The Lotus Eaters

'Pity,' Fernandez said, in a voice that seemed to contain real regret. 'Well, there goes one reason to keep you both alive.'

Arbeit crumpled to her knees then, bending until her face rested on the floor and weeping as softly as she was able. Fernandez felt a certain pity for the woman. Had he known her life story; he'd have felt nothing but disgust. He tortured. He didn't generally enjoy it.

'Are there other reasons?' Robinson asked, hopefully. 'Could there be?'

Fernandez shrugged. 'Possibly. Much depends on whether or not the two of you, or either of you alone, has seen the error of your old ways and decided to join our cause for the betterment of humanity.

'You see,' Fernandez continued, 'we're getting rid of this ship and what it represents. It should have been done a while ago, but . . . well, never mind.

'The current storm is expected to last another three days. The ship sails in the morning out into the Shimmering Sea where a terrible accident will take place. The crew and your guards, of course, will be evacuated in time . . . since they're mine.'

Arbeit heard. She had the sudden image of herself chained in her cell below decks as the waters arose and the rats scurried across her body and face and then the bubbles began leaking from her nose and . . .

She screamed, once, a very long and drawn out, 'Nnnooo . . .' before she began to vomit with fear onto the floor.

Robinson was more composed, if only slightly. 'Please, Legate,' he begged, getting to his knees and clasping hands together, 'tell me whatever I can do to help. Anything. Anything!'

Arbeit didn't have words. Even so, the pleading look she gave Fernandez, as she raised her vomit-dripping chin from the floor, echoed Robinson's words, 'Anything.'

Casa Linda, Republic of Balboa, Terra Nova

I wish there were something I could do, Lourdes mentally sighed. Anything, really, to bring my husband back. It's so lonely, despite Artemisia, Alena, and the kids. I need my man again.

An unpleasant thought intruded. What if I am the one holding him back? I mean, I thought I was doing the right thing when I chased off Xavier Jimenez with one of Patricio's guns . . . but what if he needs the work and the purpose more than the rest? I just don't know . . . I just don't know.

* * *

Carrera heard nothing, what with the lashing rain, the driving winds, the thunder and the pounding of the surf below. Still, he became aware slowly of a presence or, rather, several of them on the balcony with him. One, he felt, in the chair next to but slightly behind his own, was very small.

'Hello, Ham,' he said, over the natural roars surrounding them.

'Dad,' the boy answered.

'What are you doing up?'

'Thunder woke me . . . my guards said you were out here . . . didn't think you should be alone.'

'You know,' Carrera said, 'for an eight year old, you're a pretty bright kid.'

'Chip off the old block,' the boy answered, as if by rote. 'But, really, Dad, you shouldn't be alone up here.'

'Maybe not,' the father half conceded.

'I like the storms, too,' Hamilcar said. 'Or, at least, I'm drawn to them.'

' 'Chip off the old block,' ' Carrera echoed, adding, more softly, 'and in more ways than that.'

The boy looked out over the trees to the sea. A flash of lightning showed fierce waves. 'Will our boat be in any danger?' he asked. The boat he referred to was the family yacht, at fifty-four feet nothing too extravagant compared to what could have been purchased. Rarely used, and then more often by Carrera's staff than by anyone else, the boat rested in a small harbor at the base of the steep slope that led from the casa to the sea.

'It'll be fine,' his father answered.

Carrera pointed out to sea and said, 'Wait for the lightning again and you'll see a yacht down there, a big one, struggling against the waves.'

Hamilcar looked to where his father was pointing. Lightning flashed again and he saw it, as not much more than a big speck. 'What kind of idiot takes a yacht out on a night like this?' he asked. 'Drug runners?'

'It's possible,' Carrera answered. 'But we can't know and I hope we're not sending a small patrol boat out to intercept in this shit.

'Even so, 'it's pleasant, when the sea is harsh and the waves are dashing about, to watch from the shore the struggles of another.' '

Around his father the boy could curse. 'That's actually bullshit, Dad. I know you, because I'm like you. You want to be out there, fighting with the sea.'

Chapter Two

For something which has, from time to time, been alleged to be a mere invention, war is remarkable for having been independently invented in all times, in virtually all cultures, and by all races. The trivial exceptions do nothing except to prove the rule. Nor is the phenomenon unique to mankind; lower animals, some of them, wage war, even though they invent nothing.