You are old, she said to her image. Old and aching and tired.
It is the long trip, she told herself. You need to rest. But the other voice in her mind laughed scornfully. You’ve done nothing but rest for the entire time it’s taken to reach this piece of rock. You are ready for the permanent rest; why deny it?
She had been teaching at the university on Luna, the closest she could get to Earth after a long lifetime of living in low-gravity environments. Close enough to see the world of her birth, the only world of life and warmth in the solar system, the only place where a person could walk out in the sunshine and feel its warmth soaking your bones, smell the fertile earth nurturing its bounty, feel a cool breeze plucking at your hair.
But she had separated herself from Earth permanently. She had stood at the shore of Titan’s methane sea; from an orbiting spacecraft she had watched the surging clouds of Jupiter swirl their overpowering colors; she had carved the kilometer-long rock of The Rememberer. But she could no longer stand in the village of her birth, at the edge of the Pacific’s booming surf, and watch the soft white clouds form shapes of imaginary animals.
Her creative life was long finished. She had lived too long; there were no friends left, and she had never had a family. There was no purpose to her life, no reason to do anything except go through the motions and wait. At the university she was no longer truly working at her art but helping students who had the fires of inspiration burning fresh and hot inside them. Her life was one of vain regrets for all the things she had not accomplished, for all the failures she could recall. Failures at love; those were the most bitter. She was praised as the solar system’s greatest artist: The sculptress of The Rememberer, the creator of the first great ionospheric painting, The Virgin of the Andes. She was respected, but not loved. She felt empty, alone, barren. She had nothing to look forward to; absolutely nothing.
Then Martin Humphries swept into her existence. A lifetime younger, bold, vital, even ruthless, he stormed her academic tower with the news that an alien artifact had been discovered deep in the Asteroid Belt.
«It’s some kind of art form,» he said, desperate with excitement. «You’ve got to come with me and see it.»
Trying to control the long-forgotten longing that stirred within her, Elverda had asked quietly, «Why do I have to go with you, Mr. Humphries? Why me? I’m an old wo—»
«You are the greatest artist of our time,» he had snapped. «You’ve got to see this! Don’t bullshit me with false modesty. You’re the only other person in the whole whirling solar system who deserves to see it!»
«The only other person besides whom?» she had asked.
He had blinked with surprise. «Why, besides me, of course.»
So now we are on this nameless asteroid, waiting to see the alien artwork. Just the three of us. The richest man in the solar system. An elderly artist who has outlived her usefulness. And a cyborg soldier who has cleared everyone else away.
He claims to be a priest, Elverda remembered. A priest who is half machine. She shivered as if a cold wind surged through her.
A harsh buzzing noise interrupted her thoughts. Looking into the main part of the room, Elverda saw that the phone screen was blinking red in rhythm to the buzzing.
«Phone,» she called out.
Humphries’s face appeared on the screen instantly. «Come to my quarters,» he said. «We have to talk.»
«Give me an hour. I need—»
«Now.»
Elverda felt her brows rise haughtily. Then the strength sagged out of her. He has bought the right to command you, she told herself. He is quite capable of refusing to allow you to see the artifact.
«Now,» she agreed.
Humphries was pacing across the plush carpeting when she arrived at his quarters. He had changed from his flight coveralls to a comfortably loose royal blue pullover and expensive genuine twill slacks. As the doors slid shut behind her, he stopped in front of a low couch and faced her squarely.
«Do you know who this Dorn creature is?»
Elverda answered, «Only what he has told us.»
«I’ve checked him out. My staff in the ship has a complete file on him. He’s the butcher who led the Chrysalis massacre, fourteen years ago.»
«He …»
«Eleven hundred men, women, and children. Slaughtered. He was the man who commanded the attack.»
«He said he had been a soldier.»
«A mercenary. A cold-blooded murderer. He was working for Toyama then. The Chrysalis was their habitat. When its population voted for independence, Toyama put him in charge of a squad to bring them back into line. He killed them all; turned off their air and let them all die.»
Elverda felt shakily for the nearest chair and sank into it. Her legs seemed to have lost all their strength.
«His name was Harbin then. Dorik Harbin.»
«Wasn’t he brought to trial?»
«No. He ran away. Disappeared. I always thought Toyama helped to hide him. They take care of their own, they do. He must have changed his name afterward. Nobody would hire the butcher, not even Toyama.»
«His face … half his body …» Elverda felt terribly weak, almost faint. «When …?»
«Must have been after he ran away. Maybe it was an attempt to disguise himself.»
«And now he is working for you.» She wanted to laugh at the irony of it, but did not have the strength.
«He’s got us trapped on this chunk of rock! There’s nobody else here except the three of us.»
«You have your staff in your ship. Surely they would come if you summoned them.»
«His security squad’s been ordered to keep everybody except you and me off the asteroid. He gave those orders.»
«You can countermand them, can’t you?»
For the first time since she had met Martin Humphries, he looked unsure of himself. «I wonder,» he said.
«Why?» Elverda asked. «Why is he doing this?»
«That’s what I intend to find out.» Humphries strode to the phone console. «Harbin!» he called. «Dorik Harbin. Come to my quarters at once.»
Without even an eye blink’s delay the phone’s computer-synthesized voice replied, «Dorik Harbin no longer exists. Transferring your call to Dorn.»
Humphries’s blue eyes snapped at the phone’s blank screen.
«Dorn is not available at present,» the phone’s voice said. «He will call for you in eleven hours and thirty-two minutes.»
«God-damn it!» Humphries smacked a fist into the open palm of his other hand. «Get me the officer on watch aboard the Humphries Eagle.»
«All exterior communications are inoperable at the present time,» replied the phone.
«That’s impossible!»
«All exterior communications are inoperable at the present time,» the phone repeated, unperturbed.
Humphries stared at the empty screen, then turned slowly toward Elverda. «He’s cut us off. We’re really trapped here.»
Elverda felt the chill of cold metal clutching at her. Perhaps Dorn is a madman, she thought. Perhaps he is my death, personified.
«We’ve got to do something!» Humphries nearly shouted.
Elverda rose shakily to her feet. «There is nothing that we can do, for the moment. I am going to my quarters and take a nap. I believe that Dorn, or Harbin or whatever his identity is, will call on us when he is ready to.»
«And do what?»
«Show us the artifact,» she replied, silently adding, I hope.