Chapter 22: Cold Comfort

Dumas swore as he piloted the escape pod toward Sei Station. He had not realized until he entered the pod and started the engine that there were no scanner controls. But he thought leaving the pod and taking one of the hovercraft's utility vessels instead might make him look foolish and indecisive in front of the scientists.

So he had made the truly foolish choice to take the pod. The storm and the snow blowing off the landmass made it difficult to see where the island was.

But Dumas was not nearly as absorbed with the difficult flight as he was with the strange sensations in his own heart, an emotion creeping through him so unfamiliar that he had to wonder what it was.

Is this what hope feels like?

Dumas had spent his life being cursed by Georca and insulted by enemies and rivals. He had found it amusing at times, or used it to stoke his hatred and anger at the man who called himself Dumas's father.

Nothing before had stung him like Mel's words to him on the plane. He had thought her broken, subjugated, powerless to strike at him, but Mel had proved that she still had weapons. And now she had her lover back, and Dumas could almost see the healing happening.

Lovers—it amused him to think of the old woman and the tiny child that way. He could barely even admit to himself that he found it strangely touching.

She had called Dumas a child, said he was afraid he did not deserve to be loved. Dumas did not know why it had bothered him. He had stopped being a child the day Georca murdered his mother. Afraid? No. He knew he did not deserve to be loved. His mother had been a shining soul, someone so pure she had been able to love even a creature like Dumas, a son so worthless he could do nothing to prevent his own mother's death.

He had let himself be used, then, as the murderer's pawn, as long as Georca's obsession of finding Tina suited Dumas's own plans. The hunt after the scientists had been satisfying—who better to track down monsters than another monster? He learned to manipulate, to terrorize, to torture, to murder, with little compunction. What crime could make him more of an atrocity than he already was?

But then he had found Tina, and in spite of all he was, she had loved him. She had their mother's pure soul. Dumas did not, he could only have inherited his spirit from the filthy Georca.

But he could at least put himself in Tina's service. He freed her, and the scientists (whether they deserved the mercy or not, Tina had defended them) and took her weaponized, preserved body to Greecia to rot, so that nobody could ever force her to inhabit it again.

And after that, he had planned to remove a blot from the face of the universe by ending his own monstrous life.

It was Goto who had dissuaded him. Without a legitimate heir to the throne, the King's advisor had claimed, Greecia would break out in civil war as soon as Titas died. Thousands, millions would suffer and die.

"Your mother would never have wanted that," Goto had said, a low blow. "Or your sister. And if Tina should ever change her mind, and choose to return to Greecia, her kingdom would be a shambles."

Dumas thought Goto was naïve. It was certain that anyone who did not object to the blood of Georca being on Dumas's hands would object to it running in his veins. But in the interest of preserving his sister's throne for her, he accepted. And here he had ended up.

And here on Earth he had discovered his fellow monsters not to be quite so monstrous after all.

Here on Earth he had seen Mel's endurance, and the beginning of her recovery, one of his more heinous crimes unraveling itself.

Here on Earth he was about to bring back Hesma, the man he had murdered, and return him to his friends.

Was this what life was? An endless series of second chances and new beginnings? There might be others like his mother and Tina, other pure souls who deserved to live. If Dumas was able to save Greecia from destruction and from civil war, Dumas would have saved them, too. And if Dumas could do that, didn't it give his life some worth after all?

And if someone with a pure heart could actually love him…could it be that he was not a complete monster?

Life might possibly be worth living.

The snow cleared for a moment, and Dumas saw Sei Station below.

"How are things going, Castor? Will we be on schedule?" The boy was puttering with the control panel, at this late moment. Mellert resisted the urge to smack him.

"Finishing touches," said Castor. "It's pretty much done."

"Castor's been working very hard on this, Mr. Phelps," said Mellert. "Castor, you remember Randolph Phelps, the company director?"

She gave Castor a glare to impress him with the idea that he couldn't get away with telling the actual director to buzz off and let him work, and the message was received. Castor politely said 'Nice to see you again," and went back to puttering.

Phelps was a heavy man with a cheerful face, slightly windburned from his recent sightseeing activities. He looked at the hangar, the energy collector overhead, and the lines of circuitry radiating from the central machine, its visible top layer a circled pentacle flush with the floor.

"My goodness, it looks positively occult," said Phelps. "Shall we be raising Asmodai?"

Castor actually looked up at that, with the strangest expression Mellert had ever seen on his face. "As…Hasmo—"

"I'm sorry, I forget sometimes that you're only five years old," Phelps said. "Asmodai was a king of demons, one of the seven princes of Hell, a representative of one of the seven deadly sins. Solomon summoned him to help construct the temple. And, er—you're a bit young to hear any more. He was a very naughty creature."

"It…sounds familiar," said Castor. He went back to his work, a confused expression on his face.

Kahale Baldwin appeared at the doorway, waving urgently at Mellert. "Excuse me, Randy, I have to take care of a little business. Castor-behave."

As little as Mellert liked walking away from the company director, she had trusted Baldwin to handle things on his own too often lately. She had only discovered recently that one of their climate regulators had been stolen—STOLEN!—and turned up on some Australian beach, its hatch wide open and its security protections deactivated. And in spite of the fact that this was a serious international felony, the Australian police were claiming there was no evidence and they had no suspects at all, or any idea how it had got there.

This morning, a rogue security guard had abducted Pollux. The man had flown off in a helicopter and unwittingly blundered into the missile defense system. There was no doubt the helicopter had gone down, and then the entire missile bank had gone offline. If not for the raging windstorm and the scheduled demonstration, she would have had security boats and helicopters all over the area.

As it was, they were keeping it quiet. It would be a mistake to upset Castor before he had finished his presentation.

She went to meet Baldwin, gritting her teeth and dreading another debacle.

"What is it, Baldwin?" she demanded. "Randolph Phelps is in there alone with Castor, and it's probably only a matter of time before the kid starts mouthing off."

"We have an uninvited guest," said Baldwin.

"What, in the middle of an ice storm?"

"He apparently slipped in with the last group of VIPs."

"Slip him back out. This affair is by invitation only. In fact, have him arrested."

"Well, it's just that…it's Damien."

"Damien who?" Mellert asked. Then her eyes widened. "Not the Rugen Institute Damien?"

The Rugen Institute was one of Brightwater's most dangerous competitors. While on the surface business relations were very respectful and cordial and "we're all saving the planet together," the Rugen Institute was causing Brightwater some serious profit loss. They had consistently managed to underbid Brightwater's keystone service, their water reclamation system, for the last two years. Even long-standing customers were switching to the oddly artistic Rugen purification towers. Brightwater had bribed an official in Liberia into letting them dismantle one of the towers, but they still had no idea how it worked. Mellert had hoped Castor would put his mind to it, but the temperamental boy had taken one glance at the tower and refused to even look in its direction again.

The fact that Gherta Hawksbee had three achievement awards from the Women's International Scientific and Environmental union and Mellert had never even been nominated only made it more personal.

Ten to one, the Rugens were behind the stolen regulator.

"Damien, how delightful to see you again!" Mellert said, entering Captain Walfang's office.

Idiot, she thought. Damien was wearing an elegant sport coat over a silk shirt, and his signature wrap-around dark glasses. He had a parka, but it was thrown over his shoulder. Damien's pretense that he didn't feel the cold might have actually impressed her, if his lips didn't have a blue tinge to them. Damien was clearly freezing, but more concerned with making an impression that keeping warm. Just like a teenager.

Though it seemed to her that Damien had been a teen for a long time. Hadn't he been the Prince's age? And the prince was married, now, with three children.

"You're lovely as ever, Doctor," said Damien. "Even all bundled up."

"To what do we owe the honor?"

"The king just thought he'd send someone down to have a look at how you're running his little outpost in the frozen South," said Damien.

"That's odd," Mellert said. "Since the station belongs to Brightwater Industries, not the government."

"SEI Station? South East Islands?"

"You're under a misapprehension," said Mellert. "The station was named after the Sei whales native to these waters. The outpost controlling the northern regulator band is Beluga Station."

"I must have misunderstood his Majesty, then," said Damien. "Didn't you invite him down here for your little soirée?"

Mellert considered. An invitation had indeed been sent to the royal family of the South East Islands. It had been declined. Still, she knew Damien was a court insider, and may actually have been sent as a representative. Brightwater's main office was on Natsuna Island. They would not want her to risk offending the royal family.

"Baldwin, why don't you take Damien to the kitchen? I believe there are several other guests there he knows and would enjoy meeting again."

"Actually, I'd love a chance to talk to the Weaver twins," Damien said.

"That won't be possible. You will see Castor at the demonstration. I'm afraid Pollux is not feeling well."

"Pity," said Damien. "All right, then, lead on, Baldy."

The hangar was filling up with people waiting for the demonstration, all talking, laughing. Castor loathed crowds at the best of times, but slipped into the throng to give the slip to the tediously cheery Phelps.

He wanted his brother here. Where was Pollux? What had become of him? Castor had asked Baldwin, and got a lie in return. Captain Walfang had given him a different lie, and Doctor Mellert had only said breezily, "Oh, I'm sure he's around here somewhere."

As he wandered through the crowd, thankfully too short to be noticed by half the chatting throng, one of the local snippets of conversation caught his attention.

"…can't believe they didn't cancel this after what happened to Pollux."

"I know, it's just—"

It was a couple of the station scientists.

Heart thumping, Castor slipped into the next room. He would find Pollux. He could feel his twin out there somewhere. He fastened his hood and facemask and pulled on his heavy mittens. He entered the corridor leading to the nearest exit and stopped.

A young man stood there. A stranger, in dark glasses and clothes suited to a much warmer climate.

And for some reason, the sight of him filled Castor with terror.

Dumas stared at the child. He could see nothing of the boy but two terrified dark eyes peering through the slit of the mask. He leaned forward and tore the Velcro open to reveal the boy's face.

Castor leaped for the door handle behind him, but Dumas was larger and taller, and only had to lean on the door to halt Castor's escape. Castor pulled an electronic device from his pocket and shouted into it, "Security alert! Security alert, sector five!"

"Wow," said Dumas. "I didn't know hand warmers had transmission capabilities. Nice try."

The cornered boy, out of options, stared at him with panic-filled eyes.

Was that how old I was, Dumas wondered, when my mother was murdered? Was I ever that small and helpless? As he understood it, this kid's parents had sold him to a corporation.

Being little sucked.

Dumas was sorry for the helpless, unloved little boy, maybe even felt compassion. Or maybe that was just the link he felt to Hesma—a bond forged by his crime, like the bond that connected him to Mel.

"Hesma," Dumas said. The boy started, but there was nothing but confusion in his eyes. "I've come to take you home."

"I don't have a home," the boy said defiantly.

"You do," said Dumas. "Would you like me to show it to you?" The boy stared at him with distrust. Dumas pulled a memory crystal and an energy pack from the pocket of his coat.

There had been no way to get hold of Hesma's memory record. It had been sent home to his family on Greecia. Knowing of his deep love for his home planet, Soreto had suggested this alternative: each of them had recorded memories of their own for Hesma, images of Greecia. Islands, oceans, mountains, cities, forests and farmlands.

Dumas knelt down before the boy and activated the crystal. Castor froze as the series of remembered scenes played out in his mind. When they had finished, he stood unmoving.

"Hesma," Dumas tried again. The boy stared at him with the eyes of a small animal facing a predator. Dumas sighed. It had failed.

"You saw the images, though, Castor," said Dumas. "That's your home. Would you like to go there?"

Very slightly, as if it was involuntary, the boy nodded.

"Good. Come on, then." Dumas walked down the corridor, Castor following at his heels. Dumas took a moment to pull his parka shut before opening the outer door and stepping into the fury of the Antarctic storm.

The door slammed shut behind him. Dumas seized the door handle, but it was locked. He pounded on the door, but nobody came.

Inside the base, the boy slowly backed away from the locked door, hearing the thumps of Dumas's fists against it.

"I trusted you once before," Hesma said.