No Going Back

by Mark L. Van Name

  “Which is?”

  “This ship may normally be your home, but for this tour, it’s my command center, and I’m in command. You’re here to assist me, not to get in my way or try to tell me how to run my world. Your job is to do whatever I need you to do. Got it?”

  “Yes,” I said, “of course, provided you don’t order me to do anything illegal. You’re the boss.”

  She nodded. “One more thing.”

  “Yes.”

  She stared intently at my eyes. “Be completely honest: What do you think about Passion’s music?”

  “I’ve only recently started listening to it,” I said, stalling for time but also telling the truth. I decided to stay with the truth. “It’s powerful and moving. Her voice is astonishing, so strong and so rich that it’s amazing so small a person can produce it. The songs are wonderful, though I’ve never heard any of them before.” I shrugged. “I’m not good at talking about this kind of thing. I will say that the music brought back memories and strong feelings, and that her name suits her music, at least all the songs I’ve heard.”

  “What sorts of memories and feelings?” she said.

  My face felt hot. “Does that matter for this interview?” I said.

  “No,” she said. Her face softened. “Supporting, understanding, and helping to create Passion’s music is, well, my passion, one of my passions. I’d just like to know.”

  “Memories,” I said, “of a woman I loved and lost a long time ago, and of a woman I lost some years ago before I could even find out if I might love her.”

  She nodded her head slowly.

  We were silent for a few awkward seconds.

  “A long time ago?” she said, her voice brighter and lighter now. “You don’t look like that’s even possible, though the profile said you’re forty-five. Seeing you in person, I would never have guessed that age, and I sure wouldn’t have guessed that you’re only five years younger than I am.”

  I shrugged and said, “My family tends to look young.” I paused. “What’s next?”

  “Paperwork,” she said. “You’re hired.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Wang,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

  “Zoe, please,” she said. “You’re part of the family now. We roll out in the morning. Bing will get all your data from the agency and show you the coordinates.” She headed out. “Nice to meet you, Lobo.”

  “Nice to meet you, Zoe,” he said.

  She stopped for a second just inside the open hatch. “Good answers, Jon, about Passion’s music.”

  I got the landing and loading location from Fu, and then he followed her out.

  Lobo closed the front hatch after him.

  “Aren’t you the charmer?” he said. “I loved the sensitive comments.”

  “And you, with that voice?” I said. “Seriously.”

  “I can sound any way I choose,” Lobo said. “Why wouldn’t I select a voice that would work well for her?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I select an answer she’d like?” I looked around the space and realized I’d lived here, alone with Lobo, for years. Sharing Lobo with another person was going to be odd.

  “The next couple of weeks are going to be interesting,” I said.

  “Indeed,” Lobo said, “though at least I’m confident we should survive them. I’m nowhere near as sanguine about your plans to rummage through Schmidt’s home.”

  “Look on the bright side,” I said. “Things could turn dangerous a lot sooner if Kang or Randar finds us.”

  “There is that,” Lobo said.

  20 days from the end

  York City and Mass City

  Planet Haven

  CHAPTER 31

  Lobo

  Jon, when I said that I knew everything, I was indulging in hyperbole for dramatic effect. I do not actually know everything, either about you or about the wider universe. In your case, I have had to rely on deduction rather than reliable historical data to draw certain key conclusions. Those conclusions, though, serve only to reinforce my existing concerns.

  That you never grow older makes determining your age problematic. The absence of any readily available data about your birth increases the difficulty of that task.

  Hence the use of deduction.

  Research into integrating nanomachines into humans has been banned since the disaster in the Pinkelponker system that caused the quarantine around the jump gate apertures that provide access to that world. Consequently, it seems likely that you were born on Pinkelponker and involved in some sort of nanomachine research. Though I assume that information about those studies exists in some governmental or corporate databases somewhere, those repositories must be hardened and extremely difficult to locate, much less access, because I have found no trace of them.

  Having Pinkelponker as your birthplace also explains why you have involved us on two occasions with the Children of Pinkelponker and why that organization seems to so easily arouse you. It is only human to feel those connections, even if they generally lead to problems for you.

  Your age is harder to pinpoint, but coming close is not difficult. All the successful nano-human hybrid experiments in my knowledge are those Jorge Wei performed, and only those that involved children were successful. Based on Wei’s data, you must have been no older than eighteen for the integration of the nanomachines to have worked. So, you must have left Pinkelponker no older than eighteen. That means you are a maximum of 157 years old.

  I have walked you through these simple chains of reasoning to make clear how very simple they are, given the data I have available.

  Or given different but related data sets.

  Omani Pimlani, for example, knew you long ago. She has never lived long on any planet other than Haven. No data about you exists prior to the Saw. Your instant sense of owing her and your continued insistence on taking the risk of breaking into Schmidt’s so that you can save her imply a strong emotional commitment of some type. She must have known you very long ago for you to have needed the aging prostheses you had me recycle.

  Did you ever believe I was unaware of anything inside me?

  Pimlani may not know where you are from, but she knows you are vastly older than you look. From your statements, I gather that she has threatened to share this information with the head of another of the most powerful of the families in all the worlds.

  Somewhere, it is likely that data exists from your early years.

  The only sensible action for you to take is to run, live a life that leaves as few traces as possible, and move every five to ten years.

  Instead, you get ever more frequently involved in other human affairs, keep going to highly inhabited planets, and take on riskier and riskier assignments.

  If you want to fight those with data on you, I will fight with you—but we should do so intelligently, and for a reason that makes sense.

  I hope you now understand that I know everything that matters, and further that you see why I had to make these recordings.

  I hope also that before they are necessary, you decide to repay the faith I have shown you with a similar level of trust in me.

  If we are to stay alive, I believe that will be necessary.

  If your path to self-destruction means we both must die, I will accept that fate, but I hope you have enough control that you do not take an entire planet with you.

  I originally made these recordings to show you in the event of my death. Upon further analysis, I have decided to play them for you as soon as possible. I do not believe that at this time you can afford the distraction these recordings will represent, but if we survive this strange mission on Haven, I will show them to you then.

  CHAPTER 32

  Jon Moore

  When we landed at the load-in zone, the sun was still not visible, the sunrise only beginning to shoo away the night. In addition to Lobo and Passion’s private transport, another ten vessels, each at least as large as Lobo, were necessary to move the show. A few were primarily for the cr
ew and their luggage, but most were there to carry things, not people.

  Wang arrived a few minutes after we did in a shuttle from the hotel where she’d been staying. She and I loaded her quickly, a small amount of personal stuff going into her quarters and the rest up front in Lobo. I didn’t expect us to need to do any fancy flying, but on the off chance that we did, we tied down the front-area stuff with quick-release cords hooked to some hooks that Lobo had manifested along the front wall.

  While we were working, one of the crew put a pair of paintbots on Lobo, one on the rear of each side, and they began painting Passion’s picture and the “Passions Past and Present” tour logo on Lobo.

  When we were done with Wang’s stuff, Lobo closed his hatch so the paintbot on that side could finish working. The other was already done; they were quick.

  Passion’s face—all of her that the logo for this tour showed—stared at me from Lobo’s side. This close, it was huge—taller than I am—and beautiful. The eyes used a paint that reflected the morning light softly; they almost seemed to be looking back at everyone who stared at her.

  “I’ve always wanted to be a billboard,” Lobo said over the machine frequency. “Now, my ambitions are fulfilled.”

  I ignored him.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Wang said.

  “Yes, yes she is,” I said. “The music, though, is far more compelling.”

  “I’m not sure which sells more tickets,” Wang said, “though I hope it’s the music; that should last longer.”

  “Is there anything else I should be doing for you, Ms. Wang?” I said.

  “Zoe,” she said, “and no.”

  “Then unless you want to leave, I’m going to help the others finish.”

  “We don’t take off until Passion’s ready,” she said, “so feel free. I’m sure they’d appreciate the help, Jon.”

  Carts and small carriers were loading most of the gear on their own, supervisors watching to make sure everything went to its proper place. Between people’s luggage and small stuff, though, there was still plenty that humans carried, so I went to the closest ship and started helping. I introduced myself to each new person I saw, and they told me their names, but I didn’t really track theirs, and they didn’t seem to care about mine. Once they realized I wasn’t in their area and was Wang’s driver and assistant, it was as if I no longer existed. If I’d cared, I’d have asked her if there was a lot of turnover in the job, but for me, this was perfect. I would be with them only as far as Schmidt’s or, if I was lucky enough to get out of there quietly, for one stop past that, so making friends wasn’t a goal.

  Passion arrived a few minutes before we finished loading the last of the ships. Her ground transport drove her all the way to her ship. Everyone stopped working and watched. A woman and a man got out of the vehicle, looked around, and stayed by the open hatch as Passion emerged, with two more men on the other side of her, took two steps into her ship, and vanished again. The four security staffers followed her inside, and her ship closed.

  I was only aware it was her because of the reaction of everyone else.

  We finished putting the last items on the other ships.

  Wang came out of Lobo and called out, “Everyone, may I have your attention?”

  We all stopped working and faced her. People already in ships came out so they could see her.

  “Our tour over the next three months promises to be amazing, but we also all know that it will be a lot of work and that sometimes things will go wrong.”

  Everyone chuckled at that. One man from somewhere behind me said, “Sometimes?”

  Wang laughed along with everyone else. “Okay, something goes wrong pretty much all the time,” she said, “but making it right and putting on the best possible show is what we do.” A lot of the crew around me nodded their heads and murmured agreement. “People spend a lot to attend these shows, and we repay their investments with our very best. I look forward to working with you all. Passion thanks you, and I most certainly thank you in advance for committing to giving your best to these shows. Let’s roll!”

  Everyone hustled aboard the ships. I ran to Lobo. He closed the hatch as Wang and I stepped inside and went up front.

  “We go first,” she said, “then Passion, and then the rest. We caravan at slow speed and stay at a low altitude; I assume Bing gave you the flight plans.”

  “He did, Ms. Wang,” I said, “and we’re already set.” Lobo opened a display on the front wall.

  “Zoe, Jon,” she said, “as I keep telling you.”

  “Zoe,” I said, “if you don’t mind me asking, why do we fly so low and slow?”

  “Because a caravan of ships bearing Passion’s face attracts attention, and on a slow info day, newstainment outlets will fill their feeds with images of it and commentary on the tour. Free advertising.”

  I nodded. “Take us up, Lobo,” I said.

  Aloud, he said, “Executing.”

  Over the machine channel, he said, “If you’re really going to pretend to be a pilot, this is going to be a very long trip indeed.”

  “I’ll do it only when she’s here,” I said over the same channel.

  When the display showed all the ships in the air behind us, a line that stretched back quite some way, I said, “Take us to Mass.”

  * * *

  When we reached Mass a few hours later, we set down in a private landing zone on the west side of an amphitheater built into the side of a hill. Zoe had spent the flight in conference with the heads of various teams, reviewing plans, studying holos of the venue, and discussing what they knew about the newest members of their team. None of this had anything to do with me, so aside from checking with her periodically, I spent the time exercising in my quarters. I had Lobo keep the door open so I could hear if she called, but I only returned to the pilot couch for the landing.

  A local security team met us and immediately joined Zoe in conference inside Lobo. They were to cover the venue and keep out everyone except verified venue staffers and our team. Passion’s security detail would cover her.

  We all received venue-specific IDs for our wallets and, so no one on security would mistake any of us from a distance as an intruder, a large ID we had to wear if we wanted to leave and come back.

  We didn’t need those, but they insisted.

  The load-in process was a great deal more complicated than the packing had been. Most people, including Passion, would spend the night in a nearby hotel, but no one would be going out of the venue until after the team had completed setup and a rehearsal.

  Zoe kicked me out of Lobo so she could work but told me to stay on call and not to get in the way of any real work.

  Passion stayed in her ship.

  I wandered into the venue and watched the team work. Some venue staffers assisted them, but only on equipment that belonged to the venue. The teams were very careful not to mess with each other’s gear. As one woman from our group explained it to me, Passion’s contract demanded that no one outside her team touch any of her setup, so that she could have total control over the sound and deliver the “unedited fidelity” that was, she felt, one of her key attractions. The venue had retaliated by banning our staff from touching their gear. This sort of gamesmanship was apparently common.

  The initial stage of the load-in consequently consisted of venue staffers moving, removing, or disconnecting an extensive set of electronics, and our group replacing it with a different set.

  The stage was covered, and protective shielding normally enclosed it on all sides. Passion demanded a direct connection with the audience, so the venue people instructed the shielding to withdraw into containers on the rear of each side.

  By default at the venue, large computer arrays with a programmable control board received the audio from the musicians, corrected its flaws per whatever programming the performers’ sound people loaded into it, and then blasted the correct sound through all the speakers that delivered the edited audio throughout the amphitheater
. It all happened so quickly that the audience could not detect any delay.

  Passion would have none of that. Our people made the venue team move what it could and disconnect the rest, then installed her gear. It amplified the sounds, and its programming let operators easily adjust the balance of sound among the various instruments and Passion, but it did not in any other way change what you heard. Whatever she sang, whatever the musicians played, was what the audience heard. A techie-oriented section of her data presences in every city she played provided copies of her programming for each show, the schematics of her equipment, and source code for all the software they used. If you didn’t believe her claims, you could verify them for yourself.

  Of course, she could simply have lied by posting data that had nothing to do with the reality of her show, but most people trusted that she wasn’t doing that. If the chatter I heard as people worked was any indication, she was indeed telling her audiences the truth.

  Lunch arrived from a local caterer. Everyone ran for food.

  I was with them until Zoe contacted me.

  “Passion and I need to meet,” she said. “Lead her team from her ship to me.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m curious, though: Why doesn’t she make you to come to her?”

  “She doesn’t like meetings in her private space, even with me. She feels they disturb its energy.”

  “So why doesn’t her team walk her over? Lobo can’t be more than twenty meters from her ship.”

  “She prefers my assistant guide them,” Zoe said. “Is this going to be a pattern?”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “I ask you to do something, and I have to explain it first? Because if so, we have a problem. We’ve already kept Passion waiting, and she doesn’t like that.”

  I jogged toward Passion’s ship. “No. I’m sorry. I have a bad habit of liking to understand what I do, but that’s not the job. I’ll be at Passion’s ship in no time.”

  “It’s good to see,” Lobo said over the machine frequency, “that your lack of trust in any directions you receive is not unique to me and instead applies, apparently, to everyone.”