YAMAGATA ESTATE
He was the family’s oldest retainer, a wizened, wrinkled man with a flowing white mane that swept past the shoulders of his modest sky-blue kimono. Nobuhiko remembered riding on those shoulders when he’d been a tot. The man had never accepted rejuvenation treatments, but his shoulders were still broad and only slightly sagging.
They walked together along the gravel path that wound through the carefully tended rock garden just inside the high wall that sheltered the Yamagata estate in the hills above New Kyoto. A cutting, clammy wind was blowing low gray clouds across the sky; Nobuhiko suppressed the urge to shiver beneath his light gray business suit. He had never shown such a weakness before his servant and he never willingly would.
Never show a weakness to anyone, he reminded himself. Not even yourself. He had been shocked when he learned that four million had been killed by the skytower’s collapse. Four million! Nobu had known there would be deaths, that was unavoidable. It was what the military called “collateral damage.” But four million! It had taken years to overcome the sense of guilt that had risen inside him like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf him. What difference does it make? he argued against his own conscience. Four hundred or four thousand or four million? They would have died anyway, sooner or later. The world goes on. I did what I had to do. For the good of the family, for the good of the corporation. For the good of Japan, even. What’s done is done. It hadn’t been finished easily, he knew. There were still more lives that had to be snuffed out, loyal men and women whose only offense had been to carry out Nobuhiko’s wishes. They were repaid with death, the ultimate silencer. But now it’s done, Nobuhiko thought. It’s finished at last. That’s what this old man has come to tell me.
Once they were too far from the house to be overheard, Nobu said politely, “The years have been very kind to you.”
The old man dipped his chin slightly. “You are very gracious, sir.”
With a wry grin, Nobu patted his belly. “I wish I could be as fit as you are.”
The man said nothing. They both knew that Yamagata’s tastes in food and wine, and his distaste for exercise, caused the difference between their figures.
Delicately changing the subject, the old man asked, “May I inquire as to your father’s well-being?”
Nobu looked up at the sky. This man had served his father since he’d been a teenager. He still regards Saito as the head of the family, Nobu thought, no matter that Father has been retired in that lamasery for so many years.
“My father is well,” he said at last. It was not a lie, although Nobu had not heard from his father for many months.
“I am pleased to hear it. He has great strength of character to abandon this world and take the hard path toward enlightenment.”
And I do not have strength of character? Nobu snarled inwardly. Is this old assassin throwing an insult into my teeth?
Aloud, however, he said merely, “Yet some of us must remain in this world and carry its burdens.”
“Most true, sir.”
“How many years has it been since the skytower fell?” Nobuhiko asked.
“Not enough for anyone to dare suggest building another.”
“So. That is good.”
The old man dipped his chin again in acknowledgement.
“Have all the people who participated in the event been properly disposed of?”
“They have been tracked down and accounted for.” Both men knew what that meant.
“All of them?”
The old man hesitated only a fraction of a second. “All but one.”
“One?” Nobu snapped, suddenly angry. “After all this time, one of them still lives?”
“He is either very clever or very lucky.”
“Who is he? Where is he?”
“He is the nanotechnology expert that we recruited from Selene.”
Nobu could feel his pulse thundering in his ears. Before he could respond to his servant’s words the old man added:
“He has changed his identity and his appearance several times. Even his retinal patterns have been altered, my agents report. The man is something of a genius.”
“He must be found,” Nobu said firmly. “And dealt with.”
“He will be, I assure you.”
“I don’t want assurances. I want results!”
“Sir, please do not alarm yourself. The man is neutralized. He cannot tell anyone of his part in the skytower project without revealing his true identity. If he should dare to do that, we would locate him and deal with him. He is intelligent enough to understand that, so he maintains his silence.”
“Not good enough,” said Nobu. “I will not be held dependent on this fugitive’s decisions.”
“So I understand, sir. We are tracking him down.”
“No one must know why are tracking him!”
“No one does, sir, except you and me.”
Nobuhiko took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
The old man added, “And once he is found and disposed of, I too will leave this world. Then only you will have the knowledge of the skytower program.”
“You?”
“I have lived long enough. Once this obligation to you is filled, my master, I will join my honorable ancestors.”
Nobu stood on the gravel path and stared at this relic from the ancient past. The chill wind blew the man’s long white hair across his face, hiding his expression from Nobu. Still, Yamagata could see the implacable determination in those unblinking eyes.
BETRAYAL
Months slipped into years. Alhambra plied its slow, silent way through the Belt and then back toward Earth at least once a year. Bracknell saw the blue and white splendor of his home world, close enough almost to touch, bright clouds and sparkling seas and land covered with green. All his life was there, all his hopes and love and dreams. But he never reached it. The captain and other crew members shuttled down to the surface for a few days each time they visited Earth, but Bracknell stayed aboard the ship, knowing that no port of entry would accept an exile, not even for a day or two of ship’s liberty. Nor would Selene or any of the other lunar settlements.
Each time, once Alhambra’s crew unloaded the refined metals it had carried in its hold and taken a few days’ liberty, Captain Farad headed back to the dark silence of the Belt once more.
Like a vision of heaven, Bracknell said to himself as the glowing blue and white sphere dwindled in the distance. It grew blurry as his eyes teared.
He grew a beard, then shaved it off. He had a brief affair with a woman who signed aboard as a crew member to pay for her passage on a one-way trip from Earth to Ceres, feeling almost ashamed of himself whenever he saw Addie. By the time his erstwhile lover left the ship he was glad to be rid of her.
The captain never relaxed his vigilance over his daughter, although he seemed to grow more tolerant of Bracknell holding casual conversations with her. He even invited Bracknell to have dinner with himself and his daughter, at rare intervals. The captain was sensitive enough never to talk about Earth nor to ask Bracknell about his former life.
Addie began to explain Buddhism to him, trying to help him accept the life that had been forced upon him.
“It is only temporary,” she would tell him. “This life will wither away and a new life will begin. The great wheel turns slowly, but it does turn. You must be patient.”
Bracknell listened and watched her animated face as she earnestly explained the path toward enlightenment. He never believed a word of it, but it helped to pass the time.
On some visits to Earth, Alhambra picked up other groups of convicts exiled to the Belt. The captain forbade Bracknell and the other crew members to have anything to do with them beyond what was absolutely necessary.