To Hold Infinity (19 page)

In his mind, he saw complex billowing clouds, each a hundred shades of glowing blue twisting through a thirty-dimensional phase space.

Two of the clouds were linked by an arrow-straight shaft of white light. It simulated two Luculenti in conversation.

Would it work?

A black bat stirred, in the third cloud. The Luculentus mind which was not conversing: simulating Rafael, about to launch his infiltration code.

The bat spread its wings, then arrowed into one of the conversing ghost-Rafaels. Immediately, the white shaft of light disappeared, as the channel dropped.

So far, as he had expected.

One Rafael with infiltration code had attacked a Luculentus. The target had been in conversation with another. Would that other have detected what had occurred?

No feedback.

He was safe.

Even if Xanthia were linked in at the moment he launched his code, she would still succumb without anyone else being aware of what had happened.

He banished the three ghost-Rafaels from his mind.

There was a sick, excited feeling in his stomach. He was going to do it.

A ghost-Rafael stood in front of him.

For a moment, he thought he had made some mistake in clearing the simulation. Then he realized: this was a returning NetAngel.

Rafael interfaced, and found himself floating in an endless space of vaulted spheres, among which tiny polygons swam. A SatScan dataseam.

He/the ghost-Rafael reached out to a tiny tile in the intricate mosaic which walled the sphere. Instantly a picture unfurled, and a text-tesseract blossomed to one side.

 

[[ident Terra:98227A21 Sunadomari Yoshiko]]

 

Oh, really?

As the SatScan image grew, he recognized the Maltese-cross outline immediately.

An aerial view of the Maximilians' home.

He overlaid the image with a sheaf of escape trajectories, depending on which flyer he might use to go to the Aphelion Ball tonight. No harm in planning for contingencies. If things got that desperate, he would return here as well, to the SatScan dataseams, to wipe out the scan-images.

That would be the last resort, a most boring and unsubtle way of covering his traces. He hoped he could complete his task with rather more finesse than that. The beautiful Xanthia deserved better.

So why was a Sunadomari associated with the Maximilian home?

He wiped away the glowing trajectory-lines, and zoomed in on the realtime image like a hawk swooping down upon its prey.

Movement.

In the grounds, two dots of motion on an emerald lawn.

From above, the image looked like a whirling dance, and it was a moment before Rafael realized what he was watching. The white-clad person was Sunadomari Yoshiko, and she was wielding a long slender staff—no, a narrow-bladed halberd.

Her black-clad opponent beat back her attack, sunlight flashing from his sword-blade.

Tetsuo's mother. Awesomely agile, for her age.

Not much like her son.

There was a fierce exchange of blows, then Yoshiko jumped forward, whipping her halberd through a horizontal arc passing beneath her opponent's weapon and cutting into his body.

The black-clad swordsman did not crumple: he vanished.

An image. Rafael felt a spurt of anger at having been deceived, then he let the feeling go and chuckled to himself.

He turned away, and the image folded itself up into a tiny square tile, and inserted itself into the mosaic of the spherical hall.

Hardly a coincidence, that Yoshiko was staying at the Maximilians' home, when Rafael had just been invited there for the Aphelion Ball.

Rafael floated, thinking, to the next sphere, and drifted slowly along the mosaic of its wall.

Here.

He touched a tile, and it unfurled around him to form an aerial view of the del'Ortega property. It was time-stamped the night he had plundered Marianan's tomb, and subsumed all the fragmentary code within her plexcore.

There was a heat trace crossing the gardens, but it was unresolved. Nothing to indicate a human presence, much less identify it as Luculentus Rafael Garcia de la Vega. Excellent.

He turned away, and allowed the image to fold up into a tile and replace itself in the mosaic.

One last thing to try, though he did not expect success.

Guessing the most probable date of Tetsuo's disappearance, he floated through to the relevant hall. Remembering the coordinates of Tetsuo's house, he swam closer to the tile he needed.

Pale shapes, near-invisible distortions, hung near the tile.

Surveillance NetSprites.
Watching and waiting.

Taking a deep breath, Rafael turned and exited Skein completely.

 

“Why the hell are we doing this?” Dhana's voice was edged with tension.

Tetsuo, who had left Brevan's study to use the bathroom, hung around outside and listened.

“Well, for one thing, it's another four bloody days till the demonstration—”

What demonstration?
wondered Tetsuo.

“—And for another, when it's over, we've still got to come back and carry on with our work, haven't we?”

“I suppose so.”

“And you want your boyfriend to know what normal life's like around here, don't you?”

“He's not—”

Dhana fell silent as Tetsuo, unable to bear any more, went back to rejoin them in the study.

He sat down on his stool. The three of them had been jammed together in front of the terminal for most of the day.

“How about the leechite?” Dhana cleared her throat. “Add it to, ah, the artico-molluscs.”

“What were they again?” asked Tetsuo.

If they could pretend nothing untoward was happening, then so could he.

Brevan gestured, and a small volume opened up above the main display, reminding Tetsuo of the broad characteristics of Fulgidi clades. The classification system bore little relation to Terran biology, and it was making Tetsuo's head ache. He knew he would have to go through the whole thing again tomorrow.

“Next.” Brevan's voice was hoarse, after a day of voicing commands.

The next organism appeared in the centre display volume, with its attendant network graphs and text.

Later, when they had chosen all the species, the system would present a sheaf of model ecologies based on varying the population parameters.

“If my mother were here,” Tetsuo said, “she'd set this up in a couple of hours, and it would be damn near perfect.”

“Your mother?” asked Dhana. “What's she like?”

Brevan rejected the current organism, and requested the next possibility.

“Powerful lady. Brilliant as hell.”

Dhana looked at him quizzically.

“Like mother, like son?”

“I don't think so.” Tetsuo shook his head. “Oh, look at this. This guy's an ugly feller. What's he called?”

The display showed a brown lumpy antennaed creature, eyeless and blunt-snouted. Its colloquial name was a Lumpy Joe.

“End command mode,” said Brevan. “Yeah, they're real ugly, all right. We gonna have them?”

“I should think so,” said Tetsuo.

Dhana nodded.

“OK, we'll go for it.” Brevan selected it, then leaned back in his chair and yawned. “I need to stretch my legs. Anyone for daistral?”

Tetsuo and Dhana nodded.

Brevan stood up, groaning. There was an audible click from his lower vertebrae.

“Getting old, damn it. Back in a few minutes.”

The room seemed very quiet after he had left.

“You don't like talking about your mother, do you?” asked Dhana quietly.

Tetsuo shrugged. “No, I don't mind. It's just that—I dunno, it's like I've nothing to talk about beyond a certain point, y'know?”

“Mm.”

She lapsed into silence, staring at the unmoving display. The light from it emphasized the taut pale skin over her cheekbones. There was a dark mark below one eye.

“You've a smudge on your face,” said Tetsuo.

“Where?”

“Just there.” He leaned forwards and pointed, his fingertip close to her skin.

He fancied he could feel the warmth of her.

“Thanks,” she said. She unfastened a black and silver scarf from around her throat, moistened a corner in her mouth, then rubbed it vigorously up and down her cheek. “Have I got it all off?”

“Er, yeah. It looked like sludge from the tanks.”

“Wonderful.”

Tetsuo cleared his throat, and leaned back on his stool.

“So what about your family?”

“Mum and Dad are dead,” said Dhana. I was away at residential college when a whole mountain face slipped and buried half of our mining town beneath rock and mud. My parents…Ah, they found them clutched together in what remained of our kitchen. White as ghosts, and stiffened. They buried them in one big coffin…”

“Oh, God.” Tetsuo, feeling inadequate, did not know what else to say.

“That was five standard years ago. When I went back to college, everybody was very nice to me. Too bloody nice. Whenever I mentioned Mum or Dad, they changed the subject onto something brighter, to cheer me up. Like, they couldn't see—I don't know. What I needed. Is that selfish?”

“You needed to grieve, and fix them in your memory.”

Dhana looked at him.

“I've been blathering on. I don't usually talk about myself.”

“Not blathering.” Tetsuo shook his head.

Dhana looked at him. Highlights, reflected from the display, made her cropped blond hair appear almost white.

From the doorway, Brevan cleared his throat.

“Daistral.” He held out a tray of steaming mugs. “It tastes bad, but at least you won't need to clean your teeth afterwards.”

Like gathering birds, a trio of flyers with wide delta wings glided overhead, cutting through the cool evening air.

She had felt energized during her training session, sparked into that extra dimension of performance as though an audience's eyes had been upon her.

Breathing hard, Yoshiko knelt on the lawn and slipped the holoprocessor into its carry-case and fastened it, checked the case's outside pocket, then stood up and slung the whole thing over her shoulder by its broad strap and picked up her naginata.

More flyers were gliding in to land as she walked in through French doors to a drawing-room and out into the nearest hallway. Unenhanced Fulgidi in black-and-white suits—the caterers, perhaps—were milling around in the corridor. Silver drones followed them around.

One had to have caterers for an event such as tonight's Aphelion Ball, Yoshiko presumed. It would be rather
infra dig
for important guests to have to queue up in front of autofacts and pick up their own plates.

Yoshiko shook her head to clear it of such thoughts. Whatever help she could enlist tonight, she would.

She went down the hallway to her room, and breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped inside. This room had already become a familiar place of refuge for her.

She wiped the naginata down with a soft cloth, and placed it carefully in its case, which sealed itself shut. Then she placed it and the holoprojector in a closet space which opened in the wall at her approach.

She stripped off her damp jacket and
hakama
trousers. From her bag, she took out a tub of smartgel, pulled off the lid, and slapped the blue glop all over her face and neck, and rubbed it through her hair. A smell of menthol filled her nostrils as the gel crawled all over her head and then moved on down her body, scrubbing and cleansing and exfoliating as it went.

She stepped out of the puddle it formed on the floor and placed its bowl, tipped on its side, on the floor. She waited till all the gel had crawled back inside its bowl before replacing the lid and sealing it.

What she should wear for the ball?

Concentrate on the details
, she thought.
You're clean, you smell good. Let's pick something that feels nice to wear. Let's worry later about impressing Luculenti.

She picked out a loose black trouser-suit and a scarlet silk shirt, and pulled them on. She slipped her feet into elegant flat-soled black sandals, whose narrow straps wrapped themselves around her insteps and ankles.

There.

Two hours to go until the ball, and she was ready.

While she waited, Yoshiko sat down on the wide bed with its maroon and gold-brocaded cover. She waved the bedside terminal into life, and opened up an all-sciences journal.

The list of unfamiliar topic headings was bewildering, and quite dismaying.

Normally, on Earth, her NetAgents would have kept her personal journal stocked with articles relevant to her field, the most interesting general topics from elsewhere, plus some randomly scanned titbits of off-centre research results or speculative theorizing.

She didn't have time to trawl through all this, looking for something to read. She waved it away.

“Command: record.” She cleared her throat. “Hi, Eric. Just thought I'd let you know I'm safe and sound. I'm just about to mix with the high and mighty of Fulgor at some great ball, which is why I'm dressed up like this. Wish you were here.”

She froze the recording with a gesture.

“Command: store pending available connection. Attach user ID: Eric Rasmussen, Scientific Officer, Ardua Station.”

Her mail status display grew into being: a pigeon-taking-flight icon represented her message to Eric, waiting to go. There was one incoming message, from Higashionna Anichi at Sudarasys Lifetech.
Requested info
, read the legend.

Lori had connected again to EveryWare, it seemed, and somehow picked up Yoshiko's mail for download.

Yoshiko joined her hands as though in prayer, then opened them palms-up, like a hardcopy book opening. A framework of orange text unfolded before her, studded here and there with small rotating polygonal video-volumes, waiting to expand if chosen.

LUXPRIME TECHNOLOGIES Chrd. (
or “Altair Adventurers' Combine,” c2201). Chartered 2197 (Hargdenia Polity, Altair II), 2239 (Alvar, Fulgor), 2241 (globalNet, Fulgor). The exploratory trading company formed 120 outpost settlements during the early decades of Fulgor colonization. In 2310, its major research interests were shifted from Altair II to Fulgor. By 2380, its proprietary neurocore (later, plexcore) and VSI technologies were at the heart of Fulgidi—or, rather, Luculentus—society. In 2443, offworld corporations were formed on Terra, Finbra V, Bervikan-deux, Threvimnos Binar, and Yükitran.

Unique among Fulgidi institutions for its longevity, endowed with legal powers and obligations beyond the commercial sphere, LuxPrime functions as a de facto arm of state. Its employees are bound by a code of honour and esprit de corps as rigid and pervading as those of any military élite; its holdings are extensive enough to form a global currencies reserve in their own right. The profundity of its political influence, and its subtle concomitant colouring of Fulgidus character and culture, cannot be overstated.

It was an historic inevitability, when globalNet was superseded by Skein in 2401, that prime responsibility for its substrates should fall upon LuxPrime's collective shoulders…

It was too abstract. There was nothing about offworlders becoming Luculenti, no real indication of how a Luculentus was different from anybody else. Useless, useless.

 

Vin was dressed in a flowing black classical gown which left her shoulders bare and plunged at the back to reveal white clear skin. Her smart-gelled crimson hair was crawling, Medusa-like, arranging itself into a tall elegant coiffure around her Luculenta headgear, whose fibres glinted bronze and silver as she turned her head.

“Yoshiko!” she said brightly. “What do you think?”

Vin gave a little twirl, and the gown's fine lines swirled with her.

“Beautiful,” said Yoshiko. “You'll knock 'em dead.”

Vin flushed, and Yoshiko wondered which young man she particularly had in mind tonight.

“Are you ready to party?” Vin asked.

Yoshiko forced a smile.

Vin instantly sobered.

“I'm sorry. I was forgetting why you're here. But you might enjoy the whole thing, anyway.”

“I'm sure I will,” said Yoshiko. “Do you need a hand getting ready?”

Vin shook her head.

“I can run through some of the people who'll be there,” she said. “The important one is Federico, because of his rank in the proctors as much as anything else. Then there's, uh, Rafael de la Vega…”

Yoshiko frowned. “He didn't seem to know much about Tetsuo.”

Vin said, “No, I agree. But—Lori and Xanthia think that we should keep an eye out and talk to him if we can. He's the only Luculentus we know of who was dealing with Tetsuo on a regular basis. And Maggie was there when he met Rashella.”

The Luculenta who had—it was alleged—committed suicide. Yoshiko had not forgotten.

“OK. Will those others, Mr. Stargonier or Ms. Malone, be there?”

“I'm afraid not.” Vin looked abashed. “They wouldn't normally be invited, you see. It would look very strange if they were here…And we don't want Federico getting funny ideas about what's going on.”

Yoshiko nodded.

“I know, Vin. You think we should be enlisting help in the search, rather than trying to find out ourselves what happened to Tetsuo.”

“Partly,” said Vin. “But your presence will give us an excuse to ask around the guests, discreetly as we can, in case any of them knew, ah, knows Tetsuo. Will that be OK? It may make you the focus of some, ah, curiosity.”

“Of course. Anything. You think there may be some friends of Tetsuo's among your guests?”

“It's not impossible. There may be business associates whom we weren't able to uncover through Skein records. Some of us are quite practised at, ah, fiscal indirection. Never anything illegal, you understand. It's more a question of what constitutes an amusing game.”

“Business is a game, then?”

“Oh, yes. We all play to varying degrees, in various ways.”

Luculenti wielded their intellects almost casually in the commercial field, playing for multidimensional context-sensitive currency: the concept of wealth itself was not straightforward here.

Tetsuo had survived among these people for five years. Perhaps he had more strength than Yoshiko gave him credit for.

“Will you excuse me a moment?” asked Vin.

Her voice pulled Yoshiko back to the present.

“Of course. Can I use your terminal?”

“Feel free.”

Vin walked towards a mirrored wall which puckered as she stepped straight through it, giving Yoshiko a slight start. Yoshiko had not realized the mirror was a membrane.

Activating a tiny silver terminal on a marble table, Yoshiko wondered at the ubiquity of these devices, given that neither Lori nor Vin needed them. Perhaps it facilitated repairs by Fulgidi workmen. Or maybe it was quaint decor, like having telephones or ceiling fans, designed to evoke a quieter and more elegant bygone world.

“Out-tray,” she said. “Clear contents, override.”

Her command cleared the message she had been going to send to Eric on Ardua Station.

No time for that.

She forced the image of Eric's tangled red beard and wide smile from her mind.

“I'm back,” said Vin.

She was wearing a gold choker, with amber insets and subtly pulsing rings of golden light,

“Lovely necklace,” Yoshiko said.

“Thanks. Here, this is for you.”

Vin held out a small silver brooch in the form of an intricate knot, with a large ruby at its centre.

“I don't really need—”

“Please. I'd like you to have it.”

Yoshiko took the brooch, and fastened it to the lapel of her loose black jacket. She checked her image in the mirror.

“It's beautiful,” she said, holding it so the light revealed the crimson fire at its heart.

“Please keep it,” said Vin.

Yoshiko stifled her protest, and bowed gracefully.

“I'm honoured.”

Vin grinned.

“Gotta look good,” she said. “'Cos it's party time.”

 

There was a mist forming below the chamber's encrusted rocky roof, and at the far end it swirled across the black stagnant pool. Small shapes swam in it.

Tetsuo adjusted his resp-mask, then decided to get back into a breathable atmosphere. There was a small observation booth, a tiny room with a window overlooking the pool, and he climbed up the short slope and through the membrane door, and sat down in the booth's one chair.

He pulled off the mask, and dragged air gratefully into his lungs, almost enjoying the strange overlay of murky smells.

There was a terminal on a low shelf in front of him, and he powered it up and found the chamber's viewing functions: moving holos of the pool's crustacean-like inhabitants, with scrolling text and network diagrams describing their ontogeny.

I must be getting hooked on this stuff.

He was so used to working in a global NetEnv, be it EveryWare on Earth or the non-Luculentus strata of Skein here on Fulgor, that it was a while before he realized he was in a closed network.

Dragging up a system management display, he opened up system configuration diagrams.

“You can't leave it alone, can you?” His voice sounded strange.

This kind of curiosity had caused enough problems, hadn't it?

The research centre was connected to the cabin's terminals. Somewhere in there lay all of Brevan's notes and plans.

The Shadow People had political analysts. That was something Dhana had said. And there had been that talk of a demonstration in four days' time.

Brevan could have meant he was demonstrating a piece of scientific equipment, but Tetsuo didn't think that was it.

So, was he going to try hacking this system?

He stared at the display.

Akisu.
Hacking.

Childish, childish, childish.

Tetsuo had worked at more system-architecture levels—though without outstanding success at any one level—than anyone he knew. Even a small system like this would have its code-marrows, its incubators and ware-clinics, and apoptotic crematoria, where autonomous facets could be created or nurtured or brought to die, as the needs of the system evolved.

Dhana and Brevan trusted him enough to be here alone.

He searched through management modules, through development tools, looking for the constructs he would need. He could subvert code-marrows and the system nursery just enough to breed the kind of software he needed: ware that could burrow through the system's interior firewalls, and find Brevan's notes, or even a comms link to the outside world.

Dhana and Brevan thought he could perform his simple duties—care and feeding of specimens, draining their exudate—without supervision. Unless there was surveillance Tetsuo did not know about, he was alone in the lab, and none of the equipment was locked away.