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CHAPTER TWO

TEQUILLA SOVEREIGN

Well before the start of business the next morning, Tique’s comm chime woke her. Instead of the pa­thologist, the Prime Minister’s office contacted her: Would she and Mister Flood kindly attend the PM?

Tequilla explained to Reubin.

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know....”

“You know something.”

Yes, she did, but she didn’t want to show it. She looked at him frankly. His face appeared rested, yet his eyes were dark and dangerous. She shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s rather personal.”

Reubin cocked his head and set his coffee down on the table. “Death is personal. Alex and I were married, that’s personal. Now what is it?”

The man was like a weed-burr under your saddle har­ness while riding: irritating. “Fels Nodivving was, uh, shall I say, pursuing Mother in a, um, romantical way.”

“A bureaucrat would have chosen those words. But I see your point.” He thought for a moment. “Even after Alex returned here to Snister a married woman?”

“Yes. Or so it seemed to me.” Her mother had rolled her eyes upon a similar question from Tique. “Maybe even more so.” Tique recalled her mother saying, “It’s worse than ever, hon. Fels is persistent. I’ll be glad to close out my affairs and go off with Reubin to start our new life together.” Tique hadn’t paid much attention. As this was her own first life, she’d been in the midst of an emotional struggle. The coming permanent parting from her mother promised to be worse than the forced sepa­ration from her father when he’d left to take the Long Life treatment and head for the frontier. And her mother had been strangely reluctant to cut the bond between them, too. “You’ve been closer to me than many of my children,” she’d told Tique. “You’ve never had to leave your folks or your offspring; I’ll tell you it’s difficult, sometimes—sometimes it’s a blessing. This time, well, regrets beat at me like waves on the beach.” Alex had smiled. “I oughta be a poet or something, huh?” Now, Tique felt a wave of sorrow.

Interrupting her reverie, Reubin responded. “Even so, if the man Nodivving desired your mother, why does he want to see us instead of allowing us to visit with some minor official, like the pathologist?”

Tique shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s possible that the Prime Minister wants to meet the man who won the woman he wanted.”

“Take my measure?”

“Something like that.”

“Perhaps,” said Reubin, “he thinks I know some­thing. That explanation fits more than others.”

Tique rose from their breakfast. Reubin followed, car­rying dishes to the slot. “That’s a solid answer,” she said, “but it doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes more sense than a lot of other things here which haven’t made sense more.”

“What?” Tique asked. Who the hell was this man? A man whom she’d resented as much as she’d ever resented anyone. He had been going to take Mother away. Not only Tique’s mother, but her best friend, too. Reubin Flood hadn’t known Mother for more than a few real-time weeks and he was taking her off. The anger and resentment Tique had felt even before Mother died re­turned.

Reubin went to look out the window. “Never mind. Tell me about this Prime Minister.”

“On the way. Don’t want to be late.” She was glad she could put off talking to him even momentarily.

As they drove across the city, Tique talked, interrupt­ing herself on occasion to show Reubin special sights. Anything to occupy her mind and keep her anger and resentment down. “The city, Cuyas, is rather modern. In the outlands, however, things quite contrast.”

“We can talk wormwood later,” he said. “Tell me about Fels Nodivving.” Reubin’s eyes never rested as she drove. They reminded her of a wild creature: always as­sessing.

A sheet of rain hit the aircar and she activated the blower to clear the forward and rear portions of the bubble-canopy. She allowed the road’s computer to con­trol their pace. As long as they were on a major thor­oughfare, the road would do the driving for them.

“How do I explain the Prime Minister?” Tique said. “It’s all tied up with economics. Fels Nodivving is the Chief Executive Officer of Snister Wormwood, Inc. This is a Company planet. As CEO, he is automatically the Prime Minister. He runs the planet, business and govern­ment.”

“Prime Minister,” Reubin said, “by definition, con­notes a variation of the parliamentary system. Which, in turn, usually means a democratic system, more or less. True?”

“Oh, we’re free enough,” she said, checking her weather radar. “It’s just that the Company goes in for the necessary window dressing. We’re free personally. We just don’t have much say in governmental affairs.”

“Sort of self-contradictory,” Reubin said.

Tique glanced at him. His face was neutral. “No. Not when you understand that the Company is the government.”

“That’s how they used to explain it, the party theo­rists.”

There was no rancor in his voice. Tique guessed—mostly from hints her mother had dropped—he was another of the Original Earthers who “had seen every­thing, been everywhere.” One of the few remaining who’d been through the entire history of Earth’s expan­sion to the stars, one who predated the Long Life Institute. Which reminded her: “There is perfect historical precedent and justification for the Company ruling an entire planet. How about the Long Life Institute? For centuries it has been an entity to which no laws apply. The LLI exists Fed wide and no one dares touch it. No one outside the Institute has any influence over it what­soever, regardless of the circumstances.”

“Are you sure?” he asked enigmatically.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She would have liked to pursue the topic, but they ar­rived at the Government Center. They took a bubblevator up to the Prime Minister’s suite. When she introduced Reubin to Fels, there was a subtle change in the room. Tension. It wasn’t outright dislike. More in terms of chal­lenge. Fels Nodivving was a strong man, a man to whom everyone gave great respect and deference. There was none of that give in Reubin Flood. No acceptance of domination.

It seemed to shake Fels momentarily. Physically, Fels Nodivving was shorter than Reubin—but wider at the shoulders and hips. Fels had been an accomplished wres­tler a life or two ago. He had thick, curly black hair drooping to cover his ears. He was clean shaven and sartorially correct, wearing the corporate uniform of Worm­wood, Inc. coveralls, with a small logo on the right breast. The deep blue coveralls reflected in his eyes, making them dark, but Tique couldn’t determine a color.

Now they sat, Tique reviewing the day so far, Reubin and Fels scanning the autopsy results.

Tique leaned back in disgust as the Prime Minister and Reubin Flood studied the autopsy. She was on the couch which obliquely faced Fels’ desk and the wall screen. Reubin rested lightly on a hard chair. Fels was on the edge of his executive chair, running the info onto the screen from his desk console.

They saw the video replay of the autopsy. Tique re­fused to view it. She watched Reubin as the gruesome thing expended itself on the wall. His face was rock hard, as if under rigid control. Now Reubin and Fels Nodivving scanned the analytical results of the autopsy. Data scrolled in columns and neat little paragraphs and sub­paragraphs. Reubin’s face was intense with concentra­tion.

Had Tique not been closely watching the two men, she’d never have known that moment was when it all be­gan.

“Oops,” Reubin said. “Too fast, I missed that one.”

Fels touched a keypad and the frame leaped back onto the wall. His face froze and his eyes locked onto Reubin for a fraction of a second. The enmity between them grew exponentially then; and it certainly wasn’t because Reubin had failed to “sir” the PM.

Reubin’s shoulders tightened, then relaxed. His voice was normal. “Okay. Thanks. Go ahead.”

Tique glanced up. What could have been a holo-scan of her mother’s brain disappeared from view.

The rest of the audience with Fels went predictably. After reviewing the entire autopsy, Reubin asked, “Was there no chemical analysis of the blood? I saw other tis­sue analyses, but not blood.”

Fels turned in his desk chair and tapped on his console. “Ah, there. An appendix to the other findings. I didn’t think it worth showing.”

“Show me.” Reubin’s voice was commanding.

“Certainly.”

The antagonism between the two climbed another level.

Data filled the wall and Reubin studied it. Then he waved a hand. “Through.”

Fels killed the images. “Are you satisfied, Mr. Flood?”

“Yes.” Reubin rose, though Fels had not indicated the interview was over.

Fels regarded him. “It is quite unusual for a bride­groom to study an autopsy so closely.” An edge ap­peared in Fels’ words. Was it residual jealousy? Or something else?

Reubin stared down at him. “It is quite unusual for the CEO of a company and planet to run the results of that autopsy for that bridegroom.”

Fels stood. “Perhaps I simply wanted to measure the man who won Alexandra Sovereign.”

“Perhaps,” said Reubin.

Tique got to her feet. Neither of the men was aware of her.

“Will you be staying long on Snister?” Fels asked Reubin.

Reubin shrugged. “It could be that I’d like to see the planet. Play the tourist.”

“It could be, also,” Fels enunciated slowly, “that memories on Snister would be overwhelming to you and you’d want to depart soonest.”

“That could be.”

“In fact, I suggest it,” Fels said.

“Noted.”

Tique could feel the strong undercurrents rushing about the two. Though not at all used to any sort of overt or subtle challenges, she couldn’t help but shiver internally. Hostility fairly leaped between them.

On the way out of the Government Center, Reubin Flood was strangely quiet. In the car, he was the same, fiddling with his wristcomp. It gave Tique the willies.

Then he swung the Heads Up Display from the driver’s view to the passenger side. He toyed with it for a mo­ment.

“This promontory,” he said. “It offers a good view of the countryside?”

Tique nodded. She had questions to ask him. “Some call it ‘Lovers’ Leap.’ But the actual name is something like ‘Scenic Overlook #18.’ Reubin, I—”

“I’ve punched in the coordinates on the HUD if you need them.”

“I know the way. But—” She realized he was looking at her with a strange intensity. Slowly he shook his head. He didn’t want her to talk, to question him. That much was obvious. But why?

“Tell me what you do for a living, Tequilla.” Reubin looked at her and settled back. Danger boiled in his eyes.

Tique couldn’t begin to categorize his reaction to Mother’s death. It was as if he weren’t...human.

Wind pushed clouds off the sky above them as she drove into the mountains above Cuyas. “I’m an aquadynamacist.”

“I know that much. What does one of those things do?”

She felt self-conscious again. “It’s what it sounds like. A variation of an engineer and program designer. I run computer models of water dynamics. Irrigation. Dams. Since we have to have dams for irrigation sometimes, we use them for power, too. Underwater drive-vanes require just as much engineering as configurations for aerody­namics, for instance. Especially if you want to maximize profits and minimize expenditures, which is the middle name of the Wormwood conglomerate.” She thought of the “wetlands” where wormwood grew. “During the monsoon season, which is much of the year, we’ve got to control floods. I’m kept pretty busy.”

She hesitated, then continued. “They’ve planted all the wetlands with wormwood, not simply allowing nature to grow it at her own pace and where the ecosystem dic­tates. There’s a great plain where man-planted worm­wood trees are already being harvested.” She waved angrily with her left hand. “Wormwood, Inc. has planted wormwood damn near everywhere now.” She cautioned herself to keep her opinions out of the conversation—for now. “Anyway, because of all that, I have as much work as I can handle. Though, right now, I’m on leave because of Mother.”

As she drove, she told him of the various projects she’d worked on. As wormwood became more important throughout this sector of the Federation, new wormwood forests were needed. The production spread out from Cuyas and other cities. The major wormwood production now came from Company-grown groves on that distant riverine plain as opposed to harvesting the original, nature-grown wormwood trees. In the other areas, the trees had not yet matured. But they were increasing their harvesting capability: manpower being hired, machines being built, processing centers under construction; all targeted for the projected harvest in a few years.

“The expansion from harvesting natural wormwood trees to man-grown ones was, in fact, the reason Mother was off world surveying markets and soliciting business.” She went on to explain how the particular combination of climate, humidity, flooding, root nutrition, and light filtered through Snister’s atmosphere created the odd con­ditions in which the worm could live in that particular tree, acting as a symbiote to the tree itself.

Tique was proud of her profession. It was unique, as far as she knew. “To become an aquadynamacist, you have to become an expert in all phases of computers. I can make the company’s mainframe tap dance if I have to.”

Into the mountains, she followed the single route up; at the 3K level, just below the crest, was the promontory. She ran the car into the turnaround. No other groundcars were stopped. Occasional traffic went up or down the mountain behind them.

Tique had always loved this spot. Her mother had brought her here often—on the way to their mountain cabin—when she was a child. Lately, she hadn’t come as frequently as she’d have liked. Briefly, she wondered whether Reubin was psychic and had asked to be brought here because it was Alexandra’s favorite place, too.

The wind blew strongly, hinting of rain even at this height. Tique led the way into the protective bubble to­ward the viewers.

Reubin fiddled with his wristcomp again.

Tique looked out over the mountains and valleys and forests of wormwood trees. She pointed, “See that peak at about nine o’clock, just below the horizon?”

Reubin activated a viewer and swung it around.

“Flaag Peak,” Tique said. “Perhaps 4K to the west and down on that shoulder is the cabin Mother gave me. It was her departing gift. She, well, she was gonna go off with you to start a new life and uh, well—” The memory assaulted Tique. Mother. Dead.

“Got it,” Reubin said, diplomatically still glued to the viewer. “Can you get there from here?”

She nodded though he wasn’t watching her. “Aircar, or a long ground route. It’s alone out there, a blip on the side of a mountain, surrounded by forest and rock and mountain and a lake.”

Reubin had stopped looking through the viewer. “It’s in your name?”

“Yes.” Was Reubin after Mother’s money? Every time she thought she had him figured out, he surprised her.

“Good. Listen, Tequilla Sovereign. We have a prob­lem. I am going to tell you about it for one simple reason: they will never believe I didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“First, your car is bugged. Are you aware of that?”

“No. Why—”

“It was clean when we drove to Government Center, so they must have installed the bug while we were with Nodivving. It may be tied in with the autosystems, but it’s there.”

“You know this for a fact?” Tique sat down heavily on a bench. Wind blew leaves on the ground, which rus­tled in the comparative shelter of the bubble.

Reubin touched his wristcomp. “Special design. One of the functions is a signal locator. Your car registers one—surely in case your built-in transponder is inop or perhaps gimmicked so it doesn’t broadcast. Doubtless by now, your apartment has been doused with listening de­vices.” He put a foot on the bench and leaned on his knee, watching her closely.

“But why?”

“Your mother. More specifically, my questions this morning to Nodivving. The questions alerted them. Which, in turn, means it’s likely they killed her.”

“Mother? Murdered?” Tique was bewildered by this turn of events. “I don’t understand.” Could Reubin pos­sibly be serious?

“Me, neither, but I’m going to. Think about the cir­cumstances of Fels Nodivving himself showing us the results of the autopsy.”

“Mother was a government minister—”

“Certainly. But Wormwood, Inc. has some kind of stake in your mother’s death, as near as I can figure.”

“But why, Reubin? I mean—”

“I don’t know. Yet.”

“How can you say this?” Tique felt strangely empty. This interloper was mixing up her feelings. Emotions she thought dead rose again. Her forehead burned.

“Recall the autopsy. Did you see the chemical analysis of her blood?”

“I wasn’t paying that close attention. Frankly, it was rather odious to me, all that—”

“You didn’t see it.” Reubin sat down and stretched his legs. He interlaced his fingers, twisted his hands inward, and snapped his knuckles. “It wasn’t there. Until I asked, remember?” He laughed dryly, with no humor. “All they had to do was to dummy one up, but they didn’t take the time and effort. Or, perhaps—”

Tique waited, watching him think. Not wanting to think herself. “Perhaps what?”

“Perhaps they purposefully failed to include it so that I’d notice. If I noticed and left the planet quickly, that meant that I was privy to Alexandra’s secret—and making a panicked run for it. But I studied it.”

“What secret?” Tique was more at a loss as each mo­ment passed.

“The secret they killed her for. The secret they wouldn’t have gotten from her, else they wouldn’t leave the sucker-bait of the incomplete autopsy.” Reubin breathed deeply. “I’ve always loved high mountain air. There’s something primordial about it.”

“I say again, Reubin, what secret?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

Tique shook her head. “Not only that, but I’m not sure I know what the hell we’re talking about right goddamn now.” More anger seeped into her voice. Was this man toying with her?

“Nor am I.” Reubin’s voice was strong, decisive. “Did you notice the color cross sections of her brain?” He didn’t wait for her response, but continued. “It was difficult to tell because the autopsy got into her brain and the pathologist could have conceivably caused the dam­age—”

“Reubin? You are frightening me. Will you please start to make sense?”

He looked at her, scooted closer and snaked his arm through hers. She stifled her recoil. “There is a little tuck in the cerebrum, right under the front of the corpus callosum—which is the big band of commissural fibers that connect the hemispheres. Anyway, in that specific brain matter is close access to the pituitary gland and the hypothalamus.” He tightened his arm against her. “Bear with me. This physiology isn’t important, but it’s nec­essary to understand. They made a mistake. They showed us color frames of the autopsy. There was some discol­oration and tissue damage.”

“And?” Tique decided she didn’t want to withdraw her arm from his right now. More confused emotions.

“You don’t know?”

“Damn it, Reubin. Stop asking me if I know. I don’t.”

His smile was grim. “Right. It is not commonly known. But some people have an implant, a biochip at­tached to points in the brain, the pituitary, and the hypothalamus.”

Tique removed her arm from his. “Sure. You should be a professor. You know physiology. Why haven’t I ever heard of this implant?”

“Only the Long Life Institute knows about it. And those involved.”

“And you, Reubin, and you. Or so you say.”

He rose and paced the short space behind the viewers inside the bubble. “I know because I have one of the implants myself. Only those people who worked on the original development of the Long Life Institute, or one of its ancillary projects, have them.” He stopped and stared at her.

She didn’t let the fierceness of his gaze inhibit her. She returned his stare. “Go on.”

“The biochip,” he said, “contains a couple of simple programs which you can trigger. One is to defeat drug or hypnotic interrogation. You trigger it and your cover story, hypnotically placed there by the most skilled ex­perts in the Federation, is at your demand. You respond with your cover story, no matter what drugs they use, You actually believe the story, too. You don’t fess up about your role with the LLI. So drugs and hypnosis cannot be used against you.”

Though she didn’t want to, Tique asked the logical question, dread flowing through her mind. “And physi­cal torture?”

“The second function of the implant. Suicide. It tells your heart to stop functioning. I’m not certain whether it is a hormonal-directed action, or simple electrical im­pulse to the appropriate location in the brain. Maybe both. But the autopsy should have showed something out of norm in the chemical analysis. If the biochip launches hormones to the brain function to stop your heart, it would show up. The people at the Long Life Institute are the most expert in hormones in the Fed,”

Tique ignored his words. Suddenly the world changed. “You just told me that someone tortured Mother and she committed suicide?”

Reubin sat again. “That’s the way I figure it. And the autopsy revealed the biochip and your pathologist, Dr. Crowell, removed the biochip thinking it might hold a secret or two. Once brain activity stops, electrical energy ceases and the chip is useless. But she was dead when they dug out the implant. It fits my definition of mur­der.” His head dropped and his jaw muscles rolled, giv­ing Tique the impression that he was undergoing some sort of internal struggle.

“Why? Why, Reubin?”

He lifted his head. Something flickered in his eyes and was gone just as quickly. Eerie. “She knew something they wanted to know.”

“Connected with the LLI, right?”

“It must be.” He paused. “Those who knew any of the LLI formulae or had any access to the original proj­ects were implanted with the chip. It works off the brain’s own electrical activity.”

“I’m beginning to see,” she said. Her voice sounded weird even to her, “The greatest secret in the known human experience, in history. The Long Life treatment,”

Reubin shrugged. “It could be. If someone solved that, he could bust the Long Life Institute monopoly and name his own price. People wouldn’t have to follow the strict rules of the LLI and its founder.”

Tique was still baffled. “I don’t think I understand fully, yet. You, Reubin Flood, you know the Long Life secret?”

He shook his head. “No. And your mother probably didn’t, either. I was involved only peripherally. I had a part in the R and D of the computer systems for the LLI.”

“God. You’re old.”

A strange look passed through his eyes. “And you’re young. Neither one of us should die for a few more cen­turies. But Alex did. On the other hand, she might have suicided to keep them from using you or me against her—hostages to her knowledge. Whichever, they killed her and stole her from me....” His voice trailed off.

Tique waited a few moments for his emotions to calm. Another glimpse of him with his mask down. He had really cared for Mother. Tique softened her voice. “Why now? She’d been on Snister since Wormwood, Inc. pio­neered it. She was going off with you—”

“Yep, you got it. She was leaving. It was their last chance.”

“I’m dumbfounded. I don’t know whether to believe you or not. It doesn’t make sense, not in this universe, not these days.”

“The oldest motives in the book, Tique. Power and wealth. Unlimited power over all human beings. More wealth than trillions of people can even dream about.”

“You keep saying ‘they,’ Reubin. Who are they?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Offhand, I’d say the hierarchy of the Wormwood Company is both the most likely suspect and the only current suspect.”

“Fels Nodivving?”

“It’s as good a place as any to start.”

“I’m cold,” she said and shivered.

“Nodivving virtually ordered me off planet,” Reubin said.

“I remember.”

“I’ve told you what I’ve figured, because it is possible that since Alex is dead, I’m their only link. They might think that Alex told me her secret, whatever that is.”

“Uh-oh.” She began to see where he was leading.

“And you might be next, but they have you here on planet with no plans to depart. I’d recommend you main­tain your normal schedule for a while, then grab an op­portunity to visit Webster’s or somewhere and don’t come back.”

Thoughts of her own personal safety had not entered her mind. Considering the stunning blows she’d received in the last few minutes, her own safety didn’t seem im­portant.

Tique rose and went to the bubble wall. She looked out over the mountains and forests. She wondered what type of man this Reubin Flood was. She’d seen several different Reubin Floods—or at least manifestations of dif­ferent people. She’d yet to see the one which her mother had seen.

Mother had chosen him. That was one thing. Mother had told her about first seeing Reubin, amidst battle. He’d been the classic warrior then. Mother had married the man with little time in between the meeting and the deed. Unusual for anyone these days when life was long and marriage taken seriously. Resentment built in her again. But Mother generally knew what she was doing. Tique wondered if Fels Nodivving’s pursuit of Mother had driven Alex to marrying Reubin Flood, with the Long Life treatment next and all it implied. Anything was pos­sible.

Clouds were lower now, boiling right in front of her.

Reubin stepped up beside her and a swollen, gray be­hemoth of a cloud rolled over a snowcapped mountain-top. The peak seemed to gut the cloud, tearing it asunder. Tique shivered again.

“Me, too,” Reubin said empathetically. “I’m going to try to make a run for it. If I reach Webster’s, I’ll do some research and return here; then we’ll teach ’em how the cow eats the cabbage.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Just an Olde Earthe expression.”

She cocked an eye at him. “You really think that Fels and his people will try to stop you?”

He shrugged and wiped fog off the inside of the bub­ble. “It’s all speculation. Remember, if I was right about the autopsy, then....”

Tique grimaced. “Snister has no army or navy, there is no need. It’s all unified under the corporate auspices of Wormwood, Inc. But the Company police force, the ‘Constabulary’ it’s called, is quite efficient. The Constab­ulary also runs the port of entry.”

“We’ll know right away, then, won’t we?”

“When your ship gets underway,” Tique said, “will you send me a message telling me you made it? Some­thing innocuous.”

“If you wish,” Reubin said.

“Thanks.” Here she was worried about the safety of a man whom she resented. He had given her a different perspective about events, though. Perhaps she was being caught up in the intrigue.

“Be advised, when I return I might be disguised. I haven’t decided which yet. As somebody else, it would be easier to investigate. On the ninth hand, I might have to be myself and use me as bait—”

Lightning flashed far off. “A lightning rod?” she asked.

He nodded. “It might be the only way to smoke them out.”

She traced a pattern in the condensation on the inside of the bubble. “Reubin? When Mother came back from Karg and announced she’d married you and was leaving to go off pioneering, I didn’t see much of her at all. Then she was dead.” Tique felt awkward having to do all the explaining before she asked the question.

“What is it, Tique?” One of the few times he’d used her name.

“Would you tell me about Mother? And you?” They’d always been close and Mother’s affair with Reubin had made Tique feel left out—for a change.

“We met on Karg and married on the starship in which we escaped.”

“More. What was the war about? What was your job? Who are you?”

“No.” His voice changed abruptly. He’d been coop­erative, but now—? The word “No” had been pure ice. She’d been close to reaching him, and at the last minute he’d withdrawn again back into himself. Back into his mask. Damn him!

So far he’d shown little grief. What kind of man was he?

She saw him watching her with an animal cunning that made her terribly uncomfortable. Without looking at him again, she walked through the rain to her groundcar.

It was well past midnight when Building Security woke her.

“Ma’am, it’s your guest, ma’am,” said the voice over the speaker on her bedside console.

Tique shook sleep out of her eyes. “What? What about him?”

“He’s on the roof, ma’am.”

She sat up. “What’s wrong with that?”

“He’s retracted the bubble.”

“Oh.” Oh! She linked into the building’s weather ra­dar and her screen was cluttered. “I’ll go up and take care of it.”

“Just thought you ought to know, ma’am, since it’s not really illegal—”

“Thanks.” Tique disconnected and dressed quickly in a waterproof jumpsuit. She punched in outside visuals. A storm played over Cuyas, lightning streaked and wind lashed rain sideways.

She chose the internal stairway and soon came out on the roof.

Rain drenched her immediately.

She wondered when the bubble had last been retracted.

It was something Mother would do. A sheet of lightning lit her immediate world.

Where—? There.

Reubin sat on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over and out of sight. He lifted a bottle to his lips and drank for a moment. Lightning hit the diffuser pole high above them and cracked. Tique jumped involuntarily and smelled burned ozone. Reubin didn’t move.

She walked toward him, strongly aware of the missing security of the bubble. She stopped behind him, appre­hensive of the distance between them and the ground far below. Though the building was pyramidal, it was still a dangerous fall during a storm. Right now the fall ap­peared damn near vertical.

Reubin Flood turned and looked at her. How had he known she was there? Some animal instinct, probably. The glare of lightning illuminated his eyes.

And they were not human.

Even as she watched, fascinated by the alien phenom­enon, his eyes milked over; after a short time, human intelligence looked out at her.

A strong gust of wind and rain threatened her, taking her balance away.

Reubin steadied her with his left hand. It wasn’t just the possibility of falling which frightened her.

She motioned him back with her.

He took a drink from the bottle of 150 sour mash he held, and then rose slowly. Tique backed against a strong wind to a double seat near the center of the roof. Reubin followed her.

She sank onto the seat, found the controls, and raised the bubble until Reubin stopped her halfway. At least it was on the upwind side, blocking the shrieking wind.

Reubin stood in front of her, soaked, the water streaked on his face mimicking tear streaks. He was breathing heavily, as if interrupted during some physical feat.

Overcoming her initial revulsion, she signaled him to sit next to her.

For a moment, he resisted. Then he shrugged and sank beside her. He held out the bottle.

She wasn’t going to, but she changed her mind. She took the bottle and tipped it to her lips. The strong sour mash burned her throat. She held in a cough and gave it back to him.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked.

His face contorted and he didn’t answer. In that mo­ment she saw he was vulnerable. No mask. Another Reubin Flood.

She sat with him for a while, not pushing it.

Finally, he said, “Challenging the elements.”

“The weather or the universe?” she asked.

He looked surprised. “Both, I suppose.”

A sheet of rain whipped around the partially closed bubble and blew over them.

Suddenly she realized it. “You were up here griev­ing.” Her voice rose to overcome the roar of the wind and she worried that it sounded accusatory.

He took another drink and didn’t answer her.

That was what he’d been doing. Maybe he wasn’t so...frightening after all. Or would the term be discon­certing? She found herself constantly revising her opin­ion of him.

Lightning flashed over their heads and immediate peals of thunder throbbed through her body, threatening to turn her insides to liquid.

“I had to do something,” he said, not raising his voice so that she had to strain to hear him.

A strange cathartic, she thought. A strange man. “I understand.”

“Do you?” he asked. “I have sorrow, I have grief. Those have been my only companions in times past.” His face fell. She knew he was grieving for Mother whether or not he admitted it. She had to read his lips to under­stand what he next said. “It isn’t the first time for...for me.” He finished lamely and Tique knew that he’d been close to confiding in her.

He drank again and so did she.

She felt that finally they’d reached an accommoda­tion—an uneasy one, but an accommodation nonetheless.

All the more difficult because of his strangeness. What tragedy had struck him?

“Something in your past?” she asked, mesmerized. “This happened to you before?” What was he talking about?

Again he drank deeply and stared off into the storm.

The silence stretched between them, punctured only by the chaos of nature awry.

“Would you tell me about it now?” she asked gently, changing the focus of her questioning. “You and Mother? About you?”

He shrugged and looked off into the storm.

“Who are you and where do you come from?” A last try. She’d speculated before that he was one of those closemouthed Original Earthers.

He drank and remained silent.

“I’d like to know about Mother,” Tique said awk­wardly. “I know the story as she told it, but there are gaps.” She felt she was exposing some of her inner self to this strange man. And immediately realized that was probably what he was afraid of. She threaded her right arm through his left.

He sat there, staring into the night.

Tique waited. After a while, she said, “You know, I resented you from the start. You were taking Mother away from me. Then you came in here like some sort of self-appointed bigwig, demanding, taking, not giving. I hated you because you intruded upon my loss. Then I thought about what you said. You said that Mother was going away with you, so Fels Nodivving or somebody killed her. You admitted it was your fault she’s dead now. What am I to think? Tell me, Reubin Flood. What the hell am I to think?” At the end her words poured out. “And you didn’t even show grief or sorrow, no pain or distress, or even remorse at allegedly having caused all this.” Until now, she amended to herself.

“I mourn differently than mosst humans,” he said without looking at her. “For I have had more practice. More opportunity. But I do sso in my own fashion.” His voice had taken on that strange sibilant manner. He seemed to realize this and shook his head as if to clear it. He upended the bottle once again.

Tique felt an unusual chill travel through her body when he’d spoken thusly. The chill, she felt certain, was an atavistic fear of something deadly, something unknown. She took the bottle from him and swallowed several gulps of sour mash. Then she looked at him and he seemed human again.

Vulnerable again.

She returned the bottle to him. She’d pried too deeply into him, his makeup, his past.

“I find I can talk about Alexandra,” he said. The dis­sonance was gone from his voice.

Lightning flashed and the skies clashed, providing an eerie background to his story.