Space University
REGAL WAS THE ONLY POSSIBLE WORD FOR HER.
Jade stared in unabashed awe. Elverda Apacheta was lean, long-legged, stately, splendid, dignified, intelligent—regal. The word kept bobbing to the surface of Jade’s mind.
Not that the sculptress was magnificently clad: she wore only a frayed jumpsuit of faded gray. It was her bearing, her demeanor, and above all her face that proclaimed her nobility. It was an aristocratic face, the face of an Incan queen, copper red, a study in sculptured planes of cheek and brow and strong Andean nose. Her almond-shaped deeply dark eyes missed nothing. They seemed to penetrate to the soul even while they sparkled with what appeared to be a delight in the world. The sculptress’ thick black hair was speckled with gray, as much the result of exposure to cosmic radiation as age, thought Jade. It was tied back and neatly bound in a silver mesh. Her only other adornment was a heavy silver bracelet that probably concealed a communicator.
“Yes, I knew Sam well,” she replied to Jade’s lame opening question, in a throaty low voice. She spoke English, in deference to Jade, but there was the unmistakable memory of the high Andes in her accent. “Very well indeed.”
Jade was wearing coral-colored parasilk coveralls with the stylized sunburst of the Solar Network logo emblazoned above her left breast pocket and the miniature recorder on her belt. She was surprised at her worshipful reaction to Elverda Apacheta. The woman was renowned as not only the first space sculptress, but the best. Yet Jade had interviewed other personalities who were very famous, or powerful, or notorious, or talented. None of them had been this breathtaking. Did this Incan queen affect everyone this way? Had she affected Sam Gunn this way?
The two women were sitting in the faculty lounge of the minuscule Ceres branch of the Interplanetary Space University. Little more than an extended suite of rooms in one of the interlinked spacecraft that made up the orbiting habitat Chrysalis, the university was mainly a communications center where Cerean workers and their children could attend classes through interactive computer programs.
The lounge itself was a small, windowless, quiet room tastefully decorated with carpeting of warm earth colors that covered not only the floor but the walls as well. The ideal place for recording an interview. Must have cost a moderate-sized fortune to bring this stuff all the way out here, Jade thought.
The sculptress reclined regally on a high-backed armchair of soft nubby pseudo-wool, looking every inch a monarch who could dispense justice or mercy with the slightest arch of an eyebrow. Jade felt drab sitting on the sofa at her right, despite the fact that her coveralls were crisply new while Apacheta’s were worn almost to holes.
“I appreciate your agreeing to let me interview you,” Jade said.
Elverda Apacheta made a small nod of acknowledgement.
“Many other of Sam’s ... associates, well, they either tried to avoid me or they refused to talk at all.”
“Why should I refuse? I have nothing to hide.”
No, you didn’t have an illicit pregnancy, Jade thought. You didn’t abandon your infant daughter.
Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, Jade said, “There are rumors that you and Sam were ...” she hesitated half a heartbeat,”... well, lovers.”
The sculptress smiled sadly. “I loved Sam madly. For a while I thought perhaps he loved me too. But now, after all these years,” strangely, the smile grew more tender, “I am not so sure.”