“And there are women?” Winston asks, looking and sounding more and more like his old self with each passing minute. “Not that I’ve ever had much luck with that.”
“Luck plays no role here. Not when you’re the king. Not when you’re young and handsome and strong.”
Winston laughs. “Not so young and strong anymore. And never very handsome, I’m afraid.”
“I respectfully disagree, Mr. Winston.” He gestures behind them. “Take a look.”
When Winston turns and sees the tall, ornate mirror—with its glittering gold trim and polished, hand-carved oak legs—positioned in the long grass, his mouth drops open. When he sees his reflection in the mirror, he gasps.
He appears as young and slim as the morning he drove away to college.
“Here, in your world, you’ll look this way forever. And as for being handsome, although you never truly believed it thanks to your father’s constant disparagements, you were at one time—and remain so here, as you can see for yourself—a young man of considerable physical appeal. Your father stole from you the most important gift a young man can possess: self-confidence.” The blond man grins. This time his teeth are very straight and white. “But your father is no longer with us, now, is he?”
“No, he is not.” Winston looks around. “This is real?”
“Yes.”
“Could I come here again?”
“To visit, yes. To live and rule … not until you bring us what we want. The button box.”
Winston finds himself remembering a class he had in college, and a particular line from that class. He didn’t understand it then, but now he does. “If it’s real, and if I can, I will. I promise.”
The man—Bobby—turns Gareth away from the mirror. Bobby wants his undivided attention. “Gwendoyn Peterson has been tasked with getting rid of this rather special box once and for all, and there is only one place in her world—or any of the others—where this can happen.”
“Where?” Winston asks.
The blond man stops walking. “How would you feel about taking a trip to outer space, Mr. Winston?”
41
“DON’T TELL ME YOU actually believed that cock-and-bull story about ruling your own private world,” Gwendy says. “You’re one of the most successful businessmen in history. I can’t believe you’d take a few moments of … I don’t know … hypnosis, as reality.”
Winston gives her an odd, knowing smile. “Do you believe it?”
Gwendy actually does. She can believe in other worlds because she cannot believe the button box came from hers. Before she can open her mouth to tell a lie that might not sound very convincing, there’s a beeeep sound.
“Ah!” Gareth says. “I believe the safe has a new code and can now be opened. So why don’t we—”
Before he can finish, both of their phones give off the distinctive double-tone that means an incoming text from the station rather than a message from the down-below. They both take out their phones, Gwendy from the center pocket of her coveralls, Winston from the back pocket of his chinos. Gwendy thinks, and not without sour amusement, We’re like Pavlov’s dogs when it comes to these things. The fate of the earth may be at stake, but when the bell rings we salivate. Or in this case, read the text.
The identical messages are from Sam Drinkwater: Joining us for breakfast?
“Text him back,” Winston says. “Say we’re in a serious conversation … no, negotiation … about the future of the space program, and they should eat without us.”
Gwendy is on the verge of telling Mr. Billionaire Businessman Gareth Winston to stuff it … but doesn’t.
This has to end, here and now.
That thought sounds like Mr. Farris. Whether it is or isn’t doesn’t matter. Either way it’s true.
She moves closer to Winston (ugh) so he can read the text she’s preparing to send. It’s exactly what he told her to say, with one addition: Important we not be disturbed until 1100 hours.
“Excellent. I’m going to open the safe. I can’t wait to see what Bobby was so excited about. You, my dear, should sit right where you are like a good little Gwendy.” He shows her the green lipstick tube. “Unless, that is, you want to find out what it feels like to die with your guts melting inside you.”
He starts to rise, but she takes his arm and pulls him back down. In zero-g, it’s easy. “Help me get my head around this. One hypnotic trance and you just fall into line? I don’t believe it. You’re not that stupid. In fact, you’re not stupid at all.”
Winston probably knows she’s just trying to buy time, but he preens at the compliment anyway. Gwendy gives him her best wide-eyed tell-me-more look. It usually works in Senate committees (at least with men), and it works now.
“I have been back to Genesis many times,” he says. “That’s what I call my world. Nice, eh?”
“Very,” Gwendy says, doing the wide-eyed thing for all she’s worth.
“It’s real enough. Bobby—he says I’d never be able to pronounce his real name—has given me certain instructions for going there. I could go there now, if I liked. My visits are necessarily short, but once I give him—and his controllers—this box of yours, I’ll go there for good.” He gives her a goony smile that makes her doubt his sanity. “It’s going to be great.”
“A hallucination,” Gwendy persists. “Had to’ve been. This Bobby sold you a grander version of the Brooklyn Bridge.” She shakes her head. “I still can’t believe you fell for it.”
He smiles indulgently and reaches inside his shirt. He brings out a pendant on a silver chain. In the gold setting is a huge diamond. “From my mine,” he says. “I have others at my home in the Bahamas, some even bigger. This one is 40 karat. I had one of similar size appraised, first to make sure it was real and second to determine its worth. The Swiss jeweler who looked at it almost had a heart attack on the spot. He offered me a hundred and ninety thousand dollars, which means it’s probably worth twice or three times as much.”
He drops the pendant back inside his shirt. “Genesis is real enough, and when I’m there I’m young and virile. The women …” He wets his fat lips.
“No more panty stealing, I take it,” Gwendy says.
He gives her a glowering look, then actually laughs. “I suppose I deserve that. Don’t know why I told you. No—no more panty stealing.” He looks away from Gwendy, and she thinks that while he’s distracted she might be able to grab something and whack him on the head. Except everything is fastened down, and the idea of clonking someone hard enough to knock them out in zero-g conditions is ridiculous.
When he looks back at her, he’s wearing a rueful smile that’s almost likeable … or would be if he were not threatening her life and planning to steal the button box she’s been charged with guarding and ultimately disposing of.
“When Bobby took me that first time, I remembered something a teacher said in an Ancient History class I took in college. I didn’t want to take the damn thing, cut most of the classes and hired some grind to do my final paper, but that one thing stuck in my head. It was from an old Greek—I think he was a Greek—named Plutarch. Or maybe he was a Roman.”
“Greek,” Gwendy says. “Although he became a Roman.”
Winston looks annoyed at the interruption. “Whatever. This Plutarch wrote something about a conqueror named Alexander. I can’t remember the exact wording, but—”