Bright of the Sky

by Kay Kenyon

  TAItT III

  IDAKK

  AS

  `DOSE

  N16111

  CI AfTEK EIGHTEEN

  HE PREACHER ON THE CORNER proclaimed that the end was near. He kept his post despite the relentless drizzle, waving tracts at people on lunch break. He managed to thrust one into the hands of Stefan Polich.

  Stefan was surprised. It had been a long time since he'd gone on foot at street level. He'd assumed that the city was more presentable, that people, with their basic needs met, were less inspired to deal religion and drugs. But he'd forgotten that some folks had runaway minds. The ones who thought they'd spoken to Jesus, and the ones who thought they were Jesus.

  "Jesus got room for you, too," the preacher said-a vagrant dispensing grace to a billionaire.

  The tract was a pulpy wad in Stefan's fist. He hurried onward, putting distance between himself and the thoughts of the kingdom to come. He was trying to clear his thoughts, not complicate them.

  But Titus Quinn kept coming to mind. Like this street preacher, and the losers who congregated out of the rain under awnings, Quinn was a mental runaway.

  Stefan had thought so from the day they'd found the man in a mining camp on Lyra, where no out-of-system freighter had come in years. Aside from being on a planet where he couldn't be, Quinn had done little to inspire confidence in his exotic claims. Even after hospitalization and rehab, the man was a wreck: a loner, a misfit, and a dropout.

  Now, Stefan depended on that same man to save him. He needed Titus Quinn a damn sight more than he needed Jesus.

  Especially since a Kardashev tunnel had devoured another shipload of colonists.

  At the residential tower where Caitlin and Rob Quinn lived, he entered the lobby, shaking the rain from his umbrella. He bypassed the elevators and took the stairs to give his quads a workout.

  There came a time, Stefan mused, when a man had to decide what he believed-about death, about what it all means. At forty-three, Stefan Polich thought it might be time to nail that down. Once the newsTides got word about the evaporation of the starship Appolonia-and that would be about twenty minutes ago-he'd be hounded for an interview, explaining, justifying, apologizing. He'd done it before. But there were those on the Minerva board who might challenge him after two such failures in as many years. Suzene Gninenko, for example, always watched for an opening. If he started replacing ships, it would be an admission that they weren't seaworthy. No one would book passage on the older ships. At 900 million a pop, the fleet replacement would drive profits into a gopher hole.

  Thus his crisis of faith.

  Floor two. He removed his wool coat, tucking it over his arm and continuing the climb. By floor six he ought to have the meaning of life figured out. As a savvy, he was always good at the big picture. But the ultimate big picture? Stefan shook his head, trudging up the terrafab stairs.

  Floor ten. His legs felt like molten ingots. Giving up on his quads, he pushed through the door to the elevator stack, no closer to his epiphany.

  Minerva controlled nineteen Kardashev tunnels, domesticating them and creating a transport system that linked the thirty extrasolar colonized planets. It was a kingdom dependent upon cataclysmic forces. An empire based on blindingly violent past events: the supernovae of stars of more than five solar masses.

  So when these handy space-time tunnels ripped apart a ship or two, it wasn't as though anyone should be surprised. All passengers signed papers that openly disclosed the dangers in excruciating detail.

  In his pocket, he fingered the damp religious tract. He wondered if the passengers on the ill-fated Appolonia went straight to heaven-or made a stop in Titus Quinn's adjoining region. As the man himself had once done, when all this began.

  He stood in front of the Quinns' apartment door, flashed his silvered hand in front of the smart surface, and waited. Caitlin Quinn had little reason to open the door to the likes of him. She knew that Minerva had threatened Rob's job to get her brother-in-law to go. What she didn't know was that Helice had thrown fuel on that fire, putting Mateo's future on the line, too. He was glad Lamar had blown the whistle on her. Helice was an amoral zealot, with ambitions to succeed her betters ... thinking she'd go along with Quinn, threatening their man without consulting him. She was walking the edge, and at the first chance Stefan would give her a little push. So Caitlin Quinn owed him a little payback, and he was here to get it.

  She did open the door. It took her a moment to recognize him. She couldn't help knowing his face from the company newsTides.

  A shadow fell on her face. "Titus ..."

  "No, it's not about Titus. There's no word yet." He looked beyond her shoulder, into the apartment, but he knew that Rob was at work. "May I come in for a moment?"

  Caitlin crumpled her lips. "I'm not sure. I don't know if I want to hear some things."

  "I swear. Nothing like that."

  After a moment she stepped back, and he entered the apartment.

  He avoided looking around. It was ugly and cramped. The walls had little divots where new data structures had been replaced. He observed this with his peripheral vision, taking care not to embarrass her. This residential cube had its share of virtual enhancements, and when they were live, the walls must look considerably better. Her husband could afford it. Minerva paid top prices even for talent like his.

  She closed the door. "So Rob still has his position?"

  He nodded. The forty-year-old savant tender should be retired to the dole. But wouldn't be, because his brother was protecting him. Caitlin Quinn no doubt considered this Rob's due. Entitlement was the game, and every dred and middle knew exactly how to play it.

  "In that case," she said, "you can sit down."

  They faced off. Caitlin was stocky and healthy looking. Nice features for her age; might once have been pretty. Probably no aesthetic enhancements, unlike his own wife, who frankly made Caitlin look like a wet dog.

  Now that he was here it was hard to make a beginning. He made a stab at it: "I know you despise me."

  She looked as though she was weighing this idea.

  Stefan continued, "Quinn and I had our differences when he lost his ship." After a pause: "I made mistakes."

  Caitlin wasn't giving him much. She just sat there, looking at him without any trace of fear or toadyism. He didn't much care for the judgmental gaze. He went on: "I didn't believe his story. I couldn't entrust another starship to someone with ideas like his. No ship would have fully booked under his command. He ruined himself. I know you don't believe that."

  "Nope. I don't."

  "I take some of the blame. I was wrong about what happened. But if I'd championed him, the board would have dumped me in an instant. With Titus no better off."

  "All right. But you went beyond just sacking him. You said things that made sure he'd never work again."

  He stared at the floor. "Mistakes." Stefan had never liked Titus Quinn. When the man had come home raving, it was just that much worse.

  "Do you expect me to forgive you, Mr. Polich? Is that why you're here?"

  "No." He looked into her eyes. She had a quality that the poor often had, of what might be called integrity. And he wanted some of that, even if only for a moment, so that he could stand himself. "Up to Titus, isn't it?"

  "Damn right."

  The warm room began drying his wet collar and shoes, making him feel little pinpricks at his neck and ankles. He shouldn't have come. There was too much past. Ugly past. But he was here now, so he blurted, "You and Titus are close. Even closer than he and his brother."

  A movement distracted him. He looked up to find that her son was standing in the doorway to a bedroom.

  Caitlin turned to him. "Honey, school's still in session."

  "I heard voices."

  "This is Stefan Polich, Mateo."

  The boy looked at him a long beat. By the cool gaze, Stefan was afraid his name had been taken in vain a few times around this household.

  "Are you a savvy?" Mateo as
ked. "You look like one."

  The question startled Stefan. "I ... am. Yes."

  Mateo smiled. "Me, too. I'm studying."

  Stefan felt an awful half-smile paste up on his face. You either tested or you didn't. Studying made no difference. And sometimes, even if you did test well, things happened to your score records. Confronted with the boy's brown eyes, Stefan cemented his resolve to protect this boy. Stefan might be a sinner, but he wasn't a ghoul.

  Caitlin escorted Mateo back to his virtual tie-in. She closed the door, eyeing Stefan.

  "Sweet, isn't it? He actually thinks there's room for self-improvement."

  The room was growing hotter. He should never have come. He couldn't fix the world. He couldn't change the fact that there was a natural divide in ability for the human race. That the world had become so detailed and complex that it surpassed the Caitlins and Robs of the world.

  He was desperate to be gone, but he plodded on, wanting the thing that Caitlin could give him: hope.

  "You're close to Quinn," he said. "That's why I came. To ask you."

  "Ask then, Mr. Polich. I'm a busy woman."

  He paused. "Do you believe him?"

  A small smile came into her face. She knew exactly what he meant. But she turned away, looking out the sliding-glass door that led out onto a lanai. She stared into the city. "That he went somewhere? Do I believe he went to the other place and lived?"

  "Yes," he whispered. He wanted to believe. He wanted to know if she believed, and why. He knew she wasn't dumb. She was average-smart, a right-down-the-middle engineering graduate. But in some ways she had a wisdom about her. An ability to sit with the CEO of the fourth-largest company in the world and tell him with all grace, I'ni a busy woman.

  "Why does it matter what I think?"

  Because you're the goddamn cheerleader for Titus Quinn, he thought. Because you actually like the man, and have some reason to think that he's not a mental runaway. Because you still hope to see him come home from high adventures.

  He said, "Because I'm losing ships, Caitlin. If Quinn doesn't help us, we won't have any other options."

  "You mean you won't," she said, an edge coming into her voice. "Some of us don't care about interstellar travel, Mr. Polich. Some of us are trying real hard just to deal with the world we've got."

  That stung. She was on his dole. Implying it wasn't enough.

  "But I'm still asking you. I'm asking for your frank opinion." She knew Quinn at a level no one else did. If she could believe, maybe he could, too. Maybe he could sleep at night.

  She rose from her chair and went to the window. Her voice came small and lost. "I don't know."

  He felt the weight of those words, few and soft as they were.

  Caitlin faced him across the living room. "I want to believe him. I've chosen to believe him."

  "Chosen?"

  "Yes."

  He saw what she was driving at: that faith was something you decided on. But she hadn't soothed his troubled brow. She hadn't given him the answer he wanted. He'd expected that Caitlin Quinn would have that simple middle susceptibility to faith. And that some of it might rub off on him.

  "You don't get to, though," she added, and her voice had turned hard, along with her eyes.

  "I don't?" He didn't get to choose?

  "I believe him because of how much we all love him."

  Love. Well, if that was the prerequisite ... "Not a very objective position," he said, with some bitterness.

  She shook her head, looking as though she actually pitied him. Here she was in her crappy little apartment, standing like the Statue of Liberty, Miss Holier-than-thou. Like a lot of people, she thought love solved everything: just smear it over the problem, and it'll all work out. Then they had the arrogance to pity you if you saw things more rationally. He wished he hadn't come; wished he hadn't exposed himself like this to her. He was at the top of the food chain, and she was a bottom feeder; and now she stood there on her high moral ground.... He had an urge to put her in her place.

  "Caitlin," he said, rising to leave. "If Quinn does come back, there's something you can do for me. He'll give us a full report; we'll make sure of that. But if he holds anything back-any little side deals he's made over there-we want to know about it." They should have sent Booth Waller along, damn Titus's conniving heart, anyway.

  She looked at him with incredulous eyes. "Why on Earth should I tell you?"

  "The Standard Test is coming up soon, isn't it?" He flicked a glance at the closed bedroom door.

  She followed his glance. "What about it?"

  Stefan was now stomping in Helice's realm. The youngest member of the board had started the whole idea, and now Stefan would finish it. He let his voice convey how little Caitlin knew: "Did you think the Standard Test was really standard?"

  Now the statuelike quality of her hardened. She couldn't move, couldn't speak.

  "Just keep us in mind," he said. "In case you hear things. Things he'd only tell you. You will have my gratitude, I assure you."

  "Get out of here."

  Stefan didn't move, and for a moment Caitlin wondered if there was more. If he had more bodies in the closet. If he was going to throw acid in her face, repossess the furniture, put up on the newsTides pictures of her in her underwear.... She was furious, and afraid. But she also was flying high above this conversation, seeing something clearly from that birds-eye view: that Stefan Polich would never let them go. He'd never be satisfied with what her family could give him. Like a man on a drug, once he ruled the Quinn family, he'd control them to their graves. It came like an awful and freeing truth: she was doomed no matter what she did. So she might as well stop the whole thing right here and now.

  "Think about it, Caitlin. Don't make up your mind right now." He handed her his card. "Call me. Anytime."

  "No," she said, making no move to take it. "I won't be calling."

  "That's a mistake."

  She nodded. "I know." Of course it was a mistake. He'd have to prove that he was serious; a man like that couldn't be crossed and not retaliate. But everything she could do would be a mistake. So goddamn it, let him come at me. Oh, Titus, she thought. We all should have gone with you. That's where your heart is, anyway. Maybe we'd find ours, too. Maybe Rob and I could start over. Maybe Mateo ...

  She fought tears, and won. Not in front of hint.

  She led the way to the door and opened it, standing aside for him.

  There, he turned to say good-bye, and seemed to soften for a moment. "If he doesn't come back, there's twenty million for you-for the family."

  "He's coming back," she said.

  The door closed. She had dismissed him.

  Stefan took the elevator down. The chill of the lobby air was welcome, but couldn't match the chill in his gut. She'd turned him out without giving him even a crumb of hope.

  He opened his umbrella and pushed back into the rainy city. In her eyes, he didn't deserve to believe. But though she despised him, she was wrong if she thought it was all about money and empire. People were dying. The Appolonia had sunk, all hands on board.

  Jesus could have saved them. If he'd chosen to.

  Stefan guessed he didn't get to believe that, either.

  He found the crumpled tract in his pocket and tossed it away.

  CIIAfTEK NINETEEN

  As one being my mount and I went to war.

  As half a being, I came home.

  I turn my face upward. Does the bright still shine?

  -lament of an Inyx rider

  O THE SURPRISE OF THE ENCAMPMENT-and the fury of her enemiesSydney had acquired a bodyguard: the giant Mo Ti. Although he spoke little, and made no threats, her fellow riders feared the man. He had a reputation as a fighter of Ahnenhoon, and several days ago had effortlessly tossed a Laroo half the length of the barracks for scratching Sydney. Even the camp's sole Jout-the only sentient Mo Ti's size-kept a distance from the man.

  Sydney didn't know why the man attached himself to her, but he now
had a free bond with his mount, so he had already prospered from her friendship. So far, the concept of free bond had a loyal following of two riders.

  Feng considered free bond a heresy, relentlessly agitating against Sydney. But with Mo Ti near, Sydney could brazenly promote her idea, countering the arguments from the riders that free bond-a term she'd made up-would make the herd weak. On the contrary, she and Riod had developed a strangely fierce devotion, one that knitted rider to mount, opening the gates of emotion and loyalty until it was a clean, swift river passing between them, one that at times overtook its banks and spread to the herd.

  Most often, though, Sydney and Mo Ti rode out alone, keeping apart from others. She enjoyed his quiet presence, and took from him the lesson that strength could be gentle. He never blustered or picked fights, and in stark contrast to the obsequious Akay-Wat, gave Sydney subdued respect. In imitation, Sydney began to modify her behavior, carrying herself with more dignity, a change that Mo Ti seemed to approve. Even so, in nearly two arcs of days together, Sydney had never felt one reflected emotion from him.

  Thus the days passed, and Sydney knew a measure of happiness that surprised her. Riod, too, was less apt to go off raiding, and day by day grew more certain of free bond.

  Lurking in the background, and now so cowed that she seldom spoke, was Akay-Wat, watching with limpid brown eyes as Sydney transferred her interest to Mo Ti, allowing him to serve her and utterly supplant the duties that Akay-Wat had enjoyed, such as keeping Puss from soiling Sydney's bed and watching over her book of pinpricks-moot in any case, because now Sydney carried it with her in a pack wherever she went.

  Sydney had developed a habit of signaling Riod with a tap on his neck when she wished him to convey her thoughts to others. Such as when she passed Akay-Wat, thinking, Miserable coward. Or when she passed Feng, thinking, Slave. Afraid of free bond. In this way she and Riod kept the appearance of her thoughts leaking out, a necessary precaution lest they tackle too many taboos at once.

  However, these peaceful days were at an end, as they were soon to learn.

  The four of them rode back to the encampment after a long ride, with Riod shedding restive thoughts, and then alarming ones. Instinctively, Sydney and Mo Ti hunkered down for a fast ride, and at last thundered into a strangely quiet yard.