To Hold Infinity

by John Meaney

  Yoshiko nodded, though this was a recorded message.

  “Pilot Jana deVries will be here today, Troi'Day, the thirty-third of Siebenary,” he continued, “from thirteen hundred until twenty-six hundred hours. After that, she will be off-planet. Please call her any time, during her stopover. My respects. Endit.”

  The volume winked out of existence.

  Heart pounding, Yoshiko requested a real-time comm to the Pilots’ Institute. Shaking-head icon. Unavailable.

  An incongruous memory-flash: using an Eastern European system, when she had been at the Bratislava conference in person, where a nodding head indicated no, and a shaken head meant OK.

  She tapped at the ethereal image twice, indicating her intention to leave a message.

  “Pilot deVries: thank you. I would dearly like to see you.” She crushed a background complaint in her mind. “I'll be there at fifteen-thirty today, thank you. Endit. Send.”

  Current time: 11:17.

  She did not want to go today.

  11:18.

  She had been awake for thirty-two hours and eighteen minutes, her eyes tense and gritty.

  Jana would be gone again tomorrow. And, after the disappearance of Rafael's image from the house system's video logs, Yoshiko dared not risk a call through Skein.

  “Command: reserve me a taxi. Pick-up here, fourteen hundred hours. Destination—” She paused. Better not be too specific. “—Lowtown, Lucis City.”

  Lori had said the Pilots’ Sanctuary was near Lowtown.

  Sleep?

  No, she might not be able to wake up. She should work out what she was going to say to Jana.

  “Help,” perhaps.

  The cabin looked deserted.

  Puffing, conscious of the hardness against his stomach, Tetsuo followed the trail. Dry throat. He stopped, and looked around—rubbing the small of his back, starting to ache from the extra weight—at the bright, serene canyon.

  No shadows moved behind the windows, but they were there.

  Pulse:103 min–1

  Behind the cabin, he could see the snub-nosed front of a parked skimmer. Very basic: a lift-platform with seats.

  Systolic pressure increase: 43mmHg.

  The cabin's door-membrane softened at his approach—

  Adrenaline production: 9.7 g min–1.

  —and he stepped inside, into darkness.

  “This the one?”

  Someone grabbed his left arm, and a hard object was pressed against his temple.

  Adrenaline production:10.2 g min–1.

  A graser's transmission end.

  “Yes.” Brevan's voice. “He's OK.”

  Tetsuo swallowed, as the weapon's pressure disappeared.

  “Thanks for your vote of confidence,” he managed to say.

  The interior lights came up.

  A lean, white-haired man was reclining in one of the chairs. His face was gaunt and lined, but strong: a distance runner, with a hard life.

  Brevan sat nearby. No sign of Dhana.

  “So you're Sunadomari.” The white-haired man.

  “Yeah.” Tetsuo felt embarrassed, his bravado empty.

  “Never seen a Terran elephant.” Beside him, the man holding the graser sniggered. “Till now.”

  Tetsuo looked at him sidelong. “Wanna wrestle, without the hardware?”

  The Agrazzus, much smaller than Tetsuo, stiffened. He raised his graser.

  “No,” said the white-haired man.

  The Agrazzus lowered his weapon, and stared angrily at the floor.

  “Where's Dhana?” Tetsuo looked around. “What have you done with her?”

  From beyond the lounge, where Brevan's and Dhana's quarters lay, came the sounds of people moving about.

  “Tell me something.” The white-haired man leaned forward. “What's it like to be a Luculentus?”

  “A barrel of laughs.” Tetsuo leaned back, easing the strain. “Where's Dhana?”

  The white-haired man looked at Brevan.

  “Anomalous behaviour,” he said. “Doesn't match the psych profile.”

  You're telling me. Tetsuo could not believe his own actions.

  “He's undergoing a time of changes.” Brevan stared at Tetsuo, but addressed the white-haired man. “I told you that.”

  Changes.

  The mindware? If there was a courage module, a combat procedure, now was the time for it to execute.

  “I don't like it.” The white-haired man's voice sent shivers down Tetsuo's spine. “His presence introduces another unknown.”

  Nothing. No help from the ware.

  “Damn it, Kerrigan. We need him.”

  Tetsuo started to shift the weight at his stomach, but forced himself to stand still.

  “We planned everything to the last detail—” The white-haired man, Kerrigan, pointed at Tetsuo. “—long before he turned up.”

  “And then we reconsidered, remember? It's too risky for—a certain party—to reveal her affiliation in public. We need another Luculentus.”

  That time in Brevan's study, when he had been talking to a Luculenta via his terminal…

  “So Felice,” Tetsuo said, “can't risk exposure, huh?”

  Kerrigan stared accusingly at Brevan, who shrugged.

  “And the Skein conference only lasts another three days.” Tetsuo looked at them all in turn. “Not much of a time window.”

  Kerrigan looked furious.

  “I didn't tell him a thing,” protested Brevan.

  A third Agrazzus stepped out, frowning, from the corridor which led to Brevan's quarters.

  “You're allies. Planning some demo. Don't want it hushed up by the authorities.” Tetsuo shrugged. “Lots of offworld reporters at the conference. Obvious.”

  “And who,” said the newcomer, “told you about Felice Lectinaria?”

  “Oh, her surname's Lectinaria, is it?”

  Kerrigan glared, and the Agrazzus who had spoken shut up.

  Brevan smiled sardonically.

  The Agrazzus by the door had his graser out again. “I think we should off him now.”

  “You would.” Tetsuo watched the man's knuckles whiten on the firing stud. “That's why Kerrigan's the boss.”

  “Good point,” said Dhana from the corridor.

  She was leaning against the wall, casually holding a small silver cylinder in her left hand. Pointed in the Agrazzus’ direction, as though by chance.

  “Tetsuo volunteered his help,” she added.

  “Why would he do a thing like that?” Kerrigan's eyes were flat, dead-looking.

  Tetsuo stared at Dhana and said nothing. Every detail of her gamine face was familiar to him, as though he had known her for years.

  Brevan gave a dry laugh.

  “See? I told you so.”

  Dhana's room.

  “You're a bloody idiot, mouthing off like that.” Dhana glanced at the silver cylinder attached to her belt. “I should have shot you myself.”

  “I was worried about you.”

  An awkward silence descended.

  Tetsuo looked around. He had not been in here before.

  A fourth Agrazzus, who had been busy in Brevan's study, passed by the door without glancing in.

  Her room, like most of the cabin, was sparse. Holostills of relatives, and of a furry thing which might have been a pet. Infocrystals.

  “Holodramas are on that shelf.” Dhana pointed. “Historicals and mysteries, there. Music. Science.”

  “So who's your favourite—? Never mind.”

  “Some other time, perhaps.” A smile flickered across Dhana's face.

  “Right.”

  Ten minutes. Mustn't lose track.

  “So how many septs of Shadow People are involved in this demonstration?”

  “Most of them. But it's a whole group of demos, all simultaneous.”

  “OK.” Tetsuo considered. “But Kerrigan's here for something more, isn't he?”

  “Poss—Yes. But I don't know the details.”

  “
Then why were you and Brevan arguing about it, earlier?”

  “Brevan's guessed more than he's letting on to Kerrigan.” Dhana let out a breath. “Something to do with an old terraformer station.”

  Stone towers, out in the wilderness. Hardly the place for publicity-seekers.

  “We're carrying out some stunt, and broadcasting it to a NewsNet, is that it? While the demos are happening?”

  “No. The day before.”

  They looked at each other silently.

  “Why are you doing this?” Dhana asked finally. “It's not your struggle.”

  “Is it yours?” Tetsuo leaned back against the wall. “I'm not sure I believe all this ecophilosophy.”

  “I—” Dhana opened her mouth, then shut it.

  “Politics,” Tetsuo said. “Big surprise, huh? Power groups based on geographic territories. Quite passé, on Earth.”

  “There's no wilderness left on Earth.” Dhana's voice was quiet. “We're a younger world—even if the Luculenti make us seem ancient.”

  “I know.” Tetsuo looked away. “Did I become a Luculentus because I wanted to, or had to? They can be oppressive, without meaning to be.”

  “They're not always that innocent. The TacCorps—”

  “I know. I met Federico Gisanthro once—I told you that—and he scared the hell out of me. Examined me, dismissed me in a second.”

  “Could have killed you in a second, too. How do we know you're not one of his spies?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Never mind. Whatever he did would be far more subtle.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  Five minutes.

  Dhana had fetched a plate of biscuits from the autofact, but they remained untouched.

  Had he really thrown in his lot with these people? He still was not certain.

  “You're not eating.” Dhana looked up at him.

  “I eat too much, you mean? Tell me something new.”

  “That's not—Never mind. Look, why did you volunteer to come along?”

  “Dhana.” He swallowed. “I'm—changing. Brevan had the right of it. I find myself knowing things I shouldn't know, doing things I wouldn't dream of attempting—”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Only that—the person you see here may be temporary. You want to know if I'm serious about joining you.” He shook his head. “But I don't know…”

  “We all change,” said Dhana. “Every day. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, but the change is always there.”

  “Very wise.”

  She looked at him sharply, but he had not meant to sound sarcastic.

  “No.” She turned away, colour rising slightly in her pale ascetic cheeks. “I'm not.”

  Was it so complicated? Perhaps he had found a place that suited him, people who could become his friends. And—Whatever these people were, they certainly weren't boring.

  A chuckle escaped his lips.

  “Now what?” Dhana looked at him as though he were mad.

  “Ah—Will you do me a favour?”

  “What favour?”

  “Just stand still for a moment.”

  Three minutes.

  He leaned forward, and very softly kissed her lips.

  “Are your eyes grey or green?” He stepped back. “I can't quite make my mind up.”

  “You bloody fool,” she said softly.

  Then she reached out to his stomach, and gently rapped it with her knuckles.

  “I know you're glad to see me—” Her half-smile was twisted. “But have you got something hidden in there?”

  Tetsuo felt the blood drain from his face.

  Two point four minutes. Should have moved by now.

  “Come on.” He grabbed her hand. “We've got to hurry.”

  Guffaws of laughter greeted their return to the lounge.

  “Get to the skimmer.” Tetsuo spoke from the side of his mouth. “If it doesn't start in fifteen seconds, then run. Otherwise, fly it to the lab.”

  Dhana started to say something, then closed her mouth.

  “Girlfriend said no, huh?” The Agrazzus by the doorway smirked as Dhana brushed past him.

  “Shut up,” said Kerrigan. “What's she doing?”

  “I tell you what.” Tetsuo stared straight at him. “Why don't we go out and check?”

  He went outside and waited for Kerrigan and the others to join him.

  “What's going—?”

  Five seconds.

  Dhana, grinning, flew the skimmer centimetres above the uneven trail, then spun it through a spectacular turn, and grounded it.

  Zero.

  There was a crump of explosion.

  Behind them, high up on the rock face, a great chunk of cliff face split away. It toppled slowly, then crashed to earth where the skimmer had been.

  Chips and fragments exploded through the air.

  “Great Gaia!”

  “What was that?”

  From inside his jumpsuit, Tetsuo slipped out the red flask.

  “I'm fat,” he said, “but not that fat.”

  He turned, spun, and threw the flask, arcing over the cabin. A fountain of rock and grit exploded upwards—

  Kerrigan cursed, softly.

  —and fell like hail, rattling on the cabin roof, while a larger piece smashed through a skylight.

  “Oops. Sorry, Brevan.”

  “You will be.” Brevan's tone was mild. “That's going to cost.”

  Dhana came up beside Tetsuo.

  “Don't worry.” She slipped her arm through his. “We're good for it.”

  Kerrigan stared at them, then went back inside without a word.

  Orange insects crawled across her face, antennae waving, black compound eyes scanning, scanning—

  She jerked her head into wakefulness.

  If I were a smartatom bug, where would I be?

  “Oh, dear God.”

  Yoshiko leaned back in the taxi, feeling dreadful.

  A grey sky, tinged with sickly green, scudded past outside.

  “What time is it?”

  The taxi's system silently displayed the time: 14:35.

  Over thirty-five hours since she had slept. Travel sickness and incipient paranoia were only to be expected.

  Thumbed her wrist terminal. Nothing. No replies to any of her urgent enquiries.

  Vin…

  Nothing she could do.

  The temptation to redirect the taxi to a hotel was overwhelming—but she had only fifty-five minutes to go before her meeting. If she plunged into sleep, she would be a long time waking.

  “Can you show me a map of Lowtown?”

  There were many levels in Lowtown: the translucent holo showed bridges and aqueducts and a profusion of cobbled arcades. The Pilots’ Sanctuary was just within the boundaries. A yellow rectangle, denoting a taxi landing-pad, was nearby. Yoshiko started to indicate it, then changed her mind.

  Paranoia?

  Maybe. But she was glad she had specified her destination only as Lowtown.

  With its multitude of levels, criss-crossing bridges and skywalks and underground halls, the district would be a difficult one to surveille from above. The place seemed quite a maze.

  “Landing facility L17,” the system announced as Yoshiko pointed at a different yellow pad. “Close to Daralvia Cloister, Penny Boulevard, and the Arconway. There are facilities for—”

  “Good enough. Land there.”

  The system fell silent.

  She examined the holo some more. Off to one side, a text plane in red warned visitors to be careful after dark, and to stay within the busy areas. Friendlier icons offered the map's planning functions for everything from clothes-shopping to an extended bar crawl.

  Gesturing to her wrist terminal, she was about to download the semi-intelligent map when she changed her mind, and powered the bracelet down again. Downloading code from a taxi she had called from Lori's home—perhaps that was not a good idea.

  Paranoid, paranoid.

 
Yoshiko waved the display away.

  The taxi flew in past green spires, many-levelled red-brick aqueducts, amber skywalks, glass and marble domes and towers. Organic and intricate. Transparent ellipsoids and open piazzas held restaurants and daistral houses.

  Tourist country.

  The taxi whispered onto yellow bricks, sighed softly as it powered down. The bricks flowed—expensive, but ground vehicles were illegal—taking the taxi into a covered pagoda.

  By a comfortable waiting-area, the taxi stopped. Yoshiko touched her one working ring, her credit ring, to the old-fashioned silver plate set in the taxi's cabin, and the rather quaint gull-wing door swung up and she slid out.

  Definitely tourist country.

  Feeling curiously disembodied and light-headed, she stood at the edge of a cobbled piazza, getting the sense of it, of how the district was put together. From here, she could see the gold-furnished Gothic architecture of the most expensive malls like cathedrals to consumerism. They were spired and domed and arched, their surfaces glazed in burgundies or olive greens, or finished in apparently natural stonework.

  Small groups of people wandered slowly across the cobbles, talking, laughing. A man sat idly by the fountain which tinkled at the square's centre.

  A faint chill, not unwelcome, played across Yoshiko's cheeks as she stepped to the piazza's edge. The other three sides narrowed to streets at the same level, but this side ended in a silver railing. Leaning over, she saw there was a long drop to the level below, where dark waves carried in an aqueduct sparked silver highlights as they caught the sun.

  When she turned back, the man by the fountain was gone.

  Shivering, Yoshiko left the piazza via an ornate archway, finding herself in a circular marketplace beneath a crystal dome. In front of her, two jugglers were performing, their only audience a few children accompanied by a patient-looking young woman, and two shabby drunks or crystalheads who were watching from a doorway. The two derelict men looked more interested in the show than the children were.

  One of the men, dirty and unshaven, looked up as Yoshiko walked past. Was that a gleam of intelligence in his eye? She looked back, but the man turned away, muttering to himself.

  I'm short of sleep, that's all.

  On an outdoor balcony, she stepped onto a white elevator disk. Wind tugged at her hair as the balcony fell away below. Then she was stepping out onto a bank which ran alongside another aqueduct.