No Going Back

by Mark L. Van Name

  “Well,” he said, “you two have a good time.”

  He extended his arms, and she came forward and hugged him. When she finished, she stepped back, and he and I shook hands again.

  “It was... interesting to meet you, sir,” I said.

  He laughed again. “Relentlessly more honest than the others,” he said. “That won’t always work for you, but it’s fine right now. It was interesting to meet you, too.”

  Omani tugged on my arm and led me away.

  As we were going, I glanced back to see him staring at us. I nodded and waved goodbye.

  He turned to the displays to his right.

  Omani said nothing as we walked through the huge open space, so I also stayed quiet.

  When we’d left the room and the elevator doors had closed behind us, Omani turned to face me. “You were amazing, Jon,” she said.

  She put her hand on my cheek, closed her eyes, and kissed me.

  24 days from the end

  York City

  Planet Haven

  CHAPTER 17

  Jon Moore

  As I walked, I considered the problem of fooling Omani. The challenge I faced was not so much initially appearing old as sustaining that illusion from up close, from a conversational distance, from closer still if she wanted to hug me. At the same time, I wanted to be able to get away quickly should something go wrong.

  I was rarely around the truly old, but the auction from which I’d saved those kids had shown me quite a few old men. Many of them had been rail thin, but some were heavy. I couldn’t appear particularly thinner, so I’d have to go heavier to show some age. Doing that had the added benefit of letting me hide body armor. I could handle being shot, but the healing time would slow me, so if I could save that time, I’d be ahead of the game should anything go wrong.

  Body armor went on my shopping list.

  Quite a few of those old men had also used exoskeletons under their clothing. The right exoskeleton could be useful both for speed and to keep me going if I was hurt.

  One of those went on the list.

  I’d need a good suit tailored decently but not superbly to cover those things. I wanted to appear that I was doing well enough to still be alive, but not so well that I had any chance of moving among the sorts of extraordinarily wealthy people Pimlani knew.

  All of that would help, but none of it addressed the central problem of making my face, neck, and hands appear old. All I’d ever been able to get my nanomachines to do was to disassemble things, so unfortunately they’d be of no use with this problem.

  I’d seen stage actors fake aging well, though, so it was possible, though they generally didn’t have to pass close inspection, and I did. Still, I clearly needed to find a business that worked with actors—or perhaps, I realized, with people who wanted costumes. Parties might create a demand for that sort of thing. Criminals might, too.

  Whether any of what I was seeking would be available in this market was another question entirely. Certainly, the market as it was when I’d lived here would have offered none of it, but this one sprawled over four times as much ground as the one I’d known.

  As I drew closer, shops of all sorts took over the buildings. People lived above some of the shops, but this was clearly an area where tourists and other shoppers came to spend money. As I reached the coordinates where the market should be, I saw that exactly where the market began and where the permanent shops ended was unclear. Some of what initially appeared to be stalls were, on closer inspection, small portable buildings locked in place by metal spikes in the ground, installations about as permanent as many poorly constructed buildings. Stores that bordered the market extended their reach past their boundaries with awnings that covered the sidewalks and half a meter of the street in front of them. Under the awnings stood merchandise displays, barkers both human and holo, and people, people everywhere.

  I couldn’t afford the time to visit every store and every market stall here. If Kang was indeed paying people to search for me, the sooner Lobo and I left for another planet far away, the better. Plus, if Omani truly was dying, each day counted. On the other hand, asking for help left a trail of queries with all the local marketing software, something I hated.

  Still, I had no real alternative.

  I started looking for an interactive guide. A place like this would have them scattered all around, but I wanted one I could use privately; no point in alerting people to what I was doing. I walked back a bit, away from the market, and looked for a post or a pedestal that could help me. I spotted two on the first street, but they were in use by multiple people at once, the holo shopping assistant answering questions in rapid alternation from each of the questioners, maps flashing into view as the holo spoke.

  I walked over a couple of streets from the main road. I finally spotted a pedestal not in use. No one stood near it or seemed to be approaching it, so the odds were good that I could ask my questions without being disturbed. Down the block a bit, five tables sat on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant. The tables were full, four with two people each, and one with four crowded around the small surface. The people facing this way appeared to be focused on their tablemates and their food, and not on anything else.

  This was as good an opportunity as I was likely to get.

  I walked to the pedestal and stood in front of it.

  A meter-high woman with golden skin, short hair, and an unreasonably white smiled burst into view above the pedestal. “How may I help you, sir?”

  If I went with a cover story, at least the trail I left might not gain as much notice as if I asked directly. “I’m at a bit of a loss, I’m afraid,” I said. “I don’t know exactly what I need.”

  You could almost see the software spot the upsell possibilities and shift into another gear. The holo grew slightly younger and bustier. I must have reacted positively, because its shirt pulled back to reveal a little cleavage. I focused on its eyes so it would stop adapting to please me. Unfortunately, that meant trying to stare into the near space and not through it to the building across the street, but I did the best I could. “Can you tell me, sir, the sorts of things you’re looking for, or perhaps what your goals are.”

  “I need to attend a family reunion,” I said, “but an odd one: It’s a costume party.”

  “Excellent, sir. Is it by chance in the city party registries? If you give me your name, I can check for you.”

  I held up my hands. “Thank you, but no. I’m afraid our family is rather private and would prefer to stay that way.”

  “I should say so, sir,” the holo said. She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I couldn’t find a match for you in any of the databases I can access. You have excellent software.”

  And now because it had failed to identify me, it figured I was either a tourist, rich, or somehow very connected; the last two possibilities only increased my upsell potential.

  “What type of costumes are you considering?” the holo said. “Here in Haven I am certain you can find multiple stores with anything you might imagine.”

  “It’s a theme party,” I said, “a go-as-your-ancestor sort of affair.” I had no idea if such things existed, but it seemed reasonable that a very old family that was very full of itself might well hold one. “I want to go as my old grandfather, as he appeared not long before he died. As a young man, he looked a great deal like me.”

  “So older clothing might be in order,” she said, “as well as something to age you.”

  “I’d prefer to stay with modern fashion,” I said, “but something someone over one-fifty would wear.”

  “That will be the least of our challenges. I believe I can also show you some options for make-up. I could refine my search if you were willing to give me a sense of your budget. As I’m sure you know, Haven’s stores and markets support a broad range of clientele and price ranges.”

  I needed the disguise to work; I couldn’t afford the time to shop for bargains. Knowing full well that I was about to incr
ease the likelihood of stores bothering me as I shopped, I said, “Cost is not an issue for me. Finding what I want is all that matters.”

  The holo nodded in approval. I noticed she now had more cleavage and a sparkling necklace directing my attention to her décolletage. “Very good, sir. I will point you to only the very best of our stores—not, of course, that York has any bad merchants. It is simply a case that some serve different types of buyers.” She winked, the movement of the holo eye unsettling. “As I’m sure you understand. Should I now generate a list for you?”

  “No, no,” I said, “we’re not quite done.”

  “Excellent, sir. What else would you like?”

  “Granddaddy used an exoskeleton to help him get around. If you’re going to do a thing, he would always say, do it right, so I want to get one, too. At the same time, if I’m going to buy one, I’d like to be able to use it later, so I was thinking one of the sporting models, something very strong, very fast, and very lightweight. That’s not what he wore, but it will be under my clothing, so it should work.”

  “The very best exos,” the holo said, “should meet all your requirements and more, but they are, as you’re no doubt aware, quite a lot more expensive than the entry-level models.”

  “As I said earlier, cost does not matter to me.”

  The holo bowed slightly. “I apologize, sir. I mentioned it simply because we are now in an entirely different price range from the earlier items and services you are seeking.” The image leaned closer and lowered her voice again, her tone now conspiratorial. “You know how athletes are: The more serious they are, the more they’ll spend on their sports.”

  “Indeed,” I said.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  I had to hope that by now the software had flagged me as not only wealthy but also eccentric, because the body armor had the potential to trigger some flags. Still, I needed it. “Granddaddy was also more than a bit paranoid,” I said. I forced a chuckle. “The things he would do. Anyway, he always wore a layer of full body armor. I figure I can impress everyone else by getting that detail right, so I need some high quality but lightweight body armor as well.” I thought about how hot I would be while wearing it and added, “Ideally something self-cooling; these parties tend to run long, and I do hate sweating.”

  “Of course, sir. That should not be a problem. Is there anything else I could do for you, or should I now prepare your personalized guide?”

  I was getting hungry, but with the profile I had built so far, any mention of food would cause this thing to send me to some expensive, high-end restaurant. I preferred to eat from street vendors who wouldn’t give me a second look, so I said, “No, that should do it.”

  “If I might have your name, sir, so I could personalize your guide.”

  “That won’t be necessary. As I mentioned, our family is rather private.”

  “Very good, sir. Your wallet, please.”

  I thumbed open a quarantined area in my wallet. I’d opted for the very best wallet I could afford, and Lobo had further enhanced its security, so I didn’t worry that this standard city software could break into any other part of it. Nor should it even be trying, but it cost me little extra effort to be safe.

  “You are all set, sir,” the holo said. “I’ve provided you with five excellent options for the clothing, three for the aging make-up, three for the exoskeleton, and five more for the body armor. Is there anything else I could do for you? I exist to serve.”

  Sixteen vendors to visit! My head hurt even thinking about doing that. I would be ready to kill someone by the time I fought my way through the crowds as I went from store to store to endless store.

  “Yes,” I said, “there is. I am not a fan of shopping, nor do I like to wait. The clothing will obviously require tailoring.”

  “Obviously,” the holo said. It nodded in agreement.

  Companies clearly felt people liked their service agents to be this subservient and agreeable, but it was driving me crazy.

  “So what I would appreciate is if you would highlight for me the single store in each category that has obtained the highest buyer ratings locally and that, in the case of the clothing, can most quickly do the tailoring. I’d also appreciate the most efficient route that ends at the clothing store.”

  “In what way would you like the ratings to be highest? As I’m sure you’re aware, our clientele rate our vendors on a broad range of criteria.”

  “Best product,” I said, “and fastest service. Just those.”

  “Very good, sir. If you would please...”

  I reopened access to the area in my wallet.

  “Thank you, sir. Your wallet now contains all of the necessary information. I could also, if you prefer, supply paper or standalone versions at a small fee; many visitors to York find they make excellent souvenirs. Not to imply, sir, that you are necessarily a visitor; I am simply extending the offer.”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m set.”

  “Very good, sir. Is there anything else I could do for you? I exist to serve.”

  “No.”

  I left and walked toward the market. When I was a few meters away from the shops directly on its edge, I found a spot where I could lean on the wall of a wooden building whose signs and holo barker proclaimed it to be the best place on Haven for interactive hats. I brought out my wallet. I studied the route, which suggested I head first to a store to examine exoskeletons. That made sense, because then that purchase could carry my others.

  I followed the wallet’s route into the market. The moment I hit the street where I’d been before, the crowds grew thicker. I hated the exposure of walking in places like this, because there was no way even Lobo could be sure everyone around me was safe. On my own, all I could do was try to avoid bumping into people and watch for suspicious looks or people who kept reappearing. I didn’t expect Kang could possibly have tracked us here, and certainly not so soon, but still, the place jarred me a bit.

  I was also even hungrier than before. When the route took me by a few stands from which smells wafted over me, my stomach churned. I decided to stop and eat.

  When I’d lived here, most of the market’s vendors sold food. Today, that had changed, and no one type of vendor dominated the area. You couldn’t walk far, however, without encountering a small clump of food sellers. The rear of the one nearest where I stood housed a huge grill, on which a man and a woman were roasting skewers of meat and vegetables. Another man on the left was assembling the skewers from thin, almost white wooden sticks and containers holding chunks of three different types of meat and half a dozen vegetables. Up front, two women handed over the skewers or pulled off their contents, wrapped them in a thick bread, added some sauce, and then passed those to customers.

  I joined the line, third in place behind two singles and a trio. The singles, one man and one woman, knew what they wanted and moved quickly. The trio, a pair of men each of whom was holding one hand of a woman, stood and debated their selection. I hated that. When you stand in line at a busy stand and can see what’s on offer, use your waiting time to figure out your order.

  The woman waiting on them glanced up, saw the expression on my face, and rolled her eyes at them.

  I suppressed my laugh and smiled at her.

  When the threesome had finally placed their orders and paid, I stepped forward.

  “Don’t you hate it when...” the woman said as she titled her head toward the trio.

  “I really do,” I said.

  “Anyway, what can I do for you?” she said.

  “Give me the deluxe combo,” I said, “and whatever fruit juice you think would go best with it. I trust your taste.” There’s always a deluxe combo at a street vendor, and it’s almost always a bit overpriced and too much food. Too much food sounded just about perfect to me right now. Fortunately, the nanomachines flush from my system any food I don’t need for calories, so I never gain fat.

  The woman handed me a large cup containing a c
lear liquid and some ice. “I like this one,” she said. “Sweet but still acidic enough to cut the grease.”

  I thumbed her my payment and took a sip of the juice. It was delicious, cold and sweet with a tart edge. “Thanks,” I said. “It’s great.”

  She nodded and turned to the next person.

  When my food was ready, I grabbed the plate—a bread roll of three meats and three veggies, a side of chunks of lightly fried veggies—and wandered until I found a large old tree between two stands selling scarves and other bits of fabric whose purposes eluded me but that seemed of great interest to many of the people walking by. The tree stood in a three-meter-wide circle of rich black dirt that had been packed by people walking and standing on it. I leaned against the tree, as others had so clearly done many, many times before me, and I wolfed down my food. It was everything you could hope for from street fare: hot and juicy and delicious and very, very filling. By the time I finished the last of my drink, I was stuffed.

  A recycling bin ambled over from behind the stand on my right. “Your refuse, sir?” it said. A slot opened in its top.

  I tossed in my plate and cup.

  “Thank you, sir,” the bin said. “Enjoy your time in York.” It rolled back behind the stand.

  York had certainly taken its market upscale. Few cities bothered to spend that kind of money on collecting bins; it was cheaper to let the sloppier customers drop their trash and have the cleaning bots pick it up after business hours.

  I stared at the crowd and enjoyed for a few seconds longer the relative solitude of the tree. My stomach was full, no one was bothering me, and for a moment I forgot all of my cares. I had too much to do, though, to tarry for long.

  I checked the route on my wallet. My first stop was the exoskeleton shop. I considered how best to explain that I needed it both to pass casual inspection as something an old man would wear and also be fast and powerful should I have to leave Pimlani’s estate in a hurry.