wondered where Christine was. Out for a ride perhaps? Or gone shopping? There was no way to know, and he was afraid to ask lest the question seem rude. The wrapping paper rattled as Margaret Vanderveen took it off to reveal a highly polished wooden box. Intricate relief carvings covered the top and all four sides. Later, when the matron had time to examine them more closely, she would discover that they were battle scenes in which her daughter had played a role.
But given the weight of the object, Margaret Vanderveen knew that the box had been designed to contain something more important. Something which, judging from Santana’s expression, he hoped she would like. Having found all of the little brass hooks that held the lid in place, Mrs. Vanderveen pushed each of them out of the way and removed the top. A sculpture nestled within.
“There are some truly remarkable artisans on LaNor,”
Santana explained. “The locals refer to the carvers as ‘wood poets,’ and for good reason.”
As Margaret Vanderveen removed the wood sculpture from its case she found herself looking at a likeness of her daughter’s face that was so lifelike that it took her breath away. And then, before she could clamp down on what her mother would have regarded as an inappropriate display of emotion, tears began to fl?ow down her cheeks. “It’s very beautiful,” the matron said feelingly. “And, outside of Christina herself, perhaps the nicest gift that I have ever received. Thank you.”
The reaction was much stronger than anything Santana might have hoped for, but he wasn’t sure how to handle it, and he felt a tremendous sense of relief when the robot arrived with their drinks. That gave Mrs. Vanderveen an opportunity to excuse herself for a moment. Her eyes were dry when she returned. “Sorry about that,” she said. “But the likeness is so good that it took me off guard. Antonio—”
“Please,” Santana interrupted. “My friends call me Tony.”
Margaret Vanderveen smiled and nodded. “Tony, the truth is that I have some bad news to share with you, and I’ve been stalling. A few weeks after Christine came home on vacation, she was asked to join President Nankool’s personal staff and felt that she had no choice but to do so.”
The older woman’s eyes seemed to beseech Santana at that point as if begging for understanding. “She knew you were on the way here,” Mrs. Vanderveen said. “And she knew there was no way to reach you in time. Believe me, Christine was absolutely beside herself with concern about how you would feel, and many tears were shed right here in this room. But there’s a letter,” the matron added. “This letter, which she left for you.”
The letter had been there all along, sitting between them, concealed in a beautiful marble box. The lid made a soft thump as she put it down. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to change for dinner,” the hostess said tactfully. “Ring the bell when you’re ready, and one of the servants will show you to your room.”
The soldier said, “Thank you,” and stood as his hostess got up to leave. Once she was gone, he sat on the couch. The drink was still there, so he took a pull and returned the glass to its coaster. Then, with hands that shook slightly, Santana opened the envelope. As a faint whiff of perfume found his nostrils, the legionnaire was reminded of what it felt like to bury his face in Vanderveen’s hair.
“My dearest Tony,” the letter began. “By now you know that I was called away by the one thing that can take precedence over you—and that is my duty to the Confederacy. And if we were not at war, even that would be put aside so that I could be with you!
“But these are troubled times, my dearest. Times when bombs fall on innocent cities, when missiles destroy unarmed ships, and when all that we both hold dear is at risk. So I beg your forgiveness, trust that you of all people will understand, and look forward to the moment when your arms will embrace me once again.
“With love and affection, Christine.”
The name was a little blurry, as if a tear might have fallen on it before the ink could dry, and Santana felt something rise to block the back of his throat. He wanted to run, to get as far away from the house that she had grown up in as he could, but it was too late for that. So the offi?cer fi?nished his drink, slipped the letter into the inside pocket of his new sports coat, and rang the little bell. The robot, whatever his name was, had clearly been waiting. PLANET ALGERON, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
By the time Booly received the summons and arrived at what had once been Nankool’s private conference room, there was standing room only. The members of Vice President Jakov’s inner circle, including Assistant Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs Kay Wilmot, were seated around the long oval table, leaving everyone else to stand along the walls. Doma-Sa had been given a huge Hudathansized chair consistent with his status as a head of state. But others, Madame X and Chien-Chu included, weren’t so lucky. Booly, who found himself crammed in next to his wife’s uncle, whispered into the cyborg’s plastifl?esh ear.
“What the hell is going on, Sergi? This wasn’t on the schedule.”
“No,” the entrepreneur, politician, and reserve admiral agreed. “It wasn’t. And that was no accident! I used to pull the same stunt myself. . . . There’s nothing like a surprise meeting to catch the opposition off guard.”
Booly looked at the room and back again. “The opposition being?”
“Anyone who was close to Nankool,” Chien-Chu answered matter-of-factly. “And that includes you.”
Booly had never seen his relationship with the president that way, since he was a soldier, and sworn to serve whatever person held the offi?ce. Including Jakov, were he to succeed Nankool. But it looked like the vice president had other ideas and intended to marginalize the Military Chief of Staff. Preliminary to replacing him? Yes, Booly decided, and wondered which one of his subordinates would be put in charge of the Confederacy’s military forces. There was a stir as Jakov entered the room from what had been Nankool’s offi?ce. The politician nodded and waved in response to a variety of greetings before stepping up to the table and looking around. “Hello, everybody—
and thanks for coming on such short notice. But, as all of you know, we face something of a crises. President Nankool is dead or missing. And, absent information to the contrary, the fi?rst possibility seems to be the more likely of the two.”
Jakov paused at that point and his staff, led by Kay Wilmot, nodded in unison. “It’s been my hope that our intelligence people would be able to fi?gure out what happened to the president,” Jakov continued. “And I know they’ve done their best. But time has passed, and there are those who feel we should activate the succession plan before word of what happened in the Nebor system leaks out. Because if we fail to stay out in front of this thing, the news could result in panic.”
Booly had to give Jakov credit. Rather than call for the activation of the plan himself—the politician had arranged for some of his cronies to do it for him. And one of them, the senator from Worber’s World, was quick to come to his feet. “The vice president is correct,” the blandfaced politician said fervently. “All of us feel badly about President Nankool, but we’re at war, and it’s absolutely imperative that we have strong leadership!” Wilmot had
