A King of Infinite Space

by Allen Steele

  The shuttle trembles again as its nuclear engine fires once more, braking the ugly metal spider for its landing. My palms are sweaty; I wipe them on my filthy trousers. I’ve been wearing the same clothes for two days now, gone the same time without a bath or even a chance to brush my teeth. The other passengers are scientists, military officers, administrators, all neatly dressed in high-collar business tunics or uniforms with braided epaulets. I stick out, badly; Sosigenes Center is hardly a tourist destination.

  “Want to run the story by me again?” I whisper.

  “John Ulnar is applying to the Royal University Advanced Bio-research Center as a custodian…”

  “Yeah, okay, right…”

  “Your petition has only been recently submitted to the university comptroller, so you haven’t been officially notified yet. However, you’re come here to—”

  “Formally apply for the position in person. Got it.”

  “Correct, and to visit the facility to see if this is a job for which you are—”

  “Qualified, gotcha. I’m staying at the base hostel…”

  “Center.”

  “Center hostel for the next three days, or until I’ve been granted an interview with someone from the administrative staff. Umm…oh, yeah, and I’m retarded, which is why I’d do something stupid like this.”

  “Correct, although you need not mention John Ulnar’s mental impairment. That information is contained within your card. Customs will discover this fact when you pass through its checkpoint.”

  We’d worked out this bogus business during the long trip from Clarke County. When we arrived at Highgate, Chip accessed the public databank for the Moon and ran down job listings for Sosigenes Center. We got lucky there; the Royal University is looking for someone to mop off the floors. My kind of job. We made out an application on eyes-up and shot it to Sosigenes Center just before I boarded the shuttle, in hopes that this would give me a reasonable alibi for showing up at an obscure research facility looking like I had just been dragged from the mosh pit of an all-ages show.

  Not bad, all things considered. In fact, I seem to have hit a lucky streak. No one busted me at Highgate for the fight at Clarke County; indeed, no one on the ferry seemed to be aware that it had ever happened, not surprising since I was the very last person aboard. If Shemp, Vlad, and Anna are still on my tail, then they’re hours, even days, behind me; the next shuttle to Sosigenes isn’t due to leave Highgate for another twenty hours, and even if they’ve got their own ship, they can’t catch up to me before I’ve done what I need to do. If things don’t work out, I can disappear to wherever I want. The Moon’s a big place now: Tranquillity Station, Descartes City, Tycho, Clavius Dome, New Moscow, all just a skimmer-ride away from Sosigenes. I just need to keep one step ahead of them, and I’ve got it made.

  So why am I nervous?

  Because somewhere down there, Erin’s waiting for me. And I still don’t know what I’m going to do when I find her. If I find her. If she’s even been revived.

  But I’ve got nowhere else to go now, and there’s no other purpose to my life.

  The engine starts rumbling again; this time, it doesn’t quit. Powdery gray dust rises past the porthole, obscuring distant hills and a crater rim. Red ceiling lights flash; the suits around me lie back in their couches and hold onto their armrests. I don’t settle back because I’m really getting into this moonlanding stuff; when the shuttle’s gear connects with the mooncrete pad, it almost wrenches my back. Good thing I’ve had a lot of exercise lately.

  And then the shuttle comes to a rest. The fuselage creaks as the engine cuts off. I don’t need to pretend like I’m an idiot now; I’m staring out the porthole like one.

  Welcome to the Moon, dude.

  Clearing customs isn’t as hard as I thought it would be; the Pax official accepts my story without batting an eyelash, and notes the reason for my MINN with only a perfunctory nod. I’m given a visitor’s permit valid for the next seven days, and told that I can apply for a work visa if I find a job here. He explains all this slowly and carefully, and gives me exact directions to the hostel. On his advice, I buy a pair of weighted ankle bracelets at a nearby kiosk before I follow the rest of the passengers down an escalator to the second level of the habitat.

  With the exception of the airlock dome and the landing pads, Sosigenes Center is entirely underground, built within ancient lava tubes that have been refitted as living and work areas. After Clarke County, it’s pleasant to walk through a place that isn’t run-down. A well-lighted corridor leads me past shops and cafes surrounding a large commons established within what used to be a volcanic bubble. Earthlight shining down from the atrium ceiling reflects off a tiny fish pond; men and women—most wearing white lab coats, I notice—sit at tables or on mooncrete benches, eating breakfast or reading datapads. The air is neither too warm nor too cold, but perfect skin temperature. It could be the quadrangle of a university campus.

  The illusion is shattered when a dragonfly burrs softly above my head, pausing for a moment to study me through fiber-optic eyes before darting away again. Sosigenes Center isn’t Clarke County, but it’s still part of the Pax; the eyes and ears of Royal Intelligence are everywhere. Whatever I do, I have to be careful.

  On the other side of the commons, I find a set of elevators. I step into one; there’re six buttons on the panel, but when I press the one for Level Three, an AI asks to see my card. I hold it up to a scanner; the voice tells me that I’m only cleared for Levels One and Two. After a moment, the doors open again. No point in arguing; I leave the elevator.

  Back in the commons, I drop by a food stand and buy a plate of tortilla chips and humus dip—not that I’m hungry, but it gives me a reason to linger in the commons without attracting attention—and take it to a table. Idly munching the chips, I go eyes-up and ask Chip to access the center’s AI. Chip has no problem doing this, but when I request a map of the entire complex, he’s only able to display the first two levels. Everything from Level Three on down is classified. In fact, all information about the lower levels is classified; I can’t even find out how many bathrooms are down there.

  Dead end.

  I polish off the chips, toss the plate in a recycling bin, and head for the hostel, located down a side corridor near the commons.

  Thirty kilolox rents me a room for a week; that’s a higher rate than what I paid for my old digs in Clarke County and for not much more space, but at least I’ve got a private bathroom this time. I probably won’t be here that long, but I need to keep up appearances in case anyone should check, so I pay in advance. There goes almost half my credit; good thing Chip was able to get my security deposit from the last hostel refunded, or I’d be trying to sleep on a bench in the commons.

  And sleep is what I need right now. Caught only quick catnaps during the trip from Clarke County. I peel off my crusty clothes, step into the tiny shower stall in the bathroom and buy a hundred centilox worth of warm water (ten minutes, the maximum allowed within a twenty-four-hour period) and a free blast of air. Then I sprawl out on the bed and tell the room to turn off the lights. Just before I close my eyes, as an afterthought, I ask Chip to wake me up in six hours. Then I doze off.

  I wake up suddenly, clammy with sweat and shouting at the darkness. A nightmare; I can’t remember the details, but it has something to do with Shemp. We’re back on Garcia, and he’s coming at me with a rapier, but my limbs are frozen; I can’t do anything but watch. Just before he strikes, his face dissolves, falling off in hunks of putty-like nanotech flesh, and Mister Chicago’s leering at me…

  Bad dream. Wicked bad dream. My throat’s parched; I stumble to the bathroom. The sink won’t sell me any water unless I pass my card before its scanner; I haven’t brought my card with me, though, so screw it. I go back to the bedroom and sit down on the bed. Not at all sleepy now.

  I ask Chip how long I’ve been asleep. He tells me that it’s only been three and half hours. Is the research center still open? A pause as h
e opens a link with the main AI, then a reply: Yes, Alec, it is. Is the employment office open? Yes, Alec, it is open now. Do you wish for me to request a job interview, or would you like to sleep a little longer?

  I shake my head as I tell the room to turn up the lights. “See if you can get me an interview,” I say as I reach for my bag. “Soon as possible.”

  Time to get this show on the road.

  The job interview takes place a couple of hours later, in an office located elsewhere on Level Two. I’m wearing fresh clothes, I’ve taken off my beard with depilatory soap and slicked back my hair, I’ve brushed my teeth and done a few pushups to straighten my shoulders. I’ve left the rapier in my room. I’m just a clean-cut kid from the Belt, trying to make it in the inner system.

  The middle-aged woman sitting on the other side of the desk is suitably impressed. It’s not like I’m applying to be a rocket scientist; all I want to do is mop floors and clean toilets, and I’ve earned my Ph.D. in that area. She’s already checked my record from Clarke County; I’m not on file with either Pax Intelligence or the militia (an inward sigh of relief here; apparently my name wasn’t attached to the fight at North Dock). For all intents and purposes, John Ulnar is a mildly retarded man from Ceres, lately arrived on the Moon in hopes of finding a decent job. The only troublesome question is why I left Clarke County so suddenly, having boarded the lunar shuttle from Highgate less than a half-hour after I sent my application to Sosigenes Center.

  Sometimes it helps to be officially regarded as an idiot. I tell her that my MINN didn’t make it clear to me that I needed to submit a formal job application until I was about to board the shuttle. She nods at this, but frowns; so why did I abandon a good job in Clarke County without giving notice?

  I go pigeon-toed and clasp my hands together between my knees as I look down at the floor. Well, when I went down to the Strip a couple of nights ago, there was a nice man in a uniform who bought me a beer and was real friendly, and then he asked me if I wanted to go back to his room to play some games, and that sounded all right but when we got there he started to touch me in…y’know, funny places, like where I pee-pee…and that frightened me so much that I ran out of there. But he had told me that I could be arrested, and since I had been thinking about going to the Moon anyway, well…

  All this time, her face changes colors, going from white to red, while her lower lip trembles with suppressed anger. She murmurs something about the “goddamn militia” which I pretend not to hear. For something I’ve made up on the spot, it’s a lucky shot; she’s homophobic and hates the militia. She’s instantly on my side.

  The rest of the interview consists mainly of questions about whether I know how to be a good custodian. She even fills out the paperwork for me. She asks me when I’m ready to start work. I shrug offhandedly: When do you want me to start? She smiles at me. You can begin at 2100 hours this evening. Can I have your card, please?

  I reach for my breast pocket. Sure, but why?

  “You’ll be working on Levels Three through Six, John,” she replies, still smiling as she pulls her keypad closer to her. “I need to update your card so that you can use the elevator and open rooms. Do you understand?”

  It’s hard not to grin as I hand my card to her. Yes, I understand.

  At 2100, I step into the same elevator I tried earlier today, push the button for Level Three, and wait for the voice to ask me for my card. I hold it up to the scanner. The elevator beeps twice, then the car begins to descend.

  When the doors open again, I find myself in a corridor that looks like a hospital ward: clean, antiseptic, without any of the potted plants that line the hallways of Level Two. A tall, skinny man with a shaved scalp and wearing a lab coat is waiting for me; he introduces himself as Dr. Brumfelder, Sosigenes Center’s assistant manager. My new boss. He seems like a nice enough guy, but when we shake hands I notice that he’s wearing thin plastic gloves.

  Dr. Brumfelder tells me about the job as we stroll down the corridor. I’m to report to work at 2100 every night, and work until 0600 the following morning. I’ll be working on Levels Three through Level Six, although there’s little for me to do on Level Six, because that’s where the nuclear generator is located. My principal responsibilities will include mopping floors, vacuuming rugs, emptying recycling bins, scrubbing toilets, urinals, and sinks, restocking toilet tissue and paper towels, cleaning walls, changing air filters, and whatever else needs to be done. Do you understand?

  The corridor is circular, and takes us past offices whose doors are closed; card scanners are mounted next to half of them. Most of the rooms I’ll be visiting can be unlocked with my card, Dr. Brumfelder tells me, but there’re a few that can’t be opened. I’m to ignore those doors. Do you understand?

  The corridor is almost vacant; by the time we reach the custodial closet halfway around its circumference, I’ve only seen a couple of other people, both of them scientists or doctors. Are they the only people working here? Dr. Brumfelder laughs. No, of course, not, John. It’s just that most people leave work by 2000 hours. We have you working such late hours so you won’t get in anyone’s way. Do you understand?

  All my old pals are waiting for me in the custodial closet: Mrs. Mop, Mr. Bucket, Uncle Toilet Brush, Aunt Sponge, and my friends from the big, happy Disinfectant Family. Dr. Brumfelder introduces me to each and every one of them (as if we haven’t already shared some good times together) and tells me that there’s a closet like this one located on each level. He also shows me the first aid kit on the wall, and informs me that it’s there for me if I need it; don’t bother any of the doctors if I can help it. I tell him that I understand, and swear to myself that he’s going to need a doctor if he keeps asking whether I do.

  “This is a headset that you’re to wear at all times. It’ll let us know where you are. If you need help or have any questions, just say ‘Control One’ and someone will help you. Do you understand?”

  “Okay.”

  “Always wear plastic gloves like these. You’ll find them in a box on this shelf, right here. On Level Six, wear a dosimeter badge like this one. You can find them in a rack near the elevator door. Return it to the rack when you’re done. If it turns red, tell someone at once.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t touch anything that looks complicated. Don’t clean any computers or any machines. Leave them alone because we have someone else who cleans the lab equipment.”

  “Okay.”

  “Use the main elevator only. There’s a freight elevator, but that’s only to be used by authorized personnel, since it leads to the airlock dome.”

  “Okay.”

  “Never bring food or drink past Level Three. If you have to use the restroom, use the ones located on Levels Three and Four, but not the ones on Level Five. There’re no restrooms on Level Six.”

  “Okay.”

  “What does okay mean?”

  “I dunno. It’s just something everyone says on Ceres.”

  “Well…all right. But try not to say it here. People don’t know what you mean. Do you understand?”

  “Okay. Where’s the first aid kit again?”

  “Right here. On this shelf. Didn’t I show it to you earlier? Now, listen, this is important…when you’re on Level Five, you’ll find a big room with a lot of people in it. Do you understand?”

  “On Level Five? A lot of people? Okay…all right, I mean.”

  “Some of them aren’t…well, John, they don’t talk very much, and some of them can’t walk and just lie in bed. They’re special people. Patients we’re treating here. Even though you need to clean the bathrooms they use, under no circumstances are you to speak to any of them. Just leave them alone. Do you understand?”

  “Okay. All right. I understand.”

  “Very good, John. Now, you can start on Level Three and work your way down to Level Six, or start on Level Six and work your way up. Which way do you want to do it?”

  “Umm…I think I’ll start on Level Six
and go up. That way I can go straight home after I’ve finished with Level Three. All right?”

  “That’s pretty smart, John. I like that.”

  “Thank you, Doctor Brumfelder. Everyone on Ceres tells me I’m pretty smart, too.”

  “That’s good. Well, why don’t you take the elevator down to Level Six now?”

  “Okay, Dr. Brumfelder. Thanks for showing me all these things.”

  “My pleasure, John. Glad to have you on the team. Can you find the way to the elevator by yourself?”

  “Yes, I can, thank you.”

  “Very good. I’m leaving now. Good night.”

  “Night, doctor. Sleep well.”

  And, by the way, has anyone ever told you that you’re a moron?

  Every nerve in my body screams at me to head straight for Level Five, but I force myself to go first to Level Six. If I’m being tracked through the building by my headset, then I’ve got to make it appear that I’ve gone there only because I’m working my way up through the complex. Besides, it’s still early in the evening; there may still be scientists working late. If I take my sweet time, it’ll give them a chance to clear out.

  There’s no one on Level Six. The corridor is empty. I open the custodial closet, fill the bucket, select a mop, clip on a dosimeter, and start scrubbing the corridor floor as it winds its way around the lowest level of the base.

  Most of the doors are marked with radiation trefoils and can’t be opened by my card. But when I find a small office that’s been left unlocked and go inside to empty the waste cans, I notice the desk contains an inlaid computer screen and keypad. The screen is still lit, glowing with a null pattern.