Nine years later.
The midday sun kissed the cloudy limb of the gas giant Tiber, and false dusk fell across Sacra Cor. The filtered light painted the patio of Michael’s Palatine Hills residence in soft royal and salmon hues. He dismissed a hologram of the quarterly reports and sat back to enjoy the scene. He could survey the entire park from his lounge chair, and quickly spied where little Natashka and Petya were playing hide and seek with their friends. There were few places for them to hide. The largest tree in the park was no more than shoulder high. When he purchased the property, it had been nothing but gritty Sacran highland. The duck pond where the children sailed toy boats was an impact crater. Sacra Cor was terraformed, barely.
A spark of light in the sky above drew his eye. A few degrees from the zenith the Foundry Moon shone like a burning coal. It was a beautiful sight, but Michael quickly looked away. He did not visit the foundry except at uttermost need. The wrights assumed that he was respecting their authority, and admired him for it. But in truth, Michael hated and feared the foundry moon and all it contained. He’d had his fingers regrown immediately, before anyone but Alexi noticed that they were missing. He wanted no mementos of his personal hell.
A familiar telltale flashed in Michael’s peripheral vision. He had a visitor. He sighed to himself. The peril of being the richest man in the galaxy was there was no escape from his job.
Michael missed the sound of the patio door, so an unexpected tread announced his guest. When he turned to greet him, panic flared in the pit of his stomach. His caller was none other than Jørgen Pangloss, dressed as he had on that day long ago in Montevideo, right down to a straw fedora.
Michael swallowed his anxiety and greeted him warmly. “Good afternoon, Jørgen. To what do I owe this pleasure?” he said, directing his guest to a chair.
“The pleasure is all mine, Michael Borisovich. I’m roaming about and going here and there, as is my habit. I thought I’d check up on you. How is your family?”
“They are fine. Natasha has entered school, and Pyotr has taken up holosculpture. Even at age five, he’s a natural.”
Jørgen saw the children playing in the distance and smiled. “They are remarkable, just like their parents. How is dear Alexi?”
“She still runs circles around me, even after two children. I freely admit that she has a better head for business than I do. Today she is on Earth overseeing the takeover of Daiginga Industries. It hasn’t been amicable. I managed to talk her into retaining Tuan Li’s son as a vice–president. She wanted to sack him, but I refuse to hold him responsible for what his father did to us.”
Jørgen smiled. “Such delicious irony! It is as I planned. Your grace and Lapooshka’s decisiveness make an unbeatable combination.”
Michael did a double–take. “You always meant for both of us to win?”
“Not at all. I meant for her to win. I marked her early, because I fancy strong, fearless women. But as the game played out, I discovered that she was quite single-minded. Her unrelenting drive would be a liability in the long run. On the other hand, you were reasonable, but cautious to a fault. I reasoned that the two of you together might offset each other’s weaknesses. And so you have.”
“Wasn’t that a gamble? Alexi and I had never worked together before. There was no guarantee that our partnership would succeed.”
“It was a gamble, but I relish games of chance. But we cannot know what the future holds. My decisions have a lasting impact on causation. I foresee that henceforth the foundry will always be controlled by a couple. Let us hope that they always balance one another as well as you have balanced beloved, exquisite Alexi.”
Michael nodded agreeably, but this turn of conversation did not please him. He disliked being reminded that in addition to the other things that he might name, Jørgen relished his wife. He hadn’t forgotten her animal lust when she’d trysted with the old demon on the foundry moon, or the hungry, open–mouthed kisses she’d shared with him at the wedding dance. Alexi never spoke of him, and her affections for Michael were all that he could wish for, but he wondered if it was entirely coincidental that she’d decorated her boudoir with an oil of Jupiter ravishing Europa.
To his relief, Jørgen changed the subject. “I’ve heard that Rosencrantz has returned and taken up his old chair at Tycho University. Was that your doing?”
“It was. The Canon Courts recommended a penal mindwipe, but I spoke on his behalf and obtained a lesser sentence.”
“Which was?”
“Seven years of indenture. The Court agreed, and he spent his time serving Mother Dumiel in a peculiarly demanding capacity. I’ve heard that it improved his demeanor tremendously. Among other things, I am told that he is prone to silence unless commanded to speak.”
Jørgen chuckled. “Aye, that would be a welcome improvement! He probably barks like a dog on cue, too! Justice has been served, and served well. I think this calls for a toast, don’t you?”
Michael called the roving bar. It promptly appeared on the patio, but in addition to a bottle of his cellar’s finest, it bore five bowls of ice cream.
“Please forgive me for meddling, but I would love to see my little friends,” Jørgen said apologetically.
He stood and waved, and the children came running.
“Dyadya Jørgen!” Natasha shrieked, but Pyotr got there first and enfolded his legs in a bear hug. Mother Dumiel’s sturdy twins Andre and Bleriot came next, and bowed politely. Shy little Capucine was last, her beautiful golden locks flying behind her. Jørgen hefted her onto his shoulder, where she happily remained. Michael grinned at the sight of the old monster contentedly sipping port while a little girl played with his hat and spilled ice cream on his immaculate black jacket.
“All’s well that ends well,” Michael announced, raising his glass.
“All has just begun, my friend,” Jorgen replied, and they toasted.
The sun blazed out from behind the limb of Tiber, and false dusk gave way to false sunrise. The children finished their treat and scampered back to their games. Relaxed again at last, Michael yawned and wondered if Jørgen would mind if he finished reviewing the quarterlies.
“Don’t you have something better to do?” Jørgen asked.
Michael shot him a quizzical look.
“Once, a few years ago, a certain man told me that his fondest wish was to play with the children cruel fate had forever denied him. This day, his wish is fulfilled. Go.”
Michael’s heart leapt for joy. Work forgotten, he ran as fast as his feet would carry him to join his children. He only looked back once.
The patio was empty.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Epilogue