Memento Mori

by Gingell, W. R.

  “Orright,” said Kez; and if she said it even more gruffly than before, Marx didn’t seem to notice. She had them in the cockpit again a moment later, and then it was just a matter of shifting the Upsydaisy out of the dock the way she should have done it this morning.

  “We’re out,” she said, a moment later.

  Marx nodded at her. “Good job, kid.”

  “Yeah.” Kez sat down in her chair and stared rather aimlessly at the Upsydaisy’s viewscreen.

  “Better get the med-pack,” Marx said. “I’m making a puddle on the floor.”

  “Gettin’ soft,” said Kez, but she got up anyway. She opened the door somewhat dilatorily, and the handle was sucked out of her grip as the door flew open. At her feet was a dizzying blackness that sounded hollow when the door slammed against the wall outside the cockpit.

  “Oo-er!” said Kez, clinging to the doorframe. “She’s only partly ’ere!”

  Marx looked over his shoulder, and his eyes closed briefly. “The time dilator must have caught part of it just before we left.”

  “It’s comin’ back,” Kez said. “Just sorta slowly. Wot we gonna do?”

  “Wait until it comes back, I reckon. Can you see it?”

  “Yeah,” said Kez, gazing into time and space. “Won’t be back until later, though. Wot’ll we do until then?”

  “Find somewhere quiet to park,” said Marx.

  It was later. It could have been earlier, of course, depending on where this particular part of the Upsydaisy was in relation to the Chaebol—not to mention in relation with the other parts of itself—but for Kez, it was three days later, parked somewhere on Third World.

  Picking at the hole in her jumper sleeve, she said, “Oi.”

  “What?”

  “The rest of the Upsydaisy’s nearly back.”

  “Yep.”

  “An’ that First World Hunter ain’t chasin’ us anymore.”

  “Yep. You’ll have to explain about that again soon.”

  “Yeah, well, he says he’s workin’ for us now.”

  “Does he?”

  “Yeah. Reckons he’s gonna kill the bloke wot sent him after us.”

  “Handy, that. What about it?”

  “Well,” said Kez again. “That kid.”

  “What about him?”

  “Still in the time dilation, ain’t he?”

  “Reckon so.”

  “Should be nearly done explodin’ by now.”

  “Reckon so.”

  “Well…”

  Marx turned and grinned at her. “Of course we’re going back for him. You think we were going to leave him there?”

  “Wasn’t askin’,” muttered Kez, looking away.

  “Go get him, then,” said Marx. “We were supposed to steal something, after all, and I don’t think shrapnel and a few bits of carpet count.”

  Kez, grinning, leapt from her seat and darted for the door of the cockpit. Behind her, Marx’s voice called out, “We’re not going to keep it! As soon as we’re away safe, it gets rehomed!”

  ***

  Tuan had had a lot of time to regret his actions. Cross-legged in the middle of the dock with time slow at the borders and quicker at the centre, he had a more than reasonable amount of time in his own little patch to watch the rest of it unfolding like a flower around him. The beastie that had been darting at him with its mouth gaping wide was now divided into myriad pieces that drifted slowly toward him, its head separated from the shining ribbons that had once been its silver body. It was a disturbing sight, but Tuan preferred to watch it rather than the sight of his mother and her retainers edging slowly, inexorably toward him.

  The worst of it was that he couldn’t even bring himself to really regret his actions, as much as he regretted the particular outcome of being left alone again.

  “I’ll get away next time,” he said, to the drifting pieces of time and silver beast that were floating gradually toward his patch of relative stability. “I’ll find them again, and this time I won’t be left behind.”

  At least his collar was gone. That was something in his favour, after all. Tuan considered that, smiling, and it seemed to him that life wasn’t quite so dark as it had been this morning.

  He was still smiling a little when the time dilation ended, showering him with fleshy debris and deafening him with the wail of alarms restored to real time. Across the bay, Auntie Li charged toward him, her face narrow and dangerous.

  Tuan hunched forward wearily, wrapping his arms around his knees, and through the chaos, noise, and general melee a voice said unexpectedly from behind him, “Oi. Fort you wanted to get outta here. Wot you sittin’ down for?”

  Tuan scrambled to his feet, his eyes alight, and turned. “Kez! You came back!”

  “Hug me and I’ll break yer shin,” Kez warned him, scowling.

  Tuan, tugging on his cuffs, couldn’t stop himself from smiling down at that fierce little face. “You came back.”

  “I’m here, ain’t I?” said Kez unanswerably. “Giv’us your ’and.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” Kez said, and grabbed one of his hands, woolly cuff and all. “Orf we go! Mind yer ’ead!”

  And Tuan was dragged through time or space, or maybe both, clinging with two hands to the small one that irresistibly pulled him along; unsure if he was lost, or found.

  Disappearance Aboard the Chaebol!

  (As Appeared in Worlds Wide Press)

  The Worlds Wide Press is stunned to announce today the disappearance of Tuan Li, the Li family heir.

  The troubled Li family, who at the time of Tuan Li’s disappearance were mourning the death of the Li family head, have been unavailable for comment. A statement is expected by this time tomorrow.

  The Worlds Wide Press extends their deepest sympathies to the Li family at this time.

  Memento Mori

  IT WAS AN ORDINARY day. Tuan liked ordinary days. Ordinary days could be deceptive; and when ordinary days were deceptive, there was a good chance of meeting someone you wanted to meet. Two someones, really, but Tuan would have been content to see either Marx or Kez. Seeing Kez was better, but if he saw Marx it would be certain that Kez wasn’t far behind.

  Tuan dressed slowly in soft, comfortable trousers and a fleecy knit jumper, feeling luxurious. It was his day off, so he didn’t do his hair, either. He never did do his hair on his days off; if Kez showed up it was only a matter of time before she ruined it, and if she didn’t show up he had no one to care what it looked like, anyway.

  Tuan had just stretched out on his small, comfortable couch when there was the smallest flicker in the lighting around his room. Tuan sat up, his eyes bright, and put his bare feet lightly on the carpet. An instant later, the hull breach alarm wailed into life, kickstarting the emergency lights around the perimeter of the room, and things became very noisy.

  “Evacuate Sector Three, all personnel,” said the overhead announcer at ear-splitting volume. “This is not a drill. Evacuate Sector Three, all personnel. Begin lockdown procedure.”

  Tuan gave a breathless laugh and dashed for the door. Immediately outside he was caught up in a scene of chaos, startled by a stream of off-duty and half-dressed personnel who were running for the safety of the next sector before Three was locked down. He wasn’t sure when his feet turned against the tide; or when he started walking, or even running; but moments later he found himself sprinting against the tide of fleeing personnel, his face set for a particular part of Sector Three. He didn’t have to think about which direction to go—he turned down passageway after passageway until he was in front of the door to Ensign Arabella’s private quarters. The lights weren’t flashing any faster here, nor were the warning sirens any louder, but Tuan was certain this was where everything was happening.

  He looked at that door with bright eyes and caught a breath before he reached for the sensor.

  “Got a death wish, kid?” said a grey, dry voice that Tuan knew very well.

  He turned at
once, and there was Marx striding down the passageway toward him with the limp that was now so familiar to him.

  “No,” he said. “I knew it was you.”

  “Mikkel probably knows, too,” said Marx. “Actually, I’m surprised Arabella isn’t here to punch me. You’d better get a move on before they arrive, kid. We’ve got work to do here.”

  “Wait!”

  Marx stopped by the door. “We’ve only got a few minutes before Mikkel knows we’re on board, for sure.”

  “No,” Tuan said. “I made an exception for you in the protocols. The foreign personnel protocol now thinks you’re a part of the accounted personnel.”

  “Does Mikkel know about that?”

  “No.”

  “Good job, kid. What’s the problem?”

  “I want—” Tuan caught a breath, but it was what he’d had in his mind since his feet turned against the tide instead of with it, and he couldn’t leave it unsaid now that he was here. “I want to travel with you. From now. I want to stay.”

  “There’s still work for you here,” said Marx. It was the same thing Tuan had heard from him every time Tuan’s path crossed theirs. “Wait a bit longer, kid.”

  “Please,” said Tuan. He didn’t realise that he’d caught hold of Marx’s jacket sleeve until Marx looked down at it. “Please. You said to wait and watch and be helpful, but I can’t wait much longer.”

  Marx might have been amused. There were one or two more lines by the sides of his eyes. “What’s the hurry?”

  “I’m twenty-one today.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Since I first met Kez it’s been five RYUs,” said Tuan. “But almost every time I see you both you’re older, and lately it’s been years older. She was seventeen last time: that’s eight or nine RYUs for my five. If I wait any longer, she’ll be older than me next time I see her.”

  Marx’s eyes became just slightly narrower. “Important, is it?”

  “Yes,” said Tuan. He couldn’t have quantified exactly why it was so terribly important, but he had been hand-led by Kez so often through the years, knowing himself to be the protected rather than the protector, and he couldn’t bear to lose the only measure of superiority that he had in his age. Even his far superior intelligence vanished in the face of that imperious, tugging hand that pulled him along whether or not he wanted to go, and the sharp little voice that addressed him as TuanTuan. She even patted his head as if he was a child—or a dog. No; Tuan couldn’t wait another year or two until Kez was older than he was.

  “You know what your problem is?” Marx asked unexpectedly.

  Tuan could think of several, any of which could be applicable to the question at hand, but Marx had a way of thinking along different lines to Tuan, so Tuan said, “What?”

  “You let her do whatever she wants. You should put your foot down now and then.”

  “Yes,” said Tuan. “But sometimes she does what I want her to do, too.”

  Marx gazed at him for a very long time. Long enough to make Tuan very uncomfortable, in fact; but he didn’t dare look away in case that would decide the matter. At last, Marx said, “We’ll see what Kez says.”

  That wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either; and Tuan, who had only ever heard the immediate “Wait a bit longer, kid”, was cautiously hopeful. “All right,” he said, being very careful not to smile too brightly. “I made a few things for you, by the way.”

  Marx grinned. “Now that’s what I like to hear! Go check the end of the passageway, kid; I’ll see if Kez is done.”

  Tuan did as he was told, padding along the passageway in his bare feet. He barely made it to the end before he was assaulted from behind.

  “TuanTuan!” A thin, wiry arm wound itself around his neck and jerked him down to a significantly lower level so that the owner of that arm could scruff his hair with her free hand.

  “I’m too old to be called TuanTuan,” said Tuan, thankful that his head was ducked too low for Kez to be able to see how much he was smiling.

  “Rubbish,” said Kez, dragging him back the way he’d come by the neck. “Oi. I got you a thing, TuanTuan.”

  Tuan tried to straighten, but was dragged irresistibly onward. There was a shifting of time and space around him, and then he smelled the particular scent that meant he was in the Upsydaisy once again. Oxygen and a bit of rust and pure energy.

  Kez let him go, grinning, and Tuan combed down his abused hair, drinking in the sight of her. She was as sharp-faced and sharp-voiced as ever, but although her black hair was a bit shorter this time, she didn’t look much older.

  He asked, “What thing did you get for me?”

  “You’ll see,” Kez said. “Comin’ for an outing wiv us, are you?”

  “Yes,” said Tuan without hesitation. “Where are we going?”

  “That’s—”

  “That’s a secret,” said Marx from behind, making Tuan jump. He was leaning against the doorframe. “Thanks for bringing me with you, kid. I always enjoy a brisk spacewalk in my old age.”

  Kez grinned. “Sorry ’bout that, Marx. Want me to nip back?”

  “No!” Marx said hastily. “There’s been enough messing with time today, thanks. And if I ever decide to steal something for the third time from the same place and roughly the same time, hit me—actually, no. Just remind me.”

  “TuanTuan’s comin’ wiv us?”

  “For now,” said Marx. “I’ll start her up. You can find Tuan some shoes.”

  “TuanTuan! Why ain’t you wearin’ shoes?”

  “I forgot them,” said Tuan, as Marx disappeared along the Upsydaisy’s tiny main passageway. “I saw the lights so I ran.”

  “Reckon we’ve got some ’ere from last time,” said Kez, making a warm spot in Tuan’s throat. “We kept your space just the same. Reckon they’ll fit you, though? Think you’ve gotten taller.”

  “It doesn’t matter if they’re a bit small.”

  “Orright, but don’t blame me if you get blisters.”

  Kez vanished into the small corner that passed for Tuan’s bedroom whenever he was in the Upsydaisy for long enough to warrant one, and Tuan sat down cross-legged on the rug to wait. There was a sense of deep satisfaction welling up inside him, and he was afraid that he might throw his arms around Kez if he followed her now. Since the only outcome of that particular action would be a swift and retaliatory beating, Tuan preferred to sit on the rug and hug his delight to himself instead.

  He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at her when she came back, though. If she noticed, Kez didn’t comment; she simply dropped a pair of shoes Tuan vaguely recognised into his lap, and plopped down beside him on the rug.

  “Here,” she said. “Got you this thing.”

  It was a ring, ivory coloured and varnished, sitting in the palm of her hand.

  Tuan took it cautiously and slid it on. It was smooth and polished, like wood, but there was an underlying coldness to it. “What is it? Wood?”

  “Some mucker’s finger bone.”

  “What?” Tuan stripped off the ring hastily, and Kez swatted him around the ear.

  “Oi! Got that for you special!”

  “You got it for me?”

  “Yeah. There was this bloke on Thirteenth World wot got ’is finger cut orf. Told him I’d look after it for him.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  Tuan stared down at the bone ring gloomily. “How big was his finger?”

  “Flamin’ big.”

  “But why did you—”

  “Made me think of you.”

  “Oh,” said Tuan. He wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or flattered. In either case, he didn’t resist when Kez grabbed his hand and slid the ring back on.

  That seemed to please Kez, because she punched his arm in an approving sort of a way and then leaned into it. He could feel the pat pat pat of her hands against the sleeve of his knit jumper and smiled away at the wall. Kez would never have said so, but Tuan knew
how fond she was of having warm, soft things to touch.

  “Wot’s this, anyway?” she asked. “You ain’t in uniform—ain’t even done your ’air. Wot’s all this fleecy stuff?”

  “Simu-wool,” Tuan said. He’d had it shipped in to the TCS Slider on special order; it was as warm as real wool, but much softer. “It’s my birthday today.”

  “That’s why I gave you the ring today,” said Kez. “Oh, yeah. Stole you a cake, too. Marx says we can eat it when we get back from this next job.”

  “Kez?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How old are you this time?”

  Kez wrapped her arms around his fleecy one and huffed a few loose threads of simu-wool away from her mouth. “Dunno. Nearly eighteen RYUs, I reckon. Marx knows. Wot ’bout you?”

  “Twenty-one,” said Tuan, feeling warm and pleased. “By the way, why were you on the Slider this time?”

  “Stealin’ the Box again,” Kez said in disgust. “Seems like that’s all we ever do these days—steal that flamin’ Box. Drop it here, pinch it there—we’ve stolen it from ’ere about three times, now. Flamin’ confusing.”

  Tuan drew in a reflective breath. “Do you think that’s all right? Won’t you make a Fixed Point if you go around doing that sort of thing?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Kez dug her sharp chin into Tuan’s shoulder, and said unexpectedly, “Oi. When did this ’appen?”

  “What?” protested Tuan, slapping away the sharp little fingers that were prodding his arm through the holes in his jumper.

  “TuanTuan!” said Kez accusatorily, “You got muscles! You used to be skinny like a bean!”

  Tuan was grateful for the dusky tone of his skin that didn’t show up the warmth in his cheeks. “Time Corp Officers have to be fit,” he muttered.

  Kez made a rude noise. “Ain’t mattered before now, ’as it?”

  Tuan coughed slightly and bent over to tug the shoes on. “I’ve always been—I’ve always had muscles.”