EPILOGUE
“There is a house in
They call the Rising Sun.
“It's been the ruin of many a poor girl,
and me, O God, for one.
“If I had listened what
Mamma said,
I'd 'a' been at home today.
“Being so young and foolish…
let a rambler lead me astray.
“Go tell my baby sister
never do like I have done
“to shun that house in
they call the Rising Sun.”
- Turner and Martin
Luciano
Mantovanni emerged from the sonic shower, vaguely surprised: Having experienced
his lover's lustiness and enthusiasm firsthand for four days, he'd anticipated
a delightful rendezvous when Parihn joined him therein.
Mantovanni
chuckled inwardly.
Now who's oversexed? he chided himself. Even she must be exhausted by
now.
Then, again…
Despite the questionable
thoughtfulness involved in waking the woman he loved after the... energy intensive evening they'd just
spent, he strolled into the bedroom with every intention of doing so.
She was already awake.
He approved of her choice
in morning attire: Parihn was dressed only in a uniform top, standing before
the desk with her back to him. His eyes were drawn at first to her ripe,
well-rounded bottom...
...but only at first.
She was shaking, head hung,
shoulders slumped, and for a moment, Mantovanni thought it was with laughter.
It was a brief moment,
indeed.
Without a word, she turned
and hurled herself into his arms, sobbing almost uncontrollably.
“What is it?” he asked. Parihn seemed as upset now as she'd been in the moment
before they'd declared their love—if not more so.
He considered a dozen
possibilities, each more terrible than the last... and all of which left him
chilled and heartsick.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t
anything he'd imagined, and thus struck more painfully.
Parihn hiccoughed
half-words and shuddered, almost convulsing in her anguish and pain.
“No... no... not like this… no...!”
What in God's name…? he thought.
Gently, Mantovanni moved
his lover so he could play back the missive, cradling Parihn in a single arm
even as she clutched at him harder, her crying unabated.
It was a recorded message
from Admiral Nalonge, received some hours before: No doubt Erika Donaldson had
considerately deflected any incoming communiqués so they could have their
privacy, and Parihn had simply been checking mail.
Nalonge looked haunted...
and Mantovanni suddenly knew with dread certainty what he was about to hear.
“Lieutenant, Captain... there's no easy way to say this.
“We found Ensign Anari... Aedra... this morning.
The man he'd known only by
reputation as a cynical, hardened intelligence op actually glanced away from
the screen as he finished.
“She'd taken her own life… some sort of ritual suicide, they tell
me.
“Someone…” and the admiral’s tone left Mantovanni
with no doubt Nalonge had surmised exactly who, and had known they would, too, “…sent her a message mentioning that the video she was forced to make
had been released onto various use-nets and public forums throughout the Federation.
“And I can unfortunately confirm that it has been.
“As far as we can determine through forensics and computer
records, she was so distraught at the revelation that she went online looking
for it herself… and found it pretty readily.”
Nalonge was shaking with
fury and upset.
“The damned thing was running in the background
when they found her.”
Mantovanni switched the
comm off.
The man had already said
more than enough.
For long moments, he simply
held Parihn as she wept. Gradually, though, she managed to settle herself, at
least in part, before pulling back to look at him, tear-stained and
grief-stricken.
“I thought she'd be all
right now.
“It wasn’t her fault that
Ran did that!”
For a moment, Parihn grew
angry, indignant, lashing out at the woman for whose life she’d sacrificed and
struggled the last month to save.
“She just gave up! Why did she do
that?
“I threw away my honor, my self-respect...” her eyes again filled with
tears as she looked at him, “...I hurt you...
“...and I did it for nothing!”
What composure she'd regained slipped away,
and once more Parihn began to cry.
“This h–happened last night… while we were m–making love, she was... she was...”
Mantovanni drew her back to
him, and gave what shelter and comfort there was to be had.
Of course, it wasn't nearly
enough. He hadn't before understood the phrase
“wept until her heart almost burst.”
Now, he did—all too well.
Never had Mantovanni felt so helpless,
understanding that despite his presence and embrace—despite anything he might
say or do—that the woman he loved felt, during one of the worst moments in her
life, absolutely alone.
In a way, once again, she was.
But he held her, anyway, because it was
all he could do.
It was callous and selfish, but Luciano Mantovanni
felt less for Aedra than perhaps he should.
Her pain, at
least, had ceased.
Parihn’s, he knew, might never end.
***
The
combination of grief, stress, and weeks of constant emotional and physical
exertion had finally taken their toll: Parihn lay on the bed, having slumped
into a deep, exhausted sleep an hour before.
From
behind the desk where he sat, Mantovanni, for long moments, watched her regular
breathing with what was, for him, a peculiar, almost wistful, expression. Then,
he arose and moved to the bedside, there to place a gentle kiss on her brow.
She
didn’t even stir.
No nightmares,
little one. I’m here.
Then,
he withdrew to the next room… and played back the second
message he’d received—the one that had arrived, thank God, mere moments after
Parihn had nodded off.
It
wasn’t hard to guess the man’s identity: New face; new voice… same cadence and
cruel undercurrent.
If
a stiletto could speak, it would sound like Ran Imaldris.
“I thought we had
Starfleet Intelligence well marked, but they’ve proven me wrong. I’ll have to
take steps that will ensure our security is henceforth more difficult to
breach.”
The
Orion’s irritation was unmistakable, and Mantovanni wondered if allowing it to
seep through into his speech was unintentional, or actually a perverse form of
salute to his adversaries.
“No matter; on to
more personal business.
“Our agreement, as
you have no doubt realized, is now in abeyance. Not only did Parihn interfere
in our affairs a second time, you helped her. Not a very
honorable thing to do, Captain, when you’ve given your word otherwise. I
expected better from you.”
Now
Imaldris’ tone changed, becoming almost, to Mantovanni’s amazement,
conciliatory.
“I’ve been told,
however, that perhaps, I too, was at fault, here, for sending a copy of… er… Aedra’s
Amorous Adventures… directly to Parihn—goading her, as it were. That wasn’t exactly in the
spirit of my agreement not to… how shall I say? molest?… her, since
emotional pain is a form of harm, and I did consent to leave her be.
“Now I’m a big
enough man to admit when I’m wrong, Captain… and I offer you the reinstitution
of our previous covenant.”
His
voice hardened into brittle warning…
“Keep her out of our
way, and both of you stay alive. ”
…then
returned to companionability.
“I hope you
appreciate the magnanimosity of this gesture,
“If you would, give
Parihn a message for me, will you? Tell her we’re holding the room—you know
which one I mean—until she’s ready for it again. I still have hopes of seeing
Shomira… dance… again, someday. Can you blame me? The way she works that
little shavan of hers, especially when it’s full of my…
“But then, you know all about that, don’t
you?”
Mantovanni
knew that such impotent mean-spiritedness shouldn’t bother him… but despite
that, it was difficult to hear her spoken of in that manner.
And
Imaldris wasn’t quite done, either.
“Sorry to hear about
Aedra, by the way.
“Believe it or not,
I had no real desire to see the girl harmed, or do herself
violence.”
The
fact that he actually sounded sincere was doubly infuriating.
Then
his true colors bled through again.
“To be honest, I was
rather hoping she might remember how happy she was with us, and make the effort
to return on her own.
“But if the choices
were ‘free to defy us,’ or ‘dead,’ well…
“…things worked out
for the best.”
The
screen went black.
Unbelievable. After all this…
“…status quo ante bellum.”
Luciano Mantovanni devoted the next few
minutes of his life to an internal debate the subject of which, on reflection,
probably wouldn't have surprised anyone who knew him well.
Who do I want to kill more? Jerrell Gav’reme…
…or Ran Imaldris?
He thought about the harm both men had
done to the woman he loved, and made his decision.
Why limit myself?
Hours later, he again sat next to Parihn,
watching her sleep, untroubled at least for a time… and thought about the pain
he’d cause by telling her what he had done, the threats he’d made long ago
to preserve her life—as well as revealing Ran Imaldris’ last cruel riposte.
Almost, he decided to bury them both, to
retain his secrets and say nothing.
But when, just then, she opened her eyes
and sleepily asked, “What is it?” he knew—knew as if God Himself had
whispered it in his ear—that their fate was to always share the bitter as well
as the sweet.
And if that’s the price for our love…
…then we’ll both pay it.
He told her…
…he held her…
…and together, they made it all right.
Chapter Thirty-Eight Afterword