CHAPTER 17
“Who are you, really?” Delos asked me.
We were alone in the cramped galley of the survey vessel, no more than an hour away from taking up orbit around Lunga. The commander of the cruiser squadron escorting us had suggested putting a Skorpis crew on board our vessel. I had refused, assuring her that we were returning peacefully to Lunga and did not need her help.
“I am Orion,” I answered as I poured myself a cup of a stimulant processed out of alkali crystals from the gleaming vat built into the bulkhead.
Delos shook his head and smiled at me. “Look, I could say that I am Delos. But that tells you nothing except what to call me.”
His eyes were inquisitive, not demanding. The smile on his bearded face was gentle.
“I see,” I replied. “You are Dr. Delos of the University of Farcall, chief of the scientific research team on the planet Lunga.”
He poured himself a mug of the steaming brew as he said, “I am also the son of Professor Leoh of Albion and the Lady Jessica, director of the Farcall Institute of Exopsychology, science laureate of the Golden Circle, and husband of Randa.”
That last piece of information surprised me. “You and Randa are married?”
“Didn’t you know?”
From the way they seemed to take the opposite position on every question, it had not occurred to me that they might be husband and wife. I was almost amused by the thought.
“Now that I’ve told you who and what I am,” Delos said, returning to his original question, “just who and what are you?”
I had to shrug. “I am Orion. A soldier.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
If I told him that I was created by a half-demented egomaniac from the far future, built to be sent on missions of murder and carnage through all the eras of space-time, he would undoubtedly think I was either insane or joking with him.
So I said, “No, there’s not much more to it than that.”
“Your parents?”
“I’m a soldier,” I repeated. “Do the soldiers of your Farcall have parents? Aren’t they cloned and raised on military preserves? Aren’t they kept apart from the rest of your society, frozen when they’re not needed, revived and given their orders and sent out to do battle for you?”
He scratched at his beard. “Well, yes, I suppose so. I really don’t know that much about the military. This field trip with the Skorpis is the closest to the war that any of us have come. Believe me,” he added fervently, “it’s been close enough for a lifetime!”
“You’ve been at war all your life, and for a couple of generations before you were born.”
“Yes, but that’s the military’s business. We’re scientists, we don’t get involved in fighting.”
“Yet you expect your military to protect you.”
“Of course. That’s what they’re for.”
I felt an unhappy sigh filling my chest. “Well then, think of me as one of those soldiers.”
He studied me a moment with those inquisitive soft brown eyes, then said, “No, Orion, that won’t wash. There’s more to you than that. I want to know what you’re hiding and why.”
“What makes you think I’m hiding anything?”
“Because the Old Ones spoke to you,” he hissed, and his eyes suddenly blazed, revealing his true feelings. “My team and I have been on Lunga for two months with no contact whatsoever, no matter how we tried to communicate with them. You come along and the Old Ones speak to you within hours of your reaching the ocean.”
I had to smile. He was jealous. “I could be lying,” I said.
“No, you’re not lying. And you’re not a simple soldier, either. Who are you, Orion? Why were you sent to Lunga?”
“I wish I knew,” I told him. I drained my mug, feeling the hot liquid burn its way down inside me, then turned and left the galley, leaving Delos standing there seething with curiosity and resentment.
Randa was still in the cockpit with one of the other scientists. I told them both to get out.
“I’ll take over the controls,” I said.