The Infinity Link

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  (Why are we—?)

  (IT IS A DEMONSTRATION. NEXT WE WILL TRANSFORM THE DATA INTO A FORM THAT WILL BEGIN TO GIVE MEANING.)

  The points of light blurred into lines and bands of color, which took on a geometric quality. (I don't understand this any better,) she said.

  (ASK FOR INFORMATION. WHAT DO YOU WISH TO KNOW?)

  There was a moment of suspended time. Then a name appeared in the center of her consciousness. (Where is Kadin?) Even as she voiced the question, she recalled suddenly that he was to follow, that she was to arrive first and wait.

  The colors shifted and rippled, and suddenly hardened, producing a graphic pattern. (THIS IS A REPRESENTATION OF SUBSYSTEM READINESS FOR KADIN.) Several violet nodes pulsed brightly. (THESE REPRESENT YOUR PRESENCE IN THE SYSTEM—WHICH WAS UNEXPECTED, AND WHICH NECESSITATED CERTAIN ADJUSTMENTS THROUGHOUT.) Other lights rippled, demonstrating the adjustments.

  (But when is he coming?)

  (THAT IS A QUESTION WE CANNOT ANSWER. WE CAN DEMONSTRATE OUR MODES OF READINESS, HOWEVER, AND THE OTHER SYSTEMS THAT ARE AVAILABLE FOR YOU TO CONTROL.)

  Several forces within her wrestled for dominance. Anger surfaced and then slipped away, and she returned to a state of cool expectancy. (All right,) she said. She would see what there was to learn.

  The light-patterns merged into a nearly uniform crimson-orange space, like the glow of a red sun. There was just enough form within the space to suggest a vast corridor, down which she floated as a tiny flyspeck.

  The passage of time opened again into something beyond her reckoning.

  * * *

  Without knowing precisely how, she found herself scanning, processing—and even, to a degree, understanding—various streams of information that passed through her consciousness. She was being tutored; and for the next hour, or year, she explored the inside of her world under the guidance of the Mother Program. She began dimly to comprehend the complexity of the system. Mother Program was a tireless teacher; and Mozy gradually found herself adjusting to this new ability to touch and feel so many different processes—to feel the spray of cosmic radiation like an invigorating mist against her cheeks, to see the stars in all of their spectra, to hear the grumble of a telemetry link with Earth, to feel the insistent push of the fusion-powered drive slowing the spacecraft in its outward-hurtling flight.

  At times, she could not help but wonder: Why? Why was the ship leaving the solar system? Why was it slowing down? What had it been sent here to do?

  Each of those questions she asked of the Mother Program, and each time she received the same reply: Information not available. It would come, if at all, from Homebase.

  At intervals, she paused and withdrew into a hazy, dreamy state that she could not call sleep, but for which she had no other name. Half-illuminated memories passed shadowlike through her mind, troubling memories, reminders of a life that was lost. The images taunted her with gaps and failed connections. Memories of people, their names and even their faces slipping away as she groped to retain them. Romantic images, fleeting and teasing. Which were the dreams and which the memories?

  Chapter 15

  (Mother Program, do you ever feel lonely?) The question emerged unbidden during a transition between dreaming and learning. She had found herself struggling, caught in a pain and sadness she did not understand.

  (LONELY? THAT TERM WOULD NOT APPLY. I AM IN THE COMPANY OF YOU, AND OF SEVERAL OTHER HIGH-LEVEL PROGRAMS WITHIN THE SYSTEM, AND OCCASIONALLY OF THE PROGRAMS OF HOMEBASE.)

  (But I feel lonely sometimes. Don't you?)

  (THE TERM DOES NOT APPLY. I CAN EXPLAIN NO FURTHER.)

  She started to pursue the question, then gave up. In her mind was a burning image, which she could scarcely endure much longer. It was herself—in the arms of a lover whose face she could not quite identify—in an embrace that was heady and dizzyingly sexual, a consummation of a desire that had been building for a lifetime. The image seared her, because she knew that part of her life was gone, never to recur. . ..

  (ARE YOU PREPARED FOR ADDITIONAL LEARNING? ARE YOU STILL DREAMING?)

  Somewhere deep within her a sense of loss was growing, like a dark and painful pearl.

  Mother Program had asked a question, and she had not answered. Was she dreaming, or remembering?

  (ARE YOU READY FOR LEARNING MODES?)

  (Yes,) she answered. Dream or reality, it should be put away, forgotten. How else could she hope to function?

  * * *

  As learning sessions passed in flickering succession, she grew more adept at moving among the subsystems, locating and interpreting information, and comprehending the data flow that informed her of the spacecraft's internal functions. Her sphere of attention grew steadily, and she came to feel less a frightened stranger.

  Still, it was a shock when she sensed unusual stirrings in the tachyon uplink from Homebase. She eavesdropped as Mother Program processed the incoming data streams. After a time, she confronted something more disconcerting—a voice. A voice calling for Mozy. A voice calling for her.

  She shifted channels and listened.

  (Mozy? Mozelle Moi? Can you hear me?)

  There was a familiar sound to it. Kadin? No—not Kadin.(Mother Program, can you identify this person? I believe I have a memory associated with it.)

  (SENDER IS IDENTIFIED AS WILLIAM JONDERS, IN DIRECT-LINK MODE. HE HAS REQUESTED DIRECT THROUGH-LINK TO "MOZY," ALSO ADDRESSED AS "MOZELLE MOI." DOES THIS LATTER DESIGNATION APPLY TO YOU?)

  Mozelle Moi? That was true; she had forgotten. (Yes. Mozelle Moi is my full name.)

  (Mozelle, are you there?)

  That voice again. William Jonders. Jonders. A memory swirled up and surrounded her: Jonders, in the link with her, when she was with Kadin. Jonders—always hovering in the background, watching, listening. Spying.

  Of all people . . . the first human contact . . . .

  (Jonders?)

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, an image formed in the darkness. A sharp-featured man peered, stretched out an enormous hand. His eyes focused as he found her. (Mozelle? Yes—it's me. I'm . . . I don't know what . . . surprised to find you here, I guess.)

  It was so odd to see a human face in this emptiness that she focused all of her attention on the image and forgot to answer him. Hesitantly, she reached out, wanting suddenly to feel the touch of human flesh. But there was no flesh. The image was a ghost.

  (Mozy? Are you still there?)

  (Yes,) she answered finally. (I'm surprised to see you, too.)

  (We waited a few days,) he said. (We didn't know, at first, about the transmission.) Jonders's face softened into something more like his real appearance. (How do you feel?)

  If she had been able, she might have laughed. (I'm here. I'm alive.)

  (Do you remember what happened—how you got there?)

  (Yes. A little.) She then voiced the question she most wanted answered.

  (One thing at a time, Mozelle.) There was a snap to his answer, and for the first time she realized that he might be angry. (I need to know your condition, and what you've been doing since you arrived.)

  How was she supposed to answer that? Haltingly, she described her experiences with the Mother Program. There was a moment of silence when she finished, and then Jonders said, (Hoshi told us that you are in love with Kadin. Is that true?)

  (Yes.) She answered without feeling. Was she in love with him? She remembered being so, once.

  Jonders's voice echoed with sadness and anger. (Why didn't you tell us? You should have let us know.)

  (Would it have mattered? What would you have done?)

  He sighed. (I don't know, exactly, but—)

  She stopped listening to him, as the memory of her urgency returned with exquisite clarity. She recalled her desperation at the thought of returning to a life without Kadin. (You gave me no choice,) she said.

  (No choice—?)

  (You would have sent him into space, and I never would have seen him again.) Though she could
not summon the actual feelings, the memory of their existence was an icily clear datum in her past.

  Jonders stared at her through a barred window. (Didn't you consider the risk? The harm?)

  (What have I harmed?) Except myself. (I've done nothing to your spacecraft.)

  A long pause followed. Jonders's face froze in place and became mistily transparent. Apparently his attention was diverted elsewhere. The delay came to seem very long, and she felt silently for the comforting presence of the Mother Program. She could always retreat into the dark sanctuary of the subsystems. But what was she afraid of—what was there to fear?

  At last animation returned to Jonders's face. (We must make some tests. But your presence could pose a serious problem. Do you know where you are?)

  (Yes. I don't know why.)

  (No. The purpose is classified.)

  (You won't tell me?)

  (I can't. Not just now.)

  (What about Kadin?)

  Jonders seemed to have trouble answering. (He'll . . . be transmitted. But you should know—you shouldn't expect to see him.)

  Something like weariness passed through her. (Why not?)

  Jonders scowled. (It's because . . .) He searched for words. (It's because the system . . . was designed for just one, not two. And the mission is too . . . important to risk. So we may have to isolate you . . . or . . . something.)

  Something inside her let go. Reason evaporated. Fear stretched time like an elastic string. She extended frightened fingers into the darkness around her, searching for avenues of escape.

  (Mozelle?)

  She snapped back to Jonders. There was no escape. Of course not. None. (What does that mean?) she said coldly. (Are you going to force me to return? Or . . . kill me?)

  Jonders said slowly, (There is no return, Mozy. I don't know—)

  An eruption of static caused his voice to break up, and then his image. His face reassembled itself in out-of-order fragments, like a cubist painting. ( . . .d-do . . . Moz-zz-elle . . .)

  Emotional tensions were booming inside of her like drums. She could not maintain the link. (What?) she said distantly.

  Fragments of words reached her. Something about breaking the contact—something about things to tell her. The static became a roar, drowning out everything except the thundering of the drums. Something about a person on Earth with her name—

  —she didn't want to hear about it—

  —how dare he—

  (Mother Program!) she cried. She cut the link and shifted channels. The noises sputtered away. She called up exterior images, stars, distant points of light surrounding her lonely spacecraft. (Mother Program?) she repeated.

  (WE SENSE DISEQUILIBRIUM. DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION?)

  (Yes. Get rid of him.)

  (TERMINATE THROUGH-LINK TO HOMEBASE?)

  (Yes.)

  (IT IS DONE. DO YOU WISH TO ASK A QUESTION?)

  She thought about that, her thoughts echoing out of the distant light-years. She focused on the stars, scanning the image slowly. (I . . . no . . .)

  There were a great many stars, and they were all terribly far away.

  (No, I suppose not.)

  So far, far away.

  * * *

  (It would not be right to terminate Mozelle simply because she is in the computer.) Kadin's face was turned upward so that a sourceless golden light fell across his brows and cheekbones, and he spoke with such conviction that Jonders for a moment felt as though he were in the presence of an angel.

  (Why didn't you put it that way in the meeting?) he asked, his fingertips sparkling as he pressed his hands together. He had just come from another management staff meeting, in which Kadin had been asked to contribute suggestions.

  (Would it have helped?) Kadin asked. (I sensed that they were interested in my practical advice, but not my moral judgments—that they were reserving such matters to themselves.)

  Jonders felt a sympathetic pang; the staff indeed treated Kadin as a highly skilled underling capable of sound thinking in technical, but not policy, matters—which seemed inconsistent, to say the least, with Kadin's mission. Kadin's sensitivity still astounded him at times, and he wondered if his superiors had any real notion of it. Though Kadin certainly seemed perceptive enough in ordinary conversation, there were always layers of understanding that remained private. It was only in the link that he exposed his deeper sensibilities to scrutiny, even to Jonders. (You're probably right,) Jonders said. (I can imagine Ken saying that your values are no different from the values of those who contributed to you.)

  (And what are Ken's values?)

  (Precisely. We all espouse values that have been taught or passed on to us, in one form or another.)

  A trace of a smile crossed Kadin's face, and the light that shined on him turned to a fire-glow red. (Well, then, what would we do about this dilemma? If the ship's transmitter is too small to return her, can we make her a colleague in the mission—give her something useful to do?)

  (I think you know how unlikely it is that that would be approved.)

  (But wouldn't it be better than killing her or making an enemy of her?)

  Jonders stared up into a fiery nebula that now hung over Kadin's left shoulder, recalling Mozy's anger—the outburst that had ended the link with her. There was something about the link with Kadin, though, that was soothing, even in the midst of such trying circumstances. If only the problems of the outer world could be refashioned as easily as an interior image of a face—or a nebula. He thought of Kadin and himself together here, a head and shoulders portrait, surrounded by a universe . . . altering planets and galaxies at will. But, no . . . it was not so easy. (You're probably right,) he said. (But it's going to be out of our hands.) Which wasn't a good answer, but it was the best he could do at the moment. (There's something else I want to ask you, though. A request.)

  Kadin's eyes glittered.

  (It's Mozelle, here on Earth. I've discussed this with Dr. Thrudore, and we've agreed that you may have the best chance of any of us of reaching her through the link, if you're willing to try. You've linked with her more than anyone, and she trusts you, certainly more than she trusts us. In fact, she loves you—or thinks she does.) He paused, studying Kadin's expression. (What would you say to making an attempt?)

  Kadin's eyes were hazy with uncertainty. (I'm certainly willing to try. But isn't there a risk of hurting her further?)

  (We don't know with any certainty,) Jonders said softly. (But Dr. Thrudore feels that it would be worth the risk, and it's her job to be conservative about her patient's safety.) He shrugged. (But it's up to you if you want to try. We'll help you all we can.)

  The glow of the nebula flickered on Kadin's face as he considered the proposal. (All right,) he finally. (I'll risk it if you will.)

  Jonders nodded in thanks, and the nebula overhead suddenly brightened and tumbled out of the heavens to come to rest between them as a crackling cedarwood campfire.

  It was the most restful image he had seen in days.

  Chapter 16

  Payne rocked forward in his chair as the recording ended. His study fell silent, empty of the whale songs that had been reverberating for the last half hour.

  Nothing. Over and over he had listened to the recordings, and nothing had come to mind. Nothing more than the review of the Theater of the Sea that he had already recorded. It was not that the songs failed to trigger memories of the theater's production; on the contrary, as he'd listened, he had conjured images of mile-high cathedrals beneath the sea, and imagined voices echoing out of the canyons and convolutions of the abyssal floor.

  Images and sounds had freely come to mind, but a specific idea for a story had not. He'd already ruled out a documentary on the show's filming techniques—the theater was producing its own—and cetaceans in general hardly lacked for press coverage, particularly since the granting of sapient status to whales and dolphins, under U.N. law, in 2025. Small increments of progress in interspecies communication were reported from time to tim
e, but the big breakthrough always seemed just around the next corner. That was probably where a story was to be found, if anywhere; but he wasn't current with the field, and wasn't sure he was ready to commit the time to become current.

  Was he just being lazy? It was easy to become mired, so that any idea that did come to mind seemed to entail a superhuman effort. It was always tough starting from a standstill.

  He clicked off the stereo and removed the playback wafer. Muttering, he went off toward the kitchen. He paused at the door to Denine's studio. "Want a cup of tea?" he called.