No Going Back

by Mark L. Van Name

  With a last glance around, I entered the store.

  It was huge, about as deep as it was wide, and three stories tall. The upper floors ended in balconies that overlooked the first. For its first seven or eight meters from the front wall, the ground floor on which I’d entered extended all the way to the top of the store. Hanging above me on cables so thin I couldn’t even see most of them were a dozen or more different exoskeletons, each moving slowly in different ways.

  I was immediately aware of the dirt that must still be on my back and how casually I was dressed. I looked like someone who might come to repair something wrong with the store’s underground power supply, not a customer.

  A salesman approached me. “May I help you, sir?” He treated me as if I were the best-dressed, most important man in the world.

  Aside from the would-be thieves, people and machines on York were the most polite I’d experienced in some time. There’s nothing like potential profit to make some people behave nicely. I still found it disconcerting, though, because I rarely shopped anywhere that wasn’t a street vendor. The less formal the establishment, the less likely they were to keep records of your purchases, particularly if you tipped them well.

  “I’m looking for an exoskeleton,” I said. I immediately regretted how stupid that statement was; why else would I be in this store?

  “Of course, sir,” the salesman said. With just his tone he conveyed that he was privileged to have heard such wisdom.

  This place’s prices must be high.

  “I’m going to a party,” I said, “a costume party, and I will be dressing as my grandfather.”

  “Who is...” the salesman said.

  “Deceased and not from Haven,” I said. “He was quite old, over a hundred and fifty, and I need something like what he might have worn. At the same time, I’d ideally like to be able to use it later for sport.”

  The salesman nodded. “As I’m sure you’re aware, most commonly the elderly wear simple, frequently heavy models. Sporting units, by contrast, often employ the very best in materials and technologies to deliver a great deal of power from a very low weight.”

  “I understand, but my grandfather liked the best of everything and so wore a very sleek model.”

  “If I may inquire, sir, so that I show you only the appropriate units, is there a particular price range that you are targeting?”

  I waved my hand in front of my face as if swatting away small insects. “Not at all. Cost is not a concern; finding the perfect unit is.”

  To his credit, the salesman never let his expression change, but he had to fight not to smile. “Two models come immediately to mind, sir. Would you like to follow me to one of our private studios so we can take a few measurements and then bring them to you?”

  I nodded and followed him.

  He led me to the left rear of the store where a few large rooms, each with its own ceiling, stood within the greater space of the store. He unlocked the wide, tall door of the leftmost one and motioned me inside. At his request, I stood, legs spread and arms held at shoulder height, for a few seconds while a machine scanned me.

  “I should not be long,” he said. “While you wait, would you like anything to drink? A snack?”

  “A fruit juice, something local, would be nice,” I said.

  “Very good, sir,” he said. “A server will bring it to you shortly.”

  He left.

  Less than two minutes later, a young man knocked on the door and brought me the drink. It came in a burnished metal cup that matched the store’s exterior and the finish of most of its exoskeletons. He carried it on a tray that appeared to be made of the same metal. He also left a second cup, this one full of water.

  The drink was delicious, sweet and thick and cold and refreshing. The water, also cold, helped cleanse my palate after a few sips of the juice.

  A few minutes later, the salesman knocked on the door and entered. He stepped aside as he did. Two exoskeletons followed him inside. He held one control in each hand. They stopped in front of me.

  The units were very similar, each made of smooth, burnished gray metal with far thinner struts and supports than I had expected. The servos and motors at the joints were also smaller than I’d anticipated, but I should, I realized, have predicted that. When I’d noticed the exoskeletons on the men at the auction, I hadn’t spotted any large bulges from any of their servos.

  One of these units did appear a bit thicker at the joints than the other.

  “Either of these models,” the salesman said, “should meet your needs. The essential difference between them is one of focus. This one,” he put his hand on the one on my right, the one with thicker servos, “delivers more raw power and is best for competitions and endeavors that demand more strength. The other,” he touched it, “provides greater speed. Nothing else on the market can take you as fast.”

  I considered them for a few seconds. “What about jumping? Which is likely to take me higher and to handle a landing better?”

  “From a standing position, the first unit will go higher. With a running start, the second. Either can easily absorb a fall from a fairly great distance, though of course it is unavoidable that the operator would feel some of those effects.”

  If Lobo and I guessed correctly, should something go wrong, I’d likely be operating in close quarters. “I think the first would suit me better,” I said.

  “A fine choice. Would you care to try it? We have a practice area available.”

  “Yes.”

  “Should this unit satisfy you,” he said, “and I have every confidence it will, when would you like it?”

  “Immediately,” I said. I shook my head at the prospect of the shopping still to come. “I unfortunately have to acquire the rest of my costume today; the party is tomorrow. I foolishly started late.”

  “If I may, sir,” he said, “are you aware that many of the better establishments in York, including our own, have reciprocal arrangements and provide services for gentlemen such as yourself?”

  “No,” I said. “How does that work?”

  “One of our services, which of course is entirely optional, is that members of our staff could bring candidate items here for your evaluation.”

  “And I would have to...”

  “Select from among them or ask for additional options,” he said. “We would also need you to set up an account, of course, simply to ensure the billing details were covered.”

  I loved the idea of someone else shopping for me. “How much notice would you need?” I said.

  “We are at your disposal now, sir. While you were evaluating the two exoskeletons, we could have as many of our staff as you would like proceed with your shopping.”

  “I would enjoy that indeed,” I said. “Shopping is not my favorite activity.” I opened my wallet and brought up the itinerary and list the pedestal had prepared for me. “Here’s what I’m seeking and some recommendations I received.”

  “If I may, sir,” he said.

  I handed him the wallet.

  He studied it for a few seconds. “Body armor, costume to go over it and the exoskeleton, tailoring, and aging options. Is that the list, sir?”

  I nodded.

  “As to the recommendations, are they preferences of yours or simply...” He trailed off.

  “Not preferences at all,” I said. “What matters most to me is that even from very close range, closer than we are, I look like my grandfather.”

  “Then unless it is a problem, we will proceed with our preferred suppliers in each area.”

  I assume by “preferred” he meant the companies that would kick back something to Exo, but I did not care at all. “Quality is all that matters to me.”

  He nodded. “And the body armor is?”

  “Both for authenticity—he was paranoid—and for padding; he was rather heavier than I am.”

  “For the make-up,” he said, “would you like someone to arrive before the party and apply it, or would you prefer som
ething more prosthetic and self-shaping that you could put on yourself? The latter is the more involved option, of course.”

  I planned to visit Omani in the late afternoon, not a likely time for a party. “Very much the latter,” I said. “I prefer to handle it myself.”

  “I apologize for all the questions,” he said, “but we are almost done with them. Will you be dressing yourself, or will staff be helping?”

  “I brought none on this trip,” I said, “so I am on my own.” The answer seemed appropriate to the role I was creating, though I couldn’t even imagine someone helping me dress; it would drive me crazy.

  “Finally,” he said, “a single person could help you, or we could assign one per item. The latter will finish a great deal faster, but of course it entails more cost.”

  I made the hand-waving motion again. “As I said, cost doesn’t matter. Finishing quickly would be ideal.”

  “Very good, sir. Now, if we could set up the account, we could begin work.”

  “Discretion is very important to me,” I said.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “So, I’d like to propose an alternative: I’ll pay you now for the exoskeletons, your estimate of the services, and your estimate of the purchase prices. Aim high on all of them. You can refund me any savings when we’re done, or ask for more should we begin to come close to what I’ve already given you.”

  “It is not our usual policy,” he said.

  “I would also propose we add some recognition, say thirty percent, for your work and the work to come of the others involved.”

  “I shall return momentarily, sir, after I discuss this proposal with management.” He left.

  I studied the exoskeletons. No strut on either was a thick as my index finger. Though standing still they initially appeared to have little flexibility, when I studied some of the struts more closely, I thought I detected quite a few small joints.

  The salesman returned. “We appreciate your proposal, sir, and are happy to accept it.”

  I opened a payment area in my wallet and let him enter an amount. I tried not to let my surprise at the amount show on my face. I’ve bought complex weapons systems for less. I approved his request without comment.

  For the first time, he permitted himself a slight smile. “If I may, sir, I would like to take a few minutes to dispatch the staff on their missions. I will then return for your try-out of the exoskeleton. I believe this will ultimately prove to be the most efficient use of your time.”

  “That’s fine,” I said.

  I drank a few sips of the juice and a little of the water. I stuck my head out of the door, but no one was in sight. Surrendering so much control to these people made me nervous, but it also let me avoid an activity I hated and stay out of the crowds.

  When the salesman returned five minutes later, I was in the exoskeleton. I’d expected mounting it to be harder, but that was foolish; at this price, I should have known everything would happen automatically. The moment I stood in it, the thing began adjusting itself to me. When I moved, it did, too; the controls the salesman had used were just for remote operation.

  “As you can see,” he said, “operating the exoskeleton is simplicity itself. Additional controls are, of course, standard should you be injured and unable to move any part of you.” He walked me through them, showed me some of the many features of the unit, and then led me down to what amounted to a large, open workout area with heavily padded walls and floors.

  I first practiced jumping from a crouch. I began with what I thought was a tiny amount of effort and found my feet a meter and a half off the ground. I wobbled in the air, but the struts corrected for the motion, and I landed on my feet. The units had no jets, so if I made that mistake at a high enough height, I might fall out of control. I repeated the same jump but forced myself to fall backward by moving so much the struts couldn’t correct for the motion in time. It felt exactly like falling on a bunch of thin metal rods; though the pain was not bad, it was definitely pain. The nanomachines would be repairing bruised tissue.

  I also worked on using the exoskeleton to move weight. I had the option of having it support me and provide assistance lifting anything I grabbed, but that limited me to what my grip could support. The unit could also extend multiple finger-like flanges that could bend and grip. Using them, the unit had no trouble picking up a two-hundred-kilo weight and adjusting my balance as necessary. Past that, I had to help with the balance and use both exo-hands, simply so the weight wouldn’t pull me down.

  All in all, it was an impressive device that might come in handy if things turned nonlinear when I visited Omani tomorrow.

  A little over an hour after the salesman had left to brief the staff, he led me to a new room where a new person waited, a woman with a selection of body armor options.

  Over the next four hours, I felt dangerously close to being a test subject again. People showed me options they’d selected. I picked whatever they recommended as long as it was something I could tolerate; two of the suits they showed me were more fancy than anything I would ever wear. I stood as people tried them on me, clucked, made adjustments, and tried again.

  Ninety minutes into it, I thought I was going to scream and had to take a break. I went to the exoskeleton try-out room, paced back and forth, did some push-ups, and punched the walls to burn off stress. All of those people fussing over me took me back to Aggro in very bad ways.

  When I was calmer, they resumed.

  An hour later, they served a snack of fruit and cheese, all of which was delicious. I appreciated the break even more than the food.

  The make-up was the most challenging part, because to get the effects I wanted, my face, hands, and neck—all the skin you could see and a bit more—were literally encased in what amounted to thin prosthetic devices. A team from the make-up place set up outside my new room, as did a second team working on the clothing.

  When we finally finished, I stood staring at a mirror in which a heavyset old man a bit taller than I was stared back at me. If I were to age, I would probably look like this man. His skin felt natural and warm, as they’d claimed it would. I leaned close to the mirror and still bought the illusion.

  I took it all off, and as they boxed it all, I settled the tab. I ended up owing them extra, but I didn’t mind paying; the work they had done was exquisite. More importantly, I would not have been able to accomplish the same things in anywhere near the amount of time this took. Even so, I was bristling with nervous energy and feeling caged.

  “Where would you like us to deliver your purchases, sir?” the salesman said.

  I started to tell him the name of the hotel I’d chosen, but I reconsidered. If anyone had been following me, or if the thieves had stupidly talked to the police, it’s possible they might be able to backtrack me to that hotel. I doubted it, but a little extra caution never hurt. Plus, I suspected the place I’d selected was not consistent with the identity I’d built here. I didn’t need the clothing or the pack in the other hotel, so I’d just write them off. The clothing and the exoskeleton I’d purchased today, should Omani recognize either, suggested affluence, so maintaining that illusion and also taking advantage of the private transportation that upscale hotels offered might further throw people off my trail should something go wrong at the meeting.

  “I’ve only just arrived in York,” I said, “so I haven’t selected accommodations yet.” I found myself changing my diction to suit the salesman’s. “Might you suggest something with a suitable suite? Someplace particularly discreet and nearby?”

  He thought for a few seconds before saying, “I shall make a few inquiries.”

  When he came back, he said, “I’ve taken the liberty of booking you a suite here.”

  He showed me a holo of the Little York Inn, a plain light blue permacrete building with no name or logo other than a small gold metal plate near the front door. Its motto, “The pinnacle of luxury and security,” spun around the bottom of the holo. He pulled back an
d showed me its location on a map; it was only a few kilometers farther from the Pimlani estate than my initial choice.

  “If it is to your liking, I’ll have them send round a vehicle for you and your purchases.”

  “It is,” I said. “Please do.”

  Before he could ask, I opened a payment area in my wallet and handed it to him.

  He entered the cost. “This should cover your stay, all incidentals, and any necessary transportation tomorrow. They will credit us, and we will then credit you any surplus.”

  I approved it. “No need,” I said.

  The shuttle that arrived from the Inn did its best to appear inconspicuous, but you simply can’t mask that much armor and luxury. I liked, though, the contrast between the plainly dressed man who had left the landing zone where Lobo waited and the presumably affluent one who climbed quickly into the Inn’s transport.

  Once alone and inside the vehicle, I relaxed a bit. As we headed to the Inn, I told myself that all I had to do was meet a woman I’d loved over twelve decades ago, convince her I was as ancient as she was, and escape without incident, all the while hoping one of the most powerful men in this section of the human worlds hadn’t caught up to me.

  That was all.

  I turned on my comm, which I’d kept off all day. It immediately signaled that Lobo had been trying to reach me.

  As soon as I arrived at the Inn and they’d set the lock to recognize me, I stepped outside. Three men wearing nicer suits than anything I owned except what they were carrying began transporting my purchases to my room. I walked a block and a half down the street. When I was sure I was alone, contacted Lobo.

  “Where have you been?” he said.

  “Getting to know the terrain,” I said, “and doing some shopping so I’m dressed appropriately for tomorrow. You?”

  “Working.”

  “On what?”

  “Gathering data about Pimlani, seeking out data footprints to see if Kang has any trackers on us—you know, what you asked me to do.”

  “So we’re both doing what we said we would be.”