To Hold Infinity (7 page)

The sun was already high in a lime-green sky. Federico must be a good ninety degrees east of Rafael's home.

“Just having a little workout,” said the familiar voice.

Federico had thrown back the hood of his suit, which was currently tuned to forest green. His cropped blond hair was wet and spiky. Perspiration collected at the insertions of his Luculentus headgear, and trickled down his gaunt face.

“Such a pity I'm not here to join you,” said Rafael.

He was peripherally aware of his physical body, still reclining at home.

“My thoughts precisely, old chap.” A light glinted in Federico's pale mismatched eyes—one blue, the other green—and Rafael shivered, though only in reality, not in Skein.

“So how far have they run?” Rafael indicated the TacCorps squad members down by the track.

“Thirty klicks, after CQB.”

Rafael had seen their close quarter battle training before, and the memory made him wince.

“You trained with them, of course.”

“It's rather expected of me, don't you think?”

Not really
, Rafael was tempted to say. Instead, he laughed. “They look exhausted.”

“Soft bastards. Must be in their genes.”

Rafael gestured, forming a magnifying-glass icon, and zoomed in on a face wracked with exhaustion.

As he had thought, every man and woman had Federico's eye colouration. Clones from his Alpha Squad, their differences from Federico due to variations in womb chemistry and later environment, not in DNA.

None of them bore Luculentus headgear.

Rafael waved the icon away.

“Anyway, here's the investment analysis I promised you. A little country on Salkran Six shows a lot of promise. And the whole Renyarn system's poised for expansion.”

“So I'd heard. I'd like the details, however.”

“Of course.”

A golden tesseract formed between them, as the info flowed from Rafael to Federico. For a moment, Federico's form wavered slightly, and Rafael could see the outlines of his own courtyard's angular sculptures. Then the Skein image regained full strength.

It was a weakness Rafael would have to remember. A lapse of Federico's concentration at a vital moment might be important some day.

“This is splendid, Rafael. Thank you.”

On the other hand, Federico was subtle enough to have weakened the image on purpose. This was a dangerous man to play games with.

Dangerous games, though, were always the best.

“I'm glad your people are around to protect us,” said Rafael. “One never knows. Just look at those violent deaths in Lucis.”

Federico looked at him steadily.

“There was another one yesterday. A woman in Inez Banlieues.”

“A Luculenta? Good Lord.”

“Quite. This seems to be a suicide.”

“A Luculenta suicide—”

“Yes. As you said, one never knows.”

A delicious frisson of fear passed down Rafael's spine.

“I should let you get back to work.”

“Of course. Whose Aphelion Ball are you attending?”

“I don't know yet,” said Rafael.

“It's only seven days away.”

Federico had spent the New Year at a thirty-hour party—during the course of which his deputy commander had got married—which had flown around the globe. He took celebrations seriously, a moral—and morale—obligation.

“Where are you going?”

“The Maximilians', I think,” said Federico. “Do you know them?”

“Not really. I'll try and get myself invited, though.”

“That would be splendid.” Federico raised a hand. “I'll see you there.”

 

<<>>

 

“Be seeing you,” said Rafael to his own reflection in the window.

Outside, golden light dripped from a steel sculpture's spars, as the sun peeked over the courtyard wall.

 

The holo banner read HAKIM AL TEBITZ. Screaming kids ran around the play area, chased by a young man in clown gear and burnous, waving a holo scimitar.

“Another cup of choco?”

Yoshiko blinked, and looked up at the Fulgida waitress. “Sorry. Yes, please.”

As the waitress poured, she gestured beyond the balustrade. “That there's a crèche, for staff members' children.”

“And the older ones? Do they have schools, or just, ah, Skein?”

“Both,” said the waitress, her expression turning bitter. “Ain't neither one a Luculentus academy.”

Yoshiko remembered how basic Skein's public access level had looked.

“Do the—?”

“Sorry, dear.” The expression sounded odd; the girl was a third of Yoshiko's age. “Another customer. Be right back.”

Yoshiko watched her serving daistral from a jug, to a young offworld couple sitting at a corner table. Their faces were bright with the excitement of being on another planet.

“Yoshiko!”

Vin was threading her way among the tables.

“Hello, Vin.”

Yoshiko was surprised to find her vision blurring. It was so good to know that she had a friend here.

“Are you OK?”

“I'm fine. It's all catching up with me.”

“Look.” Vin sat down, and gestured to the waitress. “We can call the proctors from here.” To the waitress, she said, “Do you have privacy screens?”

“I can bring a module.” The Fulgida was blank-faced, her earlier affability gone. “Something to eat? Drink?”

“Daistral, please. Any flavour. And could you bring a terminal?”

The waitress glanced at Yoshiko, her expression unreadable, and left.

Vin lowered her voice. “I swung by your son's place, on the way.”

“Was he home?”

“No way to tell.” Her eyes were troubled. “A security screen warned me off. Smartbats lifted from the house, when I tried to hover overhead.”

The waitress returned with a tray, which she placed on their table without a word. When she had gone, Vin picked up a small device from the tray and inserted it into a depression on the tabletop.

Kaleidoscopic light swirled all around them: a smartatom hemisphere which broke apart the outside world and turned it into abstract moving patterns. The air grew curiously dead, with spillover from the privacy barrier's anti-sound.

Vin ignored her daistral, and activated the small silver terminal.

“ProctorNet.” An impossibly handsome square-jawed man appeared. His dark uniform stretched comfortably across strong, broad shoulders. “Is this an enquiry or an emerg—?”

“Missing person,” said Vin.

The image flickered. The proctor regained his original smile.

“Please give the identity of—”

“Sunadomari Tetsuo,” said Vin. “Ichiban Villa, Zone Thirteen, Clara Shire.”

“How long has—”

“Unknown. Request personal interview. My name is Luculenta Lavinia Maximilian.”

The image disappeared.

“Don't worry,” said Vin. “We'll soon—Oh, here we are.”

Another proctor, this time a rather ordinary-looking young woman.

“What seems to be the problem? A missing person?”

“Go ahead,” Vin said to Yoshiko.

Haltingly, Yoshiko summarized her situation, and Tetsuo's nonappearance.

The proctor shook her head. “Your son's just missed an appointment. I don't think there's much we can do.”

Before Yoshiko could reply, Vin butted in. “There's something else, which is why I asked for a personal interview. I thought your AI might misunderstand.”

“There's no substitute for people.” A faint smile appeared on the proctor's face. “So what was it?”

“I flew over her son's house.” Vin glanced at Yoshiko. “The security included DarkAngel smartbats.”

“Loaded?”

“Stun-toxins, ultrasound, armour-piercing smartvenom. According to the warning broadcast. I didn't hang around to find out for sure.”

“I don't blame you.” The proctor looked at Yoshiko. “Why would your son need such heavy duty protection?”

“I—don't know.”

The proctor was silent for a moment, then addressed Vin. “We'll look into this. Is Mrs. Sunadomari your guest?”

“Yes. Yoshiko, you will come and stay with us, won't you?”

Yoshiko looked from one to the other.

“Yes, please. I need your help.”

“Don't worry.” Vin's natural cheerfulness was returning. “It will turn out all right.”

“Yes,” said the proctor. “She's right, madam. We'll look into it, and let you know. In the meantime, try not to worry.”

Yoshiko, who would have worried less if they had not been so adamant, merely nodded.

As the display winked out, Vin pulled the privacy module, and the world reappeared.

Below the balustrade, the children's play area was deserted save for one forgotten toy, a one-armed battered teddy bear staring lifelessly towards the sky.

The whole world tilted. Heat blasted into Yoshiko's face from the white concrete pad, as she stepped down from the courtesy van. She almost stumbled, overcome by the air's sharp tang, the subtly lower gravity—though she had not noticed it indoors—and the insistent alien overlay of her new surroundings.

I'm the alien here, she realized, squinting against the light from a cloudless lime green sky.

Vin alighted from the van's cabin. At the rear, the smartcart holding Yoshiko's luggage detached itself, and crawled towards Vin's flyer. There were hundreds of other flyers parked around them, all of them rich-looking, all of them huge by Yoshiko's standards.

“It's a Gestrax Secundus,” Vin said, as they drew near her bronze delta-winged dart. It was one of the smallest flyers there.

“Very sporty.”

It was a relief to get back inside an air-conditioned cabin.

Vin made no control gestures, voiced no commands, but the flyer powered up. The ground dropped away beneath them.

Lucis City's rich profusion lay off to one side, but rapidly receded. Below, a featureless plain raced by.

 

 

Vin stiffened. “I'm getting a call.” She looked at Yoshiko. “It's the proctors. I'll put it on holo.”

An image grew in front of Yoshiko. The proctor they had spoken to before.

“Mrs. Sunadomari,” she said. “Captain Rogers, from the Bureau for Offworld Affairs, would like to talk to you.”

A white-haired red-cheeked man appeared.

“
J'ai quelque questions à vous poser
,” he said without preliminaries.

“
Oui, d'accord
.” Yoshiko's reply was automatic. She had hardly spoken Français since emigrating from FedCan, over two decades before.

“
Votre fils a disparu, mais vous ne savez pas pourquoi. Exact?
”

“
Je suppose
,” said Yoshiko. She could feel Vin's interested gaze. “Er—Could we speak Anglic, please? It's been a long while.”

“If you like. When did you last see him, in person?”

“Three years ago, on Earth. He was back for a holiday.” The only one Tetsuo had taken, in the five standard years he had been here.

“Has he mentioned any problems, in his business dealings?”

“I know nothing about his work.”

“I see.” Captain Rogers' pale eyes stared at her. “You don't deal in mu-space tech, yourself?”

“I'm a femtobionicist.”

There was a pause. “Please forgive me. These questions are necessary.”

“I understand.”

“Another officer will contact you shortly. From Clara Shire. Their jurisdiction, you see.”

Yoshiko wondered why, in that case, Rogers was talking to her at all.

“Good day, madam.”

The image dissolved.

The flyer banked left, as a breathtaking blue-grey mountain range swept across Yoshiko's field of view.

“We'll soon be there,” said Vin. “Don't—”

“Don't worry?” Yoshiko let out a long breath. “I am worried, believe me. What the hell was that all about? The Bureau for Offworld Affairs?”

Vin shrugged. “As far as I know, they deal mostly with immigration, duty and excise, that sort of thing.”

“At least he made an effort to speak in what he thought was my primary tongue.”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean?”

Vin was silent as the flyer banked again, skimming low above a turquoise lake, spotted with purple blooms of alga-analogue.

“Perhaps it was a harmless verification, in part, of your biog-info.” Vin glanced at Yoshiko. “
N'est-ce pas?
”

Most people raised in Nihonjin Columbia were trilingual in Anglic, Français and Nihonjin. That much was true.

“Wonderful.” Yoshiko's voice was bitter.

Shadowed forest slipped past below. Beneath its canopy, no doubt, unseen predators were hunting for guileless or desperate prey.

 

From above, it was a massive fractal Maltese cross. Among gardens which would not have disgraced Versailles, the cruciform mansion—palace, perhaps—spread out. Each arm ended in a cluster of ever smaller orthogonal towers.

The crystal-domed hub flashed past beneath them.

Vin brought the flyer in low, alongside a lake which held a pavilion at its centre, linked by a footbridge to the shore. They slowed above an emerald meadow, and circled in to land beside a shaded acre of landscaped wooded dells.

Yoshiko clutched the arms of her seat as the cabin's membrane oozed apart, and the floor flowed out, ramplike, carrying her chair down to the ground, with Vin's chair alongside her.

“I've never seen such materials tech,” said Yoshiko to Vin, stepping off onto the lawn. The seats flowed back into the cabin.

Yoshiko blinked, and looked around her. Bronze statues nestled among silver beeches. Small fork-tailed birds, the size of Terran sparrows, argued noisily on the shoulders of a fierce Bhodidarma.

She breathed in the scents of woodland and exotic flowers.

“You own all this.”

“Lori does.” Vin smiled. “She manages to scrape a living.” Looking up at the huge house, she added, “Septor has his own estate, at the edge of the Masakala Desert. Blue and red sands in all directions, and weirdly shaped pillars of rock. They spend half the year there.”

“Very nice. And you go with them?”

“I stay here, or in my apartment in Lucis. Shall we go in?”

They walked up towards the house, trailed by the smartcart.

Yoshiko wondered if the smartcart were hers till she left Fulgor.
Leave?
She hadn't seen Tetsuo yet—

“Try this.” Vin had stopped beside a low bush, and was plucking a peach-like fruit. She handed it to Yoshiko. “It's called a borcha. A new species, but it's OK to eat it.”

Yoshiko took a small bite. The flavour burst on her tongue, sweet and powerful.

“Marvellous.” She took another bite. “You've got good biodesigners. How are species approved for public introduction?”

Vin shook her head. “We don't have anything like that here.” She frowned slightly, and up ahead a golden door slid open in a tower. “There are no regulatory bodies.”

“Er—” Yoshiko stopped, aware that she was talking shop—and no doubt boring Vin—but too interested to leave the point alone. “How can you know they're safe to eat?”

“Whoever sells them, on a fruitstall or in Skein, displays the lab and sim-trial results in a kind of…well, a very condensed form of information, which we can access.” She pointed at the headgear nestled in her hair.

They resumed walking.

“What about non-Luculenti?”

“They can tell by the price. If it's new, it's cheap. Simple as that.”

Was it that simple? Would a struggling Fulgidi family be able to afford the tried and tested stuff?

“The price peaks after about thirty standard years,” added Vin.

“After that, the next generation will be marketed. The borcha's next four successors are already on file.”

They stepped through the doorway, into a chamber hung with landscape tapestries, ringed with alcoves holding statues and flat paintings and delicate scrolls. Vin walked straight past the treasures without looking.

Yoshiko followed her into a corridor, onto its central strip of royal blue carpet. The ornate walls were white and gold, and the blue strip arrowed into the house's interior.

“Just stand still,” said Vin.

The carpet began to flow, carrying Yoshiko and Vin past abstract paintings, past swarming holos and breathtaking calligraphy, until an endless stream of priceless artwork was flowing by, too quickly to be appreciated. The long labour of unenhanced humans. Did the owners of all this wealth appreciate it?

Yoshiko's hand was sticky with juice, from the half-forgotten borcha fruit. She licked some from her finger. Superb taste.

Tetsuo, my son. You have fallen among people who form corporate empires in seconds, but plan in centuries.

How could I ever have prepared you for this?

 

The console puckered and drew open at Tetsuo's gesture. There was a slight popping sound, startling in the quiet cockpit.

Light glittered on the infocrystals, lying on a traylike extrusion. So innocuous, yet the cause of so much trouble.

He strained to access them mentally. It was like the time he and Akira had tried telepathy experiments at school: wishful thinking, to no effect.

If he were a true Luculentus, the data would unfold at his bidding.

“Command: close.”

As the crystals slid from sight, Tetsuo turned his attention outwards. Nothing. The canyon was lifeless, deserted.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat.

In startling clarity, Tetsuo saw:
the lobby, himself sitting there, awaiting his pro forma security interview at the Bureau for Offworld Affairs. It's all part of the upraise procedure, but a mere formality. Five standard years ago, applying for his work visa, he was thoroughly vetted.

To one side lies the reception leading to Captain Rogers' office: a dull room leading to a dull man.

Raised voices, coming from the office. Suddenly, a tall slim man, in a green-and-burgundy suit with the blue/silver flash of a LuxPrime courier, bursts from Rogers' office and stalks away, tight-lipped with anger.

“
Adam! Come back!
”

The bumbling red-faced Captain Rogers calls after the courier, and follows him desperately.

The lobby is empty.

After five minutes, Tetsuo sighs, stands up, and begins to walk around, hands stuffed in his pockets. There is no one to talk to. He walks to the door of Rogers' office—the membrane dissolves at his approach—and he sees a polished brass case, its LuxPrime insignia bold in gold and silver. The clasp is open, the lid pushed back. Inside, on the purple satin lining, infocrystals lie twinkling. An awful temptation takes hold of him.

It takes two minutes to copy the info, downloading to his own blank crystals via his wrist terminal. By the time Captain Rogers returns, Tetsuo is sitting back in the lobby, share prices and stock options scrolling through the air above his bracelet.

His eyes snapped open.

Just before the attack squad—whoever they were—had smashed their way into his house, he had partially decoded that video log, from one of Captain Rogers' crystals. It had been the only code fragment he could find which was not guarded by LuxPrime protocols. One of the speaker-IDs, he remembered, had been labelled “Farsteen.”

And there had been that semisentient AI-code on the same crystal. Tetsuo's decoding of the video-log had somehow invoked it.

“
I'm Farsteen
,” the image had said. “
At least, a partial analogue. If I am online, the real Farsteen is surely dead…
”

Then the image had shattered, as the attack squad's weapons had pierced his house systems. He had left that crystal behind when he fled.

Farsteen. Rogers. A mention of Rafael.

Tetsuo shivered. The awful clarity of his own memories scared him as much as intimations of conspiracy.

What the hell was going on?

 

The strip slowed, and halted in a splendid atrium tiled in white and black, before huge bronze doors. Vin headed past them, to a bas-relief carved on the otherwise plain wall.

It was a hi-res illusion: Vin stepped straight
through
the sculptured wall, so Yoshiko had no choice but to brace herself and follow.

Beyond the small holo door lay an airy chamber. Pillars of sunlight, sprinkled with dust-motes, fell from crystal skylights to a marble floor.

Lori, in an artist's smock, with a pink scarf covering her head and the lower half of her face, was looking up at a vast granite block. Above it, chandelier-like, hung a convoluted framework, studded with high-powered lasers.

Lori raised her arms.

A flock of silver drones was launched from the laser bank. As broad beams of light cut swathes through the granite block, the flitting drones annihilated falling stone fragments.