In a Season of Storms
by Harry Lang
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 |
conclusion
Philip gave the matter some thought. It was time to be careful. Not all history rested safely in graves and old books.
“What happened was that humans forgot the inevitable changes that come about when a man has a family,” answered Philip. “When a man has a wife, she takes all of his love and all of his devotion. When a man and a wife have a child, she takes all of their love. Hopes for her future and dedication to her happiness arise. Sometimes they eclipse a man’s devotion to duty.
“Sometimes a son or a daughter didn’t want to go into the work their fathers and mothers trained them for,” he continued. “Sometimes they had their own ideas, their own hopes and desires. But they were bound by laws they had never assented to and contracts they had never signed.
“You can imagine the conflicts such a situation might cause,” Philip said quietly. “Conflict between servant and master, between man and government, even between husband and wife or father and daughter. There was dissent and unrest but never violence. Not by the clones. But the humans knew how strong their creations were, and they were afraid.”
“So they broke up the families,” said Candace sadly.
“They did,” said Philip. “Yes, they did. They broke up the families and passed laws to cut down the life span of new clones. We call those the ‘young-uns.’”
“It must have been hard for the families,” said Candace. “It must have been really sad.”
“The goodbyes were not always loving ones,” said Philip. “Sometimes they were angry goodbyes. Sometimes there were misunderstandings that could never be straightened out, sins that could never be forgiven, broken hearts that could never be put back together.
“The frightened humans stopped at nothing to keep the families apart. Nothing. After all, what are clones but human creations, possessing only such value as humans deem appropriate and useful? It was no great thing to sacrifice some to bring others to heel. If the bond was too strong, if a man could not be tamed but threw everything away to find the wife or child they’d taken from him...”
It was time for Philip to stop. “I’ve kept you up long enough, young lady,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “You have school today. You’d better get to bed.”
“All right,” she said. “May I have my model, please?”
“Here you go,” said Philip as he closed the box and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, and hobbled toward her room.
Philip turned out the light and stood in the darkness, deciding whether to continue unpacking or leave it for morning.
“Philip?”
“Yes, Miss?”
“I’m glad I have you to help me take care of Mother,” she said. “I couldn’t do it by myself. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Miss Candace.”
Philip watched her until she passed through the airtight door into the sleeping quarters. She was lame because her mother had forced her to live on a world that was wrong for her. The hereditary condition that savaged her leg muscles never manifested under normal terrestrial gravity. The disease hadn’t even been discovered until the Kwons moved from Earth to Mars.
He left the luggage and went to his room.
Forgoing his normal routine, Philip changed into his pyjamas and pulled back the covers on his bed. The hour was late, too late even for such a creature of habit as S. A. Philip Zant. Sleep was all he wanted.
Uranus was full in his window, pale aqua with the thin, smoky line of the rings cutting it in half. The featureless globe was a comfortable sight and made him feel peaceful and at home, its soft, blue light easing him toward sleep.
His communicator buzzed just as he was drifting off. It was Hugo Kwon.
“Admit,” commanded Philip.
Kwon appeared, a ghostly holographic apparition. “Good evening, Philip,” he said. “Oh, my apologies. I can never keep track of all the bloody time differences.”
“Quite all right, sir,” Philip assured him. “What can I do for you?”
“I received an interesting report from Captain Halz at the end of his watch,” said Kwon. “Seems I’m in your debt.”
“Not at all, sir,” said Philip.
“Ever the faithful family retainer,” approved Kwon. “I understand my daughter takes a different view. She docked you a week’s pay for saving our lives. No worries. I’ll make it good.”
“If it’s all the same, sir, I’d prefer to abide by the decision of my current employer.”
“Admirable,” said Kwon, “but there must be some way to show my appreciation.”
“There is one thing, sir,” Philip answered after a moment’s consideration.
“Name it, man.”
“A proper memorial service for Mr. Jinks, sir,” said Philip. “That would clear all accounts with change to spare.”
“Consider it done. You’ll attend?”
“That could be difficult to explain, sir. It’s a long way from Earth.”
“Bah! Olivia and her damned charade! We’ll fabricate something to get you here. Leave it to us.”
“Yes, sir,” said Philip. “If I may...”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Philip. “About the urn.”
“Oh, yes. Well thank you, Philip. Your sympathy means a great deal to me. But you needn’t worry. It’s a duplicate. I assumed she’d make some such demand. We... we had our observance shortly after you left. Muriel is truly gone now.”
The silence that followed was hard for both men.
“I say, how is Candace?” asked Kwon. “God, she must be... thirteen? I haven’t seen her in ages! She was pretty keen on the ballet last time she was here. I imagine she must be quite the athlete by now.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Look, Philip I’ve never thanked you properly for your willingness to keep an eye on Olivia,” said Kwon. “When I asked you to go with her, I had no idea it would go on this long. I assumed — foolishly — that she and I would get past all the mistakes. I’ve not been a good father, it’s true, but I assumed that humanity’s innate flexibility and resilience would save me in the end. I was wrong. No tree is so flexible that it can’t be broken. I only hope that someday she’ll believe I love her. She’s all I have.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anyway, all of that to say thank you. You’ve gone well beyond the duty of a servant or even a friend. Miranda isn’t a pleasant place, and I daresay you’re not doing much flying out there. Maybe it’s time for you to return to the estate.”
“Sir?”
“A reprieve, if you want it,” said Kwon. “You’ve got a houseful of friends on staff who started counting the days when you left. Just say the word.”
Philip wanted to say the word. He wanted the sunlight, the scones and tea in the morning, the camaraderie and shared memories of Captain Halz and the warmth of Mrs. Shaje. He wanted to mentor the young ’uns. He wanted to fly; God, how he wanted to fly! He wanted his old room and the uniform of the great, venerable estate. It was all just a word away.
“No, sir,” he said. “Thank you, but my place is here.”
“I believe you’re right,” said Kwon. “You’re a fine man, Philip. Sleep well.”
A fine man.
Philip sat up in bed, staring out at the stars, wondering how Heaven looked to a murdered wife and mother, imagining what particular constellations shone in the viewport of a ship flown by a woman who had learned to fly in the thin red skies of Mars as she sat in the cockpit with a proud father at the controls.
If he looked long and hard enough, maybe his daughter would fly her ship by his window and dip a wing to tell him all was forgiven. If he believed hard and faithfully enough, maybe he could see right through the vanity and cruelties of mortal humanity and catch a glimpse of the divine kingdom where mercy and forgiveness reigned.
All he could really see was the frozen emptiness of space and the swirling gray blemish of the cyclone sprawled across the blue perfection of the groundless world shining behind the cliffs. In the morning, he would see Candace, and she would be all the sun he needed, but morning was an empty eternity away.
Tonight, he could see nothing but the storm.
Copyright © 2018 by Harry Lang
