“I’m more practical in applying them now, but I
have not changed.”
Jason
shrugged. “If you say so, but . . .” He stopped because her eyes
suddenly looked moist and he realized she thought he was mocking her physical
appearance, which obviously had changed. Before he could think of anything to
say, he heard Calla’s abrupt, “Goodnight.”
“Oh,
damn,” he muttered to the blank screen. “You never cared what you looked like
ten years ago. You knew you weren’t a beauty, so why go thin-skinned on me now?
Dammit, Calla, you’ve got golden worlds on your shoulders and that hasn’t
offended me any worse than I expected. Your wrinkles don’t either. Can’t we at
least be friends?”
“You’re
not connected, Ranger-Governor D’Estelle. Shall I forward your last comments to
Commander Calla?”
“No,”
Jason said shaking his head. He threw off the cerecloth and paced across the
room and back. The bed made itself and the jelly beans in every apparatus in
the room dimmed to almost invisibility, and still he paced.
Chapter 5
Ramnen Mahdi Swayman, Imperator General of all Legions for
the Council of Worlds, was seated on the dais facing the empty chairs in the
gymnasium on his flagship, Night
Messenger . On the podium before him was a vial of yellow liquid, which he
had placed there only seconds ago. The diaphragm on the far bulkhead opened
silently to admit a dark-haired woman wearing legion khaki and a night black
navigator’s cape neatly held in place at her shoulders by silver broaches.
“Marcia
Roma Maclorin,” the nomenclator in Mahdi’s ear whispered, “General, Navigator
of the Fleet . . .”
Mahdi
clamped his teeth to cut off further description. He knew the navigator of his
personal fleet. Roma bowed instead of saluting, as if he were already emperor,
and Mahdi smiled.
“Did
you give my message to Larz Frennz Marechal?”
“In
person, sir. And I bring his personal assurance that the Decemvirate’s
recommendation will not be presented to the Council of Worlds until six months
from now. He puts his life on it.”
“Yes,
he does, doesn’t he,” Mahdi said with a chuckle. He reached for the vial and
began stroking the smooth container between his forefinger and thumb. “Who
would have thought that a decemvir could be bought with his own elixir?”
“Marechal’s
is an unusual case. He came to the Hub because his genes were perfect, but by
the time he came to the council’s attention, he was already an old man. His
station entitles him to a sustaining dosage, but not enough to reverse the
aging process.”
“Any
evidence that the doses we’ve given him have reversed the process?”
Roma
shook her head. “None, but I think it would take twenty-five years before you’d
begin to notice anything. He’s determined to be patient.” Roma was watching the
vial in Mahdi’s fingers anxiously.
Mahdi
sat back in the chair and began drumming the podium with the vial. Twenty-five
years was too long to wait to find out if it would work. Oh, he’d be done with
Marechal long before then in any case, for he had only sixteen years to go
before his term with the Decemvirate ended, and in truth, Mahdi probably would
not need him after six months from now. He wondered if he should consider
continuing his gifts to Marechal even so. Twenty-five years was not so long
when measured against even hundreds, or forever. Mahdi had stopped his own body’s
aging when it was forty-nine, and he was strong and virile. But how might it
feel to be twenty-five again or seventeen? Could he make love more than once in
a night if he were even younger? But no one knew what happened to the body if
the dose were increased. A proper dose arrested any aging; what would an
overdose do? He shook his head.
“Sir?”
Roma said.
“Nothing.”
He looked at the vial between his fingers, stopped drumming with it. Roma
noticed and seemed to breathe easier. She knew it was hers. He tapped the
podium again, pretending to
have not changed.”
Jason
shrugged. “If you say so, but . . .” He stopped because her eyes
suddenly looked moist and he realized she thought he was mocking her physical
appearance, which obviously had changed. Before he could think of anything to
say, he heard Calla’s abrupt, “Goodnight.”
“Oh,
damn,” he muttered to the blank screen. “You never cared what you looked like
ten years ago. You knew you weren’t a beauty, so why go thin-skinned on me now?
Dammit, Calla, you’ve got golden worlds on your shoulders and that hasn’t
offended me any worse than I expected. Your wrinkles don’t either. Can’t we at
least be friends?”
“You’re
not connected, Ranger-Governor D’Estelle. Shall I forward your last comments to
Commander Calla?”
“No,”
Jason said shaking his head. He threw off the cerecloth and paced across the
room and back. The bed made itself and the jelly beans in every apparatus in
the room dimmed to almost invisibility, and still he paced.
Chapter 5
Ramnen Mahdi Swayman, Imperator General of all Legions for
the Council of Worlds, was seated on the dais facing the empty chairs in the
gymnasium on his flagship, Night
Messenger . On the podium before him was a vial of yellow liquid, which he
had placed there only seconds ago. The diaphragm on the far bulkhead opened
silently to admit a dark-haired woman wearing legion khaki and a night black
navigator’s cape neatly held in place at her shoulders by silver broaches.
“Marcia
Roma Maclorin,” the nomenclator in Mahdi’s ear whispered, “General, Navigator
of the Fleet . . .”
Mahdi
clamped his teeth to cut off further description. He knew the navigator of his
personal fleet. Roma bowed instead of saluting, as if he were already emperor,
and Mahdi smiled.
“Did
you give my message to Larz Frennz Marechal?”
“In
person, sir. And I bring his personal assurance that the Decemvirate’s
recommendation will not be presented to the Council of Worlds until six months
from now. He puts his life on it.”
“Yes,
he does, doesn’t he,” Mahdi said with a chuckle. He reached for the vial and
began stroking the smooth container between his forefinger and thumb. “Who
would have thought that a decemvir could be bought with his own elixir?”
“Marechal’s
is an unusual case. He came to the Hub because his genes were perfect, but by
the time he came to the council’s attention, he was already an old man. His
station entitles him to a sustaining dosage, but not enough to reverse the
aging process.”
“Any
evidence that the doses we’ve given him have reversed the process?”
Roma
shook her head. “None, but I think it would take twenty-five years before you’d
begin to notice anything. He’s determined to be patient.” Roma was watching the
vial in Mahdi’s fingers anxiously.
Mahdi
sat back in the chair and began drumming the podium with the vial. Twenty-five
years was too long to wait to find out if it would work. Oh, he’d be done with
Marechal long before then in any case, for he had only sixteen years to go
before his term with the Decemvirate ended, and in truth, Mahdi probably would
not need him after six months from now. He wondered if he should consider
continuing his gifts to Marechal even so. Twenty-five years was not so long
when measured against even hundreds, or forever. Mahdi had stopped his own body’s
aging when it was forty-nine, and he was strong and virile. But how might it
feel to be twenty-five again or seventeen? Could he make love more than once in
a night if he were even younger? But no one knew what happened to the body if
the dose were increased. A proper dose arrested any aging; what would an
overdose do? He shook his head.
“Sir?”
Roma said.
“Nothing.”
He looked at the vial between his fingers, stopped drumming with it. Roma
noticed and seemed to breathe easier. She knew it was hers. He tapped the
podium again, pretending to
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