Tsar Wars E-Book

Stephen Goldin

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

With humanity scattered across the galaxy on hundreds of worlds, the Empire is the only force for order across the stars. Without it, interstellar conflicts would bring chaos and billions of deaths.

But the tsar has been in a coma for five years now, and his grand-niece, the only apparent heir, is only 14 years old. In this hour of crisis, the task of preserving the Empire falls to two untrained--but far from unskilled--agents of the Imperial Special Investigation Service. Can they make a difference against the vast forces arrayed against them?

Leseprobe

Stephen Goldin

Tsar Wars

Agents of ISIS, Book 1

dedicated to Isaac Asimov who taught us that breaking up is hard to do… particularly when it’s a galactic empireBookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Title Page

Agents of ISIS: Book 1

TSAR WARS

Stephen Goldin

Published by Parsina Press

Tsar Wars. Copyright 2010 by Stephen Goldin. All Rights Reserved.

Cover photo courtesy of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Plot/Counterplot

Chapter 2: Le Vaudeville Galactique

Chapter 3: Missions

Chapter 4: Kavalergard

Chapter 5: Freilina

Chapter 6: Marya

Chapter 7: Death of a Tsar

Chapter 8: The Old Woman’s Tale

Chapter 9: Fugitives

Chapter 10: Killing Ivan Borodin

Chapter 11: The Sisters Rostovy

Chapter 12: The Rebellion Strikes

Chapter 13: Illicit Cargo

Chapter 14: Messages

Chapter 15: Down to Earth

Chapter 16: The Sovyet Knyazey

Chapter 17: The Resurrection of Natalia Ilyinishna

A Reader’s Guide to the Empire

Ranks

Runglish Words and Phrases

The Use of Yiddish In This Series

About Stephen Goldin

Other Books by Stephen Goldin

Connect with Stephen Goldin

dedicated to Isaac Asimov

who taught us that breaking up is hard to do…

particularly when it’s a galactic empire

CHAPTER 1: Plot/Counterplot

The open-air mall was bustling with early afternoon shoppers walking to and fro. Many had specific errands to run. Others were simply window-shopping or enjoying the fine afternoon. The ebb and flow of foot traffic guaranteed anonymity and privacy without calling particular attention to oneself.

For one particular man who was busy appearing casual, that was exactly how he wanted it. Wong Chin’s gait was a carefully calculated stroll; he had a couple of hours of leisure time at his disposal, so he didn’t need to hurry. At the same time his mother’s birthday was coming up soon, so this was a legitimate shopping trip for a gift. There was nothing to arouse anyone’s suspicions.

Chin was dressed in the uniform of the kavalergardy, which got him some extra looks but not an excessive amount. It would have been more suspicious if he’d changed into civilian clothes for this errand. It would have looked as though he had something to hide—and since he did, that was an appearance best avoided.

He was approaching the gift shop where he intended to make his purchase, at the same time keeping a surreptitious eye on the time. He also kept careful track of the crowd around him, making sure no one was following him. At precisely the specified time Chin calmly lifted his wristcom up to his mouth, as though to make a personal memo. In a quiet, matter-of-fact voice he said, “Dispatch 226.” In a single electronic blip, the message he’d carefully composed, encrypted and compressed was transmitted from his computer through a local relay to a topcomm repeater that carried the information to its destination many parsecs away.

With that accomplished, Chin felt a great wave of relief sweep over him—though he did not show it outwardly. The most crucial part of this excursion was done. For better or worse the information he knew would quickly be in trusted hands. Now he could concentrate on the more innocent task of choosing his mother’s birthday gift. Being the methodical person he was, he’d already scouted out the shop where his purchase would take place.

His mother had always been fond of hand-crafted music boxes. A store here in this mall carried a wonderful assortment. Wong Chin spent a relaxed twenty minutes inspecting the wares before deciding on his purchase, a music box with a dancing bear on top. He had the shopkeeper wrap it up and, carrying it carefully, he returned to the knyaz’s palace.

As he entered the private gate, before he could go to his quarters and drop off the package, he received a call on his wristcom. “Captain Chin, the knyaz would like to see you immediately. Report to his study at once.”

Chin frowned. Anything out of the ordinary was suspicious, and posed a risk to his safety. “I have a package to drop off in my room, and then I’ll—”

“He needs you at once. I doubt he’ll mind if you bring the package with you.”

“On my way, then,” Chin said. His voice was crisp and correct, but inwardly he was worried. The knyaz had only seen him three times in the six months Chin had been working here, and had never singled him out for anything. Why this sudden urgency—and why today of all days? Still, he had no legitimate reason to balk at the orders, so he entered the main building and proceeded to the knyaz’s second-floor study.

Captain Chin entered the study through its west door. The study was a large room with dark breckwood paneling on the east, west and north walls. Inset shelves on these walls held actual printed books with leather bindings in brown, black and oxblood. In addition to the west door there were two doors along the east wall and three along the long north wall. Chin didn’t know where any of these doors led; he’d always used the west door on the few occasions when he’d come here.

The entire south wall was a picture window overlooking the knyaz’s private zoo. This menagerie was one of the knyaz’s obsessions, containing some of the most interesting creatures from the many worlds in his sector. He took great pride in the fact that it was considered among the top private collections in the entire Empire.

In front of the picture window was a heavy cherrywood desk carved with ornate scrollwork along the legs and geometric designs on the sides. The top was flat and inset with a large tridee tank, currently blank.

Behind the desk was a large padded green leather swivel chair with polished brass studs closely placed around the seams of the arms and back. The chair was turned with its back to him so its occupant could gaze out the window; all Chin could see was the high back and a portion of an arm lying casually on the right armrest. As the captain entered the room, though, the chair slowly swiveled around to face him.

Yevgheniy Kuznyetz, the knyaz of Scorpio sector, was in his fifties. His slender body had a toughness to it that belied his years, and the piercing look in his eyes flashed with keen intelligence. His gray hair was thinning but neatly combed, and a pencil-thin mustache adorned the upper lip of his tightly-pursed mouth. His face had some of the fine lines of age, but there were no smiles lines evident anywhere. He was dressed casually in a gray, green and red argyle sweater that made his torso look bulkier than it really was.

“Captain Chin reporting as ordered, sir,” Chin said crisply. He did not salute; the knyaz may have been his boss, but he had no military rank.

“Carrying a package, I see.” The voice was quiet, crisp, precise.

“I was told to come straight here, sir,” Chin said apologetically. “I didn’t have time to drop it off in my quarters first.”

“No need to apologize. I understand perfectly.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Kuznyetz’s eyes remained focused on the officer’s face. “What is it, if I may ask?”

“A… a present for my mother, sir. Her birthday is next week.”

“How admirable. I wish my own mother were around to receive presents, but she—” He ended that train of thought abruptly. “I’m curious. What does a captain of my kavalergardy buy his mother for a birthday present?”

“She has a collection of music boxes, sir. I found an interesting new one at a shop in town.”

“Excellent. Does she happen to live onplanet?”

“No, sir, she’s on Pintow. I’ll have to ship it out either today or tomorrow if it’s going to arrive in time.”

“Nonsense. Leave it here. I’ll make sure it goes out with my personal seal. I guarantee it’ll arrive in plenty of time.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir.” Chin was perplexed. The knyaz had never been this friendly to him before, had scarcely shown him any more than formal recognition. What was happening? Did he suspect something?

Kuznyetz did not respond, and silence descended on the room. Captain Chin did not feel it was his place to question his lord’s motives for summoning him, so he stood silently at attention and waited. He was acutely aware that the knyaz’s gaze never wavered from his face, but the older man’s expression was unreadable.

It was nearly thirty seconds before Kuznyetz spoke again. “Actually, you can return the favor, captain. You’ve been recommended to me as a very reliable man, a man who can keep a secret.”

“I like to think so, sir.”

“Good. I have a mission that requires the utmost discretion, and I can’t entrust it to anyone too close to me, if you get my meaning.”

“I’m not sure I do, sir, but I’m not sure I need to, either.”

“The perfect answer. I chose the right man.” He reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a small object, which he slid along the top of the desk toward Chin. “This is a key. Pick it up and go through this door.” He indicated the door closest to the window on the east side of the room. “Go down that corridor to a door numbered 278. The key will open that door. Go inside. A woman will meet you there. She will give you a large envelope, which you will then bring back here to me unopened.”

“Is that all, sir?”

“Yes, for now. If you perform well, there may be other small but crucial assignments as well—with, I might add, corresponding bonuses.”

Chin picked up the key. It was an electronic key, made of lightweight plastic. “Thank you sir. With your permission …?”

Kuznyetz dismissed him with a wave of his hand. By the time Captain Chin had reached the indicated door, the knyaz already seemed occupied with another matter.

Chin found himself in a long corridor with doors on either side. The numbers started in the low 200s, so he had quite a distance to walk before he came to 278. The corridor made several turns, but didn’t branch off anywhere, so there was no question of which way he needed to go.

At last he reached door 278. He placed the key against the lock and there was the faintest of clicks as it unlatched. The door slid silently open and he entered. The door slid shut again behind him.

The room was large and totally bare of furnishing. The walls, ceiling and floor were pure white except for a bright red rectangular touchplate high up on the opposite wall, right where it met the ceiling. Chin wondered vaguely what it was doing up there; it was certainly too high for anyone to reach conveniently.

There was no woman in the room at the moment, but Chin wasn’t worried. Kuznyetz had said she would meet him here, not that she’d be waiting. The captain supposed it was his job to do the waiting. With no furniture to sit on, he stood casually and waited.

A large section of the wall opposite the door slid open, rapidly and silently. The sudden movement startled Captain Chin, but far more disturbing was what was revealed on the other side. Two enormous catlike creatures were walking up a ramp toward him. They walked on four legs, and their shoulders were as high as his head. They had sleek gray and yellow dappled fur, long white fangs and yellow eyes that glared at him with feral intensity.

Chin didn’t know precisely what was going on, but he did know he didn’t want to be in the same room with those creatures. He turned back to where he’d entered, but the door had seamlessly joined with the wall. He tried pressing the plastic key against where he thought the latch should be, but nothing happened. There was no escape in that direction.

The creatures were now fully in the large room with him, and the door slid quickly shut behind them. Chin realized far too late that he’d been set up. He was trapped in here with two vicious creatures and no defense against them.

The creature on his right was close enough to swipe at him with its left paw. He tried to dodge, but the blow came too swiftly; claws like bayonets ripped across his right arm, slashing his uniform sleeve and drawing blood from two large gashes. He choked back a scream and tried to spin away to his left, but that only brought him within range of the second beast. It actually seemed to be waiting for him; a vicious swipe of its right front paw was already in motion as he stepped into the blow. The nails ripped open his abdomen, and blood suddenly splashed across the walls of this previously immaculate room.

He could make no effort now to stifle the scream that escaped his throat. He couldn’t think through the pain, he could only react—and that weakly. The force of the blow spun him completely around and he stumbled to his right knee. He struggled to regain his footing, but the wounds he’d already suffered made him far too slow. The giant paw of the creature on his right came down on his back, knocking him the rest of the way down and pinning him to the floor. Even if he hadn’t already been severely weakened by his wounds, the powerfully muscled arm would have held him in place.

Chin’s struggles were over within seconds as the efficient hunting team did its work with well-honed precision. The pain was intense as he died, but it did not last long, and soon his body lay lifeless and bloody on the stone floor. The creatures who’d killed him parceled him out and greedily devoured his flesh, even eating portions of his uniform to make sure no significant parts were wasted. The only parts they couldn’t eat were his feet, shod in leather boots that were too hard to get the meat out of.

In barely half an hour the animals had finished their meal. One of them reared up on its haunches and swatted at the red touchplate near the ceiling. The wall through which they’d entered slid aside and, with nothing further to interest them here, the creatures returned down the ramp the way they’d come. The wall slid back into place behind them and a panel opened in the floor, exposing a large drain. High-pressure jets of water erupted from nozzles hidden in the walls, washing the final traces of the late Captain Wong Chin into the disposal system. Next came a cleansing disinfectant spray to remove all traces of blood and other impurities. Within minutes, Room 278 was pure and antiseptic once more.

Captain Chin may have been gone, but he was not forgotten. He was, indeed, the focal point of a discussion in the study between Kuznyetz and his prime councilor, Pavel Lubikov. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to weed him out earlier,” Lubikov said. “It seems he got off a message this afternoon before he returned.”

The knyaz appeared largely unconcerned. “What did it say?”

“I don’t know for certain; it’s well encrypted and could take days to break. I’m sure it had no critical details—Chin had no access to the ultimate plan or its timetable. Maybe some names of our allies, numbers and disposition of some of our forces, other things we wouldn’t want advertised but which won’t stop the operations from taking place. I can confirm who the message was sent to.”

“I know who the message was sent to,” Kuznyetz said languidly. “That doesn’t bother me. Nkosi has been de-fanged for years. He’s just a frustrated old man moving the few straggling pawns he has left over the squares of a decaying chessboard. Even if we sent him a detailed blueprint, he has no authority to act. Let him frustrate himself even further. It’ll just make our victory that much sweeter.”

Lubikov’s eyes wandered to Captain Chin’s package, still sitting untouched on the corner of the desk. “Should I dispose of that for you, sir?” he asked.

“Certainly not. I promised to deliver it to the late captain’s mother, and I shall keep my word. After all, she no longer has a son. The least she should have is a music box.

“And see that she gets a nice letter of condolence that her son died in the course of his duties,” he added as an afterthought. “Mothers are very important, Pavel. They must be treated with the utmost respect.”

***

It was unofficially called the Blue Room, logically enough, because it was a room and it was blue. Not just any blue; it was, in fact, a tribute to all blues. Starting from the baseboards of the eastern wall, which were the palest pastel, the shades progressed like a canopy arch, darkening imperceptibly as the colors gradually merged until they reached the darkest navy blue, almost indistinguishable from black, along the bottom of the western wall. Many of the room’s prior occupants over the decades had proclaimed the effect quite restful and relaxing; its current occupant, however, was unmoved by any such soothing effects.

Nkosi Wettig, knyaz of Orion sector, was a large man by almost any standards, nearly two meters tall and massing about a hundred and twenty kilograms. Adding to this was his demeanor, a commanding presence that radiated intelligence and decisiveness, and an attitude that brooked no incompetence. The brown eyes above his broad, flat nose seemed to see not only everything within range, but all the implications of those things as well. The mahogany-colored skin of his face was unmarked with lines of worry despite his age—and despite the fact that he worried all the time. He was used to making other people develop worry lines.

His face was also unmarked by smile lines, because Nkosi Wettig seldom smiled. Given all that he knew and all that he saw, he found little to smile about.

The Blue Room had been designed by Wettig’s great-grandfather, a man of far less spartan tastes. It served as Wettig’s principal office when he was at home on his estate—not because of its soothing atmosphere, but because it was suitably large and centrally convenient to other rooms and resources. But even if the knyaz were normally inclined to a relaxed disposition, the information on the screens set in the desk before him would have jarred him out of that mood.

The left-hand screen displayed the decrypted message he’d received from Wong Chin. In fine detail it described the number, classes and disposition of the ships in Kuznyetz’s private fleet. Though ostensibly the ships were all either merchant craft or local law enforcement vessels, all were heavily armed—and so numerous that the total firepower was nearly one-third that of the Imperial Navy itself. Though the militsia vessels should have been spread uniformly throughout Scorpio sector, and the merchant ships should have been traveling to many destinations around the Empire, the vast majority of these ships seemed to be maneuvering in and out of a small space that just happened to be the part of Kuznyetz’s sector closest to Earth.

Chin’s report also contained a list of names of people he’d confirmed had made alliances with Kuznyetz. Chin admitted the list was incomplete, but even so it was impressive: ten other knyazya, eighty-seven grafy, sixteen admirals, five members of the Sovyet Knyazey and dozens of other assorted boyare.

A very thorough report. Chin had been the best of Wettig’s people to follow him into exile.

From his other sources, dwindling as they were, Wettig had traced a money trail leading from Kuznyetz to several dozen “separatist” movements on various planets, groups that were becoming increasingly more daring and increasingly more violent. Reports of their activities filled the news virtually every day now.

It didn’t take someone with Wettig’s extraordinary perception to supply a title for this portrait: treason. Treason in its purest form. Kuznyetz was planning an uprising, and soon.

Next to the screen with Chin’s report was another that held a flattie video message from Kuznyetz himself. “Nkosi, I have some news that may disturb you. I had an officer in my kavalergardy, a Captain Wong Chin. He died today under highly suspicious circumstances. My investigators are looking into it, but since I believe you were one of his past employers I thought you might know him and care about what happened to him. Please accept my deepest sympathies.” And there the message ended.

The nerve of that man! To kill a fine officer like Chin and then to brag about it like this. He thinks there’s nothing I can do about it—and he may be right.

He stared ahead for a long moment of reflection. But maybe not.

“Intercom: Hasina.”

After a moment his daughter’s face appeared on the screen. “What did you want, Father?”

“Pack your bags for an offworld trip.”

Hasina, used to her father’s quirky orders, could only smile. “Anywhere in particular?”

“I’ll have to check their schedule. There’s a show I want you to see.”

CHAPTER 2: Le Vaudeville Galactique

The planet Turtello in Centaurus sector had only been settled within the last thirty years; it was not on the beaten trail and the population was still small compared to more established worlds within the Empire. On the one hand this was good; the people were starved for live entertainment and were enthusiastically appreciative of everything that came their way. On the other hand this meant there were no large theaters to play in; the stage of the largest theater was barely big enough to accommodate the full show, and the backstage facilities were—to put it kindly—provincial.

Even though he was one of the headliners, Judah Bar Nahum’s dressing room was tiny. And worse, he had to share it with his cousin and partner, Eva, which made it difficult to pace back and forth. But Judah paced back and forth anyway. He was a pacer, a worrier. He did it on a grand scale, and he wasn’t going to let a mere lack of physical space stay him from his appointed rounds.

At the moment there was more room to pace because Eva wasn’t there. That wasn’t entirely a good thing, though, since that was the reason he needed to pace: Eva wasn’t there.

The company had arrived at the theater and Eva wasn’t there. The doors had opened and Eva wasn’t there. The music had started and Eva wasn’t there. The curtain had risen more than an hour ago and Eva wasn’t there. And, as usual, she refused to answer her pages.

Eva had been late before. Hell, he could scarcely remember a time she hadn’t been late. And her performances were always perfect. The two of them made an ideal team; even he had to admit she was at least as talented as he was. But she cut everything so close to the edge. He looked to his wristcom for the time ….

“Thirteen minutes,” Eva Bar Nahum said, walking briskly into the room. “Plenty of time. Hello, how are you, I’m fine, it’s none of your business where I was last night, where did you put my costume oh there it is, how’s the house?” She didn’t even wait for answers before starting to strip off her clothes.

“Packed, as usual,” Judah said. “Listen, we’ve got to talk—”

“Fine, just kvetch sitting down. If you keep walking back and forth you’ll get in my way and make me late. There’s a wonderful semi-comfortable chair over there. Park your tuchis and enjoy the view.” Backstage etiquette was naturally in force; everyone was considered fully dressed no matter what they were or were not wearing.

Judah sat down, but hardly relaxed. He seemed to be vibrating on some undetectable frequency. “Why can’t you be on time once in a while? You’re endangering the show.”

“We’ve had this talk before. I’ve never missed a cue and I don’t intend to—unless, God forbid, I should die, in which case I may be a few minutes late.” She was already out of her clothes and starting to wriggle into her costume.

“I suppose you were out somewhere drapping around again.”

Eva paused a second to turn and give her cousin a big grin. “Of course. It’s fun. You should try it sometime.” And, as Judah opened his mouth to respond, she added quickly, “I know, you’re saving yourself for Vida—and she hasn’t even asked you to. Even Ilya Uzi sleeps around.” She turned back to the mirror and finished getting her costume on.

“He isn’t engaged,” Judah defended. “Well he was, once, in Red Star of Treason, but he wasn’t unfaithful until after she died. But we’re not talking about my reading habits—”

“Of course not. We’re talking about hobbies. You like reading spy thrillers, I like sex.” She finished getting the costume on and sat down in front of the mirror to apply her makeup.

“We’re talking about punctuality. I don’t care if you shtup half the Imperial Navy, but do you have to take so long?”

“When you’re as good as I am,” Eva said, concentrating on penciling her eyebrows, “you get curtain calls.”

Judah let out a long sigh. “Eva, you’re going to drive me crazy.”

Eva finished her eyebrows and started on her lips. “Don’t worry, bubbe,” she said, careful not to move the lips too much. “As Shar would say, it’s just a day trip. You’ll be back before you know it.”

“You take too much for granted. You should at least answer your pages. What if David broke his leg or Isaac got laryngitis and we had to rearrange the schedule?”

“You think that would keep those hams off the stage? I trust my colleagues. Besides, what does Ilya Uzi always say? ‘Improvise.’ You’d think of something brilliant. I have faith.”

“I know I’d think of something. I have faith, too. But faith comes a lot easier when your partner’s there with you.”

Her makeup done, Eva stood up from the makeup table and walked over to her cousin. She took his chin in her right hand and raised it so he was looking directly into her eyes. “Look at me, Jude. I’ll always be there, just as I always have. We’re a team, and a damn fine one. The show will go on.”

There was a sharp rap on the door just as they heard their cue music starting. Eva let go of Judah’s chin and grabbed both of his hands with hers. “And speaking of which, it’s showtime. Come on.” She pulled him up out of the seat. “You don’t want to miss your entrance, do you?”

***

Le Vaudeville Galactique was a highly unusual, if not unique, institution within the Empire. Most theatrical companies remained planetbound; the sheer expense of traveling between worlds precluded most of them from touring, particularly when there were other, cheaper methods of promulgating their performances. If a company developed a reputation for excellence, it was far easier and less expensive to record a performance for tridee than to pack up costumes, props, sets, cast and crew and go hopping from planet to planet.

Some tours happened, of course. A renowned company might travel to nearby worlds to show off their wares. The best of the best always traveled to Earth, the center of the Empire. But the distances were too vast and there were too many local theater companies to make long interstellar tours economically feasible.

“The Ville,” as its members called it, was unique because its people were unique. All were from the heavy-grav world of New Zion, with genetically-engineered strength, stamina and reflexes far beyond those of the normal Imperial citizen. As a result, its performers could not be replaced or imitated by any low-grav native; what they offered could not be seen outside the realm of this specific show.

Avram Bar Nahum, the company manager, compounded this uniqueness by carrying on the tradition of refusing to record the Ville’s performances. Some called this arrogant, others called it short-sighted—but the only way to see Le Vaudeville Galactique was to attend a show in person.

It had taken years to build up a reputation, years of expensive traveling and small audiences, years of hardship and adversity. But, as the first manager had explained, the hardship and adversity were as nothing compared to what the Zionians had already experienced. Poverty and humiliation seemed insignificant after the years of degradation, slavery and torture that were the hallmarks of “the Metamorphosis.”

The little show grew and thrived. No one had ever seen anything like it, and no one could imitate it. The show emphasized entertainment, with no message or ideology beyond that. It was sophisticated enough for the most intellectual tastes while still being accessible to any child’s delight at the beautiful and unusual. Le Vaudeville Galactique now played to packed houses wherever it went, and tickets were always at a premium.

As was the case with its twentieth-century predecessor, the Ville was a collection of variety acts, each spellbinding in its own way. Unlike the earlier version, however, the show was not modular, but carefully scripted and tied together as a unified whole. The bill did not change because a given act was shuffled in or out of the lineup. Nor did the entertainment ever stop to announce a new act. Acts melted into one another with a stylish grace that was the signature of this special event.

Comedy merged into acrobatics merged into magical illusion merged into song merged into animal acts merged into dance, and the flow of entertainment never ceased. No particular act ever exactly ended; instead, it melded and morphed into the act that followed, often with small mini-acts bridging the gap. The entire spectacle presented a theme that carried over from one act to the next.

The major act before the Dance Masters of Space—Judah and Eva Bar Nahum—was primarily a performance of strength and agility, including tumblers, human pyramids and juggling volunteer members of the audience. Even before the act was over, a chorus of singers was wandering across the stage from left to right while a trio of fire-eaters crossed from right to left. As the acrobats disappeared, Sharona Leibowitz—the show’s premier comic/clown/mime—re-emerged with a pay-off to the major routine she’d performed half an hour before. Sharona, too, had almost left the stage when the lights dimmed except for her follow spot and the music rose to cue the Dance Masters. Sharona did a sudden back flip and walked on her hands the rest of the way off, stage right.

The instant her spotlight went out a new one came on, stage left, and the pair of dancers entered. Both were in costumes that hugged their bodies without confining them. Judah wore a shirt with an open vee neckline down to his breastbone; the sleeves were just full enough not to exaggerate the well-developed musculature of his arms. His pants were tight at the waist and thighs, but flared gracefully from the calves downward—again, barely hinting at the muscles hidden within. The costume was white and red—the right side gleaming with purest white satin, the left side swirling with crimson material set with thousands of tiny rhinestones that glittered and flashed under the spotlight. His shoes were also red, and sparkled like Dorothy’s ruby slippers.

Eva’s costume was a trifle more subdued, but no less impressive. The colors were pastels, blue and gold, with gold shoes. None of it sparkled, but none of it needed to—her vibrancy sparkled enough for the entire ensemble. Her dark hair, barely shoulder-length, framed her lovely face. Her powder blue leotard with the gold swirls emphasized the luscious curves of her torso, while her full, floor-length skirt—gold with blue highlights—seemed to flow around her with a liquid grace as she moved. Even from the back of the balcony without opera glasses, anyone could see she was breathtakingly beautiful. Only Judah’s consummate skill and grace prevented her from eclipsing him.

The couple entered the stage to the applause for Sharona and the strains of a lively polka, spinning about as they took large, energetic steps. The music increased its pace as they danced, and Judah whirled his cousin around so decisively that her feet only touched the ground once every other revolution. Although she didn’t appear to be making any effort to jump, Eva was pushing off the ground each time she touched it, launching herself in a controlled leap guided only by Judah’s powerful arms. The music increased faster and faster, and Eva’s contact with the ground grew less and less frequent.

Before the audience realized it, the rapid polka had evolved into a flamenco rhythm, and Judah was now using his cousin as much like a prop as like a partner. He twirled her behind him and around his shoulders the way a flashy matador might twirl his cape. Eva let go of Judah’s left hand with her right, leaving him to twirl her one-handed. She, meanwhile, reached down to her waist and detached her skirt, twirling the gold and blue cloth around her body even as Judah twirled her around his. The stage lights came up slowly and the spotlight faded as the audience gasped at this breathtaking display of color, strength and grace.

The whirling fabric of the skirt eventually seemed to take off on its own, fluttering up into the flies like a beautiful mammoth butterfly. As it did, the music slowed dramatically and Judah took both his partner’s hands and gave her one last spin that brought her down to the ground and facing him.

Now the music was slow, stately, romantic as the couple began a balletic pas de deux. Eva went en pointe on her right foot, and Judah took her by the waist and lifted her straight into the air over his head. He held her there for three heartbeats, then, to a collective gasp from the audience, he casually tossed her in a high arc halfway across the stage. As she flew through the air Eva remained perfectly rigid, perfectly composed; meanwhile Judah made two extended leaps across the stage to the spot where her arc descended. His foot touched the floor from the second leap at the same instant she came within his reach, and he caught her in the same exact pose as when he’d thrown her. To the wild applause of the crowd he pulled her in towards his body as she put her arms about his neck and slid slowly against him to stand on the floor.

The music changed again, this time to a sultry tango. The cousins slithered together across the stage, moving as though they were a single body with eight limbs. Sometimes they would move slightly apart, but they never broke contact. Their eyes were locked to one another’s; Eva might do a precise spin, but her head and eyes always came back to the original position, focused solely on Judah. The atmosphere in the theater seemed to heat up as the steamy, seductive movements of the tango caught the audience’s rapt attention.