THE PAST IS MYSTERY THE PRESENT IS NOW ASSUME THE MANTLE YOU ARE THE LEGACY
"My God," she whispered, awed. "Of course!"
"Of course what?" Staffa grumbled absently as he reverently fingered the ancient book.
"Bruen knows he's going to die soon." She turned to him. "He sent us here to see. He's made us his successors! Given us the legacy!" Her face went blank, eyes losing focus. "Why us? Why not… someone more. "
"Responsibility. Oh, Bruen, you do make me suffer." He closed his eyes, seeing the old man's plans. "Another irony, Kaylla. From the destroyer, I have become the savior. Your
Bruen moves in deep circles. From sin, he would turn me to grace."
"Possibly." She continued to stare at the inscription. "The Magister is a more charitable person than I am." Kaylla used her fingers to brush the fine dust from one
of the wooden cabinets full of documents. "If we are to share this legacy, Staffa, how do I work with you? I can't forget what you did. I don't even like being around you right now. I know you as a monster. "
He placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. "We'll work that out. You decide what you're comfortable with. And there's something else you should begin to think about. I don't know what Bruen is planning for us, but don't you think it's odd that he's given you so much responsibility in the short time you've been back."
She shifted nervously.
"He has. and you know it. He's also spent a lot of time talking to me. He's dying, Kaylla. He knows he's only got a short time to live and too many of his possible successors have been killed in this crazy Targan revolt trap of his. The rest of his people aren't ready for the political maelstrom about to be unleashed."
:'What are you getting at?" Her expression had hardened. 'He's going to leave the leadership of the Seddi to you, Kaylla. "
She glanced away and shook her head. "That's crazy!" "Is it? Do you think Wilm could wield the power of the Seddi? Nyklos? Name anyone here who has the ability to keep the order alive and safe. Name anyone who could do it better than you. You've been forged by processes that would have broken just about anyone else. You have the political savvy from your days on Maika. You have the intelligence, the endurance, and the will to survive-no matter what it takes. And, yes, you know me as a monster. You don't trust me-and neither does Bruen, at least, not totally. You'll keep a careful watch on me and the Companions. "
"And your role?"
"I control the Companions, the wild card in Free Space politics. You and I can make the difference, Kaylla. You've lived in grace, I in sin. Now we must combine our
strength-Seddi intelligence and Companion force. That's what Bruen is betting on."
Kaylla sighed, forcing herself to relax as she stared around the room. "Damn you, Staffa. I don't want to be a leader. I want time to heal, to mend the wounds and come to grips with everything that's happened to me. I can't assume the mantle of leadership."
"Sometimes we're chosen for our strengths, Kaylla-not for our desires. "
She exhaled, eloquent in the silence, resigned.
Staffa pulled one of the file drawers open, It bothered him that the flimsies were cracked and falling apart. He closed the drawer before more damage could be done. "My people will be needed here."
She turned, face ashen. "Oh? Your people? Your bloodsoaked Companions? In here?"
Staffa bit off a retort. "Among other things, the Companions have siphoned off the finest minds in Free Space. My technicians can save all this. How many more years do you think these documents will last locked away in this environment? That globe, for God's sake, is made of plastic! Plastic! The book, is, of all things, paper! Organic, can you imagine? The flimsies in the drawers-possibly the very information we need to break the Forbidden Borders-are fragmenting.
Kaylla looked around. "And how do you propose doing all this? Do you think Tybalt will allow your Companions to come tromping into this nest of Seddi sedition to release all this information?"
Staffa's grin tightened his lips. "Oh, I'll find a way. I promise that." He paused. "And maybe Tybalt will. Despite some of his other faults, he's a rational human being. By the time I give him an earful about Ily, he might just listen to reason."
Kaylla crossed her arms, a pensive quality in her eyes. "And the Seddi? Do you think Tybalt will just forget everything that's happened? Allow us to hang out in Makarta and preach a new epistemology?"
Staffa paced around the dim room. Shadows danced on the walls and between the cabinets as Kaylla moved the light bar nervously. How much knowledge lay crumbling in this damp, fungus infested fortress? "I doubt Tybalt would
appreciate your staying here. But there's room for you in the Itreatic Asteroids. And what the hell could Tybalt or Sassa the Second do about you then? I think Free Space needs the Seddi. What's left in Rega? What's left in Sassa? Nothing! People spend their lives perpetually rebuilding from the wars. No, we're bottled here-stagnant and dying. What is life if humans are stagnant? We must have a new frontier. The Seddi might be able to breathe a little hope into humanity." He balled his fists, looking at the machine smoothed rock overhead. "We must have a dream!"
:'Brave words. 'Watch me."
The ground shook under their feet. Staffa braced himself, calling, "What the. "Earthquake!" Kaylla shouted, bolting for the door. Staffa swung it open, pushing her out into the darkness.
With all his strength he pulled it shut. The lock clicked gratifyingly. They stood there in the narrow rock-lined tunnel. The silence was overpowering.
"Just like the pipe in the desert, Staffa," Kaylla whispered with a quaver in her voice.
"Let's go.,
They didn't make five minutes' progress before the rock around them vibrated and pitched. The second shock pulsed violently, the stone groaning, dust and particles cascading from above.
Staffa bellowed, "Run!"
The sun rose over the eastern horizon to shed its bloody rays over the mountainous terrain of Targa. A breeze whispered softly through the pines that dotted the ridges. The stringers of clouds that raced westward across the indigo sky burned with the fluorescent red-orange of morning. A faint nip lingered from the cool night air.
Sinklar sat on the crest of a rocky ridge, on a basalt outcrop, his back to the vanilla-scented trunk of a pine. Around him lay a blanket of needles that had turned brown to match the soil. Dry grasses clung precariously to cracks in the scabby protrusions of rock that jutted irregularly from the soil. As the morning brightened, Sink picked a branch
from the ground beside him. One by one, he snapped off the brittle twigs from the limb and began peeling the desiccated bark with a thumbnail.
Sinklar heard the careful steps behind him, but he didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the intrusion.
"You all right?" Mac asked softly. "Mhitshul's half-panicked because your bunk's empty. He's sure the Seddi have assassinated you. "
Sinklar took a deep breath and tilted his head back against the rough bark. The breeze made a shushing sound through the thick needles above. "I'm fine, Mac. I just wanted to think. "
"Want me to leave?"
Sinklar frowned, rolling the stick between his fingers. "Oh, I don't know."
Mac stepped over and squatted on an outcrop across from Sinklar. "You don't sound so good."
"What is there to feel good about?" When Mac remained silent, Sinklar continued, "I'm tired, Mac. And I don't know what's what anymore. I've lost my center, my balance. That old certainty I had when we… you, me, and Gretta…. " He looked away, trying to ease the hurt.
"You can't change what happened, Sink. You can't change what's real. People get killed in wars. Even people we love get killed. You know that. It's just the way the universe works. "
"Why?" he asked hollowly.