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Chapter Twenty-Five

NOTHING had changed in the months since Jeff last sat in the quiet, vaulted room. The fireplace contained the same charred remnant of a massive old log; the shelves bore undisturbed their arrays of leather- and cloth-bound books.

He was too excited and worried to sit down this time. Instead he prowled the aisles, every two minutes looking out of a window that faced the front of the house. He ought to see any car approaching along the drive, but nothing moved in the deepening darkness. There was still no sign of Uncle Fairborn. Jeff returned to his wandering along the shelves. What was going on? Giles was orchestrating his takeover of the family business, that was certain. Jeff couldn't stop that, nor could his mother. But Simon Macafee's response was to tell Jeff to hide away, while he retired to the bathroom for a quarter of an hour.

And did what? Threw up?

That's what Jeff felt like doing.

When ten minutes had passed, he decided that roaming the library with a head full of useless speculations was a good way to go crazy. Do something. He switched on the overhead lights, went across to one of the shelves, and pulled an atlas from the section of oversized books. He took it to a gnarled table in one corner and leaned over it.

The volume was as huge and as old as he remembered, thirty pounds of smooth, heavy paper sheets inside the thick cardboard covers. For as long as he could remember, he had loved to turn the great pages and look at the multicolored maps of countries and colonies with names long vanished into history. What had happened to Tanganyika and Transylvania, Aquitaine and Arcadia, Siam and Serendip, Burgundy and Burma?

Today he turned instead to the first pages of the atlas. Here were maps that in the past he had glanced at briefly, then skipped over. They showed the face not of Earth, but of the sky. The stars displayed on the celestial sphere of the atlas had a permanence that mocked human dynasties and empires. And since the constellations remained the same for centuries, Jeff had argued, why look at drawings? You could go outside on any clear evening, gaze upward, and see the real thing.

The book that he held was an antique volume, so old that the constellations were still identified by their ancient names. The Swan was called Cygnus; the Big Dipper, which his mother referred to as the Great Bear, was Ursa Major; the Bull was Taurus; the Eagle, Aquila. Only a few constellations, like Orion and Hercules and Perseus, had the same names.

He did not see the word that he was looking for, but chances were the atlas gave the Latin version. If he was to find the Dragon, he would have to do it from the configuration of the stars themselves. It was a harder job than it sounded—he worked from memory, and a lot had happened since his last look at the little plastic card.

The minutes sped by. Five and more passed, and he was ready to give up and leave when the pattern seemed to jump off the page at him. It was a constellation in the northern hemisphere. There was no mistaking the long, curling tail that arched downward and then back up to the right. He saw the name written beside the pattern, gasped, and understood.

With understanding came sudden and surprising anger—at his own stupidity, at Simon, at Lilah, at Hooglich, at anyone who had been in on the conspiracy to keep him ignorant. But as he rushed for the door he realized that everyone was probably innocent except Simon and Connie Cheever. Lilah, he was sure, had had no idea. She would have told him.

And now he was late. He had been told fifteen minutes, and he had surely been away for twenty and more.

The double doors to the conference room were closed. He ran toward the unfamiliar person standing by them, and said, "I know! I understand about the Dragon and everything. Why didn't you tell me? It wasn't fair."

"Maybe not. But I thought you'd rather work it out for yourself. Anyway, this isn't the time to discuss it. And keep your voice down!"

The stranger was Simon, transformed. His beard had gone, and his hair was cut short. He looked ten years younger and much paler. Jeff recognized him only by his uniform, faded and wrinkled, and those unforgettable deep-set eyes.

"Fairborn arrived two minutes ago," Simon went on. "If you weren't here in one minute, I was going in without you. Come on. Let me do the talking."

It was an unnecessary instruction. Jeff's brain was so brimming with questions, accusations, and guesses that he didn't know where to start. He followed as Simon pushed open the doors and stepped forward into the conference room.

The tableau was as before, augmented by the presence of Fairborn Lazenby: Willow and Terence were on the left, Giles sat at the head of the table, and Delia and Fairborn flanked him on the right.

Jeff saw them turn their heads, stare, and stare again. Anger changed to bewilderment, and then to shock—for Giles and Delia—and open disbelief on the part of Aunt Willow and Uncle Terence. Uncle Fairborn, pale-faced and dark under the eyes, made a gobbling noise like a turkey and said, "Drake? Is that you? It can't be."

"Even if it can't be, it is." Simon stepped forward. He slid a small packet the length of the polished table; it came to rest in front of Delia Lazenby. "Take a look at that. You may not believe me when I say this, but I'm no happier to be here than you are to see me here."

Delia picked up the packet and felt inside it. She pulled out three objects: a tiny glass tube, a folded slip of paper, and a little card of plastic that Jeff knew at once. Willow turned to Giles. "First he says he's Simon Macafee, and you grovel to him and tell me I'm an idiot. Now he says he's Cousin Drake, back from the dead, and he gives us a packet of rubbish. Is he mad, or are you?"

"Neither one of us is mad." Simon/Drake walked along the left side of the table, moving past Willow and Terence until he stood beside Giles Lazenby. "What Delia is holding represents a few credentials. I don't think you really need them in order to be convinced, but I'll save you time by explaining what they are. In the glass tube is a certified tissue sample. You'll find its DNA profile will match exactly the DNA profile of Drake Kopal, taken at the time of my birth and in storage at Midvale Hospital. The plastic card, one of you knows well. It's my old school ID. Recognize it?"

He spoke to Giles, who had taken the card from Delia and was studying it, holding the plastic carefully by the edges.

"I do, I do." Alone of the five Lazenbys, Giles seemed close to his usual self. His facial expression could not be seen as he stared down at the card. "Yes, I remember this. Draco, that was it. Your favorite constellation, you said, the one that had your name. Drake, Draco, the Dragon. And they gave you hell for erasing your picture ID and putting the constellation in its place. Why did you do that, Drake?"

"If I told you I knew, today, why I did everything I did then, I'd be lying. Maybe I wanted to get hell. I know I hated being a Kopal worse than anything in the world. All I wanted to do was escape. I think you understood that, Giles, even back when we were children. You were always the smart one, the one with an instinct for what was really going on. When I came in here today, I was convinced that you had recognized me."

"No." Giles raised his head to look at Drake. "That's not true. I had a funny feeling about you, but I couldn't put a name to it." He stood up and held out his hand. "Anyway, enough of all that. Welcome home. You've been away too long, and we'll have lots to talk about. I assume you'll join us for dinner? But first, if you'll excuse us, we have to get this meeting out of the way."

Drake—still Simon Macafee in Jeff's mind—ignored the outstretched hand. "Giles, I just told you that you were smart. Don't pretend you're not. Do you believe that I'd leave the Cloud, where I felt at home and was doing work that I love, to come twenty-seven light-years just for social chitchat?"

"We are your family, Drake." Giles didn't seem to mind the refused handshake. He was smiling, apparently delighted to be with his long-lost cousin. "Your only family."

"Sure—the family I ran away from. It was an accident that took me to the Cloud, and it almost killed me."

"You can't blame us for that, Cousin."

"I don't. But once I recovered and realized that no one knew where I was and I didn't have to come back here, I never felt such relief in my life."

"You can go back there anytime, Drake. All I was trying to do was welcome you home."

"I'll accept your welcome in good faith. I was even hoping for it, in a strange way, all the time on the journey from the Messina Dust Cloud. But that's not why I came back. Do you want to know why I did?"

No one at the other end of the table responded. Finally Drake went on, "That's what brought me."

He pointed to where Jeff stood watching and listening in silence. "He did. Not because of what he said about you and the family business. That was bad enough, but I could have guessed it for myself. The thing that made the difference was Jeff's determination to come home and face the charges against him, even though he dislikes the military life as much as I do. He taught me that it takes a lot more guts to stay and face a problem than it does to run away from it."

The other Lazenbys, after a few minutes of shock, were coming back to life. Aunt Willow was the first to recover. She turned to Giles.

"How much of this nonsense do I have to sit and listen to? You were right earlier, when you said that this was a private meeting, in a private house. I don't see that anything has changed."

To Drake, she said, "I don't care if you are my cousin, or some stupid impostor. I never liked Drake Kopal. It meant nothing to me when he disappeared, and I don't see why it should mean any more if he pops up again. When you presented yourself to us as Simon Macafee, I said you were a disgusting person. I have no reason to modify that opinion."

"You say you came back to Earth to follow Jefferson's example," Delia chimed in. "Well, you've come, and you're here. Now you can go. We managed fine without you all these years, we'll manage just as well without you in the future."

"Go, before I come over there and throw you out." Uncle Terence, who to Jeff's knowledge took no form of exercise and could not walk five steps without wheezing, blew out his fat cheeks and shook a fist threateningly in the air. "Go, or you'll be out on your bloody neck. Eh, Giles? What do you say?"

Giles Lazenby seemed to have lost interest in the whole matter. He was staring down at the tabletop, his brow furrowed. At Terence's question he roused himself and rose to his feet.

"In a way they're right, you know," he said to Drake. "You are certainly our cousin, and I'm delighted to see you. But we didn't ask you here. You came barging in on a private board meeting, without permission, and interrupted our work. As Terence says, there is no reason on earth why you should not be made to leave. On the other hand, if it were my decision alone I would invite you to stay."

Drake nodded, but rather than leaving he sat down at the table. "You haven't changed, Giles, not since you were twelve years old. I was watching you while the others were speaking, and I could almost see the wheels turning in your head. You had to think it through before you spoke. Now you've decided. There's no way that I can cause problems, so why not be nice to me? Whether I am here or not, you can carry on with your agenda."

"You assume malice where there is none." Giles also sat down, swiveling in his chair to face Drake. "But I don't mind telling you what is going to happen next—whether you are here to observe it or not. We are going to propose and pass a resolution. Once that is done, I will be responsible for running Kopal Transportation. I don't see why you should object to that. I've certainly earned the right. You made it clear when you left that you had little interest in the fate of the company. But I've worked for it, all my life. I wasn't like you, born a Kopal and never realizing what you had. You were handed on a plate what anyone else would kill to get."

"Not anyone, Giles."

"Anyone who deserves it." Giles Lazenby was so concentrated on Drake, the rest of the people around the long table did not exist for him. "I deserve it, and I'll get it. I'm over all the hurdles now. Nelson Kopal is dead. Jeff is tainted. Go and read the bylaws for Kopal Transportation. A person who fails entry into the Space Navy, or is dishonorably discharged from the navy, cannot be involved in running the company. He can hold stock, but it's nonvoting stock. A resolution to bar Jeff from management has already been prepared. As soon as you leave—or even if you don't—we will vote on it. Do you want to know what the outcome will be?"

"Giles!" Delia said. "It's none of his business. You shouldn't be telling him this."

"It doesn't matter. He can't stop us voting any way we want. Can you, Drake?"

"I cannot. I have no power to influence your votes." Drake stood up and started back along the table to where Jeff was waiting. At the end, he turned. "You know, I'm a fool. I've changed over the years, and I really hoped that you might have. But you haven't. Same old Giles. Methodical, cold, and ruthless. When we were eight years old, I was the one who wondered why insects needed six legs to walk, and mammals managed well with only four. But you were the one who cut a pair of legs off ants and ladybugs, to see what happened."

"And you were the sissy who started to cry when he saw what I was doing." Giles stood at the other end of the table, radiating benevolence. "It's been a long time, Drake, but I guess you are right. Neither of us has changed. You're still the same gutless weakling."

"I'm sure I am. So go ahead, hold your meeting. I don't want to see it. Come on, Jeff, let's get out of here." Drake walked toward the door of the conference room. Halfway there, he halted and turned.

"You know, Giles, talking about the old days like this reminds me of one other thing. Remember when we used to play chess together? I always beat you. I wasn't a specially good player, but you had a fatal flaw. You became so absorbed in your own strategy to win, you didn't take enough interest in what I was doing. Right at the moment when you thought you were closing in for checkmate, I'd spring a trap on you. It happened dozens of times."

Giles scowled. "I was never much interested in chess. I didn't care a bit who won."

"Not true. You'd be angry for days."

"Anyway, that's ancient history. I've not played chess for decades."

"Nor have I." Drake nodded to the group at the table. "Go ahead, have your vote, finish your meeting."

He walked to the door, but paused with his hand on the doorknob. Again he turned.

"The strange thing, Willow, is that although you say you never did like me, I was always fond of you. I was sorry for you, too. You struck me as a sad young woman, always a bit out of it. You were like me in a way; you never seemed to know quite what was going on."

"Rubbish. And I neither need nor want your damnable sympathy."

"Of course not. But I wonder if all of you may not be a bit out of it. I suspect that you're all overlooking one little thing."

"I think you should leave now." The speaker was Giles, but from their expressions he spoke for everyone.

"Going, this very minute. I just want to point out that I was in the Space Navy, too. Of course, I was there for only a few months before I was stupid enough to put myself through a network node and disappear. But I was accepted into the navy, and I was not dishonorably discharged. So according to the bylaws, I am an eligible voting stockholder in Kopal Transportation. In fact, with Nelson dead, I think you'll find that I'm the major voting stockholder. Which means I get to appoint the board of directors."

He passed one final glance over the people sitting at the table, ushered Jeff ahead of him out of the conference room, and said over his shoulder as he was leaving, "So go ahead, Pass as many resolutions as you like. But you know what? Without my stockholder consent, they won't mean a thing."

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