that parted the fur and the skin. The outer two tongues pulled at a fold in the other's quivering flesh while the middle two probed deep into the resulting opening. Green fluid oozed as the two tongues pulsed in and out, and the flesh that received them throbbed in synchronous rhythm. Adam stared at the video and then at Kuczumov. Her eyes glowed and an intense grin gripped her mouth. He looked back at the video in time to see the tongues withdraw. “They're mating.” He kept his voice flat and avoided looking at Caitlin. “Exactly! Isn't it amazing? Even with our genetic studies, we would never have guessed. 64

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We've only had four mudcats for autopsy, and predators had mangled two of those, so our knowledge of their anatomy is pretty sparse. We've only got this one video, but with this clue we went back and checked. It's obvious now.” A laugh bubbled out of her lips. “They look superficially like the Earth species axidea, but this mechanism is completely new. My paper in Exobiology Annalen will appear next month.” Adam nodded. “So we didn't see a fight at all. We witnessed Sebastian and Moses mating. And Sebastian is really a female.” “I think that must be exactly what happened, from your description.” Caitlin's face matched the crisp whites of the office. Adam felt pride as she kept her voice steady. “You mean to say those tongues are...are...” “Their genitalia! Exactly. Well, male genitalia, to be specific.” Petra's voice held the triumph of one who has shared a marvelous secret. “It gets even weirder. Since their habitat is limited, they have only one culture. As nearly as we can tell, it has rigid gender roles, but the animals seem to trade off male and female social duties from season to season. When we went back to the specimens in our morgue, we figured it out. Females change gender after giving birth! It looks like mating triggers a gender change in males too, from male to female, but the data are less conclusive.” Adam shook his head. “You're kidding. Is that even possible?” “Why not, if it gives an evolutionary advantage? There's even some Earth species that do something similar. Amphiprion, or hyperolius argus, for example use sequential hermaphroditism as a strategy.” She stopped when she saw Caitlin's expression. “What's wrong, dear? You're thinking you touched his penis, is that it?” Caitlin emitted a strangled sound and nodded. Adam frowned at Petra's expansive grin. I really wish she'd show a bit more sensitivity. He started to speak but she beat him to it. “We think the tongues must have evolved for multiple purposes. We know they use them for manipulating food and making simple tools. They are most probably a sexual organ only under the right hormonal stimulus. We've picked up traces of pheromones too, and those probably play a role as well. Anyway, they function as poor substitutes for hands most of the time.” She paused and inspected Caitlin's features. “Look, at worst it's like when a cat rubs against you. You know she's marking you with pheromones you can't smell, declaring you're her property. It's just a friendly, instinctive gesture, nothing more. Same thing when the neoaxidia taste you with their tongues.” Caitlin frowned and then brightened. “But this means Sebastian is pregnant? That he's-she's--going to have a baby?” “Probably babies. From our camera data, it looks like neoaxidia have litters of two or three pups. Of course, not all parings are fertile. But the neoaxidia seem to have a seasonal mating period, unlike humans, so there's a pretty good chance that in six months you'll have baby Sebastians running around.” She frowned. “Actually, she's probably going to need to return to her tribe for the birthing. As nearly as we can tell, they raise the young in communal crèches, and she'll need help in caring for them. Of course, after they're born, 'she' will become a 'he.'” Caitlin beamed at Adam. “I can't wait to get back to Spirit Lake with the new voder and talk to Sebastian about this. Isn't this just wonderful news?” 65

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Adam remembered Sebastian's dedication to his--her--art, and her determination to display her paintings in the Great House. If she was anything like the obsessive artists he knew, her pregnancy might not be as welcome as Caitlin thought. “It'll be interesting, that's for sure,” he muttered.

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Chapter Eleven Dinner for Two

The buzzer's repeated rasp pulled Peter from a numbed sleep. He sat up, peered into the gloom of his studio and groaned. The sleeping pill he'd taken after his quarrel with Aaron muffled his thoughts like a giant pillow jammed inside his skull. His tongue was a dead sausage that pressed against his mouth and tasted of stale coffee. Whoever was at the front door pressed the buzzer again and drowned out the gentle susurrations of rain drizzling on the roof. “I'm coming! I'm coming, already.” He sat up and shook fog from his head. His uncle's journal lay open on the floor; he must have fallen asleep reading it after Aaron left. He placed it on the end table and staggered across the room toward the intercom. His cane slipped in a puddle of water on the floor and he lurched against the model pedestal where Derek had posed the day before. He glanced up and swore at a trickle of water dribbling from the ceiling. “Bloody hell.” His leg throbbed and his brace bit into his thigh as he hobbled the rest of the way to the intercom and snarled into the speaker, “This better be good.” “Your food's here.” The speaker rasped with static, but the delivery boy's disembodied voice was cheery and showed not even a hint of rancor at waiting in the rain. Peter remembered that Aaron had ordered Ethiopian take-out before their fight. He pushed the button. “It's open. Come on up.” He reached for his credit swipe before he remembered that Aaron had already paid. He pulled out a few credits that he found wadded in his pocket and smoothed them onto the counter for a tip. The steps crunched as the delivery boy bounded up to the studio. Peter flipped the lights on in the kitchen and pulled down a bottle of Shiraz to have with his meal. He didn't look when the creak of the floor announced the boy's arrival. “Just put it on the counter, will you? The bills are for your trouble.” He uncorked the bottle and poured himself a glass. “Thanks, Peter, but it weren't no trouble.” He jerked his head around at the familiar voice. “Derek! What are you doing here? Are you delivering food now?” Today Derek's body paint exploded with visions of a tropical Elysium. Palms, flowers, and exotic parrots flowed across his sleek muscles and flared on his features. His merry grin spread the orange and red wings of a bird of paradise. “Nah. I was just in this neighborhood and stopped to flap with ya. The delivery guy was crankin' ya out for not answerin' the door, so I told him I'd take over.” The rain had wilted his Mohawk and he shook vermillion locks out of his eyes. “I thought you lived in La Bajada? That's quite a ways from Deep Ellum.” Peter drained his wine and poured himself another glass. “I dropped a package off at the CitiFargo branch next to the Canton Street Station. It was my last delivery, and I can't go to my sleep-pad until 2300. I had time to kill, and thought we might flap our mouths. Ya know, like buds do?” His flitterboard and his knapsack clattered 67

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to the floor while his gaze settled on the wine. “Could I maybe have some of that juice?” The alcohol seemed to clear some of the cobwebs that clogged Peter's head. “Sure.” He poured another glass and handed it to Derek. “Careful, it's not exactly juice.” He eyed the crumpled white sacks of carry-out on the counter. “There's plenty of food here. More than enough for two. You want to join me for dinner?” “It smells creaky. Sure.” He eyed the bathroom. “Could I maybe dry off? I got slimed in the rain.” “Help yourself.” Peter pulled clean dishes from the cabinet and set the table while Derek dashed into the other room. A tinge of guilt flickered in him at the immaculate kitchen Aaron had left. Derek's tenor sang over the sound of running water. “Hey, ya mind if I take a shower? Your soap smelt so good last time, I wanna try it again.” A smile tugged at Peter's lips. “Sure. Won't it wash your body paint off, though?” “Crank it. It's startin' to run anyways from the rain. I'll be out in a snitch.” Peter reached for the take-out bags and the muscles of his leg clenched at the bone. He gasped, stumbled against the counter, and his breath quivered in his chest. “Sweet Mother of Chaos.” He rubbed his thigh. The lure of the prescription bottle on the counter drew his gaze, but he knew he shouldn't take another Amyldin so soon, especially since he was drinking wine. Crank it. Who cares, anyway? He slipped two pills into his mouth and chugged the rest of his glass. He poured another, sat at the table, and watched the rain slither down the windows. Peter jumped when Derek touched on his shoulder. “Ya want I should dish up the dole?” He wrapped a towel about his narrow hips as he turned to gaze at the food. His muscles rippled underneath nubile skin that glowed like delicate porcelain, unsullied by body hair. Peter's eyes raked over his perfect body and yearnings for Aaron haunted his soul. He sighed. “I'm afraid my leg's worse than usual tonight. It'd be great if you'd serve us.” “No prob, cob.” Derek pulled out the sealed containers and snapped off the lids. “Sure smells better than the prole dole. Hey, there ain't no knives or sporks. Ya got any around here?” Peter pointed to the bread. “You don't use dinnerware with Ethiopian food. You just sop it up with the flatbread. Like this, see?” He wrapped a slice of injera around a cube of beef and popped in his mouth. “Try it. It's good.” “Creaky.” Derek imitated him and a delighted expression flashed across his features. “Krick, that's good.” He plopped into the chair across from Peter and stuffed another huge portion in his mouth. Food mangled his words. “It kinda bites after ya chew on it, but I like it.” “It can be a bit spicy.” Peter poured himself another glass of Shiraz. “More wine?” Derek held out his glass. “You bet! That kinda bites at ya too. In a good kinda way.” He grinned. Peter nibbled at the food. The pain in his leg pulsed and sang a cruel duet with each beat of his heart. Across the table, Derek gorged on his exotic dinner as though he'd not eaten in days. “Are you doing all right, Derek?” He paused to swallow before answering. “Getting' by. Work kinda pops up and down. Broke up with my guy, but ya knew that, right? Ya remember Gammy? At the clinic?” Peter nodded. “Yah. She wants to boing with me. She's even got her own pad. No takin' turns with strangers for a place to sleep.” 68

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“So are you going to take her up on her offer?” “Dunno. It's all creaky, y'know? Freaks me supremo to think about takin' them pills to boing with a fem.” He pointed to the vegetables. “Mind if I finish that?” “Go ahead.” He watched Derek wolf down the last of the meal. “I have a friend with lots of contacts. Maybe he could find a regular job for you.” Assuming I could persuade Aaron to help. “Ya think? Hey, that'd blast for sure. Is there any more of that juice?” “There's another bottle in the cabinet.” He pointed. “I'd like some, too. If you'll get it, I'll open it up.” Derek bounced to his feet. “You betcha.” When he stretched to pull the wine down, his towel slipped from his hips and fell to the floor. “Krickin' thing.” He kicked it to one side. “Ya don't mind if I'm raw, right?” Peter shrugged, but the hardness between his legs told him he did care. “Whatever. Would you like to pose again, tonight? Same pay as before?” Maybe I can get this kid a little money. Help him out some. “Sure. But ya don't gotta pay me. We's friends now, right?” “Sure, we're friends. But I should still pay for professional services. It'd be wrong of me to take advantage of our relationship.” Derek handed him the bottle and held out his glass. “I came here to flap with ya, 'cause I like ya. Don't need no dole. Need a buddy. If ya push snatch at me, I'll leave.” Peter poured for both of them. “I could use a buddy, too.” He pushed his chair back. “It's a deal, we're friends. No money tonight. If you don't want to pose, maybe we can at least retire to the other room, where there's more comfortable seating.” “Whatever, dude.” Derek grinned and ambled into the dusky depths of the studio, weaving his way between easels and the model's perch. Peter levered himself to his feet and stumped to the stereo. His fingers roamed over the selections on the holomenu, and he settled on the final movement of Tchaikovsky's sixth symphony. He paused and let the mournful glissando of the violins wash over him before he turned back to face reality. Derek nestled in the darkness, his form a silhouetted promise of perfection. The amber of the argon streetlights shimmered into the studio and cast golden shadows. With each breath, the room seemed to swell and contract before Peter's eyes. The floor swayed like a ship's deck on an uncertain sea, and his feet stumbled as he strove to close the distance to Derek. A part of him coiled in fear, in the knowledge that drugs and alcohol formed a lethal medley. But pride, despair, and desire conspired to overwhelm him, and he crept on faltering feet across a room that see-sawed underneath him. A cold drop of rain from the leak in the roof struck his forehead and burned his eyes. At that instant, his brace jerked and his cane slipped in the forgotten puddle. His legs flew out from under him. The room whirled about him and he slammed into the floor. Something cracked and pain, unbearable pain, flashed from his wrist and up his arm. In a heartbeat, Derek was at his side, holding his hand. “Are you all right, bud?” Pain screamed in Peter's arm and his legs trembled. His heart thudded in his chest while his breath quivered in his throat. His arm flopped on the floor like a snake with a broken spine. “My wrist...” He ground out the words between clenched teeth. “I think I might have broken my 69

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wrist.” Derek's voice sobbed over him. “I'm so sorry, bud. What should I do?” The overhead lights flared and bathed the room with an uncompromising intensity. Aaron's voice rang out, accusing and angry. “What's going on here? I forgot about our food order and came back...” Peter stared at him while agony writhed through his arm and his leg. “Help me.” He held out his good arm. “I need you...” Aaron's expression changed in a flash, and he rushed forward to kneel at Peter's side. A gentle hand ran over his wrist. “It's already swollen.” He turned to Derek. “Get some ice and wrap it in a towel, will you?” He whipped out his cell phone and punched a number while he peered into Peter's eyes. “Your pupils are pinpoints, too. How many creakin' pills did you take?” Peter lay back and let misery consume him. “Does it matter? No one cares anyway.” “Fuck you! I care. I've always cared, you creakin' idiot. You could kill yourself, and for nothing.” He turned his attention to his phone and muttered into it. Something cold pressed against Peter's wrist, and Derek's shaky voice whispered in his ear. “I care, too. Don't die on me, okay? I ain't got so many buds I can afford to lose one.” Aaron's murmur seemed to come from miles away. “The ambulance is on the way. Good thing they keep one roaming in this part of town.” A finger grazed Peter's cheek. He opened his eyes and his heart shattered to see the tears streaming down Aaron's face. Aaron's sweet voice shook while his steady hand stroked Peter's brow. “Stay with us. Don't fall asleep.” Derek crouched nearby in a desolate huddle. A siren screamed and red lights flashed. The lament of Tchaikovsky's Pathetique dissolved to oblivion. Peter shuttered his eyes and sank into darkness.

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Chapter Twelve Simple Gifts

Caitlin's hand pulled Adam forward. “Hurry, my sweetheart. Uncle won't like it if ye be late for the Grand Council.” Their path from the Lucastown flitter port led them past the Great House. The afternoon sun glinted on its parapets and golden dome, and the architectural glory drew his eyes away from the cobblestone street. He stumbled, recovered, and muttered an oath. She tsked at him. “Watch yere tongue, my dear Mister. If the wrong ears heard, ye might lose what ye seek.” “Wait a second, okay? I've got gravel in my shoe.” He pulled it off and shook it out. “I don't see why Gideon had to schedule this big confab an hour after we got back from New Chicago.” “He did it for me. I want to leave early on the morrow to take the new voder back to Spirit Lake, and to bear the glad tidings of Sebastian's condition to Joshua.” He groaned, thinking about rising with the dawn and the long, dusty, carriage ride that confronted them. “I know you're eager, but a day's rest would have been nice.” She dimpled. “Suffering is our lot in life, my sweetheart.” They stopped in front of a low, stone building surrounded by ruddy Helios shrubs and a riotous rainbow of carnations. She straightened his collar and wiped a stray lock of hair from his brow. “Deep breath, now. Ye know the speech I prepared for ye?” “I've got it memorized. You're sure they won't think I'm pandering?” “They will think Maitreya inspired ye. I know them well.” A smile like sunlight over the Pacific lit her features. “Come on, then.” She led him inside the double metal doors and down a hallway. The faint rustle of muffled voices reached his ears from the end of the corridor. In the meeting hall, the afternoon sun conspired with the latticework of the windows to cascade turquoise and emerald jewels across the gathered throng. As they entered, their footsteps whispered to the stone walls and the high ceilings. A throng of men and women, all dressed in black, huddled on endless benches, gray and galvanized, that scraped against the polished concrete floor. The cold void of the room sucked meaning from their murmurs and swallowed their words. Thirteen empty chairs sat behind a stone table at the front of the room, silent and waiting. Adam thought of the altars he'd seen in Aztec ruins, and shuddered. Caitlin tugged at his hand. “Hurry, dear Mister. They'll start soon.” She led him to a seat near the front, before the waiting table. The hard bench chilled his bones. A door to their right opened, and thirteen somber men filed in and sat at the stone table, facing the waiting audience. Dresses rustled and feet shuffled as the crowd rose in respect. Adam followed suit, his eyes locked on Gideon who took the center seat at the table. An ironic smile tugged at Adam's lips when he saw that someone had arranged the room and the time of the meeting so that a shaft of light illuminated Gideon' visage as he settled into his 71

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seat. His eyes glimmered green as he nodded and his baritone intoned, “Please be seated.” Gideon surveyed the gathered throng and his voice sang out. “May the wisdom of creation fill our hearts.” A chorus of voices muttered in response, “And may compassion for all govern our deeds.” Gideon nodded and folded his hands on the table. “Grand Council is begun.” Adam recognized the man on Gideon's left as Master Benedict, who had given him detailed instruction on what not to do while in New Iowa. Now he coughed into his black robe and his voice rumbled. “I see dear Caitlin Mather is in the gathering with us today. Gideon, would you and your niece bless this assemblage with music before we start our deliberations?” A little smile flickered across Gideon's lips, and an instant of warmth teased his eyes. “Truly, Benedict, the music is in you, while it lasts. Still...Caitlin, would you join me? Perhaps in 'Simple Gifts?'” She lowered her head and nodded. In a rustle of skirts, she walked to the front and faced the gathering. Gideon stood and retrieved an ancient contraption of wood and string from a corner of the room. Adam peered at it and thought he recognized a cello. He remembered there was no wood on Helios and realized it must be an antique, imported from Earth itself, from the ancient days before electronic instruments replaced such unreliable contrivances. Gideon settled on a chair and placed the apparatus between his legs. A metal stalk grew from its bottom that he scraped against the floor, while he held what looked like a stick with long threads in his right hand. He ran the stick over the instrument and thready tones echoed in the room. He adjusted some screws at the top, repeated the process, and then he glanced at Caitlin. She nodded to him and music filled the room. The sound took Adam's breath away. A simple melody flowed like a gentle river through the chamber, splashing against the walls and sending a thrill up Adam's spine. The hairs on his neck prickled and his breath caught in his throat. He thought he recognized the tune from a mix he'd heard in Dallas, something by a twentieth century composer about spring in Appalachia. Then Caitlin raised her eyes and smiled. Her soprano, unsullied and pure, reverberated in the room. 'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free, 'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be, And when we find ourselves in the place just right, 'Twill be in the valley of love and delight. Underneath the lyrics, Gideon played solitary tones that shifted and harmonized with the tune and the words. Caitlin glanced Adam's way and his heart ached. When true simplicity is gained, To bow and to bend we will not be ashamed, 72

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To turn, turn will be our delight, Till by turning, turning we come 'round right. Now Gideon recapitulated the melody with his cello, stronger this time, with harmonies resonating from deep within the wooden caverns of his instrument and caressing the soul. Caitlin sang the last three verses again, this time with the cello's harmonies in counterpoint to the melody and words. When they finished and the sounds faded away, peace lingered in his heart. Adam recalled Gideon' words: the music is in you, while it lasts. Truth and longing brought unshed tears to his eyes. Caitlin slipped back to the bench next to him and squeezed his hand. He whispered into her ear, “That was wonderful.” She blushed, but her eyes flickered to the dais, where her Uncle stared at them and scowled. She withdrew her hand and whispered, “Thanks be to ye, but hush now. The Council meets.” Gideon opened the leather folder on the table before him. “We are gathered this afternoon to consider a request from our off-world guest, Mister Adam Sandoval, regarding the artwork of Joshua Maartens.” He glared at Adam and his eyebrows crept up his forehead like angry caterpillars. “I remind ye who are gathered here that Mister Maartens exercises his craft to the glory of Maitreya, and under a covenant with this Council. In return for our support and succor, he produces art for the Great House, for our missions, and for other places chosen by the Grand Council.” He closed the folder and tapped a forefinger on it. “Our guest has brought a request before us to place some of Mr. Maarten's holy works on Earth. Since those selfsame works are under the protection of the Council, it is our duty and privilege to consider his petition. Mister Sandoval?” Adam rose and bowed. “Thank you, Mister Chairman, Councilors. I am grateful that you would hear a petition from one who is not of your fellowship.” He let his eyes roam the impassive faces of the gathered community. “My employers, the Art Institute of the University of Texhoma, have sent me these many light-years to gaze upon the art and to learn the ways of Helios. To prepare, I visited many places on Earth Home: the Sistine Chapel, the Smithsonian, the Louvre, and the Hagia Sophia. These, and others, bear testament to the divided religions that Maitreya fused into a single faith.” He smiled to see heads nodding in agreement. “I have seen the most powerful artworks of the last two millennia, and I can testify to you that the Great House is the equal, nay, the superior of them all. The huddled masses of Earth Home yearn to breathe free, and you have an opportunity to minister to them. If you will permit, the paintings of Joshua Maartens will enlighten the unenlightened.” He paused, and then intoned the prayer Caitlin had suggested. “May all beings everywhere, the strong and the weak, the great and the small, the mean and the powerful, dwelling far off or nearby, being or waiting to become: may all be filled with lasting joy.” “With respect, then, I beseech you to consider my request that I might return to Earth Home with those of Mister Maarten's paintings as you can spare.” He returned to his seat. 73

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Gideon simpered at him. “That is well said, Mister Sandoval, and respectful of our ways.” Benedict harrumphed. “Well said, indeed. But has Earth not abandoned the spiritual for the profane?” The Councilor on Gideon's right spoke in soft remonstrance. “All the more reason to minister to them with our example.” Benedict snorted. “Thomas, ye have a heart of gold. But 'tis not our way to preach to the heathen. Each must find their own path to Enlightenment. For 'tis written that ye should first cast out the beam from yere own eye; and then shall ye see clearly to cast the mote from yere neighbor's.” Several Councilors nodded agreement. Gideon glanced from side to side, seeming to count votes. “Brother Benedict, I remind ye that the Council has debated our evangelistic calling afore. We have a duty to give answers to the questioning and bear witness to the doubting.” The councilor next to Thomas nodded his head. “Benedict, good Mister Sandoval said the hordes of Earth Home yearn for our wisdom. Who are we to deny them?” Benedict flushed and scowled at Adam. “What guarantees have ye that our relics will not become just another trinket in the crowns of the mighty? Our holy works must have a place of honor and respect.” Adam stood again. “The Museum will reserve a gallery for just the art of Helios. We will display it as you direct, and will include words and instruction that you provide. I will sign a Compact that will bind my employers for all time, under the guarantee of the Laws and Protections of the Grand Covenant that guards us all.” Thomas sat back and smiled. “Gideon, I believe this young man is sincere.” Several others nodded in agreement. He picked up a sheet of paper and read from prepared text. “I move that we authorize our Chairman, Gideon Mather, to enter into a Compact with Mister Adam Sandoval and his employers on our behalf. Chairman Mather will select such paintings in Joshua Maarten's studio as have not been allocated to other purposes, and will instruct Mister Sandoval on their proper display.” Several voices spoke in second. Gideon erased the scowl from his features, but his voice still reeked with tension. “Is there discussion?” Caitlin rose. “Uncle, surely ye cannot object? This puts ye in charge.” Chuckles echoed in the hall and Gideon's face turned ruddy. Benedict scowled. “Quiet, lass. Against our traditions, this Council voted to permit women to speak, but ye must do so with respect!” Thomas's eyes twinkled and his voice rang out above mutterings from the assemblage. “Call for the yeas and nays.” Gideon stood. “All in favor say yea.” Voices rumbled in assent. “All opposed say nay.” Another rumble of voices echoed in the chamber. “The yea's have it.” Gideon closed his notebook. Benedict raised a finger. “I call for a show of hands, Gideon.” Gideon scowled, but nodded. “All in favor?” Five hands rose. Gideon glowered at the Council member on the far left, and he lifted his hand. “Opposed?” Five Councilors joined 74

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Benedict in opposition. “The tally is six yea's and six nays. By our rules, the Chair votes in case of a tie. I say yea. The yeas have it.” He hesitated. “That concludes our scheduled business. Unless anyone has another matter to bring before the Grand Council...” Caitlin stood. “I do, Uncle.” Shock flashed across Gideon' features before his jaw clenched into a rigid absence of expression. “This is most unusual, Niece.” “But 'tis my right.” He nodded. “Go ahead then. What business can ye have for the Council that is so urgent ye could not have mentioned it to me ahead of time?” “Uncle, Councilors, Friends,” Caitlin let her gaze move to each in turn. “I apologize for asking ye to tarry a bit longer, but Mister Sandoval's prayer 'tis what inspired me. He spoke of how Maitreya teaches us to honor all creatures, great and small, mean and powerful. All deserve joy and Enlightenment.” Gideon nodded and he etched a tight smile on his face. “True, Niece, although each creature knows joy in its own way. The pig finds rapture in mud and the droppings of cows, things humans find less than joyous.” Adam looked on in wonder at her daring. Now he understood the prayer she had selected for him to recite. Several people smiled at Gideon's joke, but others fidgeted in their seats. “True, Uncle, what is good for pigs is not good for humans, and vice versa. But pigs deserve their place of honor in creation.” She took a deep breath and turned to the crowd. “Many of ye know that Mister Maartens shares his studio with one of our brethren native to Helios, a mudcat named Sebastian.” Gideon leaped to his feet. “Niece! I see what ye are planning, and I forbid it.” “Ye said I have the right, Uncle. Any member of our fellowship may bring a petition to the Grand Council.” “But 'tis not yere petition ye bring; it's from that beast. I forbid it.” Thomas reached out and touched his hand. “Gideon, what harm is there in letting the girl speak? Under your leadership, this Council has listened to all, even women.” His jaw muscles jumped as if he'd swallowed crickets, but Gideon returned to his seat. “Speak, then, girl. But be brief.” “Uncle, Councilors, Friends,” Caitlin repeated. “Joshua's friend and companion Sebastian the mudcat has painted a wonderful work, a painting of flowers. It sings of the glory of creation.” She put a hand on Adam's shoulder. “Tell them, Mister Sandoval. Ye said to me it was beautiful.” Adam tried to tuck away the grin that tugged at his lips, but Gideon's eyes told him he failed. “Caitlin, it's not the same beauty as Mister Maarten's glorious works, but it touches the heart of those with eyes to see.” He thought for a moment. “Its beauty is a simple gift. It turned my vision on the wheel of life, and, in turning, my vision came out right.” Caitlin squeezed his shoulder and her eyes glittered with gratitude. “Sebastian has heard Uncle Gideon speak of Maitreya, and he, she, craves Enlightenment for her kith and kin. She has petitioned that her simple gift join those of humans in the Great House. 'Tis not a huge boon to grant, for all beings deserve joy and peace. I therefore petition that the Council display Sebastian's masterwork in our Great House, for the glory of all creatures.” She sat and lowered 75

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her eyes. “May I speak now, Niece?” Gideon's lips turned down and his voice dripped venom. She nodded. “I never said ye should not, dear Uncle.” He rose to his feet. “We follow the ways of Maitreya, and we honor all of creation. But we don't despoil the paintings of Mister Maartens by placing them in a pig wallow, nor do we defile the Great House with the offal that brings joy to a pig's soul. Each creature has a place in creation, deserving of honor and respect. But honoring mudcats does not require we dishonor ourselves. Our Great House glorifies our forebears and their struggles, it honors the Enlightenment that Maitreya brought to humans. We ground our place in creation by worship in this reverent place.” He scowled. “I, too, have eyes to see with, and mine eyes are like yours. This beast's painting may be simple, but it doesn't speak with reverence for our ways. Mister Sandoval tells us it is not the same beauty as Joshua's. It has an alien cant that sickens and distracts from the unity of human souls. I say, let mudcats build their own Great House, where they can honor their spirits. Pigs have their sties, mudcats have their caves, and humans have our Great House. I speak against this petition.” He sat down in triumph. “Is there further discussion?” Benedict stood. “I, too, honor all creatures great and small. But I have seen this painting. Brother Gideon sent me a photo.” He held up his cell phone and pushed a button. “In order that ye each may reach yere own judgment, I transmit it to ye. Look, see if ye don't agree with good Gideon. This doesn't speak to us and our ways.” He shook his head and sat down. For a few moments, the room filled with the rustle of people pulling out their phones and whispering to each other. Adam watched their sour expressions, and knew that Caitlin had lost. He touched her hand and murmured, “I'm sorry. I'm glad you tried.” Caitlin blinked back tears as Gideon again called for the yeas and nays. Thomas and one other Councilor voted in favor, but the rest voted against. The vote accomplished, he stood once more and surveyed the gathering. “Is there any more business to bring before this Council?” He paused for a beat. “Hearing none, I declare us adjourned.” Adam grasped her hand. “Caitlin, don't despair. We'll take Sebastian's painting and find a place of honor for it, on Earth if not here.” “Ye promise, dear Adam? It would be a gift.” A little sob escaped her throat and his heart wept. “I promise, Caitlin. For Sebastian. And for you.”

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Chapter Thirteen Texhoma Hospital

With each breath, acid burned in Peter's throat. Blood pulsed inside his head, his heart a relentless drummer that pounded a cadence of pain. When he inhaled, the sands of the Sahara parched his mouth. Something hard plugged his nose and clogged his sinuses. Pressure thudded inside his ears and the roar of a thousand hurricanes swamped his awareness. He squinted against the solar flare that seared through closed eyes. I'm in a bed. I must be in a hospital. He shifted, and sandpaper rasped against his skin. His muscles clenched in agony and he opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. He remembered popping the Amyldin and drinking the wine. He remembered not caring. How could he have not cared? From somewhere far away, a relentless machine beeped a steady rhythm. A finger touched his cheek, and he managed to croak, “Where?” “Peter, you're awake. You're in the hospital.” That voice. It sounded familiar, like someone he should recognize. He pried his eyes open and unbearable light dazzled him. The voice whispered to him. “I've got to call Aaron. He made me promise.” The finger withdrew and the electronic click of a keypad penetrated the roar in his ears. He was too weary to follow the whispered conversation. Instead he squeezed his eyes and a shape coalesced out of the brilliant glare. He was tall and dark, and his sport coat looked familiar, like the one he'd gotten Aaron for his last birthday. But it wasn't Aaron. His hair flopped and was black instead of blond. Besides, he said he was going to call Aaron. The phone clicked shut and a face-like shape hovered over him. A knuckle grazed his cheek and a shaky voice whispered, “He's asleep in our room at the Marriott Tower. He'll be down in a few minutes. You're gonna be fine, bud. You gave us a scare, though.” Peter nodded, and red-hot rivets shot through his neck and into his jaw. His eyes adjusted to the lasers that blazed into them from the windows, and Derek's face blossomed out of the glare. His Mohawk drooped like black slag across his face, and his eyes stared from craters of fatigue. His voice, though, soothed Peter's soul. “How do you feel?” He tried to speak, but only managed to squawk. He chewed for a drop of saliva and tried again. “Water?” “Sure, sure. Crank, I'm sorry. Here.” A straw touched his lips and he sucked the blessed liquid into his mouth. The sudden chill shocked him and his body lurched into a coughing spasm. Agony flooded through him and swirled its way to his leg, where a whirlpool of lava tore into flesh and bone. “Easy, easy. Take it slow.” Somehow Derek's soft tones comforted him. “Try again, buddy.” This time he sucked at the straw and managed to swallow a few drops. The glare in the 77

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room was more bearable now, more like staring into a flitter's headlights than a solar flare. He recognized the institutional trappings of a hospital room: white walls, an automated bed, tubes and sensors attached to his body, a sofa and chair made of leather and steel. The towers of downtown Dallas glittered in the sunlight outside the window. An explosion of red, orange and yellow tulips sat in a crystal vase on a table in front of the window. Derek followed his eyes. “Them flowers is from Senator Kondrashchenko herself. I read the card.” Awe hushed his voice. Peter rested his head on the pillow. “How long have I been here?” The words tore at his throat like razors. “It's been three days. We were so fuckin' worried about you, man. Your friend Aaron like totally took charge. I mean, he gave you CPR, got you into this classy hospital, he even got the Senator's very own doctor for you.” He sighed, and it only felt like steam passed over his throat. Maybe he was getting used to the pain. “Aaron's efficient, all right.” “Yeah, but, man, he must love you like crazy. I mean, after them white coat types took charge, he just sat and bawled and bawled.” Derek sniffed. “Well, I did too. We couldn't have made it through the last coupla days without each other. I thought sure you was gonna kick, bud.” He swiped tears from his eyes. Another wave of pain cascaded through him and he arched his back. “Crank, where the fuck is the doctor? Can't they give me something for the pain?” The door to the room swooshed open and a stout little bald man hustled in. “Well, I see our patient's awake.” He scanned the monitors over the bed and peered into Peter's eyes. “I'm Phil, the duty nurse this morning.” White teeth flashed under his ruddy cheeks. “Good to see you awake, Pete. And how are we feeling?” “I feel like I was ground up for dog food, fed to constipated pit bulls, and shit out. I hurt like hell.” “Charming.” Phil tsked and checked his pulse. “I know it hurts. Detox sucks. Maybe you'll remember that next time you're tempted to OD.” He peered in Peter's eyes. “The neonoxolone flushes the amyldin from your system, but it shuts off your endogenous morphiates as well. That's why you hurt. Lucky you, we knocked you out for the worst of it.” He sported that smile again. “The good news is that you're going to be fine.” “So how about something for right now? For the pain?” He frowned. “Doctor sent me a text when you woke up. She said I could give you some acetaminophen and benzodromine. It'll take some of the edge off.” “So give it to me, already. And I want to see the doctor,” Peter snarled. “Now, now, she's busy with the Senator's husband right now. Your vitals go right to her phone, so she can monitor your status. She'll be here as soon as she can.” He counted out two cream-colored pills. “Here, let me hold your head. That's a good boy.” He was tempted to bite the snippy little nurse's hand, or to spit the pills out, but was too weak to fight. He swallowed them and closed his eyes. “How long before the doctor gets here?” “She'll be here soon, I'm sure. She's at the Senator's dacha on the lake right now.” “Crank, on the Lake? Can you give me something to put me back to sleep?” Anything to not hurt. “Sorry, now that you're awake, Doctor says no opioids or anything that might suppress 78

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your nervous system. Hold still.” Peter watched, surprised that he couldn't feel the needle go in his arm before the nurse withdrew three vials of blood. “Doctor can't do anything until the lab runs your blood chemistry anyway.” He withdrew the needle and bandaged his arm. “Just be patient. If you need me, your friend knows how to call me.” He gathered up the samples and hustled out of the room. Derek stroked his hair and hovered over him. “Can I get ya anything, bud? More water?” “A sledge hammer, maybe?” “Huh?” “To hit myself on the head with. Knock me out.” Alarm flashed across Derek's face and guilt touched Peter. “Sorry, just kidding. You've been here for three days?” “Yeah. Well, Aaron made me go to the hotel and sleep some yesterday. But yeah, I been here.” “Thank you.” He closed his eyes. “You didn't have to do that, and I'm grateful.” “Hey, what're buds for?” “What about your job? Won't they miss you?” “Uh, I kinda got laid off. Don't need that creakin' job, anyway.” The door swooshed again and he recognized Aaron's voice. “So he's awake?” Peter glanced up and saw a wrinkled shirt and Aaron's unshaven face. "I'm awake." He looked away. “I'm a fucking idiot. I'm so sorry to have caused so much trouble...” His voice shook and tears leaked from his eyes. Aaron grasped his chin and forced his face up. “Look at me. You're not an idiot. The important thing is, you're going to be fine. You made a mistake, sure. So who's perfect?” “You.” “Bullshit.” A grin flashed on his features. “But it's nice of you to say so.” “Aaron, I don't know what's been wrong with me.” Peter hated how his voice trembled, but he had to speak. “Sometimes it's like I'm in a movie, speaking someone else's lines. I'm so sorry I've hurt you.” Derek looked from one to the other. “Crank! How can two smart guys be so creakin' screwed up?” He jabbed at Peter with a forefinger. “Don't you know them drugs mess you up, bud? They screw up everything, especially your love life.” He turned to Aaron. “And you, you're about the nicest guy I've ever met. But from what you've told me, you just let him walk all over ya. Ya gotta stop doin' that. It's drivin' ya both nuts. I mean, what're ya creakin' thinkin'?” Peter laughed and tried to control the edge of hysteria that welled in his chest. “From the mouths of babes...” His words collapsed in a series of coughs and he groaned. Aaron's visage remained somber. “I had a long session with Dr. Guttierez yesterday. She said pretty much the same thing. She used words like 'co-dependent' and 'enabling.' It hurt, but she's right. When you're better, we need to talk, Peter.” “When I'm better. Like that's going to happen.” There, he did it again: reminded Aaron about his leg. He didn't really blame him, but it was easier than believing fate and random chance could be so cruel. “Of course you're gonna get better. That white coat, what was her name? Guttierez? She said you'd be outta here in a coupla days.” Derek plopped into the sofa and suppressed a yawn. “Crank, I'm beat.” He rubbed his forehead. “I got a headache.” Aaron stood next to him and squeezed his shoulder. “You haven't slept since yesterday 79

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afternoon, have you?” He reached into his pocket and fished out a key card. “Here. Go back to the room and rest. If you're hungry, there's a room service menu on the desk. Order whatever looks good.” “Room service. Like the movies.” Derek stood and shook himself. “I could use some shuteye.” He turned his eyes to Peter. “You look like you're doin' okay. You mind if I flit for a bit?” “Go. There's no reason to wear yourself out. Have a steak on Aaron.” “Steak. I had that once.” He leaned over his lips brushed against Peter's forehead. “Get better.” He turned to Aaron, kissed him on the cheek, and left. Aaron leaned back on the sofa and toyed with the blinds. “He's a good kid. I'm glad you found him.” “Aaron, I swear I just meant for him to be a model. I didn't plan to...” “Don't worry about it. Water under the bridge.” His eyes crinkled with a smile. “Besides, he kind of filled me in on how it went down. I'm not sure anyone could resist him once he puts his mind to it. Anyway, I like him. I'm glad he's here.” “He started out as just a street kid with an interesting look, but you're right. He's more than that.” A half-smile tugged at his lips. “He's in my latest painting, you know. Shit!” Peter remembered his fall and pulled his left arm from under the sheets. He examined the cast that encased his wrist. “It's broken?” “Yeah. You'll have to wear that cast for a couple of months. Good thing it's not your other hand.” “Right. I guess I can work something out and still paint. It'll slow me down on that commission, though.” He flexed the fingers and winced. “As I see it, the big problem will be your cane. The doctor was pretty clear that you couldn't put any stress on your wrist while it's in the cast.” “I'm not sitting in a crankin' wheel chair!” “I know, I know. You can probably use a walker, and they replaced your brace with a new one. But she said something about assisted living for a while. She wants to be sure you don't fall again.” A black hole of fear swirled in his stomach. “A nursing home? How will I work?” “As luck would have it, Senator Kondrashchenko offered her estate on South Padre. She's going to be off on a junket to the Settled Realms for the next three months, so you can have the whole place to yourself. Well, except for the staff. It's got a full-time physician, nurses, cooks, maids, butlers, whatever.” He smiled and a tentative finger touched Peter's hand. “There's even a garden under a geodesic dome where you can paint.” “Well tie me up with a ribbon and call it Yulemas. How'd you manage that?” “Remember that Hirshhorn exhibit? It was one of her pet projects. I told you it would be useful to have friends in high places. That's how I got you in here, too. In case you were wondering, you're in the VIP detox floor of Texhoma General, the same one where the Senator sent her husband last summer.” “No kidding? You'd think they'd hire polite nurses for the rich folk.” He tried to grin but instead a parched cough erupted from his throat. Aaron handed him a glass and he took a sip of water. “Anyway, thanks for arranging all this. What would I do without you?” He twisted his shoulders. “The pain seems to be less. Maybe the Tylenol that creakin' nurse gave me helped.” 80

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He raised his eyes to gaze into Aaron's face. “You know this was an accident, right? That I didn't try to... to...” “I know. It's all right. You were just careless, is all. I shouldn't have walked out like I did, either.” “Not your fault. I'm a grownup, and you're not my nursemaid.” The words barked out in a rush and he couldn't take them back. He looked down and tugged at the sheets. “Anyway, I'm hurting less. Whatever that nasty nurse gave me must be helping.” Aaron fiddled with the blinds again and shuffled his feet. “I could go if you want to rest.” “I like having you here.” He paused a beat, thinking maybe Aaron wanted to leave. “But if you need to be someplace...” The tinny strains of the chorus from Eroica spouted from a cell phone and interrupted him. “That's my ring.” He struggled to sit up. “Here, it's in your nightstand.” Aaron pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “Someone named Hethcote. He's been calling since yesterday.” “Would you mind finding out what he wants? I'm not up to dealing right now.” He leaned back and closed his eyes while Aaron muttered into the phone. He didn't stir when Aaron's hand touched his shoulder. “Peter, this Hethcote person works for somebody named Clair Dinsmore-Ling. Seems his employer wants your permission to visit your aunt. The hospital won't let her in without your consent.” “My consent? Why?” “Got me. Something to do with patient confidentiality or something. Apparently your aunt's doctor has ethics that won't budge for even the mighty Ling Energetics.” Peter opened his eyes. “She's one of those Lings?” “Ms. Hethcote went out of her way to be sure I knew. What's her connection with your aunt and uncle? I thought they didn't know anyone else on Earth?” Peter frowned. “I thought so, too. That's why I'm his executor and her guardian. This doesn't make sense. I wonder what this Ling woman wants.” “There's only one way I know to find out.” Aaron held up the phone. “What should I tell Hethcote? He's waiting.” Peter thought for a moment. “I'll be at the Senator's estate by this time next week, right?” Aaron nodded. “Make an appointment for his boss to meet me there.” “Good idea. Can't hurt to have a friend like that. She's got to be loaded.” “Right. But my first obligation is to my Aunt.” Guilt flashed through him. “Aaron, what would have happened to her if I'd died? That idiot Cantwell would have been in charge.” “You didn't die.” He shrugged. “Besides, the revised guardianship you signed sets it up so that I'm your backup.” “You're so smart. What would I do without you?” He lost himself for a moment in Aaron's eyes before a cramp gripped his leg. He grimaced and shifted in his bed. “Set up a meeting for next week, will you? We'll figure it out then.” Peter closed his eyes and tried to ignore his aching muscles while Aaron muttered into his phone.

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Chapter Fourteen February 2, 2459 Two Moons Rising

Adam let the hot water from the shower in Joshua's loft wash away the grime from the day's buggy ride. His back ached from being jerked around on the gravel road. Still, he reflected, it was better than riding horseback as Gideon had done. He yelped and shivered as the water turned frigid and he snatched up a towel. He wouldn't have guessed that an endless supply of hot water might be a luxury. Voices drifted up from the lower level. He reflected that, somehow, Caitlin and Gideon could shower and bounce back from the hardships of travel. It must be their hardy frontier stock. He slipped into fresh clothes and trudged down the stairs. “Hey everybody. I feel more human now.” Joshua's merry voice greeted him. “We be in the kitchen. I heard ye yell. Is anything wrong, me friend?” “Just singing in the shower. Sorry for my exuberance.” He nodded to Gideon, who sat brooding over a cup of steaming coffee. “Where's Caitlin?” Joshua pointed to the window. “She's outdoors looking for Sebastian, lad. Come, pull up a chair and have some coffee.” “Don't mind if I do.” The door slammed as Adam settled into his seat and Caitlin bounded into the room. “I spotted Sebastian down by the lake and waved to him. He's on his way here.” She poured herself coffee and pulled a chair next to Adam. She took a sip from her mug and her eyes twinkled at him. “I left the door unlatched so he can get in.” Joshua nodded. “Aye, he's been lurkin' down there, nosin' around and diggin in the brush. I saw that Moses critter come back yesterday. They howled at each other and I chased him off, I did.” Joshua nodded to a double-barreled shot gun in the corner. “I fired in the air and that nasty varmint took off like a scared rabbit. Don't want him fightin' with our Sebastian no more.” Caitlin dimpled. “They weren't exactly fighting, Joshua.” “What would ye call it, lass? Ye saw him bite a hole in Sebastian's belly.” Adam and Caitlin exchanged looks and she burst out in giggles. Adam started to explain, but the front door slammed shut again, and Sebastian's claws scrabbled against the concrete floors. She romped up to Caitlin and rubbed against her skirts. Her eyes changed hues from light green to dark blue, and then to deep purple. “I'm glad to see ye, too, my friend.” Caitlin ruffled her ears and she spread her whiskers and purred. She cooed back to her, “I've got a new voder for ye.” She reached into her valise and secured the device to the mudcat's head. “How's that?” 82

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Sebastian twisted her head and adjusted the microphone with her tongue. “Sebastian glad to see Caitlin and Adam. Sebastian's heart pumps joy.” She tried to lap at her hand, but she pulled it back. Adam knelt and greeted his friend. “How do you like the new voder? It's supposed to be more comfortable.” “Still hurt, but not bad. Good to talk to friends again.” She caressed Adam's offered hand with her tongues. Caitlin looked on and turned crimson. Sebastian pulled away and eyed Gideon. “Sebastian sees Gideon. Friends now?” Gideon snorted, but then sight of caught Caitlin's face. “Friends,” he muttered. Sebastian's whole body wriggled, her eyes glowed green, and she waddled toward forward with her tongues agoggle. Gideon shooshed her away. “None of that, now. I've work to do. Joshua, the Council approved sending some of yere paintings off-world. I'm to approve the selection, with yere advice of course. Can ye show me the ones ye and Adam sorted out?” Sebastian's head drooped as the two ambled away into the studio. “Not friends?” Caitlin shook her head. “He's just shy. Don't worry about him.” Sebastian's liquid gaze probed her. “Okay.” She seemed to think for a moment. “Sebastian made painting better. Caitlin want to see? Adam too?” The coffee maker gurgled and erupted in steam. Adam inhaled the homey scent and said, “Go ahead. You want another cup?” He quirked an eyebrow to Caitlin. “If ye please, Mister.” Sebastian danced ahead of her into the studio. He took care to fix Caitlin's with two sugars and cream, just the way she liked it. He left his own unsullied, took a sip, and wandered into the studio. Gideon stood next to Joshua at the far end, clipboard in hand, making notes and sorting paintings. Caitlin knelt next to Sebastian and inspected her painting. Adam paused for a moment to delight in her expression and graceful form before he approached. “Here's your coffee.” She lifted her eyes to him and his heart quickened anew at her smile. “Thanks be to ye.” She stood and took the cup. “See how Sebastian has improved her painting?” Adam glanced at the canvas. He remembered seeing form and beauty in it, but now it looked like a gelatinous mass of nothing. “It's wonderful.” Sebastian's head bounced up and down. “Painting good enough for Great House now? Gideon will like?” Caitlin's smile vanished and gloom descended on her features. “Oh, Sebastian, I'm so sorry. I tried, I really did.” Sebastian eyed her and mewled, but the voder only buzzed. Her eyes turned light green and she shook herself. “Sebastian like Caitlin. Words not come.” She knelt, held Sebastian's face in both her hands, and gazed into her eyes. “Sebastian, the Grand Council voted against putting yere painting in the Great House. They liked it, but they said the Great House is only for people paintings.” “Sebastian not people?” “Ye are a person, my dear friend, but not like Adam nor me.” Her chin trembled. “Maybe ye can put yere painting in yere village?” She pulled free and spread her whiskers. “Sebastian no go to village. Moses in village. 83

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Moses kill Sebastian. Sebastian stay here. Sebastian people.” Caitlin shook her head. “Moses won't kill, ye, honey. He's going to be the father of yere babies! Besides, won't ye need to go home? For yere wee ones?” Those liquid eyes caught a sunbeam and turned turquoise. She mewled and the voder buzzed. Her head switched back and forth and she tried again. “No pups. Sebastian found yellow roots by lake. Taste bad, but Sebastian eat. No pups. Sebastian tell Moses. Make Moses mad.” “What?” Caitlin's face paled and shock flared in her eyes. “What are ye saying? Ye killed yere babies?” Adam reached for her hand. “They couldn't have been babies yet. Maybe the yellow roots are like a morning-after pill, and interfere with conception.” “'Tis a sin, still.” She frowned and looked at Sebastian as though seeing her for the first time. “Did ye eat the yellow roots to not have yere babies?” “Yes. Eat roots. No pups. Sebastian paint, not have pups.” Unshed tears pooled in Caitlin's eyes. “Ye gave up yere babes for painting?” “Painting for all mudcats. For Enlightenment. Sebastian tell Moses Sebastian no want pups. Make Moses mad.” “Moses!” She let a finger trail along Sebastian's cheek and murmured, “He would have been their father.” She wiped her cheeks. “You told him when he was here yesterday?” “Yesterday, and before, too. Sebastian tell Moses about yellow roots. Moses scream. Moses want to kill Sebastian. Sebastian stay here.” She stared at her painting. “Painting no good for Great House?” She picked up a brush and swabbed another blob of color onto the canvas. “Fix painting?” Adam leaned into Caitlin and whispered, “She's given up everything for this. We've got to make her feel better.” He straightened and spoke. “Sebastian, I came here from the stars. Do you understand that?” “Adam from heaven?” Liquid eyes of gold stared into his soul. “From the sky, yes. I've come here to gather the best art from this world and take it back with me, to Earth. Some of Joshua's paintings will go with me.” He pointed across the room. “Gideon is helping us pick them, now.” “Joshua's paintings go to heaven?” Adam nodded. “Not all. Just the best ones, the ones Gideon blesses.” Caitlin looked from him to Sebastian, and her eyes grew wide. “Adam, do ye think Sebastian's painting would be good enough to take with ye?” She winked at Adam and he smiled back. He knew he could count on her. “I think Sebastian's painting would be perfect. What do you think?” “I think that's a wonderful idea.” She hugged him and whispered, “I love ye, sweet man. I'll get Gideon to play along.” Sebastian's head swiveled from one to the other, and then dropped to the floor. “Gideon pick paintings that go to heaven?” “Yes, he does! Stay here. Let me ask him if he thinks we can send yours with Adam.” Caitlin raced across the room and whispered in her uncle's ear. He gave her an astonished look and shook his head “no.” She scowled and started to speak, but Joshua held up his hand. “What harm is there in 84

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your blessing, Gideon? The lad can take it if he wants, regardless. It will make poor Sebastian feel better, and make your niece happy.” “I won't lie, even to that beast.” Her face drained of color. “Uncle...” “Enough, girl. 'Tis a sin to bear false witness, as ye well know.” Adam joined the group, with Sebastian trailing after. “Maybe you could delegate to Caitlin the power to choose one painting, the one she likes best? That way you wouldn't have to lie.” Caitlin's eyes snapped back and forth between him and her uncle. “He can give in, just this once, on something I want.” “Ye should remember yere place, girl.” Joshua draped his arms over Caitlin's and Gideon's shoulders. “My friends, I think our good friend Adam has offered a wise solution. Ye both get what ye want. Why fight over that?” She shrugged him off. “Because he always has to get his way, that's why.” Gideon pushed away and glared at Adam before turning his attention back to Caitlin. “Have ye forgotten our ways, girl? What evil has this off-worlder whispered to ye in secret? I'm the head of our family. Yere duty is to submit as 'tis mine to decide.” She put her hands on her hips and spit out, “Adam hasn't whispered anything to me except loving kindness. And our ways teach respect, not tyranny, Uncle.” Sebastian peered out from behind Adam. “Sebastian sorry. Sebastian try to paint better.” Joshua shook his head. “Words spoken in anger never carry wisdom.” He eyed Adam. “Lad, might ye take the good lass for a walk? Perhaps reflection will lead to enlightenment.” He winked at Adam while he pushed him toward Caitlin. “Go now. Sit by the lake and watch the two moons rise.” Gideon's eyes narrowed. “I forbid it. A man and a woman, unmarried and unrelated, are never alone, for Satan is always there too.” Caitlin stomped her foot. “Uncle, don't be silly. We've been alone many times, and you know it.” “'Tis still a sin, girl. It's bad enough what ye have done out of my sight. But I won't have ye do it now, not here, under my nose. Show me the respect that's my due, at least in my presence.” Joshua grabbed his shoulder. “Gideon, stop it my friend. Ye diminish yere niece and my guest with such words. They be in my home, and here they don't need yere permission. If any, 'tis mine they need, and I grant it.” Adam thought for a moment that Gideon would strike Joshua, but instead he heaved a deep breath and glared at Caitlin. “Joshua speaks truth. In his home, 'tis his decision that rules. It will be different when we leave here and return to Lucastown. Consider what ye do with care, girl.” “I'll do as I please, Uncle, here and elsewhere.” She wrapped an arm about Adam's waist and pulled him toward the door. “Come, dear Mister. Two moons rising happens but rarely, and 'tis a thing for lovers to behold.” Adam followed, but not without glancing back at Gideon, whose glare boiled with the anger of Vesuvius over Pompeii. 85

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Outside, the sun was a dazzling emerald that hovered on the edge of the world, sending glittering jewels dancing across the lake. But everywhere else evening descended and the world hid in shadows of gray and black. Even the ever-present carnations rippled in the breeze like ashes from a spent flame. Forlorn sobs choked her voice and tears glistened on her cheeks. “I'm so sorry, my dear Adam. I do love ye, so.” She led him to a bench that overlooked the waters. The fading sun glinted, and in the sudden darkness the gentle wind chilled Adam's bones. He stroked her hand while Sebastian curled up at their feet. “I love you too.” He offered her his handkerchief. “Please don't cry. We'll work it out.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I must look a fright.” A smile quivered for a moment and then vanished. “Aye, Joshua will bring him around, of that ye can be sure. He barks, but his heart, 'tis in the right place. He always comes round to the right place. That's not why I weep, my sweetheart.” “Then why?” His breath caught in his throat and he feared her answer. “Yere labors here will soon be done, and ye will leave this world. What will I do then, when ye be gone?” His heart broke at her tender expression and soft tones. “You could come with me. We could marry.” He gazed into her eyes and saw her answer before she spoke. “I've thought long on this, my dear Mister. How can I leave this world I love? My faith means so much, and it is bound to these folk, this land, and this place.” “You could spread Enlightenment while we travel. I'd help.” A laugh seemed to bubble up and burst through her tears. “'Tis not our way to preach. Ye know that. How could I bring a child, our child, into a world so foreign to the ways I know and love?” She reached down and stroked Sebastian with a trembling hand. “I'm not like our friend here, to sacrifice my kith and kin for an idea.” “We're not an idea, Caitlin. We're just two people in love.” Tears welled in his eyes too, and he let them flow. “If you won't go with me, then I should stay here.” “Ye would hate it here afore long, and hating it, ye would come to hate me. I fear there is no solution for us but the one we don't dare name.” She ran a finger down his nose and traced his lips. “I see in yere eyes ye know I'm right. For just a bit longer, can we sit and pretend? While the moons rise and the loon owls sing?” He couldn't speak. She squeezed his hand, snuggled next to him, and rested her head on his shoulder. “Hold me, my love.” The cool breezes wafted over them, rustling through the feathery trees. The pungent scents of Helios foliage and the perfume of the carnations mixed with a scent reminiscent of juniper. The loon owls sang their dirge and low clouds scudded across the sky. Adam watched the stars in their ancient paths and wondered at the cruelty of fate. Overhead, the moon Phaeton cast a pearly glow that danced a slow tango with the mists rising over the lake. In the east, the lesser moon Circe peeked over the distant mountains. He sighed and pulled her closer. “Two moons. This is a beautiful world, Caitlin.” “Aye, that it is.” She lifted her face to him and her eyes glittered like diamonds. Her breath warmed his cheek and her hand pressed against his chest, anchoring his heart. She reached up and removed her bonnet and loosed her hair. It fell across her shoulders and brushed against his arm in soft ripples that pulsed with an electric thrill. Her fair mouth 86

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glistened in the light of two moons rising, and their beams sang a ballad of divine passion to his soul. He leaned forward and his lips brushed hers. She sighed and her dress rustled as she pressed into him. Her fingers tugged and the hairs on his neck and pulled him closer, while her mouth opened and his tongue tasted her sweet breath. He descended into her depths even as she uplifted his spirit. For a moment, for an eternity, he was lost and he was found. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he could only love. There was nothing but Caitlin, warm in his arms, and all creation paused with him in the rightness of that instant. “Caitlin, dear Caitlin. I can't leave you.” The words puffed from him and fluttered into the night like forlorn butterflies. “Nor can I leave ye, dear Mister.” She sighed. “I know not what we shall do...” A branch snapped and Gideon's voice snarled. “Harlot! What are ye doing?” He snatched at her wrist and wrenched her out of Adam's arms. Her hair flowed like water from a broken vase as she writhed against his grip. He raised up his hand and her head jerked when it descended and slapped her face. She twisted away and slipped on the wet grasses. Adam leaped to his feet and shoved at Gideon, who staggered backwards and fell with a wet splat in the flowers. Adam screamed at him, “Leave her alone.” His heart stopped as he glimpsed Caitlin stumble against the bench and fall. Her head hit a stone on the ground with a sickening crack. Before he could kneel at her side, insane howls echoed in the glen. His muscles froze like a rabbit in the gaze of a fox. Creatures, sleek and black, erupted from the lake and snared his attention. A dozen mudcats splashed ashore, shrieking at the moons and gyrating on the beach. The world about him seemed to slow to a halt. Adam scanned the newcomers and thought he recognized the silvery hues of Moses in the lead. At his feet, Sebastian screamed and launched herself at the intruders. Two stout creatures left their formation and attacked her, fangs bared and claws flying. The three tumbled in the carnations at the edge of the sandy shore. Sebastian howled and writhed under their paws and dark blood gouted upwards from her neck. Adam knelt and cradled Caitlin in his arms. She was still breathing, but a trickle of blood ran down her temple and stained the soil beneath his feet. “Caitlin, Caitlin, speak to me.” Sobs clogged his throat and tore at his heart. Gideon cowered beside him, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wrung his hands and raised his eyes to heaven. “O Lord, what have I done?” He wailed and pounded his chest. The mad cacophony from the mudcats pounded into Adam's ears, but he had eyes only for Caitlin. Something zinged through the air and thunked into the bench next to him. He stared in amazement at a slender dart that quivered from the stone. The two mudcats clawing at Sebastian snarled and hunkered backwards, growling and retreating back down the beach to join their fellows. Sebastian flopped on the ground and tried to raise herself up, but a volley of darts rained down on her from where the other mudcats huddled. Blood, green and gray in the dim light of the moons, spouted and sprayed. She mewled and her body convulsed while her lifeblood seeped onto the trampled carnations. Gideon roared to his feet and stormed toward the mudcats. They yowled and retreated, but still he advanced. He lifted up one of the creatures who had attacked Sebastian and swung him like a sack of potatoes against the ground. The beast yelped and then lay still, its head twisted at an impossible angle while green blood seeped into the ground. Gideon growled and 87

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ran forward to stand over Sebastian's still form. By the shore, half a dozen mudcats reared on their hind legs and tugged at small devices hanging from their necks. A hail of darts flew at Gideon from their weapons and thudded into his flesh. He jerked and grasped his throat. A look of astonishment flashed on his features as he tumbled to his knees next to Sebastian. Dark blood spouted from his wound and commingled with the mudcat's in the soil of Helios. Gideon weaved back forth for a moment before he collapsed. A shotgun thundered next to Adam's head, and the blast dazzled him. The stench of gunpowder fouled his nose and his ears rang. A tree stalk exploded as the shot struck, sending shards of wood over the ground and the snarling mudcats. They howled and retreated into the lake. Their eyes glowed like red coals in the night and their bodies clung to the earth. One by one, without a sound, they disappeared under the waters. In the sudden silence, Joshua raced past Adam and collapsed next to Gideon. He threw his shotgun aside and rested his ear on the motionless chest, as if listening. After a pause, he rose to his feet and slouched back to Caitlin and Adam. “How is she, lad?” “She's breathing. We've got to get her to a doctor!” “Aye. Can ye carry her?” Adam lifted her up. She weighed nothing at all. “What about Gideon?” “He's in the Lord's hands now, my friend, along with Sebastian.” He sighed and a shudder wracked his body. “Take her back to the studio. I'll call the emergency flitter. We'll have her in Lucastown within the hour.” Joshua opened his shotgun, expelled the two shells and reloaded. He trudged up the hill and Adam staggered after.

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Chapter Fifteen In the Garden Peter lounged on a divan under the geodesic dome of the Senator's estate, Novy Yasnaya Poliana. An artificial New Guinea rain forest coiled around the little grotto in which he rested. Thick mangroves roots snaked up from a nearby shallow lake and mixed with the papery trunks of kwila trees. Spiny, gray-green ropes of casuarinas foliage grew in clutches between the rocks while flashes of orange and red from orchids and birds of paradise added splashes of color. His nose twitched as a random breeze wafted scents of pine and damp earth into the moist air of the clearing. His unfinished canvas, where old Caitlin reached out to young Derek, called to him from its easel nearby. On the table next to it, his palette, oils, and brushes lay in a cluttered heap where he had flung them yesterday. The hated walker, already splattered with a kaleidoscope of splotches, stood next to his sofa. The table next to him held random clutter: the controls for house cybersystems, his meds, a glass of juice, and his uncle's journal. His gaze roved behind his visitor, to the other side of the flagstone-covered grotto, where Sebastian's painting glowed in the morning sunlight, an inspiration and an accusation. The middle-aged woman who sat across from him glanced up with the disdain of a goddess slumming amongst mortals. Her crisp white dress clung to her slender form as though sculpted by Phidias and inspired by Athena Parthenos. A golden caduceus gleamed on her left breast and emeralds glittered on her fingers. Her lips quirked and her crystalline eyes returned to her hand-held data screen. She flicked at a dragonfly that flitted about her sliver-gray hair and her wicker chair creaked. “I see you've settled in to the Senator's estate, Mr. Jaeger.” Her voice flowed with the liquid chill of a fine Riesling. Peter nodded. “The Senator's staff have been great, Doctor Gutierrez. Very helpful and kind.” He opened his sketchpad and picked up a pencil. “They should be. Their jobs depend on it.” She paged through screens and muttered incantations to herself about blood chemistry and psychomotor functions. Peter's pencil flew across his pad. While Gutierrez murmured, his gaze flipped back and forth between his drawing and her face. Her chiseled features took form under his skilled hand: the narrow nose that hung over her brittle mouth, the tight curls of her shag hairdo that hid her ears, and her calculating eyes. Peter took special care with the eyes. Gutierrez looked up from her screen. “The results of your PET scan reveal some definite issues with your pain management regime, Mr. Jaeger. I'm confident I can reduce the side effects and give you better results.” She nodded and tapped her screen. “Much better results.” Peter gazed into her eyes and shivered. He used his thumb to smudge her image and a tinge of frost appeared. He grinned. “I could live with better results.” “According to your chart, you've been taking Amyldin for at least five years now. Is that right?” “About that, yeah.” A bird of paradise fluttered onto a nearby branch, quivered its 89

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feathers, and emitted a call like radio static. She glanced at the avian intruder and looked as if she'd swallowed a lemon. “And your physician didn't do any follow-up. No PET scans. No regular blood work.” She tsked and scowled. Peter shrugged. “No. They did a bunch of tests after the accident, but nothing since then. He told me I'd lose my leg if they tried to remove the fragments of the Ling generator. He said that all we could do was pain management.” He brushed at his cheek and left a trail of graphite. “I thought Amyldin was the best thing on the market.” “Well, at least he didn't attempt surgical intervention. We can be thankful for that.” She sighed. “I don't want to be critical of a public practice physician. They work hard, but, really, sometimes it's just criminal how they treat people. You know, you should have a private practice doctor on retainer.” He thought of the cost and snorted. “I've been happy with Doctor Kent. The Amyldin seems to control the pain.” “Haven't you noticed you've needed to take more and more of it over time? He should have had you rotating between several painkillers, so they don't lose potency.” She put her notes on her lap and stared at him. “Look, Amyldin is a combination of three drugs. There's paracetamol, combined with an NMDA antagonist, ketacycladine, and a synthetic opioid, dipethidine. These are powerful pharmaceuticals that need regular monitoring. The ketacycladine in particular can cause depersonalization disorder, and the dipethidine is addictive with chronic use.” Peter stopped sketching and glanced up. “Depersonalization?” Those blue eyes drilled into him. “Do you sometimes feel like you're in a movie? Disconnected from the world around you, maybe like you're reading a script? Your overdose indicates poor impulse control. Do you sometimes say things that you regret?” The hairs on his neck prickled and shock tingled in his fingers. “How did you know?” She nodded. “We need to get you on a different pain regimen, Mr. Jaeger. Those dysfunctions are all from your chronic use of the ketacycladine. The neonalaxone we gave you during detox should have flushed most of that from your system. It'll take a little longer for the depersonalization symptoms to abate, but they will dissipate in a few weeks. For your pain, I'm replacing the Amyldin with Erythinal. It's another combination therapy, but uses drugs with a slightly different pharmacology. You should see immediate improvement in pain management, and without the side effects. In six months, we'll move you to Clozinyl, or maybe back to Amyldin. Rotating your medications will keep them potent and minimize side effects.” She made notes on her chart. “I'll want quarterly PET scans and blood workups, too.” She flipped to a new screen and glanced up at him. “Now, about your wrist. How does it feel? Good mobility?” “No pain.” He flexed his hand. “The fingers work. It's a challenge having to lug the cast around, but I can still work.” He nodded to his unfinished canvas. “I can live with it for three months until it comes off.” Her fingers danced across her data port, and more screens flickered past her eyes. She paused at one and spoke without looking at him. “I see the lab has sequenced your genome. The genetic engineers should have a targeted bone growth serum ready for us to inject in a day or two. We'll have that cast off inside a week, I promise you. They're working on muscle regeneration for your leg, too. We can't do anything about the chronic pain, but within a month 90

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or so we can probably have you walking without a cane.” Peter's heart paused in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. “What? The doctors at Texhoma General told me the damage was irreversible.” She smirked. “Well, maybe for those hacks in public practice. But the Senator said to spare no expense, and I'm no hack, I assure you.” “No cane?” Peter couldn't believe his ears, and then his mind replayed what she'd said. “Gene therapy? The public health system will pay for this?” A sliver of a smile threatened to shatter her face and a dry chuckle puffed from her lips. “That's a good one, Mr. Jaeger. No, none of this is part of the public formulary. The Senator said to take care of you, and she didn't say to mind the price. Her trust often helps out the less fortunate like this.” Peter closed his sketch pad. “Thank you, Doctor. And thanks to the Senator, too, I guess. I don't know what else to say.” His breath shuddered and his words trembled. She stood and smoothed her dress back to perfection. “Just doing my job. Do you have any questions?” “I don't think so.” He was going to walk without a cane! He could hardly wait to call Aaron. “Well, then. The staff has your supply of Erythinal, and you have the number for my service. Leave a message if you think of anything. My quarters are in the South Wing.” She pivoted on her heel and stalked away down a jungle path. Peter watched her retreat and then fumbled for his phone. He punched in Aaron's number and swore under his breath when it went to voice mail. “Aaron, I just met with Doctor Gutierrez. You know, the Senator's doctor who's treating me. You're not going to believe what she told me. It's good news. Give me a call as soon as you're free.” He considered calling Derek with the news, but Aaron had enrolled him at Texhoma Tech and his first classes were today. Better to not disturb him. I can tell them both tonight at dinner. He tossed the phone back onto the end table where it squished into the remains of his breakfast. He thought about working, but then his eyes fell on the walker. “Screw that. I deserve a break.” He fumbled through the clutter on his table and pulled up his uncle's journal. He knew that Caitlin must have survived the attack at Spirit Lake, but he still wondered how they wound up together, and on Earth. He turned the pages with care, not wanting to damage the brittle paper. “Why didn't he use an electronic journal, like any civilized person?” he muttered to himself. “It's like he's channeling Pepys or Darwin.” He was reading Adam's account Caitlin's recovery when his phone rang. That had to be Aaron, answering his message. He pawed at the debris on the table and cursed when he knocked over a half-full juice glass. He snatched up his phone from a puddle of orange liquid and congealed eggs, wiped it dry against his shirt, and flipped it open. “Aaron? Where are you?” A soft voice with a Russian accent replied, “Gospodin Jaeger, this is Gregor. You have a guest at the front gate, a Gospozha Dinsmore-Ling. She says she has an appointment.” Peter rolled his eyes at the accented tones of the majordomo for the estate. His Russian was about as phony as Henri's French, and he was just as pretentious. He considered Gregor's words and frowned. He didn't want to be rude, but he didn't want to see anyone either. “Gregor, I thought Aaron was going see Mrs. Dinsmore-Ling.” “I haven't seen Gospodin Goodman today, sir. Gospozha Dinsmore-Ling says her 91

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appointment is with you.” He surrendered to the inevitable. “Very well. Could you please have one of the staff show her to the Garden? I'm in the mangrove grotto.” “Of course, sir. Majkl will escort her.” ”Thank you. And Gregor?” “Yes, sir?” “Please track down Mr. Goodman and have him call me.” “You can count on me, sir. Will there be anything else?” “That's it. Thanks.” Peter struggled to a sitting position and examined his paint-stained t-shirt and wrinkled shorts. He felt the whiskers on his jaw and shrugged. He was in his sick bed, after all. She couldn't expect him to look like much, even if she was a Ling. He shrugged into his robe, leaned back, closed his eyes, and imagined walking without a cane. Footsteps stomping through the jungle interrupted his reverie. A gruff voice thundered, “You can run along, now, young man. I'll announce myself.” He squinted eyes open and saw a middle-aged, bald woman glaring at him. He scanned her figure and admired the way her chiffon pantsuit disguised her stout build. She must have an expert designer, albeit one with no color sense: the garment rippled in a rainbow vermilions, oranges, crimsons, and chrome yellows. “I'm Clair Dinsmore-Ling. Who are you?” Her voice was like gravel rattling in a concrete mixer. He forced a smile. “I'm Peter Jaeger, ma'am.” He extended his hand. “I apologize for not getting up. My leg, you know.” She snatched at his hand and jerked it up and down while attempting to crush it. “Nice to meet you, Peter. You may call me Clair.” She released him and poked at his walker with an alligator-skin boot. “Don't bother to get up. I heard about your leg. And your more recent...accident.” She didn't quite sneer. Peter pulled his hand back and flexed his fingers. “Won't you please sit?” He nodded to the wicker chair. She plopped into the seat and crossed her legs, her pantaloons hiking up and exposing ropey veins in her legs. Her eyes scanned the grotto like a hawk searching for a mouse and landed on Sebastian's painting. “I see you have that nasty thing Caitlin and Adam hauled around with them.” She shook her head. “No accounting for taste.” Peter blinked at her. “Indeed. What can I do for you?” She leaped to her feet and strode to Peter's unfinished painting. “Holy mother of chaos, is that Caitlin?” She tilted her head and one hand reached out to touch the image. “Please don't touch! I haven't varnished it yet. Yes, that's my aunt.” “Poor thing. She looks horrible.” Her boots clacked as she walked back to her chair and pulled out a cigar. “You mind if I smoke?” Without waiting for an answer, she inhaled and a red coal formed at the tip. In seconds a blue cloud billowed about her face. “Uh, I guess not.” He coughed and waved the fumes away. “Can I have the staff get you anything? Tea, perhaps?” She snorted. “Maybe later.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you taking proper care of Caitlin?” “She's got the best the health service offers, and a room with a view of the sky. I'm afraid there's not much they can do, though.” The fumes burned his eyes and he wiped away 92

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tears, wondering how anyone could have such a revolting habit. “May I ask how you came to know her?” “Well, I was married to her father's brother for a while, before I dumped the jerk, so technically she's my niece. I was also her space-time engineering professor on Helios.” Peter frowned, and wanted to ask her age but politeness stopped him. “Dinsmore...I remember you now, from my uncle's journal. He mentioned meeting you. But I thought you left Helios to be an engineer on a starliner?” “I did. Got promoted to captain later. That's how I met Flavia.” She looked smug and waggled a finger, where a diamond the size of a small egg glittered. “She was on a grand tour of the Settled Realms and spent a year on my liner. We fell in love, got married, and here I am.” She knocked an ash onto the ground and let snakes of smoke trail from her nostrils. “So old Adam kept a journal, eh? Sounds like him. What else is in it?” A breeze from the dome's air handlers wafted through the grotto, and her robes fluttered like a kaleidoscope in a fog of cigar smoke. The rippling colors and cloud of fumes made Peter think of Chinese dragons. “Adam wrote a lot about their time on Helios. I've only read parts of it.” He coughed and waved his hand in front of his face. “Would you mind? I seem to be allergic or something to those fumes.” She shrugged. “Whatever.” She ground her cigar against the sole of her boot. “Thanks.” He wiped tears from his cheeks and peered at her. “I have to say, I wouldn't have guessed you were old enough to have been Caitlin's professor. Or her aunt.” A laugh gurgled up from the depths of her throat, like lava from Vesuvius. “Yeah, thanks. Antigeria genetic therapy is one of the advantages of marrying into the uber-wealthy. Thank Chaos for the genetic engineers on Sessrumnir. That's where Flavia and I went for the treatments.” She smirked. “I'm ninety-four Earth-years old.” He frowned. “I've heard of antigeria. I thought those treatments were illegal for citizens of the Settled Realms. After all, population control is a big part of the Grand Covenant.” “Well, there's laws, and then there's laws.” Her hands fluttered in dismissal. “Officially, Flavia and I are Sessrumnir Freeholders now, and so the population control laws don't apply to us.” Peter felt irritation bubble inside him. He kept his voice even. “You didn't tell me why you wanted this meeting.” “Yes I did. Or at least my person told your person. I want to see Caitlin again, and that creaky doctor you hired won't let me. And me a Ling!” Her eyes flared. “Doctor Swoboda tells me Caitlin's failing. She's no longer aware of her surroundings. I'm afraid she's not likely to recognize you, or even be aware you're there.” “Crank that. I can sit and hold her hand, tell her I care about her.” Her face softened. “She was the only happy thing about my first marriage. I used to read her bedtime stories. She was such a delightful child. Later, she spent three years in my classrooms at Evanston University on Helios.” She passed a hand across her face and murmured, “That was so long ago.” She sighed and for an instant her age showed in her eyes. “About ten years ago I ran into her and Adam again, at that clinic on Sessrumnir.” Peter did a double take and frowned. “Don't tell me they got antigeria treatments, too? That doesn't sound right.” “No, she was there for something else. She and Adam only stayed the six weeks the 93

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Fafnir was in port, so it couldn't have been anything serious. She didn't say why, and it was none of our business, anyway.” She paused and her eyes gazed into the distance. “I've known her since she was a babe, and now her life's almost over. I want to hold her hand, maybe read to her one last time. I think I deserve that much.” She scowled at him. “So, do I get to see her or not? Maybe I should give the Senator a call instead of wasting my time with you. I was trying to be polite.” Peter shrugged and controlled his annoyance at being threatened. “I don't see that a visit would do any harm. Let me talk to her attending physician. If she agrees, I'll grant permission.” She glared at him. “I get to have a specialist to look at her, too. Those kriky public health doctors don't know spit. Maybe a real doctor can do something for her.” Peter doubted it, but then thought of the miracles Guttierez promised on his leg. “I don't see any harm in that. I still have final say on her treatment.” He thought for a moment. “Just don't burn any of those sticks while you're there with her, okay?” “Deal.” She stood and stalked out without another word. Peter stared at her retreating back, his mouth agape. “Nice meeting you, too,” he muttered. Just as she disappeared around a bend in the trail, his phone rang. He frowned and looked at the caller ID. Gregor. He must have been watching on the security system and waiting for her to leave. He stabbed at the answer button and let irritation grind in his voice. “What is it?” “We found Gospodin Goodman, sir. He sends his regrets. He's been in meetings with your attorney, a Gospodin Cantwell.” Peter scowled. He thought the estate was settled. “Did he say when he'd be back?” “He and a Gospodin Cantwell are on their way. They'll be here in time for afternoon tea. He said to tell you they have a problem to discuss. Something about a lawsuit over some paintings.”

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Chapter Sixteen A Diagnosis

Adam pushed Caitlin's wheelchair through the manicured grounds of Lucastown Hospital, glad to be free of the confines of her room. He basked in the warmth of an emerald sun and relished the riot of color from the carnations and roses that sprouted in beds arranged in geometric precision. Caitlin reached back to touch his hand. “Sweetheart, I could walk. Really, I feel fine. There's no need for ye to push me in this chair.” “I like taking care of you, Caitlin. Besides, the nurse wouldn't let us outside unless I promised. You wouldn't want me to break my word, would you?” She smiled. “Nay, that would be a sin.” She gestured to a little grotto where a canopy of high, red ferns provided shelter from the sun. A pastel blanket of carnations and roses rippled in a broad circle about wicker benches. “Let's stop here. There's places where ye can sit with me.” He stopped and tucked her blanket around her legs before plopping into one of the wicker chairs. Overhead, loon owls circled in lazy spirals and tangerine clouds scudded low on the horizon. The grotto faced a pasture where a dozen cows and their calves grazed. “This is a beautiful world, Caitlin.” She turned somber eyes on him and her chin trembled. “'Tis not as lovely today as it was yesterday, my sweetheart. Gideon...” She broke off and turned her face away. “Gideon died protecting you. When I saw what they did to Sebastian, I wasn't sure we were going get away from that lake alive.” “Aye, he was brave, even if his temper did put me here.” She wiped a tear away. “Poor Sebastian. I thought I understood him and his kind, but it appears not.” “That professor we visited at the University, Kuczumow, stopped by yesterday while you were in radiology. She was as surprised by what happened as anyone. But she says Moses was apparently a rogue. According to her monitors back at the mudcat village, it looks like he's been expelled. They all seem to be in a panic over what the humans might do.” “Aye, but 'tis too late for Gideon. And for Sebastian, too.” She shook her head and sighed. He hesitated. “You know, Benedict is now in charge of the Council. He's called for a jihad against the mudcats, in revenge for what they did to Gideon.” A hand went to her lips. “No. Revenge is the Lord's, not ours. We should let the poor creatures find their own destiny, free from us. They have their place in the Universe, like all of God's creation.” “Well, the planetary government seems to agree with you on that. Kuczumov told me she's gotten an embargo placed to prevent all contact with them. The Governor-General has also placed them on the protected species list. No one is to go within fifty kilometers of their 95

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villages.” She nodded. “'Tis a good thing. But a jihad, ye said? Gideon would never have led the Council in such heresy.” Adam wasn't sure that was true, but decided not to argue. “Well, at least they'll be protected. You know, I was scared that night, and out-of-my-head worried about you. But later, thinking about it, the mudcats were focused on Sebastian. They didn't do anything to us until Gideon went after them and killed one of them. There was a stray dart that missed us, but I think it might have been aimed at Sebastian--not intended for us at all.” She sighed. “So ye think Gideon died in vain?” “He died protecting you, and me, and avenging our friend. That's what I think.” She nodded. “Aye. He was a good man, and a good parent to me.” She picked a rose and inhaled the scent. “His memorial is tomorrow, at the Great House. He will be missed. I must sing Simple Things one last time with him. He always turned, and in turning he came 'round right, just as the hymn says.” Adam sat with her in silence and let the warm afternoon breezes waft the scents of an alien world over him. He wished for these moments with Caitlin to never end. He looked up when gravel crunched, and the portly form of Klaus Osterman ambled into the clearing. “Here ye be, lass. It's good to see ye outdoors, in the fresh air and sun.” He nodded to Adam and eased himself into the chair on Caitlin's other side. “Ah, it's good to rest these old bones. How's my patient this afternoon?” He brushed his sparse, white hairs from his brow and his eyes crinkled in a smile. “I feel fine, Doctor. I'm ready to go home.” “Tut, tut, my dear. Ye'll go home when I say ye're ready, and not a moment sooner.” He opened the metal notebook that he'd brought along. “Let's see what yere chart says, now that yere test results are in.” Adam fidgeted and squeezed Caitlin's hand while Osterman flipped through the pages of her chart. The doctor crossed his legs and hummed a little tune while wisps of hair flickered about his shiny skull. At last he looked up and his blue eyes twinkled. “Well, my little Caitlin, ye seem to be doing well. The MRI showed no subdural hemotoma, and yere reflexes be fine.” She nodded, and some of the peaches and cream returned to her face. “I should get home, then, Doctor. Uncle Gideon's memorial is tomorrow, and I wish to sing at it.” Her voice broke a bit and she bit her lip. Osterman stood and stroked her brow. “Caitlin, ye know my heart is with ye and I understand yere need. But ye must stay here a few days longer. We have to be sure that the stress of yere injury doesn't bring yere prion disorder out of remission.” Caitlin's eyes widened and she frowned. “What disorder, Doctor?” “Yere prion disorder, the one ye inherited from yere parents.” He seemed to take note of Caitlin's confused expression and scowled. “Surely Gideon told ye? He gave me his word.” She shook her head. “I know not what ye mean, Doctor.” He flipped the chart closed and sat next to her again. “Lass, what did he tell ye about yere parents? Did he say how they passed?” “He said it was the 'flu epidemic that came and went in my third year.” He shook his head. “'Tis true they caught the 'flu, but that was not what took them. Gideon really did not tell ye, then?” 96

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“He told me 'twas the 'flu. What else could it be?” Osterman glanced at Adam. “Perhaps we should discuss this alone, just the two of us.” She snatched at Adam's hand and held it to her cheek. “He can hear anything ye have to tell me, Doctor. We have no secrets between us.” Adam squeezed her fingers and tucked a stray auburn hair behind her ear. “Please, Doctor, tell us. Surely not knowing is worse than knowing.” Osterman leveled an expressionless gaze at him for a beat before he turned back to Caitlin. “I treated yere parents, when they fell ill. I was so young, and thought I could save the world.” He sighed and his face sagged. “Caitlin, I didn't know then what it was that took them. But I knew, from lab work, that some of their proteins didn't, er, fold properly. The etiology was similar to a disease on Earth Home, something called spongiform encephalopathy. It must not have been exactly the same, though, because the standard therapies didn't work. After yere father fell ill, yere mother told me her Großmutter and both yere father's Großeltern died from similar symptoms.” He looked away, at the flowers. “Yere mother, she fell ill before he passed, with the same thing. I feared whatever took them might be infectious, and spread to our little colony. As luck would have it, that was not to be.” Adam's heart fluttered and he forced himself to breathe. “What does this have to do with Caitlin?” “I'm getting to that, lad. The only similar cases were the ones Caitlin's mother told me about, in those two families, the Holtzmans and the Mathers. When the genopathologists at Evanston University looked, they found a defective allele, the PRNP gene, in both Caitlin's parents. Lass, I'm sorry to say that the disease that took yere parents was familial, not infectious.” Adam's heart sank at the words. He watched as the color drained from Caitlin's face. Her voice hushed as she asked, “Familial? What are ye saying, Doctor?” “Lass, it means that it was genetic, that it runs in families. I'm sorry to be the one to tell ye, but ye carry the same PRNP mutation as yere parents.” Adam broke in. “That doesn't mean she's certain to get the disease, though, does it? Genes aren't like blueprints, or so I've read.” “That's true, lad. There's always environmental factors. I cannot say whether she will fall ill or no. There's not enough case history in any case.” He turned a reluctant gaze back on Caitlin. “I've only seen four cases myself: yere parents, yereself, and yere Uncle Gideon. There's hope it'll never express itself, lass. Gideon had the same mutation as ye, and he lived a long and healthy life. I examined him just three months ago and he showed no signs of the disorder. Yere proteins are all folded proper, too, as near as we can tell. Besides, it came later in life to yere forebears. Yere parents were in their forties when they passed, and yere Großeltern were all over sixty.” Caitlin stared at him, her eyes wide. “Or I could die tomorrow. Ye said it was in remission, so ye don't know when it might come. What's it like? Is it...painful?” Her voice shook and unshed tears shimmered in her eyes. “Nay, lass, 'tis not painful. 'Tis a wasting disease, and is over quick once it starts. Yere parents felt no discomfort. It starts in the brain, which is a blessing. Once yere parents started to show symptoms, the disease already had begun to fog their senses. They weren't...aware of their surroundings. The disease took their minds and so saved them from suffering. The Lord is 97

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merciful.” He shook his head. “I'm sorry ye had to learn of it this way, lass. Yere uncle should have told ye.” Adam blinked back tears of his own. “He must have wanted to spare her the worry of knowing.” Caitlin wiped at her tears. “He should have told me. I'm an adult, capable of knowing my fate.” She scowled, and a single tear trickled down her cheek. “'Tis better to know and so treasure each moment than to live in ignorance.” Osterman stood. “I wish I could tell ye more, Caitlin. I'll download some information on the disease that struck Earth Home, the one that's similar. There're articles in the database at University Hospital. They won't be accurate on prognosis, but once symptoms started, yere parents' illness followed the same course as the journals described.” “I'd appreciate that, Doctor.” Tears now streamed down her cheeks, but her voice was firm. “Ye said I inherited this? If I have children, will the wee ones have it, too?” “I cannot lie to ye. The chances would be at least fifty percent that they'd carry the mutation, Caitlin. Even if they have it, though, they might not get sick. If it's recessive, they might carry the mutation, but not the trait. Or there might be an environmental factor that triggers the gene, and they'd never get it. Just like ye may never get it. We just don't know enough, Caitlin.” She nodded. “Well, then. At least some knowledge is better than none.” Her words rang like a death sentence in Adam's ears, and his heart broke for her sorrow. “I'm so sorry, Caitlin.” The old man turned and slumped away from them, the spring gone from his step and his shoulders sagging. Caitlin swiped at her face. “I must look a fright.” A laugh with an edge of hysteria bubbled in her throat. Her fingers trembled as she reached for a tissue from a pocket in her wheelchair and blew her nose. Adam wiped her tears with another and struggled to keep his voice steady. “Caitlin, I love you. I'm so sorry.” She blinked and a smile fought with the tears on her cheeks. “Whatever would I do without ye?” She touched his cheek. “Look at ye. Ye're weeping, too. We are a pair, are we not?” “Yes, that's what we are, Caitlin. We're a pair. This settles it. One way or another, we're staying together and getting married.” “I do love ye, Mr. Sandoval.” Grief flashed across her face. “But how can I ask ye to carry this hardship, dear Mister? Ye deserve a wife who can bear healthy children for ye, and won't burden ye with her sickness.” He kissed her hand. “You could never be a burden to me, Caitlin. It would be unbearable to think of you alone. Besides, from what the doctor said, we'd have many years together. That's plenty of time for things to change. Maybe there will be a cure.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Who knows, something might even happen to me first.” “Don't think such things.” She sighed. “'Tis true ye are a great comfort to me, especially now that Gideon is gone.” “No more than you are a comfort to me. We are fated to be together.” He squeezed her fingers. 98

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Her chin trembled and tears pooled in her eyes. “Oh, Adam, we can never have children!” “But we can have each other.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe we can go to Sessrumnir. The genetic engineers there work miracles, or so I've heard.” “Off-world? Perhaps.” She twisted her tissue into a ragged mass and stared at the pasture where two calves frolicked. A young mother with a babe in swaddling strolled by, humming a lullaby. Adam watched her disappear around a bend and mused, “Did I ever tell you that I have a younger sister on Earth? She had a baby boy right before I left. He was so beautiful, all smiles and joy. I haven't thought of her, or him, since I've been here. I do miss them.” “I know so little of ye, my sweet mister. What are their names?” “My sister's name is Angelica, and her son's name is Peter. She's my half-sister, actually. We had different fathers.” “Angelica, like an angel. And Peter is a holy name. What be her husband's name?” “She had him on her own, with an anonymous donor.” Adam swallowed. “She, uh, I don't know how to tell you this, Caitlin. She likes women instead of men.” Caitlin nodded. “Aye, like Ruth and Naomi. Or like Paul, on the Council, and his husband Seth. Why should ye hesitate to tell me such?” “Uh, I thought maybe your religion might have a problem with that.” “Why would that be? Ye have such strange ideas sometimes! That's one reason why I love ye.” She paused and thought. “If we marry, Angelica would be my sister, too. I would like a sister.” “You'd like her, Caitlin. We can travel to Earth and see her, and her baby.” “I'm glad to know yere sister has a wee one. If we can't have children of our own, we at least can have a nephew.” His heart skipped a beat. “Does that mean you'll marry me?” “I think ye be right. Somehow fate has conspired to bring us together. We should not fight our destiny, neither mine nor ours together.” She pulled her hair back, tossed her head and heaved a deep sigh. “From this moment on, we must live our lives to the fullest, treasuring each moment.” “Caitlin, each moment I'm with you is a treasure.” “Then we must arrange things so that we have as many of those moments as the good Lord grants.” She pursed her lips. “I think I know what we must do. 'Tis an idea that's been percolating in my head since we got back from New Chicago.” “Whatever it is, I'm willing, so long as we're together. Just tell me what to do.” She smiled and dragged a knuckle across his cheek. “Dear Adam. Let me make a phone call, first, and then I'll tell ye what I plan.” She shaded her eyes against the sun and gazed over the carnations and the ruddy Helios shrubs. “This is so beautiful here,” she murmured. She sighed and sat up, as if making a decision. “Take me inside, now, will ye? I want to rest before making my calls.”

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Chapter Seventeen By Turning, They Come 'Round Right

Peter closed Adam's journal and stared across the jungle grotto at Sebastian's painting. Sunlight stuttered through the high canopy of the rain forest and scattered shafts of golden radiance rippled across the clearing. Whistles and chirps called from above as birds flitted through the jungle, and in the distance cicadas droned like a dentist's drill. Downstream from the mangrove lake, the artificial stream rushed over a miniature falls, its descent a hiss of static like an echo from the dawn of time. The scents of damp earth and water hyacinths commingled in his nose. In this magical replica of paradise, Sebastian's painting squatted like a lump of malformed putty plastered on unforgiving canvas. Peter ran his finger across his uncle's journal, shook his head, and sighed. So much sacrifice, so much conflict, and for what? He glanced at his own unfinished painting, and it, too, seemed lost in this place, a trifle to amuse the effete. On his canvas, Caitlin and Derek stared at one another in ethereal longing, their fingers reaching across the bounds of time, the tips just touching against a heavenly background. What had seemed original in concept now seemed trite and banal. Peter reopened Adam's journal and the binding creaked in protest. He turned past the pages on Helios and scanned the later entries. Perhaps somewhere, in Adam's life of collecting art, in his love of Caitlin, perhaps he could find the answers he sought. As he turned the brittle pages, two loose sheets, much folded and tattered, fluttered out and fell to the flagstones underneath his feet. He stooped down, grunted, and retrieved them. One, written in ancient script on yellowed paper, was a letter from Joshua Maartens to Adam Sandoval. It seemed to be a document granting his uncle ownership of three paintings, specifying the numbers and dates on the reverse of the canvases. Interesting. I bet these are the same paintings that lawsuit is over. This should help resolve any claim. He set that aside, and picked up the second sheet. The paper was crisp, and Peter recognized the logo of Elysian Fields, where Caitlin was hospitalized. It was a poem, in his uncle's hand, dated the week before he died. He read it twice, and then returned to the journal. He flipped back through the pages to where Adam chronicled the council meeting, when Caitlin and her uncle performed a hymn. That was so familiar. The description reminded him of an ancient mix popular in his youth. He touched the control pad on the arm of his chair, and a holodisplay floated before him. With an impatient flick of his wrist, he searched for musical selections and found it: a twentieth century artist playing an archaic wooden instrument with strings, and a female vocalist. He pushed the play button on the screen, leaned back, and closed his eyes. The simple tune washed over him, harmonizing with the random melodies from the rainforest. He played it again and again. The promise was so alluring: In turning, things would come 'round right. But where should he turn? 100

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At last he took up his sketchpad and started drawing. By late afternoon charcoal stained his fingers and a trail of gray smudged his cheek. Four sketches nestled in his pad, concepts for his next painting. His leg pulsed with a relentless ache. He squirmed to reach for his pill bottle. The water in his glass was from this morning, and stale, but he swigged at it to help the medicine go down. Footfalls sounded on the gravel trail and the murmur of voices wafted through the foliage. He gauged the time from the slant of the sun and ran fingers through his snarled curls. That must be Aaron and Cantwell, late for their meeting. Sweat and charcoal stained his t-shirt, and a trickle of perspiration ran down his temple. He sniffed at an armpit and realized he needed a shower. He felt great. Aaron strode into the glen, a merry grin on his face. “Peter, I'm sorry we're late. They kept us circling over Galveston for an hour while some VIP landed at Houston Hobby.” He planted a quick kiss on Peter's cheek and settled into the wicker chair that Gutierrez had perched on that morning. Peter wondered why he hadn't noticed lately how Aaron's eyes sparkled with golden highlights when they caught the sunlight. Cantwell tromped after him, waving his hand at invisible insects and with sweat pouring from his brow. He looked at the wicker chairs as if they were medieval torture devices. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped one off before sitting on the edge of the seat. He balanced a briefcase on his knees while his eyes scanned the jungle as if for predators. Peter grinned. “Thanks for coming here, Mr. Cantwell. I'm a bit indisposed, I'm afraid.” The lawyer's eyes rolled in their sockets to pass over Peter before returning to the depths of the jungle. “Quite all right. All part of the service we offer.” He swatted at his cheek and inspected his palm. Peter fingered the paper he'd found in Adam's journal. “Uh, I found this letter today, in my uncle's journal. It's a letter from Maartens himself, and it grants ownership of some paintings to my uncle.” Cantwell's eyes pounced on the letter. “May I see that?” He crouched forward and snatched it from Peter's hands. Aaron lounged back and winked at Peter while Cantwell read. The lawyer clicked his briefcase open and compared documents there with the letter. “Yes, the numbers on the paintings match up. This helps some. But the question seems to be in part whether or not Maartens owned these paintings in the first place. The museum's claim is that they were commissioned works and thus the rightful owners are on Helios.” Peter nodded. “You know, I don't really care about the paintings. In fact, I'd rather they be on Helios, where they're part of the cultural heritage.” Shock flashed onto Cantwell's features. “Mr. Jaeger! The paintings belong to your aunt, and it's your duty as conservator of her husband's estate to protect her assets.” A macaw squawked from overhead and he jumped. Peter shrugged. “For the few weeks she has left, the funds in the estate are more than sufficient. Why can't we just let the paintings go? Maybe if we negotiate a settlement, they'll recognize Adam and Caitlin in some way at their museum.” Aaron nodded. “That's what I said. I'm sure they'd jump at that kind of deal.” Cantwell harrumphed. “That is a clear dereliction of your duties as conservator.” Peter glanced at Sebastian's painting and an idea percolated to the surface. “You know, there's another painting they might be interested in.” He tapped his uncle's journal. “There's an 101

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original work by an undiscovered apprentice of Joshua Maartens, one Sebastian, uh, Mather. He studied at Maartens' studio at Spirit Lake in New Iowa, and my uncle's journal provides the proof.” Horror passed across Cantwell's face. “Another painting? Whatever you do, don't tell them! They'll want that, too.” Peter shrugged. “I think the account of events in Adam's journal makes it clear they wouldn't have a claim.” Cantwell nodded. “Still no reason to tell them. Do you think it's valuable?” Aaron's eyes twinkled as he, too, glanced at Sebastian's painting. “What do you think, Mr. Cantwell? A work by an undiscovered apprentice of a great master? It could be worth a great deal indeed.” “Then we must protect the estate's property interest at all costs.” He whipped out his phone and jotted down notes. “As an officer of the court, I'll have to add this to the inventory. But we're under no obligation to disclose it to anyone else. What did you say the artist's name was?” Peter kept laughter from bubbling up. “Sebastian Mather.” Aaron leaned back. “You know what? I'd thought of this missing painting on the way over here, and I think we should make this a package deal. Couldn't we have Caitlin's estate donate all of the paintings to the Great House museum on Helios, in her will or something? That way there's no question of due diligence on the part of the conservator.” Cantwell nodded and a satisfied look settled on his face. “In her condition, she can't redo her will. But Peter's her heir, so he could make the donation after she dies. In fact, we could use it to offset most of your tax liability on the inheritance. I like that solution.” A dragonfly buzzed about his head and he bobbed and weaved to avoid it. “What are all these vile creatures? I do hope they don't carry any diseases.” Aaron shook his head. “Irv, stop worrying. You can bet your life none of the bugs here are more than just annoying. The Senator's security staff wouldn't let anything dangerous loose in her garden.” Cantwell's eyes squinted into the afternoon sun and he grunted. “I suppose. But why anyone would want to be in a swamp escapes me.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “I'll work on a proposal along the outline you suggested.” Aaron interjected. “Wait, there's one more thing. They have to pay for first class passage for Peter and his immediate family to travel to Helios, for the installation of the works.” Peter jumped in. “And, as my aunt's heir, I get to oversee the installation of all four paintings. They're a group. They have to display all four, in the same gallery, or the title reverts to...shall we say the Smithsonian?” Aaron grinned. “Make it the Louvre. As I recall, the Governor-General of Helios is French. If the Great House breaks the agreement, he's sure to step in and seize the works if they're to go to Paris.” Cantwell jotted more notes on the holoscreen of his phone. “That's two things: the trip and the disposition of the paintings in the event of breech. Is there anything else?” Aaron tilted an eyebrow at Peter, who nodded. “I think that's it, Irv.” The lawyer slapped at another invisible bug. “I think they'll agree to this. They've already spent more on litigation than the cost of two first class passages. Please, may I leave now?” 102

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Aaron held up a finger. “Three passages, Irv. Who knows, we might adopt someone between now and then.” Peter stared at him. Aaron leaned over and whispered, “Close your mouth before one of those bugs flies in. We'll talk later.” Cantwell shrugged. “A trifle. I'll email the documents to you by close of business tomorrow, Mr. Jaeger. Once you approve, we'll approach the representatives of the museum.” Peter nodded. “Sure, sure, but don't send it to me. Send it to Aaron, like before.” He beamed at the nervous little lawyer. “Thanks for all your good work, Mr. Cantwell. You've performed your duties well.” “I pride myself on doing what I'm supposed to do.” He stood and bowed. “I'll take your leave, then.” He raced out of the clearing. Aaron grinned and pointed to the charcoal stains on the seat of his slacks. A smile tugged at Peter's lips and Aaron laughed outright. Peter reached out and touched his spouse's hand. “Well, that worked out well.” “Didn't it? Are you looking forward to your trip to Helios?” “Our trip. Under the deal, my husband gets to go too.” Aaron's eyes turned somber. “I'd like to go, if you'll have me.” “Of course.” Peter frowned and a let a somber expression settle on his features. “I'm sorry about how I've been. Things look so different to me now...” “A near-death experience does that.” “Yes, I suppose. But there's more.” He twisted in his chair and his leg clenched down. He winced and swore. “Damn. These new meds don't seem to be working.” “Gutierrez told me it'll take a bit for them to build up in your bloodstream.” “She spoke to you?” Aaron shrugged. “Well, I am your husband, and you were incapacitated. Someone had to make medical decisions on your behalf.” “I'm glad she did. Anyway, she came by this morning. You won't believe what she told me! She's got genetic engineers working on muscle regeneration. I'll be able to walk again, without a cane or a brace. They're going to do the same thing with my wrist. This creakin' cast will be off in a week.” Aaron's eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “That's incredible! I thought that was impossible...” His voice faded. “Genetic therapy, you said? Peter, I looked into that after...well, I looked into it. Those treatments cost a fortune. Several fortunes. We can't possibly pay for them.” “She said the Senator would cover it. Whatever you did for her, it's made all the difference.” “Really? Well, I guess for her it's pocket change. Kind of like you or me buying a steak for Derek. For him, it's incredible generosity. For us, it's just a small kindness.” “Like you said, it never hurts to have powerful friends.” He leaned back. “Speaking of Derek, he should be here by now. I'm so glad you enrolled him in school.” “Yeah, well, the poor kid never had much of a chance. Did you know his mother's a volthead, hyped up on current all the time? And he doesn't have any idea who his father is. I was thinking we should help him out.” Gratitude pulsed through Peter. “I knew I could count on you. He's a good kid. I'm sorry 103

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that I...well, you know.” A wan smile passed across Aaron's lips. “He made a pass at me, too. It's like adults have never been nice to him before, and he didn't know how to handle it. The only thing he has to give in return is his body, so that's what he did. He was pretty insistent, and hurt, when I wouldn't play along.” Peter couldn't look at him. “You make me ashamed of myself.” “Hey, he's an adult, you're an adult. It's not like I haven't...well, let's just not go there, okay? Besides, Gutierrez told me that those drugs made you impulsive and depressed. That's why you OD'd, and it's probably why you...well it explains a lot.” He hesitated and looked away. “Out of guilt, I'd been enabling your self-destructive behaviors instead of helping you. We were both screwed up.” He stroked Peter's hand. “It's going to be all right.” A sudden grin cracked his face and shook his head. “Besides, crank knows Derek can be insistent.” Peter's chin quivered. “I do love you, you know that? We'll just have to take him under our wing and find a proper young man for him.” “I know. That's what I was thinking. We can give him the family he deserves. Adopt him.” “I'd like that. A kid, all grown up and no diapers to change. Someone for us to care for, in addition each other. Uncle Adam once told me, right before they left for Lonewolf, that he felt like a bit of him lived on, in me. Maybe it'll be like that with us and Derek.” “I hadn't thought of that.” Aaron squeezed his hand. “I was serious about adopting him, even though he's an adult. There's a bunch of legal things it makes easier. We can pay for his tuition, for example, and it's not taxable income to him if he's our kid.” “Besides, it makes it official we're all related. I know you. That's what you're really thinking.” Peter wiped at his eyes. “You're just a squishy, sentimental lunk, like me. That's why I love you.” Aaron nodded. “You know, I don't think we ever stopped loving each other. We just didn't know what to do, after you got hurt. After I hurt you.” Peter decided to let the tears flow. “It was an accident, not your fault, not my fault. It just happened.” He shuffled through the pile of trash on his table. “I told you I had an epiphany today. Here, my uncle wrote these words the week before he died. It's from an old hymn.” He handed the paper to Aaron and fiddled with the holoscreen controls at this side. “Listen.” Music, ancient and sublime, welled up and filled the grotto. 'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free, 'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be, And when we find ourselves in the place just right, 'Twill be in the valley of love and delight. When true simplicity is gained, To bow and to bend we will not be ashamed, To turn, turn will be our delight, Till by turning, turning we come 'round right. 104

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Aaron looked at him in wonder. “It's lovely, but what does it mean?” “I don't know what it meant to Adam and Caitlin, but I know what it means to me.” He pulled out his sketchpad and showed him his day's work: two hands, men's hands, joined in a loving grasp. “Look, those are our hands. The accident doesn't matter. My career doesn't matter. Your career doesn't matter. What matters is us. I realized that if I turned to you, my love, why then everything would come 'round right. Together, we're in the valley of love and delight.” “And apart, we're lost in the abyss of loneliness and despair. I know how you feel.” Aaron's lips quivered and his voice trembled. “Play it again for me, my love.”

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Chapter Eighteen A Simple Plan

Fatigue pulled at Adam's eyelids as he wove his way through the hospital cafeteria. Lightning flickered outside and rain drizzled down the glass wall that faced a forest of Helios tree ferns. The murmur of conversations from hospital staff and visitors droned in his ears, punctuated now and then by the clatter of dishes or a grumble of thunder. He found an empty table in the far corner and collapsed into the hard metal chair. The scent of scrambled eggs and coffee on his tray did little to invigorate him. His fork toyed with the food, but he didn't feel like eating. He reflected that Caitlin seemed to be taking the news about her condition better than he was. He blew on his coffee and watched the rain. When a hand touched his shoulder, he looked up and saw Joshua's face gazing down on him. A smile creased the old man's face, and his eyes twinkled as if he had a secret to tell. “Lad, the nurse told me I might find ye here. Do ye mind if I join ye?” He nodded to the empty chair and offered his hand. “Please do. I'm glad for the company,” he lied. He pasted a smile on his features and slumped back in his seat. The chair squeaked as Joshua settled across from Adam. He dumped sweetener into his tea and his spoon clinked against the cup while his eyes scanned his companion. “Ye look tired, lad.” “I haven't been sleeping well. Worried about Caitlin, you know.” He looked away. “I thought she was doing well. She looked fit when I visited yesterday. Were her injuries more severe than the doctors thought?” Adam blinked. Of course, Joshua didn't know. No one knew. “No, she's recovering from those fine.” Adam shrugged and forced himself to smile. “I'm just tired, I guess. I probably shouldn't have slept on the chair in her room last night.” “Lad, there be no need for ye to do that. Any of Gideon's friends would give ye bed and board, if ye but ask.” “That's all right. I've got a room at the local lodge. I just didn't go there last night.” He ran his hand over his eyes. “Are you here to visit Caitlin? She was asleep when I came down here for coffee.” “Aye, to visit, and to speak with ye about the paintings.” Joshua blew on his tea and took a sip while gazing at Adam over the lip of the cup. “Is there something wrong?” “Nay, lad, but no thanks to that idiot Benedict.” Joshua scowled and the corners of his mouth turned down. “I heard about his call for a holy war against the mudcats.” “Aye. Ye know that mudcats be a protected species now? There be an embargo on their habitat to protect them from humans.” 106

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Adam nodded. “Well, Benedict's call for a jihad annoyed the Solicitor General in the capital in Malibu, it did. When she heard he was leading a group of farmers to Spirit Lake in defiance of her order, she called out the militia to forestall his mob.” “Really? Interesting.” Adam twisted his neck to work out a kink. “You know, I don't think the mudcats were attacking us that night. Professor Kuczumov at the University agrees. She said they were just interested in punishing Sebastian. They only defended themselves when Gideon attacked them.” “That was my thought, too, lad. That's why I just fired a warning shot over their heads.” He looked grave. “Problem be that the embargo on the mudcat habitat extends to my studio.” Adam's gaze snapped to Joshua's face. “Joshua, that's your home. Does that mean you can't live there anymore? I'm so sorry.” “'Tis where I lived, that's true, but my home be anywhere I can paint. I'll find a new place, not to worry.” He shook his head. “But the paintings, the ones we picked for ye to take to Earth, they still be there.” Adam thought. “Oh. And now the area is under embargo. So what do we do?” Joshua smirked. “Our friend Benedict took care of that for us, though he didn't mean to. He got the Council to vote to rescind their contract with ye. Too bad for him that Gideon had registered it with the Bureau of Trade the same hour they first voted to approve it.” “So what does that mean?” “It means, lad, that the Solicitor General had to again intercede with Benedict, this time to enforce yere legally binding contract.” His eyes gleamed and a sly smile twitched at his lips. “She was so annoyed over Benedict defying the law a second time that she deployed a platoon of Rangers to me studio. They're there now, loading up all me paintings. They'll transport them to a warehouse at Alcubierre Landing, where I'm to separate out the ones Gideon and I picked for ye. By this time tomorrow, yere paintings will safe. When the Fafnir departs for Earth next month, they'll be on their way to yere employer's museum.” Adam couldn't help but smile at Joshua's obvious delight at this tale. “Well, it sounds like Benedict's leadership of your Council isn't off to a great start.” “Nay, 'tis not. No doubt he'll use this turn of events to stir up the rabble.” He sighed. “I didn't always see eye to eye with Gideon, but his heart was in the right place. We shall miss him.” Adam touched the old man's hand. “I'm sorry for your loss. Caitlin will miss him dearly, I know.” Joshua squeezed Adam's fingers and tears glistened in his eyes. “'Tis the wheel of life, lad. Birth, life and death, in an eternal cycle. Gideon belongs to creation, now.” He heaved a sigh. “Lad, I'd like ye to have some of me paintings.” He pulled a letter from his pocket. “This letter will serve as transfer of title for ye, should anyone ask. It's a gift, from me to ye.” “Joshua, I couldn't. They're wonderful, beautiful. Thank you, but I can't accept such a valuable gift.” “Lad, it would make me heart glad if ye did. Maybe in later years ye can look on them and think pleasant thoughts of yere time on Helios with an old man.” He wiped at his eyes. The other's emotion lifted up Adam from his despair. “I'll always think pleasant thoughts when I remember you, Joshua.” He nodded. “Thank you so much. I'll treasure this gift for the 107

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rest of my life.” “Aye, and I'll have fond memories of ye too, lad.” He swallowed the rest of his tea. “Shall we go see if Caitlin is awake?” Voices and a strange chittering fell on Adam's ears as they walked down the hospital corridor toward Caitlin's room. As he turned to enter, her sunny smile filled his heart. She lay in bed, propped up by pillows, and her breakfast dishes rested on a tray at one side. “Adam, ye're just in time.” She beamed at him and held out a hand. He entered and caught a scent of something like spoiled cheese. Before he could react she nodded to the other occupant of the room, a squat, blubbery creature covered with maroon fur that stood on the visitor's chair. "Adam, this is Lieutenant Commander Klinder F'Lykumin. It's in charge of personnel procurement for the Fafnir." Her eyes jumped to Joshua. “Joshua, I'd like you to meet Klinder, too.” The alien turned on webbed feet and offered a furry paw. Sounds jittered from its snout, and a voder hanging from its neck translated in a neutral, genderless monotone. “Charmed to meet you, A-dam and Josh-u-a.” Adam blinked, took the paw and bowed. “Please to meet you, as well, er, Klinder.” The creature's hand felt hot and dry in his, and its fur bristled against his palm like a stiff brush. He tried to recall what system Klinder's race came from; somewhere in the Far Beyond, no doubt. Adam noticed the Sternreiseliga starburst insignia on the voder at its neck and wondered what this was about. Joshua took its hand and shook it. “Pleased to meet ye.” His eyebrows seemed ready to crawl over his forehead and join with the sparse white hairs that floated about his crown. The whiskers about Klinder's snout spread and long lashes fluttered over its black eyes. Sounds like insane crickets fluttered from its throat, and the voder intoned, “A-dam. Are you the graduate of the Cor-don Bleu School in Par-is?” Startled, Adam glanced at Caitlin. Her eyes twinkled, but her face remained impassive. He turned his attention back to the Lieutenant Commander. “Yes, I am.” He frowned and quirked an eyebrow at Caitlin. “Adam, my sweetheart, I asked Klinder here to inquire about positions on the Fafnir. Ye recall Professor Dinsmore said that Sternreiseliga was seeking engineers qualified in the Alcubierre Drive?” “I do.” Adam caught an inkling of what she was thinking and reached for her hand while a smile tugged at his lips. “With what has happened these last few days, some time spent traveling the stars might be good, don't ye think?” Joshua nodded. “Aye, lass. Ye will be missed, but no one could fault ye for seeking new roots.” Caitlin smiled at him and nodded. “But that be only half a solution, Joshua. My heart belongs to dear Adam, and I could no more leave him behind that I could abandon our faith.” Adam squeezed her hand. “So you checked to see if they needed a cook?” He didn't release the laughter that percolated in his throat, not yet. “Not just a cook, dear Mister. The Fafnir's first class cabins carry the high and mighty of the Settled Realms as they make the circuit of the Settled Realms. Those folk demand the very best. Klinder assures me that that there is no better cooking school than that blue one ye went 108

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to, and they be eager to hire ye to run the first class galley. 'Tis a simple plan, but one I think may work for us.” Klinder chirped and its voder intoned, “You will have a staff of four and the best kitchen in the fleet.” The laugh bubbled free from his throat at last. “I'll even have my own sous chef. Caitlin, it's brilliant. We'll be paid to travel the stars together, all over the Settled Realms and even the Far Beyond. While we're in port, I can study the local arts. I bet my museum will even extend my commission under these circumstances.” He stared into her eyes. “But are you sure this is what you want? To leave Helios? We might never return except for port calls.” She heaved a deep breath. “I be sure, my sweetheart. My faith is here,” she touched her heart, “and here,” and she touched her brow. “My only family is gone from this place. Without him, it will be strange to me, and filled with sorrowful reminders. I will hold it in my memories always, but my heart belongs to ye. Together, we are the only family I need or want.” “I feel the same, Caitlin.” He glanced at Klinder. “I accept your offer.” Klinder hopped down from its perch on the chair. More crickets chirped, and its voder translated. “Good. Come to Alcubierre Landing next week for contracts and physicals.” It bobbed its head at each in turn and waddled out of the room. Adam dragged a knuckled across Caitlin's cheek. “Now and forever,” he whispered. He brushed a lock of hair from her brow. “I love you.” “And I love ye, sweetheart. For the rest of my life.” He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. “For all eternity, my love.” His words were a whisper, a promise, a revelation. Her fingers, warm and supple, caressed his cheek. Outside, the rain ceased and the emerald rays of the morning sun broke through the clouds.

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Epilogue The Great House Museum

Peter shifted in his seat and gazed out the window as the train sped through the verdant farms of New Iowa. The landscape reminded him a Grant Wood painting: manicured fields of corn, neat farm buildings, and black-and-white cows grazing in green pastures. The cream-white sky overhead, the emerald gleam of the sun, and the red tree ferns provided a tinge that Dali might have imagined. He smiled and reminded himself that Helios was a real world, with real people. Aaron dozed in the seat next to him, his head lolling back and forth as the train swerved in gentle curves through the hills and valleys. Derek occupied the seat on the other side of their private compartment, where he kept his eyes glued to the vistas outside. His breath fogged against the window and he polished it with the cuff of his shirt. Peter settled back and read the billboards that paced the train. One advertised the Great House Best Terrestrial Hotel, another the Lucastown Grand Opera. A third invited him to dine family style at the Maitreya Bar and Grill, with a cartoon-like image of the Buddha licking his lips and rubbing his copious belly. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers over his leg. It still felt strange, after so many years, to have no brace clenching his muscles and sending electronic tingles into the nerves of his thigh. He twirled his cane, content in the knowledge that his balance would improve soon and he could discard that last nagging physical reminder of his disability. A tone sounded and he swayed as the train decelerated. Derek turned and poked at Aaron. “Hey, wake up, sleepy. We're here.” Aaron shook his head and his mouth chewed at air. He rubbed his eyes, stretched and yawned. “Sorry. Did I snore?” Derek snorted. “Yeah. The conductor came in and asked us if we had a slitherzard in heat in here, but then he saw it was just you.” Aaron grinned. “Very funny.” He leaned over Peter and looked out the window. His fingers lingered for a moment on his husband's wrist and left a gentle caress. “Well, it looks pretty much the same as when we were here last week. Thank chaos we're just here for the ceremony and can return to New Chicago Marriott tonight for dinner. Unlike here, they don't think salt is an exotic spice.” Peter chuckled. “Pork chops, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob did get a little tiresome, I admit.” Aaron made a sour face. “It was that green syrupy stuff they used for wine that got to me.” The train jerked to a stop and Derek jumped to his feet. “Their beer was good. And I liked the pork chops.” Peter's smile threatened to split his face. “You would.” He stood and balanced on his 110

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cane. He reached out and smoothed Derek's sport coat and straightened his tie. “That's better. Shall we go?” They ambled through the car and stepped down to the station platform. A crowd of stolid farmers and their families milled about them, returning to Lucastown from a day in the big city. Peter felt lost for a moment in a forest of denim jeans, plaid shirts and flowered dresses. At the far end of the platform, a crowd of tourists who had to be from Xin Xianggang lined up in columns behind flag-bearing guides. He stumbled as a rampaging group of teenagers tore past him and raced into a waiting flitter speedster. Derek steadied his elbow. “Careful. Don't want you falling on the big day.” “I'm good, thanks.” A stout man dressed in a black business suit bustled up to them and extended his hand. “It's so good to see ye again.” His nose shone ruby red and his black hair tried to cover his bald head. Peter took his hand. “Mr. Johansen, it's good of you to meet us. That wasn't necessary.” “Sure, and it's no problem. I brought me flitter so ye won't have to wait for a cab.” Aaron shook his hand. “That's kind of you.” Derek pointed to a row of mudcats lounging on the far side of the landing. They rested on blankets, and each had a colorful array of trinkets arranged in front of them. “Hey, look. Shall we get some souvenirs?” Johansen shook his head. “Those are just selling junk for tourists. Worthless, really. The Mudcat Nation runs some galleries in the village that carry genuine artifacts. I'll take ye there this afternoon after the ceremony if ye like.” Disappointment showed on Derek's face. “Can't I at least look?” Aaron grinned at him. “You're already over on your baggage allowance, kiddo.” “Aw, come on. What's the fun in being on a strange planet if you don't check it out?” Peter rubbed his leg. “We'll all go later, okay? I want you with me at the ceremony.” He turned to Johansen. “Olaf, I'd like to take one last look at the installation before today's ceremony, if that's all right. The mudcat leaders will be there, right?” Their host nodded. “You betcha. It's all set. Their Sno'rsht-ya and her entourage will be there, and she'll speak, right after you.” He nodded toward the parking area. “If we leave now, we'll have time for lunch at the Maitreya Grill. They've laid out a special feast, just for ye.” Peter grinned as Aaron rolled his eyes. “Well, then, let's go. Thanks again for the ride. That is an extra kindness.” Johansen's flitter smelled of coffee, oats, and dogs. Peter settled into the rear seat next to a stuffed bear left by one of the Johansen children and stared out the window. Carnations sprouted everywhere, like merry splatters of color on a Jackson Pollack painting, filling all the yards and even protruding from the cracks in the sidewalks. Exclusive boutiques crowded the broad boulevard that led from the train station to the Great House Museum. Bustling humans mingled with waddling mudcats and strutting Harvey's Wallabangers. The scene reminded Peter of a modern-day Babel. He leaned over to Aaron and whispered, “This is so different from the world that Adam described in his journal. That one was simple and relaxed. This one is...different.” Aaron whispered back. “As Henri would say, plus ça change, plus c'est pareil.” Peter grinned. “At least your French is better than his.” The vehicle stopped at a light, 111

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and Peter stared at a street vendor selling t-shirts that read, My parents went to the Great House and all I got was this lousy T-shirt. He grinned and shook his head. “I guess tourist traps are the same everywhere.” Derek turned around from the front seat. “Hey, I want one of those shirts. They're a blast.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Later, Derek.” He tipped his head to Aaron and whispered, “Who ever said that civilization had to sacrifice innocence?” Aaron whispered back, “I've read Adam's journal. I'm not sure 'innocent' is the word I'd use for what used to be here.” He nodded to where a mudcat, a bearded man wearing a yarmulke, and a Sessrumnir Hamingja wearing nothing but brilliant body paint stood chatting. “That's a sight you'd never have seen in the old Lucastown. This isn't perfect, but I'd rather live in this city than the one Adam wrote about.” In front of the Great House, vendors sold post cards and greenish-blue slushies made from the local guama fruit. Private flitters jammed the parking lot and a half dozen tour buses rested on their lift pads. Crowds tromped through the endless rows of carnations and jostled in lines to enter the enormous double doors. Johansen whizzed past the general parking area and sped to a private entrance in the back. He nodded to the door and said, “Here ye be. Just go on in, ye know the way by now. I'll park and follow after in a bit.” The man chewed his vowels so much that Peter had to replay the speech in his head to understand it. “Thanks so much.” He climbed out of the flitter and inhaled the air of a strange planet. Inside the Great House, the odors of candles and incense welcomed them. Peter hesitated a moment at the door and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior. Dust motes swirled in the high ceilings, and a kaleidoscope of colors danced across the slate floors from the stained glass windows. A dozen feet to their right, a roped off area marked where the ceremony would take place later that day. Peter let his eyes roam over the building. From a hidden corner, an a capella tenor sang an ancient hymn. Stabat mater dolorosa juxta Crucem lacrimosa, dum pendebat Filius. Quando corpus morietur, fac, ut animae donetur paradisi gloria. Amen. Aaron tipped his head. “That's lovely. Do you know what it means?” Derek looked bored. “It means 'when I die, I want my soul to go to paradise.' If you ask me, I'd rather have paradise in the here and now.” Peter looked at him, astonished. “You never fail to amaze, did you know that? Where did you learn Latin?” “At school. I wanted to read Suetonius and Marcus Aurelius for my history class, so I scammed 'em for the hypno course in Roman chatter. It beat studying Latin for Dummies.” 112

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Peter shook his head. He took a deep breath and walked into the roped area. Four paintings hung on the stone walls, illuminated by hidden lighting. A small plaque under each gave the name of the painting and biographical information on the artist. Sebastian's canvas glowed with an ethereal, almost holy inner light. It complemented and, in some mysterious way, overwhelmed the other works nearby. Peter caught his breath as the elusive beauty of the painting gripped him anew. The plaque under it read: Untitled Original oil on canvas Sebastian Mather, Mudcat, ?- February 2, 2459 Donated to the Museum by the estate of Caitlin Mather and Adam Sandoval. He reached out and grasped Aaron's hand as peace settled over him. Today would see Sebastian's dream fulfilled as humans and mudcats both honored his artistic vision. Peter recalled the words of the hymn that Caitlin sang and a sigh eased from his lips. Perhaps it was true, after all, that if one just kept turning, then in the end, things come 'round right.

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About the Author Max Griffin writes horror, science fiction, and suspense stories, often with a dark twist. Authors as diverse John Updike, Dean Koontz, Richard Matheson, and Lawrence Block inspire and inform his literary style. Max Griffin is the pen name of a mathematician and academic. Under his professional name, he is the author of a graduate textbook in real analysis and numerous research articles. When he is not writing fiction, he fills his days with teaching mathematics and statistics, research, and administrative work at a major comprehensive university in the southwest. He is the proud parent of a daughter who is a librarian. He is blessed to be in a long-term relationship with his life partner, Mr. Gene, who is an expert knitter. The two humans in Max's household are the pets of an Abyssinian cat named Mr. Dinger, short for Erwin Schrodinger the Cat. Mr. Dinger graciously lets them live in his home in return for food and occasional petting. Oh, and there's that litter box thing they do for him too. Max's website is at http://members.cox.net/MaxGriffin/

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