Emerald Eyes

EMERALD EYES
A Tale of the Continuing Time
DANIEL KEYS MORAN
This is a work of fiction. None of the characters in it are real people
and any resemblance to anybody, living or dead, is a coincidence.
It is the author's intention that this work should be freely downloadable,
copyable, and shareable in electronic format. It may not be reproduced,
shared, or transmitted for a fee by any party to whom the author has not
contractually granted permission. The author retains all other rights.

Emerald Eyes Copyright (c) 1987
by Daniel Keys Moran

The Star Copyright (c) 1998
by Daniel Keys MoranDedicated to
The Tales of the Continuing Time are dedicated to a whole bunch of
writers - everybody I ever read, according to one reviewer. That seems
fair.
This book is dedicated to Amy Stout-Moran. She was the editor at
Bantam Books who first bought this novel; she is the mother of my
sons and the love of my life.

EMERALD EYES
A Tale of the Continuing Time
The gods can either take away evil from the world and will not, or,
being willing to do so cannot…. If they have the will to remove evil
and cannot, then they are not omnipotent. If they can but will not, then
they are not benevolent. If they are neither willing nor able, they are
neither omnipotent nor benevolent.
Epicurus, 300 BC
The Ancestors

2029-2053 Gregorian

1.
You will have heard the story of Carl Castanaveras; of Suzanne
Montignet and Malko Kalharri; of our ancestors. They made plans for
they were human, as you and I; and the universe, which cared no more
for them than for us, struck them down. Its tool was nothing less than a
pair of Gods of the Zaradin Church, one of them myself, fighting a
battle in a war that was ended nearly sixty-five thousand years before
they were born.
I have told this story before, and I shall someday tell it again, in a
different fashion; but for Now, know the story so:
Darryl Amnier was a man without a title.
A title makes one knowable.
"Tell me about them," he said.

"Oui." Amnier's assistant was French; a depressingly large number of
Unification employees were these days. "The director's name is
Suzanne Montignet. She is French born, but arrived in the United
States in 2015. It is thought that her parents were fleeing the European
theater of the War. She was fourteen then. We do not have accurate
records for her after leaving France; she arrived in America a year
before the Unification War reached that continent. Her parents were
killed, apparently by Americans, after the War began. One would have
expected this to turn a young girl against the country in which she
found herself, but obviously not. When next we have accurate records
of her, beginning in 2018, she studied under a scholarship at the
College of the Camden Protectorate, in New Jersey. She had by then,
and retains today, a substantially American accent. Though she spells
her name 'Suzanne' she had further taken to pronouncing her name
'Susan,' in the American style, a habit she also retains. In 2024 she
graduated with high honors; two years ago, her work in genetics led to
her current position with the United Nations Advanced Biotechnology
Research Laboratory in New Jersey, this 'Project Superman.' "
"Don't use that name. It's not correct."
After a pause Amnier's aide continued. "The Ministry of Population
Control has granted her an unlimited parenting license. She seems
apolitical, aside from her personal habits."
"By which you mean?"
"Monsieur, she lives in Occupied America, among a proud people who
have been, hmm, conquered? Conquered. An apparent distaste for the
United Nations might be expedient."
"Not when dealing with the United Nations purse strings."
"As you say."
"What of Malko Kalharri?"
"What of Kalharri?" Amnier's aide seemed to find the question amusing.

"Sir, I think there is little I can tell you that you do not already know
about Colonel Kalharri."
With a shower of gamma rays I came into existence at the fast end of
time.
A wind was raised with my appearance in the empty corridor. Had
there been any to observe they would have heard the sharp crack
created as air was moved aside at greater than the speed of sound, and
might have felt a brief warmth. Those with sharp eyes might have
noticed a shadow in the fraction of an instant before I moved away
from the spot of my appearance. They would not have seen more of me.
Even at my end of time they would have seen little to note: a human
dressed all in white, from the boots on my feet to the white cowl that
covered my head. Even with the