“Oh, it’s nothing that big,” Lona said, irritated. “I just made a little addition to an existing program, that’s all.”
“Just a ‘little addition’ that added Father Marco’s name to a list of top security clearances,” Whitey corrected.
Dar stared. “How’d she get past the security blocks?”
“Trade secret,” Lona said quickly, “though I don’t really see what all the fuss is about. I mean, computers may be fast, but they’re really not very bright, the dear little things.”
The two “torturers” came trotting back, dressed in plush overalls, and Horatio shooed them toward the dome. “Aboard the yacht, now, quickly—time’s wasting! If we don’t move promptly, the Executive Secretary will be the Executive Dictator, and we won’t be allowed to lift off from Terra! Hurry, hurry—the Brave New World awaits!”
He meant it literally—the Brave New World was the name the dozen plutocrats had given their newly purchased government-surplus FTL spaceship. (In memory of Shakespeare, not Huxley). They saw it lying in the middle of Serenitatis Plain as they came in for a landing: a quarter of a mile long and eight hundred feet wide, glistening like a promise of the future. They landed near it and dropped down into an underground concourse with beige, textured walls and a burgundy carpet. Horatio hurried them along till the hallway widened into a circular bay with a double door in the far wall. A line of people in sturdy coveralls, with packs on their backs, was filing through it, to drift quickly upwards in a negative-gravity field.
“Up there is the ship,” Horatio explained. “They should be almost done loading now. Are you sure you won’t join us?”
“I’ll go.” Sam beamed up at him. “Anywhere you do.”
He smiled down at her tenderly. “That’s very touching, my dear, especially since I’m not taking my money with me. But really, I don’t think you’d be very happy, stuck in a primitive society with an old goat.”
“Sounds delightful,” Sam pronounced. “Besides, I’ll be a lord’s lady.”
“In a very drafty castle,” he reminded her, “without central heating or air conditioning. Nor plumbing. It’ll be very cold, sitting down in the garderobe on a winter’s morning—and the wash basin’ll be frozen.”
“I’ll get used to it.”
“No, you won’t. In effect, ‘you’ will cease to exist just before we make planetfall; we all will. We’ll sit down under a cerebral scan and have all memories of this technological nightmare of a culture erased from our brains. Then we’ll have false memories implanted; each one of us has been developing a Society persona for years. On the trip outward, each one will record the imaginary memories of his persona; and after the brain-wipe, those ‘memories’ will be recorded back into our brains. You won’t remember Sam; you’ll only remember Lady Loguire.”
“Lady Loguire! Oh!” Sam breathed, nestling up against him. “It sounds wonderful. To oblivion with Sam; I never liked her much, anyway.”
“I do,” Horatio sighed, “but I trust I’ll love the Lady Loguire just as dearly. Well, then, sweeting, you’re one of us, now—the Romantic Emigrés; we’ve changed our name, effective upon our leaving the Solar system. Would anyone else like to join us?”
Lona was whispering into Father Marco’s ear. He frowned, shaking his head, and whispered something back. She hissed another sentence at him, and his face broke into a wreath of smiles. He stepped forward, clasping Horatio’s hand. “A delightful prospect! I’ll come too, thank you!”
Horatio’s face lit up, but his tone was guarded. “Are you sure, Father? I know you’re a Cathodean, and that means you’re either a scientist or an engineer. You’ll have to have most of your memories erased too, at least the ones that have anything to do with technology. We don’t want our new society to be contaminated by any link to this decadent, materialistic culture.”
“I’m a priest before I’m an engineer,” Father Marco assured him, “and the priest agrees with you: materialism is a contaminant.”
“Excuse me,” said Lona. “Gotta make a phone call.” She swayed away to the nearest screen-booth, at her most sultry. Dar’s eyes swiveled to follow her; he could almost feel them tugging at his sockets.
“Wonderful!” Horatio clasped Father Marco’s hand, grinning from ear to ear. “At least our colony will have a real priest! How would you like to be an archbishop, Father?”
“That’s not up to us, I’m afraid.” Father Marco smiled, amused. “But I wouldn’t mind being an abbot.”
“As soon as we can build you a monastery,” Horatio assured him. “Still, I think we might manage a bishop’s miter for you; I’ll beam the Pope as soon as we lift off.”
Father Marco frowned. “I’m afraid it’s not quite that easy to be allowed to talk with His Holiness.”
“It is for me; we went to school together. Are you sure no one else would like to come?”
Dar shook his head. “Thanks anyway, Mr. Bocello.”
“Me, too,” Whitey agreed. “I’m having too much fun in the present. But thanks for the offer, Cello.”
Lona came swaying back. “Aren’t you forgetting Mr. Stroganoff?”
“My lord!” Dar cried, appalled. “He was our producer—they’ll think he masterminded the whole scheme! What’ll they do—torture him, or kill him?”
“Neither one,” Horatio assured him, “at least, not if my chauffeur is his usual, resourceful self.”
“He was.”
They all swung about, to see Stroganoff puffing toward them down the concourse. “Thanks for having me kidnapped, Mr. Bocello,” he panted as he came huffing up. “Probably saved my life.”
“My pleasure,” Horatio assured him. “I’m sorry to have been so unceremonious, but prompt action was required. Have you been briefed about our venture, Mr. Stroganoff?”
“I certainly have, and I wish you all the luck in whatever world you find. I’d love to go along if I could bring a 3DT camera and come back—but I understand you don’t want any technology developed later than 1300.”
“Except for full plate armor, yes. But are you certain, Mr. Stroganoff? You don’t have much of a future left, here.”
“Not on Terra or Luna, no,” Stroganoff agreed. “But I would like to stop by Wolmar for a few years; there’s a man there I’d like to chat with.”
Dar grinned.
Horatio shrugged. “Certainly. We don’t much care where we exit from Terran space; one vector’s as good as another.”
“You’re sure I won’t be taking you out of your way?”
“Not at all, since we don’t know where we’re going. And we’re doing our best to make certain nobody else does, either. We’ll change directions after we pass Wolmar; but we won’t decide which new heading to take until after we’re out of communications range. This is going to be one ‘lost colony’ that will stay lost.”
A man in uniform coveralls came running up to Horatio. “Captain’s compliments, sir, and some news—right off the 3DT. The Assembly just voted the Executive Secretary full emergency powers, and the title ‘Executive Director.’ ”
“An ominous ring to it,” Horatio mused. “I think we’d better be lifting off while we still can. Farewell, good people!”
There was a quick round of hugs, handclasps, and kisses. Sam glared up at Dar with tears in her eyes. “Goodbye, gnappie, and good luck! Don’t let ‘em get to you!”
“I’ll be kicking and screaming every centimeter of the way,” Dar promised. “What is a ‘gnappie,’ anyway?”
“Someone who just sits back and lives off his GNP share, without trying to accomplish anything. You won’t be that, will you?”
“Not if I can help it,” Dar assured her.
Then Horatio was whirling her away, whirling all three of them away, with an arm around Sam while he burbled to Father Marco, “I’m so glad you decided to come, Father! After all, what would the Middle Ages be, without monks and monasteries?”