Read Online Asimov's SF, September 2010 by Dell Magazine Authors - Free Book Online Page B

I saw her stirring a cup of herbal tea. The back of Sean's head—somewhat bulging and bandaged—was visible where he leaned back in a kitchen chair, balancing it on two legs.
    ". . . told me to get you out,” he was saying. “Lying seemed like the best alternative."
    "And you really thought I was that stupid? That I'd buy that line and leave my own father behind?"
    Sean spread his hands in mock surrender.
    "Stupid or not,” I said, folding my arms and leaning against the doorway, “It's what you should have done."
    "Father, Sharken would have killed you."
    "Better me than all of us. Besides, I had a handle on things."
    "Yes, I saw how you were handling things."
    "Don't take that tone of voice with me. I can take care of myself. You know that."
    Clarise set her cup on the counter with an audible thunk. “No, I don't ‘know’ that. Mom didn't even know that."
    Mention of Emmeline threatened to reopen the black chasm. I shoved the gaping memories aside, vaguely aware that I was scowling. “Your mother had every confidence in—"
    "You never saw the look in her eyes when we waited up nights.” Clarise bit her lip, but not fast enough to cover the tremble in her voice. She bent her head over her tea as though reading her future there, or perhaps her past. “I'm glad she died in that car accident,” she said, so quietly that I almost couldn't make out the words. “At least she never had to sit around again, wondering if you'd come home in one piece."
    I felt as though my lungs had shriveled away, leaving an empty cavity beneath my ribs. “Well. You've chosen a fine way to honor her memory."
    "What's that supposed to mean?"
    "Terrorists, Clarise! You've spent the last six years running with the kind of subversive, murderous scum who—” I choked back my own words. Clarise didn't know who'd killed her mother. I'd never told her.
    Clarise squared her shoulders. “No progress comes without conflict. You taught me that."
    "I never meant you should try to overthrow your own government."
    "Why not? Look what your precious government has done to you! They ran you ragged, and when they were done with you, they chewed you up and spat you out without so much as a thank you."
    "Now just a—"
    Chen-chi cut me off with a hand on my shoulder. The yelling must have woken her up. “Let it be, Eugene,” she said. “It's in the past now."
    "Whose past? Yours? Because it feels an awful lot like my present.” I whirled on Clarise, but found I had nothing more to say. Sean had risen from his chair and was holding her, whispering to her, making the anger melt out of her face. I stalked out of the room.
    Chen-chi followed me. “Emmeline's dead,” she said to my back as I stared out a window. “Venting your anger on Clarise won't bring her back."
    "This has nothing to do with you."
    "Doesn't it?"
    I swallowed down an angry retort. I couldn't bring myself to snap at her; her own pain was too evident. She mystified me, this teenager with a much older mind. I was simultaneously intrigued and infuriated by the way she always seemed to know how to quell my anger.
    "You'll have to tell her, you know,” Chen-chi said. “About Emmeline. How she really died."
    "I don't know how,” I whispered.
    "Once you start, the rest will be easy. Trust me. I helped you work through this once before."
    When I didn't answer, she took my hand and gently pulled me into the living room, where we sat on opposite ends of the couch. I stared at her; the woman who had been my wife forty years in the future.
    "It must be strange for you,” I said. “Talking to me, being with me, when..."
    "It's . . . difficult,” she admitted. “Like looking at a ghost of the man you'd become."
    I hesitated, unsure how to say what I needed to without further opening her wounds. “I . . . don't think I'll become the same man again."
    "No.” She sighed, and looked indescribably weary. “Clarise will live now, and, God willing, the world will unfold differently. It's all