Shunting the bulk of the project-related communications to the team traveling with her, she spent two full days with her personal correspondence. The messages from Javas, among the oldest waiting for her, came first in the queue and were dated from around the time of the recording containing her first look at their son. Subsequent recordings followed the first in rapid succession, allowing Adela to watch Eric’s growth as he went from infant to toddler, then preschooler to adolescent. Another man appeared occasionally in some of the recordings and she learned that he was McLaren, who served as both teacher and surrogate parent. Adela realized that Master McLaren would have been present throughout much of Eric’s formative years, regardless of whether she had remained behind or not, but she couldn’t help feeling a loss that much of her son’s upbringing had been trusted to a stranger’s hands. No, she reminded herself. It is not he who is the stranger. It is the mother who was never there.
As Eric got older, he appeared less frequently in Javas’ communications. Javas explained in subsequent messages that he’d left the decision to contact her up to the boy, and that he wouldn’t pressure him in any way. He still found time to send frequent messages of his own, however, and always went into great pride-filled detail as to their son’s development. And just as she watched the changes in her son, she saw the changes in Javas, too.
She had missed the first direct message from Eric. The Levant had begun its journey home, and she was already in the tank when Eric sent his first recording introducing himself to the mother he had never known. “Hello, Mother,” he had said in the twenty-year-old recording. “Let me tell you about myself.” Adela had listened in horror as he told of the ordeal the two of them had gone through in Rihana’s ill-fated attempt to place his half brother on the throne.
Finally, even as Eric’s communications continued to queue up in her waiting file with increased frequency as she traveled closer to home, Javas’ messages became more infrequent. She viewed them all at once over that two-day period, of course, but she noted that the dates between the Emperor’s recordings grew more widely separated. At last, only a few weeks out, she viewed recordings from them both.
Eric, she had learned in recordings dating back eight years, had accepted command of a starship. His most recent recording had come, like many of those before it, from the bridge of a starship equipped with a tachyon dish and was sent first to Luna before being relayed to the Levant. He had grown into a fine young man, and Adela saw much of both Javas and herself in him. She was pleased to discover that his tour would return him to Sol system within a year of her arrival.
Javas’ message, sent with the report she now watched, had also been upbeat. His messages had increased in number as the ship drew closer to home, and he made no attempt to hide his excitement of her coming; but behind his words in the most recent recording, appended to the beginning of Bomeer’s report, lay something she could not quite identify. She could not be certain, but he seemed to fear that she would not, after all, come back; that somehow, after forty years’ separation, he would not be what she had expected.
“System!” she commanded suddenly.
“Ma’am?”
“Replay current message from the beginning.”
The image froze, then blanked, the corner of her cabin growing dim for several seconds before it started over. Javas reappeared in the holographic image, but before he spoke she again ordered the room system to freeze the image.
He had aged, of course, as she had expected he would, but in no way did he look… old. His hair had grayed considerably, but still reflected the golden blond she remembered. Javas’ face seemed thinner, lined, but the strength she had known was still in his features. Strength radiated from him, in fact, and it was obvious he had kept himself in superb condition. Rejuvenation was no longer within his reach but, like his father before him, he took pride in himself and his appearance. Looking at him now, she allowed a feeling to surface within her that she had denied herself throughout the lengthy trip: She allowed herself to miss him. Her throat tightened and tears welled up in her eyes at how much she wanted to be with him. And as she stared silently at Javas’ image in the holographic projection, it suddenly struck her what it was that had bothered her about Bomeer.
Bomeer’s an old man, she realized. He’s aged, but he hasn’t lived. She had watched Javas age gracefully over forty years’ worth of recordings, watched as he nurtured and taught a son whom she had also watched grow from infancy to young manhood. She should have felt older herself, realizing that the man she loved had spent a lifetime apart from her. Even knowing that she had not been there to witness Eric’s development failed to make her regret the choices she’d made. For Eric, like Javas since her departure, had lived life naturally, without benefit of rejuvenation. And living life, she knew, was what was important.
Bomeer had been alive longer than them all, but it was they who had lived. Bomeer had merely collected years.
The stark image of the gray-headed academician flashed momentarily through her thoughts, and for the first time in her life, Adela felt pity.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My God, it’s hot in here. How in the world does Rice stand it like this?
Bomeer frowned at Rice, seemingly cool and comfortable in his short-sleeved shirt and matching white cotton pants, and dabbed frequently at his brow as he listened to the two scientists discuss the replay of the modeling test that he was about to review. The two spoke with an excitement that eluded him, and he only half listened to what they were saying.
The playbacks of what occurred during each of the modeling experiments were among the few things Bomeer enjoyed about being stuck out here at the test site, seven light-years from Luna. Despite having to endure the environment of the open lab on each occasion, it tied him to an earlier time; a time when protocol and procedure still meant something.
The Empire of the Hundred Worlds had changed under Javas’ rule, although Bomeer wasn’t sure the Emperor was directly responsible for all the changes that seemed to sweep the stiff, formal behaviors away in favor of the “New Attitude” of what the Empire had become. With new discoveries had come new ideas, which, in turn, led to still more discoveries. Which, in turn…
He had had to be honest with himself, however, when he looked at the reasons for what had happened. Much of the changing attitude of the—what was the phrase he’d used with Fain? the “improved version” of the Empire?—had happened of their own accord as an outgrowth of a number of things: the miraculous ability to communicate instantaneously; a vastly improved understanding of medicine; a new openness among the worlds; even cooperation with the Sarpan Realm. But Bomeer had to admit that many of those things came about as a direct result of the drive and vigor possessed by the new Emperor. Javas’ excitement at revitalizing a stagnant Empire was irresistible and, more importantly, infectious to all with whom he dealt, from the most powerful planetary governor to the most humble of servants on the Imperial staff.
It was in this new understanding that Bomeer felt he had no place, for it seemed that he alone was not invigorated by Javas’ will. There was no question in his mind that the speed with which the Empire was changing could ultimately do it harm, but his frequent warnings fell on ears made deaf by the euphoria of the New Attitude. And so he sought refuge in those things where he still felt a certain measure of control, and he insisted in following protocol whenever possible; demanding that B be preceded by A in all cases, and that under no circumstances could C be even remotely considered until the lower end of the alphabet had been neatly and orderly dealt with. In this way, he still believed he had control. In this way, he could still feel important.