Michael Kube-McDowell - The Quiet Pools

The audience marked its agreement with applause—well short of universal, but louder and more emphatic than the protests which had preceded it.

“Over this last year, our family has lost a dozen members to accident and incident,” Sasaki went on. “We mourn them and remember them, but we carry on.

“If we leave Malena’s place vacant, we are as much as saying that we could have done without her, that her contribution to the community—and therefore her death—were trivial and meaningless. And that is not so.

“If we make an exception for Malena because of the way she died, we are raising a memorial not to her, but to her murderer, for making her unique. And that I will not do.”

This time, the applause was spontaneous, spirited, and strong. She had won them back.

Sasaki continued, “A meaningful memorial to Malena Graham would respect her commitment to the Project and preserve her contribution to our community. It would leave her joined to the Memphis family as more than a memory. It should be a living memorial.

“I can tell you now that we have an opportunity to create just such a memorial.”

Dryke, knowing what was coming, marveled at Sasaki’s flawless control. The auditorium was absolutely still, spellbound, all attention focused on the woman on the stage.

“All of you who have endured it know how thorough Selection’s biomedical testing is,” Sasaki said. “Many of you also know that Malena Graham was a childhood victim of poliomyelitis. She did not think that remarkable, and it was clearly no obstacle to her selection.

“But it did make her different, and that difference is now a blessing. Because of her polio, when Malena Graham came here, she was among the several dozen new arrivals subjected to an additional battery of tests to evaluate their reproductive health,” said Sasaki. “She was given a hormonal accelerator, and a few days later, eight ova were collected. Two of those eggs were consumed in the testing. But the remaining six were not needed and were placed in cryostorage for future tests, if necessary.”

As those listening began to realize where Sasaki’s words were leading, Dryke began to see heads bob and joy-tearful smiles appear on the faces of those standing near him. The funeral spell was shattered, the blanket of gloom dispelled. The applause grew from scattered knots to spreading waves as the audience came joyfully to its feet.

“That future use will come, time willing, on the first colony world you found,” said Sasaki over the rising tumult. “For I direct that Malena Graham’s eggs be added to the gamete bank aboard Memphis , and ask you to take her essence with you to Tau Ceti—not as a memorial, but as a legacy. And when the first child is born of her line, then you may give her an epitaph worthy of the dream she dreamed, and a fate better than that which befell her here:

“Non omnis moriar.

“ ‘I shall not altogether die.’ ”

It was a challenge to reach Sasaki in the friendly crush that followed, and a greater challenge to separate her from it. Finally, Dryke resorted to deception and professional prerogative, catching her arm to tell her that there was a security alert in the complex, and then hustling her away to a private room on an upper floor.

“I’m sorry, Director. There is no threat,” he said when they were alone. “I have to leave the center shortly, and I needed to talk to you before I did.”

“Does this have to do with your disappearance from the convocation?”

“Hugh sent up a package from the data analysis lab at Prainha, eyes-only. I went out to collect it from the courier and to find a tank.”

“And?”

“And I have some news that I hope will do for you what your eulogy did for those people downstairs. We’ve located Jeremiah.” He said it pridefully, looking at her expectantly.

But Sasaki’s reaction was disappointing. Her eyes widened briefly—surprise?—and then narrowed into a questioning, almost disbelieving gaze. “Located or caught?”

“Located. That’s why I have to leave. I’m taking four locals from security and the two top systems texperts with me.”

“Where is he? Is it a he?”

“The Pacific Northwest. Oregon. I’m not sure on the other.”

She frowned. “Then this is hardly an authoritative identification, is it?”

“No. Not yet. We have two addresses, one a business. We’ll sort it out when we get there.”

“He tracks you,” Sasaki said, fretting. “He will be gone before you arrive.”

“He tracks my screamer,” said Dryke. “Which is leaving any minute for Chile, with appropriate disinformation on the bounce. I’m going off the net until I have him. There’ll be nothing out there to point to where I am, and I’m telling no one but you.”

“He may already be gone.”

“The line’s been active within the half hour.”

She nodded, accepting the point. “What was the break? Was it Katrina Becker?”

“No. Becker has been—immovable.” Dryke smiled coldly. “No, it was the bragging that got him. We backtraced his rant over the Munich hit past the Albuquerque node which had stopped us the last time. This time we had more ears to the ground and matched to a dedicated line.”

“How easily?”

“What?”

“I remind you of your discourse on the art of fishing, and the lesson of the great fish.”

Dryke stared, the self-congratulation leaving his face. “I have a good feeling about this, Hiroko.”

“You are too valuable to lose to a feeling,” she said. “If an Evan Silverman was willing to kill a Malena Graham for such little gain, would a Jeremiah hesitate to kill you?”

“I won’t give him that chance.”

Frowning, she wrapped her arms around herself. “Mikhail, I am most serious about insisting that you examine your judgment. You received the failure of the Munich operation and the death of Malena as personal defeats. You may have perceived them as blows to your prestige. Am I unreasonable to think that Mikhail Dryke might be so eager to restore himself in my eyes that he would alter the equation of risk?”

He looked away, up toward one corner of the ceiling, and sighed. “No,” he said finally. “You’re not unreasonable.”

“Thank you.”

“But you’re wrong,” Dryke added. “This is Jeremiah, and I can get to him.”

Her hands slid down the sleeves of her kimono until her arms were crossed over her chest in a more forceful pose. “Despite the week’s events, I do not require vindication of your competence, Mikhail. And I do not welcome assurances spoken by the voice of personal pride.”

Dryke felt himself bristling. “We’ve been closing in on him all year. Every time he spoke, every stunt he pulled. There were already signs pointing in this direction. This is consistent with all of them.”

“And it is exactly when all is as expected that the wary may become inattentive, and a trick most effectively employed. I ask only that you exercise prudent caution.”

To be reminded by Sasaki of such an elementary principle stung Dryke’s pride. “If you really believed in me, you wouldn’t need to ask that.”

“Have I lost the right to question you, Mikhail?” she asked, eyebrow arching. “What message should I read in your defensiveness—insecurity, or impatience? Either would be reason to send someone else in your place.”

Drawing a quick breath, he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then looked at her and nodded. “You’re right. My apology.”

“Not necessary,” she said, relaxing. “But accepted.”

“It is personal. I don’t deny it,” said Dryke. “I want him. But that won’t make me reckless. Just the opposite—I’ll be that much more careful. I’ve been chasing Jeremiah long enough. I want it to be over.”