“You know, we’re not all opposed to synth rights,” Tucket says. “Some of us really care.”
Mira smirks. “Ah. You’re the exception, huh? Gonna join the revolution?”
“Maybe,” Tucket mumbles.
I hold up the coaster again. “The Lost Star. Where can we find it?”
“It’s not on earth. Hasn’t been spotted for at least twenty years.”
“We have reason to believe it will be coming back.”
“Your reasons have to do with your personal problems?”
“Maybe.”
Mira studies me for a little longer, then considers Tucket and Carson. “You know what? Sure. Why not? You guys amuse me. I’ll tell you what you need to know. Won’t do you a lot of good, but it doesn’t hurt me to share.” She takes back the coaster and holds up a second blank one next to her drawing. “You need to look for a comet.”
I narrow my eyes. “I thought you said it was a ship.”
“It is a ship. But there are a lot of ships. This one always shows up with a comet.”
“You know this for a fact?”
“It’s what people say. The ones that have seen it. And it’s true of when I saw it too. We were on a supply run to the Jupiter colonies and spotted it on our nav radar leaving the solar system. It was chasing down a comet and winning. One of the LONEOS comets. ”
“Chasing,” Carson says. “What does it do when it catches it?”
“Don’t know,” Mira says. “But that’s what I saw. And that’s what everybody who’s ever seen it on scopes says too. It comes in with a comet or goes out with one. Right up the tail. Damnedest thing.”
“Interesting,” I say. “This one you saw was the Lost Star? How do you know it’s the same ship that gets spotted doing this?”
“Because no one else is that crazy. Name me one good reason to steer a perfectly good starship up the ass end of a comet.”
“No other ships do that?” I ask.
“Shit no. Not unless you want to get pulverized by all the rock and ice coming off the thing. Our ships wouldn’t last a day in those conditions.” She tosses me the coaster. “So that’s what I know. Hope it helps you out.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
I slide the coaster into my pocket as Mira stands.
“I think you’re really pretty,” Tucket blurts out.
Mira stares at him. She starts to speak, but his comment seems to have derailed her usual flow of sarcasm. A smile finally turns up the corner of her mouth. She moves toward the bar but pauses and turns around. “Look. If you want some food you’re actually going to like, try Paco’s Tacos on Bayshore Drive. He’ll treat you right.” With that she wanders away, striking up a conversation with a pair of synths at the end of the bar. She doesn’t look back.
Carson grabs Tucket’s shoulder. “It was a solid try, dude. Maybe we’ll work on your delivery.”
Tucket’s eyes linger on Mira for a moment, then he sighs and follows us out of the bar. “I was starting to think she might like us.”
I clap Tucket on the back. “Maybe you can try the server. She called us ‘polar.’ Has to mean she thinks we’re extra cool, right?” I smile.
Tucket puts his hands in his pockets and shakes his head. “She said all time travelers are polar. It means we’re like the polar ice caps. Used to be cool.”
Paco does indeed treat us right. We get foil-wrapped takeout tacos that are actual food—no meta flavorings required. We take our haul back up the hill, intending to eat them back at Rixon’s, but mine don’t survive the trip. The smells wafting out of the takeout container overpower my resolve and, by the time we walk back into the dingy bar, I’m licking the last remnants of hot sauce off my fingers.
Eon is there to greet us. “Hey. You’ve got a call coming in from the chief.”
“Who’s the chief?” Tucket asks.
Eon leads us back behind the bar and through the kitchen to a staircase. The stairs lead to a multi-bedroom apartment over the bar. The living area has a lot of fancy electronics in it, and when I don my meta goggles, I get the full effect of their usefulness. Doctor Quickly and Noelle Chun appear in digital form in the center of the room, seated in their own holographic chairs.
“Hey, Doc,” Carson says.
Doctor Quickly smiles. “Heard you had a productive day. Eon informed us of your employment on the Skylift.” He looks to me. “And your other, more inflammatory adventures.”
“They had it coming,” I reply.
“Rixon mentioned you ran into these gentlemen before?”
“Yeah, well, later. Guy Friday and his brother Lawrence robbed us of a bunch of anchors and a chronometer in the ’80s. Stuff you gave us when we first met you.”
“Interesting,” Doctor Quickly says. He pulls his leather journal from his bag and jots something down in the back. “I’ll have to look into them.”
“We’d be happy to assist in that particular investigation,” Eon adds. “Ben gave us a few interesting details on their whereabouts.”
Professor Chun leans forward. “Any more information about the symbols in the journal you discovered?”
“Actually, yes,” I reply. I pull Mira’s coaster drawing from my pocket. “We just got a new clue there. We’ve been told we’re looking for a comet.”
Doctor Quickly looks up from his notes. “A comet?” He turns to Professor Chun. “We hadn’t considered perihelion occurrences. The dates could easily align with astronomical events. It would make sense why we hadn’t noted a specific historical significance.”
Professor Chun explains. “We’ve been taking the Roman numerals you showed us in Jay’s journal and analyzing their possible correlation to known events. We’ve run them through multiple timestream historical records but haven’t been able to discover a pattern. Astronomical events haven’t necessarily aligned, but we’ve had a really broad search. What makes you think the symbol refers to a comet?”
“We ran into a starship pilot who says she’s seen the Lost Star. She said it’s a ship, and she watched it chase down a comet.”
Professor Chun stares off into space for a few seconds, and I can tell she’s searching something in the metaspace. “We do have an inbound comet right now. Borisov C/2014 Q3. Its perihelion occurred a few days ago. Not exactly close by. Over 153 million miles from Earth, but it’s the nearest comet we’ve got to work with. If something is coming in with it, it would be moving incredibly fast. It could be arriving here at any time. I’ll check with Interspace Customs and Border Protection. If a ship is inbound, they’ll have a flight plan.”
“Benjamin,” Doctor Quickly says, “I understand you overheard one of these Eternals discussing their business regarding the Skylift?”
“They said they wanted a ship. Specifically wanted to recruit dock masters and security people. Seemed like they were getting desperate. Throwing lots of money at the project. Whatever they’re planning, it’s going to happen soon.”
“They wanted me to meet them the day after tomorrow,” Doctor Quickly says. “The date coincides with when we expect the submarine carrying Mym to arrive in port. I think it’s safe to presume that if your star pilot friend is correct, the Eternals won’t be sticking around long after. I’d be incredibly interested in finding out who they have coming to visit.” He turns his attention to me. “Have you had any luck with your other project—the visions you’ve been getting?”
“No. I haven’t been especially interested in hearing what he has to say since our last connection. He’s partly why Mym is in this mess.”
Doctor Quickly frowns. “You would know yourself the best no doubt, and I have every confidence in you, but I suspect that if you asked my daughter, she might remind you that we owe a lot to the Ben Travers you once were. Whatever his current failings, we wouldn’t be alive at all if he hadn’t done what he did to save us.”
He keeps his eyes on mine until I drop my gaze to my lap.
Doctor Quickly puts his hands on his knees and stands. �
��Okay. Well, it looks like we have some more work to do. Noelle and I will find out about our cosmic visitors. You all look exhausted. Let’s reconvene tomorrow and see what else we’ve got. When that submarine pulls into the harbor, we need to be ready.”
Rixon and Eon sign us off from the holographic conference call and bundle up some of the equipment. Tucket has slumped into the couch with a vacant stare on his face. Carson yawns. He looks ready to pass out any minute. The Mexican food has done everyone in.
“There are spare rooms up here. Find one to make yourselves comfortable, just don’t take mine,” Rixon says. “I have to mind the bar.”
Eon says goodnight as well and leaves us alone.
I attempt to roust Tucket from the couch and realize his far-off stare is because he’s in the metaspace somewhere. “Hey. What are you doing?”
“Wha— oh, nothing.” Tucket jolts back to attention. “I was just looking for—um . . . Nothing. It’s time for bed, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I’ve lost track of how many hours I’ve been awake. Feels closer to days.
As Carson and Tucket find themselves places to sleep, I pretend to do the same. I envy the way they can just crash out. Carson is snoring within minutes. When the sounds of their movements have ceased, I wander down the hall and out onto the rear fire escape.
It’s easier for them. They didn’t wake up out of control and screaming at their girlfriend last time.
From my spot on the fire escape, I’m looking at the glittering lights of the space elevator. The structure blinks and glows in cryptic sequences. More lights flash in the sky as well. Space stations. Satellites. Our man-made constellations. Somewhere up there our mystery ship is making its way to earth.
The harbor glistens. The tide is rising in from the gulf, and somewhere below the horizon, a submarine is gliding closer. Gravity is pulling us all together. One point of contact. I wonder if the same gravity is working on the Neverwhere, drawing my other self closer.
Doctor Quickly’s words linger in my mind. We wouldn’t be here to experience any of it if it hadn’t been for him.
But what happens if I let him in again? What if he takes control? I recall the horror of feeling my own body wrenched away from me. If I reach out to him and let him in, will saving Mym still be in my power?
I do owe him. I know that.
My eyes are bleary from exhaustion. I won’t be able to keep him out forever.
My eyes drift north along the horizon to the hazy lights of other cities along the coast. I need to know how to let him in without ending up like Sonia. There’s no way I can stay awake until Quickly’s scheduled rendezvous with the Eternals.
My fingers find the dials on my chronometer. Even If I skipped ahead, I’d need to be at my best then, not this ragged version of me. I’ll be no good as a rescuer if I can’t even see straight.
I can feel the call of sleep. All I would need to do is go back inside and lie down on the couch.
If I go to sleep, will I wake up me?
I study the alley behind the bar for a brief moment, then climb down the fire escape. Action will keep me awake.
I don my meta goggles and blend with the late night pedestrians making their way down to the waterfront. I’m glad my walk is downhill: the path of least resistance. The rhythm of the citizens going about their business around me gives me a sense of normalcy. To them, this is just another night. I am just one of the crowd. A sea of anonymous faces.
Except one.
Crossing the street, carrying a bouquet of flowers, is Tucket. Surprised, I almost call to him, but his expression is serious. He seems intent on his mission. It seems I’m not the only one ducking out on sleep. Tucket continues downhill away from me, then turns right on a side street. By the time I reach the corner, he is already standing outside Machina Libre. He braces himself, then walks inside.
I debate going after him. I don’t know if the synths inside are going to give him a hard time. When I reach the bar, I linger on the front steps, craning my neck to look inside. Tucket has marched straight to the back of the bar to a booth along the far wall and has presented his flowers to Mira. She’s holding them as one might an offensive smelling diaper, but, to my surprise, she invites Tucket to sit. Tucket slides into the booth and immediately begins babbling away in his usual fashion. Mira stays silent, but she’s listening, apparently open to Tucket’s exuberance. I observe the scene until the big bartender from earlier steps over to the doorway.
“What are you, a cat?”
“Huh?”
“In or out. Make up your mind. I’m closing these doors.”
I take a step back. “I guess I’m good.” The bartender shuts the door on me and I get only one last glimpse of the booth in the back.
Mira is laughing.
Maybe he knows what he’s doing after all . . .
Since Tucket doesn’t seem to be in danger of being murdered, I continue my way downhill.
My body is aching. I need to be off my feet and sleeping, but I still need assurances. I walk faster.
Before my mind has any chance to object, I reach my destination. I grasp the lanyard around my neck and use the chit to get myself aboard the B train headed north.
The train route glows on the walls, city maps and highlighted landmarks illuminated in the metaspace. As the train launches itself northward at breathtaking speed, I trace the line of its trajectory up the coast to Saint Petersburg. Six Southside city stops, three downtown, and then one for Old Northeast. Fourth and Ninth Streets. The names near the stops list the featured destinations. At the bottom of the list is my destination. The Temple of the Eternal Flame.
An old woman gestures to an open seat next to her. I wave a thank you but stay standing. If I sit, I’ll close my eyes.
If I close my eyes, I may never come back.
18
“You can’t assume the most important people in your life will be living close to home. Sometimes your greatest friends are discovered in far away places. It’s up to you to go find them.”-Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 2202
St. Petersburg, 2165
It’s past midnight when I reach the Temple of the Eternal Flame. It’s a two-story stone building that resembles a Moorish castle with its sturdy square proportions and a sense of permanence. At its front, two heavy wooden gates stand closed atop a half dozen steps. Above the door, a circular stone cutout flickers from internal firelight. In the darkness, the opening resembles a watchful eye staring out at the night.
I walk around the perimeter of the temple, but there isn’t much to see. The walls are unadorned and there is only one visible entrance. No worshipers. No pious congregation. I’m too late.
I cross Ninth Street and enter the lobby of a hotel that has bloomed up in place of what once was a Red Cross station. The new building is twenty stories and a shining tower of glass and chrome. Despite its height, it seems fragile opposite the sturdy stone temple.
The synth receptionist smiles as I approach.
“Good evening, sir. It’s nice to see you looking well again. Did you have a pleasant evening?”
“Um, maybe?” I put on my most guileless expression. “Could you remind me which room I was staying in? I seem to have lost my key card.”
“Must have been quite the night. We haven’t issued key cards for about a hundred years.” She leans over the desk conspiratorially. “We scanned your eyes when you checked in, sir. Room 224.”
“Ah. It’s coming back to me now.” I tap my forehead. “Just one more thing. Could you tell me what time I checked in?”
“Three thirty-five, sir. I’m glad the first-aid kit seems to have done its job.” She winks at me. “Right as rain, indeed.”
“Oh. Yeah, thanks . . .” I slip my meta-goggles on and read the name floating above the desk clerk’s head. “. . . Penny.” Penny smiles and I leave her to find the elevator.
First-aid kit? That doesn’t sound good. I pause in the hallway to consider the implications of w
hat she might be saying about my near future. Probably nothing too terrible if I didn’t need major medical attention. I hope.
The door to room 224 has no handle but slides open as soon as I lift my goggles and stare at the spot where the handle ought to be.
The lights brighten automatically and the walls spring to life with digital scenery. The longest wall is a view of the Gulf of Mexico that really hasn’t changed much since my time. A white sand beach stretches from one imaginary horizon to another. It seems any room can now boast an oceanfront view.
The first-aid kit that the receptionist mentioned is sitting on one of the nightstands. I walk over to it and pop the lid open to check the contents. From what I can tell, all of the major items are still in their plastic wrappers. If there is anything missing, it can’t be more than a pack of aspirin or a Band-Aid. That makes me feel better.
The illusory nature of the walls makes me shy away from using one as an anchor. I enter the bathroom instead and see immediately that I’ve made the right choice. Apparently lacking any other writing implements, someone has written on the glass shower door with soap. 3:28. I pat my pockets and realize that I have indeed come unprepared for taking notes.
“Okay. Makes that easier.”
I set my chronometer for 3:28 and dial the pin release timer for ten seconds, letting it tick down to my departure, my one hand casually pressed against the wall. A thought occurs to me and I hastily question the room. “Room, what time is it now?”
A gentle voice responds. “The current time is 12:25 a.m.”
“Thanks.”
At 3:28 the soap writing on the glass has vanished. I notice belatedly that there is an automatic liquid soap dispenser in place next to the sink. The shower likewise offers only automatic cleaning options. It takes me a few minutes to locate the bar soap kept in reserve in one of the sink drawers. I unwrap it and dutifully scribble my message on the shower glass before preparing to depart again. I open up one of the cabinet doors under the sink and scribble a second soap note on the inside. 12:25. Satisfied, I make my way downstairs to the front desk to officially acquire my newly reserved jump room.
In Times Like These Boxed Set Page 150
