The Infinity Link

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  "I know that," he said in irritation. "But to travel across the country—"

  "It's a long way," she agreed. "Joseph—"

  "Yah?"

  "Would you listen to me for a minute?"

  Payne stopped pacing and stood in front of the phone. "Sorry."

  "Look," Teri said. "It's your project, so you can do whatever you want. You won't have that luxury once you have a studio contract."

  "Of course."

  "Well, you called me for my advice. So here it is. I think you've got a good angle, and you'd be a fool not to follow it up." Teri ran the brush through her hair. "Maybe something will come of it, maybe not. But when people don't want to talk to you, that's generally a sign that they're hiding something."

  "Or that they just don't like newscopers," Payne said.

  Teri sighed, only it was more like a growl. "Why are you being so obstinate, Joseph?"

  He frowned and wondered the same thing. "I just feel uneasy about it. I don't want to waste more time than I have already."

  "It's a chance you have to take. Quit acting like a scared puppy. Look—so this woman doesn't want to talk over the phone. Can you blame her? She doesn't know who you are, she's never met you. If you try paying her a visit, you might just be surprised."

  "Mmm."

  "What does it take to light a fire under you? This could be the story you're looking for, and you're acting as though it's too much trouble." She glared at him. "Is it the money? Is that a problem?"

  Payne scowled. That was exactly the problem. Money. He knew that he was acting like a terrified amateur; but the hard truth was that as long as he was a freelancer on spec, he had to pay his own expenses—and his budget could scarcely afford a frivolous trip to California. "You know what it costs to fly cross-country these days," he said finally.

  "Take the airship. It's cheaper." Teri began brushing her hair again, then stopped, when he made no response. "All right, look," she said. "Unless I misunderstood, you expressed some interest in collaborating. Did I misunderstand?"

  "No—you didn't."

  "Well, then, I'll be wrapping up production on this federal education thing in a few days. If you want—if you want—we could set up some terms. I'm not trying to pressure you—"

  "I'd like to do that," Payne said.

  "Okay, write up what you have so far, and let me talk to some people at the studio and see if they might be interested. Would some advance money help?"

  "It might," Payne answered.

  "I'll see what I can do, then." She pressed her lips together and stared at him for a few moments. "Joseph, damn it, I believe I have more confidence in this story than you do."

  Payne grunted. It was true; she did. "Welcome aboard," he said. "Full partners?"

  "If you like. We can settle the details later." Teri glanced at her watch. "I have to scoot—I should be at the studio. But make a decision on that trip, and I'll see if I can help on the money end. All right?"

  "Right. And thanks." Payne signed off and stared thoughtfully at the blank screen. He was amazed at how casually he had just agreed, not only to pursue the story, but also to work with Teri. There were a lot of potential difficulties with that. You can make it work, he told himself. She's a good friend, and you'll probably learn a lot from her.

  He heard the back door slam. Walking out through the kitchen he greeted Denine and relieved her of an armful of groceries. "Would you miss me if I went to California for a while?" he asked as he set the bag on the counter.

  "Hell, no. Why should I?" Denine grinned and started unloading the bag. Eggs, tofu, bread, milk, cheese, bananas. "What's in California, and how are you going to pay for it?"

  "A story's out there, I hope. I just talked to Teri Renshaw, and we're going to collaborate." Payne peered into the bag. "No coffee?"

  "None in the store," she said, putting the milk and cheese away. "They had some Tuesday, and sold out the same day." She pushed things around on the shelves to make room for the eggs, and closed the refrigerator door. "What story?"

  "Space probe. Tachyons. I want to talk to this Ellen Chang at JPL and see if I can do any better with her face to face." He opened the cupboard. "Do we have any cookies left?"

  "We're cutting out the junk food, remember?" Denine said. She tore off a banana and offered it to him.

  He scowled and searched the cupboard for a moment longer, before giving up and accepting the banana. "Did you get that fashion layout design accepted yet?" he asked.

  "Yup. Hey, what's this?" She plucked an envelope out of a small pile of mail on the counter and held it up. Her eyes widened. "A letter from Mrs. Moi—I can't believe it. She must have tracked me down through three cities." In response to Payne's questioning look, she waved the envelope, which was decorated with several forwarding address labels. "Mrs. Moi—Mozy's mother."

  "Mozy? Your friend—the one who doesn't return phone calls?"

  "Right. Her parents are in Kansas City. I haven't heard from them in ages. Wonder what this is all about." Denine tore the envelope open, and frowned as she unfolded two sheets of paper.

  Payne peeled the end of the banana and took a bite. Denine looked up with an expression he couldn't quite decipher. "What is it?" he asked, swallowing.

  She handed him the letter. "You read it. Shit." She sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the floor as he examined the letter. He frowned for a moment, then read:

  Dear Denine,

  I know it's been a long time since I've written, and I hope this letter finds its way to you. I trust and pray that you are well, and happy in your work. The last I recall, you were going into the graphic arts. You always were talented in that area. It's been so long since I've heard, and I know it's probably my fault, for being such a poor correspondent. But since your parents moved away, and then after your mother died, I just haven't kept up the way I should.

  Anyway, the reason I am writing you now is this. You may know that there were some problems between Mozy and the rest of us, a while back, and she dropped out of touch. She stopped writing and calling, and I guess we did, too. I haven't been able to contact her for some time. I have her phone number, but she doesn't return my calls. Have you heard from her, Denine? I was wondering if she might have moved. I urgently need to locate her.

  Mozy's father has become very ill, with cancer, and the doctors are not sure if he will respond to treatment. He may only live a few more weeks or months. Denine, it is very hard for me to write this. Please, if you know how to get in touch with her, ask her to call home immediately! Or let me know where she is.

  I hate to write to you out of the blue like this, asking for a favor—but I'm sure you understand. Thanks so much, if you are able to help. I hope you are well. We would love to hear how you are doing.

  Sincerely,

  Jennifer Moi

  Payne cleared his throat uneasily. Denine was twisting her hair in her fingers, and did not look at him as she took back the letter. "Brings back a lot of memories," she murmured finally.

  He pulled up another chair and sat facing her. "Do you suppose something's wrong?" he said. "It seems strange that she wouldn't answer anybody's calls."

  "Maybe not," Denine said softly. "She had a falling out with her family just before the one with me." She stirred uncomfortably. "Neither one made much sense, as far as I could tell."

  "You never really told me what happened between you," Payne said. "Didn't you say you'd been best of friends?"

  Denine nodded slowly. "All through high school. We were inseparable." She glanced up, and there was hurt in her eyes. "Then, when we were sophomores in college, everything changed. I got involved in my first real relationship with a guy, and it affected Mozy terribly. She was jealous, I suppose. Jealous that I had something she didn't. Jealous that it might cut into my loyalty to her, which it didn't." Denine grimaced. "She resented all the time I spent with Bob. When I moved in with him, it was just too much. She said that that was the end of our friendship, and she just cut me off.
Or tried to. She couldn't give it up altogether—there was the occasional phone call, and when I moved east, a letter once in a while.

  "I never wanted to stop being friends. It just became impossible to give anymore. How could I, when it always meant rejection?" Denine shook her head. "Mozy must have been terribly hurt, terribly lonely." She placed the letter carefully on the table and cleared her throat.

  Moving behind her, Payne began to massage her shoulders. He felt tightly knotted muscles, and squeezed gently. She sagged and breathed more easily in response to his touch. "Do you think she's still angry—and that's why she's not answering anyone's calls?"

  Denine rubbed her eyelids with her fingertips, and sighed. "I don't know." She stood, picking up the letter again. "I'd better write to Mrs. Moi." Payne followed her into her study, where she sat down before the phone console. She switched on the keyboard, then hesitated. "Shit."

  "What?"

  "It's just that Mrs. Moi sounded so desperate—and I hate to write and just say I'm sorry. I feel as though I ought to do more." Denine massaged her eyebrows worriedly. "As though I owe it to Mozy. Maybe I should at least make a quick directory search—"

  Turning back to the phone console, she typed in a request for a phone and postal address search, starting with the last address she had for Mozy. Almost immediately, she received a response from the New Phoenix regional directory. There was a current listing for Mozelle Moi in New Phoenix, at 384 Salton Way; the phone number was listed as active. "Well, there it is," she said. "Same number we used before. Damned if I know why she doesn't answer. I hope she's not in the hospital, or anything."

  "Do you think you ought to try calling her again?" Payne said.

  She exhaled. "I suppose I should. Considering her father's dying—"

  With a stab, she entered the number and muttered to herself as the connection was completed. The screen blinked, and Mozy's "not at home" message appeared, followed by a prompt to leave a message. Denine started to type, then erased and selected a live message instead. "Mozy," she said, her voice deliberately hard and steady. "This is Denine. I have a very important message for you. Please call me at once at this number, or if you can't reach me, call your mother. It's very urgent. I repeat, very urgent." She terminated the message and cleared her throat. "Well," she said noncommittally, "I suppose I should write to Mrs. Moi and tell her."

  Payne went to make lunch, while she composed a lettergram on the console. When he returned, with tomato and cheese sandwiches and two glasses of skim milk, he peered over her shoulder at the screen. She had summarized her efforts to reach Mozy, and concluded with news about herself:

  . . .I've done pretty well in Massachusetts with the graphic design work, despite the generally depressed conditions here. If you saw the ads for Hearthway Inns on the Home Library Network, those are partly my design. I'm living with a man named Joe Payne, a freelance newscoper. You've probably seen some of his work. He helped with a story for INS called "Suburban Ghetto," last year, which you may have seen.

  Well, I hope you reach Mozy if I don't. I hate to say it, but perhaps you should check with the New Phoenix police and hospitals.

  Again, my sympathy about Mr. Moi's illness.

  Sincerely,

  Denine Morgan

  She typed in Mrs. Moi's address and transmitted the letter. She allowed herself a deep breath, then turned from the phone and picked up the sandwich that Payne had placed beside her. "Funny family, the Mois," she murmured, half to herself.

  Payne brought himself back to the present, from thoughts of a trip to California. "How so?"

  She gestured vaguely with her sandwich. "They were always flying off in different directions. Never could get together on things." She paused for a swallow of milk. "Mozy always seemed the odd one out. She was the youngest, and I think maybe her mother was tired of it by the time they got around to her. Her sister Jo mostly raised her. I'm not sure she wanted to, she just sort of got stuck with it."

  "Sounds like a terrific family," Payne said.

  "Well, it wasn't all bad. I have to assume that deep down they cared."

  Payne grunted. "Is that why they cut each other off?"

  "Yeah, well—" She shrugged, then straightened up as a thought occurred to her. "Jesus. I haven't thought of this in years. But there was an incident." She took another bite, frowning in concentration. "We were teenagers, sixteen maybe, or seventeen."

  She looked at Payne, who could not read her expression. "We were mugged. We had gone out on her birthday—her seventeenth, that's right—and we'd gotten some people to buy us some jitters." She laughed grimly. "Neither of us had had them before. We got pretty looped, and wandered into the wrong neighborhood. A few hoods from a local gang came after us." She shook her head. "I don't know how we could have been so stupid. They got us in a parking lot. One of them held me down, and I was terrified they were going to rape me. Mozy put up a fight, though, and before it was over, they'd cut her—"

  Denine was slouched low in her chair. She made a slashing gesture, from her right temple down to her chin. "By then, someone had called the police, and they ran off. We never saw them again."

  Payne gestured awkwardly. "I'm surprised you've never mentioned this before."

  Denine blinked, and shrugged. "Repressed it, I guess."

  "Were you hurt?"

  "I was scared shitless—and knocked around. They didn't rape us. They might have, if help hadn't come. But Mozy came out of it with a big, nasty scar down her face." Denine stared, remembering. "It sure didn't help her self-image. I always wondered if that scar was really necessary, but I guess her family couldn't afford a plastic surgeon." Denine looked at Payne again. "What really hurt her, though, was that nobody from our school did anything. The local gang didn't even try for revenge."

  "You mean you were friendly with the gangs?"

  "We hardly knew them. But Mozy always figured that if it had been a prettier girl who'd gotten knifed, the tough kids from our neighborhood would have considered that an invasion of their territory and done something. But no one seemed to care much that she'd been cut up."

  Payne was having trouble absorbing all this. "Was that connected with the falling out you had?" he asked finally.

  "Well, that happened later, after we were in college. But you know, it might have, after all." Denine let her breath hiss through her teeth. "We'd been friends in rejection, all along, you know. Neither of us ever really had a boyfriend. So we felt left out, together. Who doesn't feel left out, at that age?"

  "Then you found a boyfriend—"

  "And she didn't. I guess she thought I was rejecting her." Denine stood up to carry away her empty plate. "The hell of it is, a lot of people liked her—or they would have if she had let them get close to her. She was bright and she had a sense of humor, but she just couldn't seem to loosen up." Denine sighed. "I'd like to know how she is," she said abruptly, and walked away toward the kitchen.

  Payne came up behind her as she stood at the sink. He put his arms around her, and rested his cheek against the crown of her head, nuzzling her hair. After a few moments, she turned and studied his eyes. Her cheeks were lightly streaked with tears. "Must be pretty depressing to listen to all this. And all you wanted was a contact at that laboratory." She kissed him and touched a finger to his nose. "Don't you have to make arrangements for your trip?"

  "I guess so."

  "Maybe you could do it later?" she said, running her fingers through his hair.

  "Yeh. Maybe later," he agreed, and their next kiss was far longer and gentler.

  Chapter 25

  Mozy felt a tingling in her limbs as she trudged up the snow-covered slope. Fresh-fallen powder puffed glittering into the air with each footstep. Though twilight was deepening over the mountains and the first stars were emerging in the sky, the landscape remained aglow—perhaps from the snow, gathering and refracting the last of the vanishing daylight. Solitude clung to her like a dusting of new powder. She no longer recalled how long s
he had been walking. Kink and Marie had disappeared ages ago, and not another living thing had stirred around her since. She was alone in this wild land—alone with the wind and snow, and when the wind and her footsteps were stilled, silence.

  She was troubled by another disturbing truth: she was climbing the mountains in a quest for something. But what? She could not remember. Lost somewhere in the mountain range, beyond this peak or the next one or the one after that, there was something—a device, or a doorway, or a hidden valley, or . . . something. It was imperative that she find it; she did not remember why. It had been a long and difficult quest. She was scarcely troubled by the elements—the mountain air was thin, bracing, and clear, and she felt a vigor she had not known in ages—and yet, she was disturbed by a continuing feeling of uncertainty. Why, for instance, had her sisters accompanied her for a time, laughing and joking and making her heart ache with happiness—only to vanish, later, when she really could have used their help? And how was it that a winter wind whistled across her neck and through her shawl, yet she felt no chill?