To Hold Infinity (17 page)

“With you in control,” he said, “the event will be miraculous.” He :

 

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“Thank you,” said Xanthia. “I'm going to enjoy it, I think.”

“I should hope so. I'll be counting the hours, my lady.”

“I'll see you there.
Ciao
.”

“My pleasure. Out.”

 

<<>>

 

Rafael was alone in his room once more. His face felt flushed, and his throat was dry.

“Soon, my lady,” he said softly. “Very soon, indeed.”

 

The silver mushroom danced before Tetsuo's eyes. He should have known he could not just walk out of here.

It was 05:17, and his blood sugar was sixty-seven percent of optimum, and he had a headache.

The microward, its silver cap bright against the salmon-pink bedrock, marked a perimeter Tetsuo could not breach. He looked around: there, another one. No doubt an array of them ringed both cabin and research centre.

Brevan and Dhana, he hoped, were still asleep in the cabin.

Tetsuo crept closer.

Awkwardly, puffing, he got down onto his knees then lowered his head so his cheek was against the rock. Under the upper cap of the little microward, a tiny status light glowed red.

Activated.

Well, he had had to check. He would have felt really stupid if the microwards had been powered off and he hadn't even attempted to cross the boundary.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Microwards were of nothing like the level of sophistication he had seen in the cities, where drifting miasmas of smartatoms were used as security screens. But this old microward had stopped him dead.

He snorted with laughter, loud behind his mask. He had studied microward protocols when he was at school on Okinawa, fascinated by comms tech even then. Pity his lessons hadn't included ways to—

 

[[[HeaderBegin: Module = Node009B.0007: Type = BinaryHyperCode: Axes =6

Concurrent_Execute

     ThreadOne:.linkfile = IRprotocolAlpha

     ThreadTwo:.linkfile = IRprotocolBeta

     ThreadThree:.linkfile = µprotocolAlpha

End_Concurrent_Execute]]]

 

“Oh, my God!” Sudden pain split his head open, and he rolled to one side, clutching his temples.

Make it stop!”

 

Screaming, he pounded his forehead against the rock. Pain smashed into him, and blood spurted, stinging, into his eyes.

 

“Shutdown! For God's sake, shut it down!”

 

<<>>

 

“Oh—”

The pain stopped.

Miraculously, like a thunderous noise falling to silence, the agony had disappeared.

 

<<>>

 

Slowly, whimpering softly, he levered himself up to a seated position, and wiped blood away from his face.

The light was green.

For a moment, he did not realize what he was seeing. Then he realized: the microward network was switched off.

He had shut it down.

He was free.

And, suddenly, he had absolute confidence that his mindware would be able to guide him back to Nether Canyon, where his flyer was hidden.

So why—he wiped more blood from his eyes—why wasn't he moving?

He stared back in the direction of the cabin.

“I must be mad,” he said softly.

What would Dhana want with someone like him?

No matter. Still, he had been happier here, helping out in the research centre over the last few days, than he had been for—he could not guess. A long time.

He forced himself up to his feet. There was a slight wheeze in his chest; he wasn't fit yet.

Was that why he was going back?

Every day, since coming to Fulgor, his work had become increasingly pressurized, until all the joy had been squeezed from it. Here, the pressure was gone, and it was like living in another world.

That still did not seem sufficient reason.

What, though, did he really have to go back to, in the world outside?

Feeling curiously disembodied, blinking away dripping blood, he set off back towards the cabin.

“Well, well. So Dhana was right. Who'd have believed it?”

Tetsuo spun, heart thumping.

Brevan stood up from behind a boulder, beyond the dead microward. His graser rifle was slung across his shoulder.

“I didn't think you'd turn back.”

“I didn't think I'd get past the microwards.”

“Mm.” Brevan climbed down onto the trail. “That was very impressive.”

“Tell me about it.” Tetsuo brushed away more blood.

“Make sure you tell Dhana—” Brevan pointed to Tetsuo's forehead. “—that I didn't do that.”

Tetsuo looked at him for a long moment.

“OK. I will.”

“Good. There's more than enough work for three, around here.”

“That's what I thought.”

“Oh, and—We moved your flyer. You'd never have found it.”

“Hell. I might have known.”

Together, they walked back towards the cabin.

The glimmering web trembled at its creator's movement. Fangs bore down, and pumped digestive enzymes into the struggling prey: the trapped wasp fought on, but its end was certain.

Yoshiko crouched down by a flowering bush, watching the spider. Vin was sitting on the edge of a suspensor platform, which floated over superconducting guides buried beneath the gardens. She had been giving Yoshiko a tour of the self-sustaining micro-ecologies.

Life, sustained by death.

“Thank you.” Yoshiko stood up and sighed.

Vin grimaced. “I thought it would take your mind off things.”

“I appreciate that.” In fact, all her worries about Tetsuo had been constantly circling through her mind.

“Xanthia's back at the house, with Lori. She arrived while we were looking at the irrigation tubules.”

“That's good,” said Yoshiko distractedly. “Tell me, do you think I could get permission to stay at Tetsuo's house for a while? Or at least look around it again?”

“It's under proctor jurisdiction as a crime scene,” said Vin slowly, “but I would think they'd let you go there. Major Reilly seemed quite reasonable, and they must have finished the, ah, forensics.”

That poor man, Farsteen
, thought Yoshiko.

“I don't want to put you to any more trouble, Vin. I should really find someplace else to stay.”

“It's no trouble at all. You should remain at least till after the Aphelion Ball, tomorrow night—but you're welcome for as long as you like.”

“Well…thanks. Perhaps I'll just call Major Reilly and ask if I can have a look round.”

“OK,” said Vin. “Should we check with Xanthia first?”

“Good idea.” Yoshiko climbed onto the suspensor platform beside Vin. “Though I don't suppose she's found out anything more. She would have told us.”

The platform took them back to the house. Vin led the way down a long gallery to the great hall which Lori used for sculpting. This time she ignored the small holo door set into the wall.

“This will be the ballroom, tomorrow, night.” The huge bronze doors swung open, in the main entrance arch. “For the Aphelion Ball.”

The statue of Diana the Huntress had been removed. Awaiting shipment, to travel back to Earth with Yoshiko whenever she left.

Earth, home, was a lifetime away.

Though the statue was gone, the laser array still hung like a great, skeletal chandelier beneath the high domed ceiling.

Lori and Xanthia were standing beneath it.

“Morning,” said Yoshiko.

Lori mouthed hello, then held a finger to her lips and looked at Xanthia, whose eyes were closed.

“It's OK,” murmured Xanthia. “I've got it now. Hi, Yoshiko.”

Suddenly, metre-wide translucent blue spheres, shot through with golden swirls and amber bubbles, sprang into being above a pale copper waving sea of light which filled the hall.

Yoshiko jumped.

She forced herself to relax. As the copper segued into blue and turquoise, and the spheres began to orbit around the hall's centre where Xanthia and Lori stood, Yoshiko realized that the vast image was being constructed by the laser array under Xanthia's direct control.

“Isn't this dangerous?” Yoshiko leaned close to Vin, whispering. “Lori carves solid rock with those lasers.”

“No problem,” Vin whispered back. “She's enabled a safety routine.”

“So we're not going to get carved into sushi.”

“How gross.” Vin shuddered. “I don't think so.”

The light show winked out of existence.

“Just practising my party piece,” said Xanthia. “How did you like it?”

“Terrific,” Yoshiko replied. “Beautiful colours.”

“I'll be controlling the music system, too. Pick a tune I can base the accompaniment on. Something traditional.”

“Ah…Greensleeves?”

“That will do.” Xanthia closed her eyes again.

The silver sound of a flute drifted through the hall, recreating the ancient air, while the light show pulsed in time.

“Yoshiko was wondering,” said Vin, while spheres danced in the copper sea, “if the proctors would let her look around Tetsuo's house again.”

“Is that a good idea?” Xanthia spoke without opening her eyes. “It must have been upsetting for you.”

“Yes. But it's still my son's home. I'd really like the chance to see it by myself, to take my time over it.”

“I'll go with her,” said Vin quickly.

“Are you sure you'll be OK?” asked Xanthia.

“I'm sure.”

Lori cleared her throat.

“I've just talked to Major Reilly.”

Yoshiko blinked.

Whenever she thought she had grown used to her Luculentae friends, they surprised her again.

Lori had carried out a conversation in Skein—with Major Reilly, an unenhanced Fulgida, using a terminal at her end—without betraying any outward sign.

“Tetsuo's house is still cordoned off, apparently,” Lori continued. “But you can go tomorrow morning. They'll let you in, under supervision.”

“What do they think I'm going to do? Tamper with the evidence?”

Yoshiko felt Vin's hand on her arm.

Control, control.

Yoshiko could sense her friends' surprise, for they had not seen her angry before. She calmed herself.

“I beg your pardon. Will tomorrow morning be OK? You've this Aphelion Ball to prepare for.”

“I can take you.” Vin looked eager. “There'll be plenty of time. The ball won't start until the evening.”

“Thank you.” Yoshiko turned to Xanthia. “I'd love to see that light show again.”

“My pleasure.”

Copper and red the billowing sea, pure and silver the unseen flautist's notes—a beautiful construct of light and sound. But the sour taste of unfocused anger still lay in Yoshiko's mouth.

 

What was he going to wear?

Wait, now. First things first.

Rafael, clad only in short black trunks, padded through his luxuriously carpeted dressing room, enjoying the sybaritic pleasure of the floor's silky, furry touch on his bare feet.

Immersed in system interface with his house, he watched himself from a disembodied viewpoint.

The handsome Rafael of his regard stopped, smiled a trifle ironically, and delivered a courteous bow. His olive-skinned body was slender and nicely muscled. Perhaps a hint too much body-fat over the kidneys.

He adjusted his metabolic rate, designed to peak tomorrow night, to burn away the fat. In compensation, he initiated, with a sculptor's touch, a soupçon of catabolic growth in his abdominals, and increased the definition of his serratus musculature.

Perfect.

Next, the clothing.

Silver arms, extruded from the ceiling, draped a white shirt around him.

No. Wrong colour.

The fabric retuned itself to burgundy silk. Deceptively plain.

Skin-tight black trousers followed, with polished black boots. A black frockcoat.

Rafael walked to the centre of the room, watched by himself, and turned around once.

Lose the coat.

The smartfabric shed panels, and reconfigured itself to a short matador jacket. Very stylish. He added a black calf-length cape, lined in burgundy.
Just right.

Beside him, visible to his disembodied self watching through the house system, he caused a ghost-Xanthia to appear. Classically gowned, and very beautiful.

What a lovely couple we make.

Rafael raised the ghost-Xanthia's hands to his lips.

Quite perfect.

She would be his. She had to be.

Tomorrow night, though, there would be hundreds of other guests. Perhaps no place where they could be alone. And if they were, the chances were too great that they would be spotted leaving together—

The idea struck him so suddenly that his concentration wavered. The ghost-Xanthia vanished and his viewpoint returned to his corporeal self.

Could he do it?

Dare he?

No one questioned the bedrock of Luculenti society: the LuxPrime technology. They felt secure with LuxPrime's reputation for technical expertise and ethical strength.

Who could question their own minds, their own perceptions?

It was the Achilles' heel shared by all of his
soi-disant
peers. But Rafael had risen above them by challenging the root axioms of his existence.

Could he?

In the full view of two hundred Luculenti, could he use his infiltration code on Xanthia, suck her very soul into his, and get away with it?

Oh, Xanthia.

“You will be,” he said quietly, “the softest and sweetest of them all.”

 

“Here's yours. Why don't you take Brevan's in to him?”

“Why not?”

Tetsuo took both mugs of daistral from Dhana, and went back through the cabin's main room.

Brevan's door was unlocked, and he stepped straight through.

“Oh, sorry—”

An elegant, grey-haired Luculenta's head and shoulders hung above Brevan's terminal.

“Thanks, Felice—Tetsuo.”

“No matter. We'll talk later, Brevan. Out.”

The image disappeared; it was replaced by a meditation display: a golden space, shot through with scarlet, populated by black spongieform stars. Mu-space.

“Sorry,” Tetsuo said again.

Brevan took the daistral from him.

“Hmm. No harm done, I guess.”

“Except—I've just learned you have comms relays scattered through the hypozone.”

“Really?” Amusement glittered in Brevan's eyes. “Why don't you sit down, and explain?”

“Er, well—” Tetsuo took the proffered stool. “—You can't use satellites. Too much of a giveaway. So it must be line of sight, using relays.”

Brevan shook his head. “And I thought you Luculenti were supposed to be bright.”

“Well, the preferred alternative would be mu-space comms. Untraceable, for a start.” He paused. “That is how I make my living, after all.”

“So?” Brevan sipped from the mug. “This tastes bloody awful.”

“Dhana made it.” Tetsuo frowned. “You can't be using mu-space tech.”

“Because we're simple Shadow People? Sorry, yer honour.” Brevan ironically touched his forelock. “I'll try to remember my place.”

“Because your terminal's too bloody small,” said Tetsuo, exasperated. “Have you any idea how big a mu-space gateway actually is?”

It took a ton of equipment to generate the coherent tunnelling effect, to send through even the tiniest of signals.

“Oh, of course, Mr. Luculentus. That can't be what we use, then.”

Of course it was too small.

“For God's sake—” Tetsuo reached over, and twisted the top off the terminal. Inside, a small silver ball faintly glimmered.

“I don't believe it.” Tetsuo looked up at Brevan. “Not the Pilots. They wouldn't.”

“Wouldn't what?”

 

Mu-space was a wild fractal sea.

The original Pilots, volunteers of the UN Space Agency, had their visual cortexes virally rewired to comprehend the fractal dimensions of that strange continuum. Their useless eyes were replaced by interface sockets, forming the main comms-bus to their ships.

Suicidal mania. So many ships failed to return.

A real-space ship became a projection into a continuum where space and time endlessly branched, where distance or duration could become imaginary. The slightest error in projection “angle,” and a ship would be lost in chaos no sane person could dream of.

Tetsuo remembered the story, told by Mother when he was very young, of the birth of the true Pilots, who alone could survive in mu-space. The UNSA labs had tried, through illegal experiments, exposing embryos to mu-space energies, force-evolving sensitivities to them. In the end, though, the breakthrough had come from quite a different direction.

There was the brave Pilot Dart—among the last of the old, truly human, Pilots—who was trapped by spiky coral-arms of mu-space energy, which tunnelled through his ship's event membrane and prevented his return to real-space.

There was Dart's fiancée, Karyn, a Pilot Noviciate—Pilot Candidate, in those days—who flew a rescue mission, even though pregnant with Dart's child.

She dared to project her ship deep into mu-space: its small projection travelled faster, yet its shipboard time crawled more slowly, than in any normal mission. Reaching Dart's ship, she used her enhanced field generators to reinforce Dart's event membrane, trying to break free of the energy tendrils.

Realizing they were both in trouble, and hearing of Karyn's pregnancy—almost in labour, because of the subjective months which had passed shipboard during her flight—Dart deliberately collapsed his event membrane, so that only he would perish.

Dart's ship, Mother had said, dissolved into a million sparkling bronze fragments.

Adrift in space, Karyn gave birth to a strange black-eyed girl—eyes quite without surrounding whites—whose name was Dorothy, later known as Ro.

The first true Pilot.