Habu. James B. Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ he said. “Actually, I’m wanted in every sector of the Federation.”

      “For mass murder, no doubt,” she said. Before he could respond, she went on. “I saw you come on board. You can and have killed. But I don’t believe you would do so unless it was absolutely necessary to your survival. Or perhaps with some higher purpose,”

      “Tell me about your daughter,” he said. He cursed himself for a bumbling fool. That awkward line about being wanted was amateurish. And he’d long since rec­onciled the deaths and, though some considered it mass murder, he did not.

      “Here. I’ve got a holo-chip in my wristcomp.” She punched tiny keys on her wristcomp and a holo appeared alongside the pitcher of beer. “Tique,” Alex said. The holo showed a woman with auburn hair. She had the sen­suous body of her mother. The tiny head swiveled to the right and an eye winked. Then the holo recycled and began again. After the next wink, Alex snapped it off. “Short for Tequilla. Tequilla Sovereign.”

      “She is truly attractive. She takes after her mother,” Reubin said.

      “Why thank you, Reubin.”

      “Her father?”

      “Her father took the Change twenty years ago, so she’s just out of the first stage.” Alexandra’s face softened “It’s been eighty years, but I still remember her baby-softness. I’d never borne a daughter before—only sons, so the experience was unique. We grew quite close over the years.”

      “You didn’t take the Change with him?”

      She looked at Reubin. She understood that he knew she hadn’t taken the Change, else she wouldn’t be here. “It had about run its course. It was the best way to part.” She hesitated, and Reubin could tell she was fighting some inner battle. “My daughter and I didn’t want to part. And at the time my job was new and important to me.” The Change, taken without your spouse, was automatic di­vorce.

      “I can tell Tequilla was your choice of names.” Reu­bin smiled.

      “It was that or get a tattoo.”

      “Oh,” he said, remembering the last tatters of blue-stained paper clinging to her body earlier. “Would have seen a shame to cover such natural beauty.”

      Her look matched his boldness. “You have a way with words.”

      Again he felt uncomfortable. Other people were com­ing into the dining room now, looking jealously at the pizza and beer.

      He looked into her eyes and saw it. “Well, Silver Girl. I no longer feel awkward. Thank you, madam.” She knew what she was doing.

      “No charge.”

      His hand went to her head, threaded through gossamer silver hair, and scraped a smudge of blue from behind her earlobe.

      They sat in the viewing lounge. Since the bubble which capsuled the Al Latalia was opaque for transpace, there was nothing to see. Thus the lounge was empty.

      Alex was silent, looking into the murk between the space liner and its bubble. Reubin appreciated the fact that she didn’t need conversation; sharing silence mirrored his own feelings of the moment.

      He wondered what was so different about Alexandra. Something undefinable attracted him to her; not specifically the comfortable silence, not their compatibility, not her good looks. Something.

      *Beware.*

      That was it. On his elementary level, Habu sensed something, maybe something instinctive which threatened the serpent. Was Habu jealous? No. Habu usually exhibited only basic emotions, and those were most geared to his survival mechanism. Yet Reubin sensed Habu’s disapproval. The fact highlighted Reubin’s awareness of that difference in Alex.

      You’ll never know the answer unless you ask the question, he told himself. “Alex?”

      She turned toward him, a faraway look in her eyes.

      Concerned about being blunt and too forward, he stumbled for words. “Um. Look. There’s something extraordinary about you. I can sense it. What is it about you?” He felt as awkward as a kid on his first date.

      She leaned back, raised a knee and rested her foot on the seat cushion. She circled her knee with locking arms. Her face was framed with silver hair. “Me, too. It’s like being a freak at a side show—”

      Reubin knew immediately. “Are you really?”

      They were called “Original Earthers” or “Olde Earthers.” So few remained that they didn’t advertise the fact. People thought Original Earthers rather clannish—which they weren’t because they seldom gathered. And when they did, they were careful to avoid arousing resentments. Reubin remembered bitterly the pogroms on Tsuruga. He ripped his attention away from the past and back to the present.

      “I am.” She was nodding enthusiastically. “I should have figured you out sooner, Reubin, but your mercenary trappings hid it from me. People can just look at you and know you’re different, far out of the ordinary.”

      Again they fell silent.

      Reubin thought about what she’d said. He knew he was different. Sometimes he couldn’t help physically reaction to something Habu had said or done. Another mask: being an Original Earther helped mask Habu.

      Most of the Original Earthers were now dead. The had selected death over continuation of life through the Change and the Long Life Institute and its processes.

      Centuries wore them down. They suicided. Most just lost interest in living. But not Reubin. Not with Habu deep inside him, Habu and his survival compulsion. Reubin didn’t know whether he’d be alive today without Habu’s internal drive preventing him from taking any activity such as suicide in order to die. He did know, without wondering, that he would be long dead, killed in action or captured by those who wanted Habu dead—there were individuals as well as governments who wanted Habu dead—without Habu’s survival instinct and his killing persona.

      Being an Original Earther made Alex Sovereign all the more special. She must have some personal drive, a strength over and above that of a normal human, to keep her going so long. She could be like Reubin himself, one who took to the Long Life treatments well.

      “How long?” she asked the ritual question.

      Reubin smiled and refused to give the traditional an­swer, “Damn near forever.” Instead, he said, “I don’t really know. I’ve done so much traveling through transpace, I lost count of the math a long time ago. My rough guess would be something in the neighborhood of twelve hundred Fed standard years. But it could be as high as two thousand. At any rate, I’ve undergone the Change maybe twelve times.”

      She was nodding, her chin bouncing off her knee. “I’ll never understand the mechanics. Surely, I’ve stayed on planets I’ve helped pioneer or grow into self-sufficiency longer than you have. I was fortunate in the worlds they sent me to. Generally, I stayed past the mandatory re­quirement I owed the Long Life Institute.” She paused. “Just like Snister now. Eighty-five years. My time lines are straighter, easier to figure. Ten changes.”

      The natural attraction he’d felt for her was growing, and growing quickly. It’s been so long, he thought.

      “How СКАЧАТЬ