To Hold Infinity
Page 10
“I'm Dhana.” Something silver glistened at the back of her throat when she spoke. “I thought I told you that.”
“Mmm.”
His eyelids drooped, and his whole great comfortable body felt dragged down by gravity, pulled towards the planet's core, and the cabin seemed to fold up and shrink all around him, and Dhana's face was floating like a pale distant moon saying “Sleep now,” so he did.
She was gone when he awoke.
Voices faded. Perhaps he had dreamed about her.
Throbbing pain filled his head as he levered his bulk upright. He slid his feet to the cold floor and felt around for his boots. They felt good as they fastened themselves snugly round his ankles and immediately heated up.
The low lounge was sparse, deserted, The external door faintly shimmered: a smartatom film hanging in front of it. No doubt it was programmed to activate Tetsuo's restraint bracelets if he tried to pass through.
At the far end were doors to other rooms. On a low table, a small bubbling vat of liquids seemed to be the main source of heat. A menthol scent wafted through the air.
Who would live out here, so far from the habitable regions? It might be centuries before terraforming would spread this deep into the hypozone.
A clinking sound, outside.
Tetsuo hobbled over to a window, breath wheezing faintly.
In a barren landscape frosted with pink frozen snow, his two captors were bending over something—
No, it was two men. Strangers. They wore no resp-masks, yet the atmosphere must be toxic unless Tetsuo had been transported much farther than he thought.
One of them shouted, stumbling. Something small and grey shot out from between his feet, but the other man was quicker. His wickedly curved blade hooked into the small creature's back.
There was no scream, but the creature's skin flowed desperately as it tried to gain traction on the ground. Ichor spurted as the man pulled back on the hook.
For a moment Tetsuo thought the creature might escape as it heaved back, twisting, but the second man hooked his own blade into its side, and from then on its fate was certain.
The first man unslung a pointed rod from his belt and stabbed downwards with relentless precision. The creature thrashed wildly, then lay still. Shades of grey rippled gently across its skin.
Before it was truly dead, they were butchering it. Steam rose from its entrails as they slit its body cleanly open. Then they hacked great chops from its body.
One of them unslung a backpack, adjusted some controls, and opened a small hatch in the pack's side. The other man tossed over some limp gobbets of flesh, which went inside the pack.
When they took out knives and plates, Tetsuo turned away, gorge rising. Then, unable to help himself, he looked back. One man had risen and was staring straight at him.
Tetsuo looked around wildly.
If he stayed in here, he was trapped. The outer door looked like standard membrane. Even if there were a recognition mechanism, even if the strangers did not belong here, they could cut their way through. But if Tetsuo tried to get out, the smartatom curtain would trip his bracelets.
There were three couches, the table with the vat of bubbling liquids—perhaps that could be a weapon—and some glowglobes. Nothing else.
Who was he kidding? He was no fighter.
He ran blindly for the door, taking the chance, but his wrists snapped together, jarring his bones, and then his ankle restraints smashed into each other. He stiffened, and the floor came up and slammed his face, and knocked the breath from his body.
Warm blood trickled from his nose. Dazed, he could only wait for them to come.
There was a slight pop, and a sulphurous smell stung his nose. Someone passing through the membrane. He could not even turn his head to look.
“Hey, a Luculentus. You were right.”
“Well, what we gonna do? Take him back?”
Tetsuo swallowed.
They're going to kill me.
“If we take him outside, ain't no null-sheet keepin’ him off Skein.”
“Only if he's conscious.”
A pause.
“Or alive.”
There was dry, rasping laughter. Then pain exploded in Tetsuo's back, over his kidneys.
“Why ain't ya in some high'n’mighty palace of your'n?”
“I—” Pain racked him, and he coughed. “—Can pay. Get me out of here.”
“Pay, is it?”
A massive blow to his ribs, and something broke.
Then a cold blade, like ice, touched his cheek.
“Think I'm gonna do you, Luculentus.”
“Hey, I'm not sure. He belongs to them Simnalari.”
“Yeah? Well they're almost as bad. I say we do him.”
Tetsuo shut his eyes.
“I'm wanted by proctors,” he said quickly. “There's a massive man-hunt underway. Kill me, and there'll be forensic techs all over the place—”
“Shuddup.”
“Hey, Manadray. Someone's coming.”
“Damnit.”
“Come on!”
“Your lucky day—”
The blade stung Tetsuo's cheek, and then it was gone. Footsteps heading for the door. Silence, then a distant shout and the sharp sizzle-and-crack of an energy weapon.
Then nothing.
Another scurry of footsteps.
Dhana was kneeling in front of him. Her hand graser pulsed with the room's colours, its smartatom finish running in chameleon mode.
“They're gone.” A deeper voice from the doorway. Dhana's companion.
Brevan. That was his name. Concentrate.
“Looks like they tried to take him.” Brevan's tone was hard.
“No.” With Dhana's help, Tetsuo managed to sit up on the floor. “They were going to kill me.”
Brevan looked at him, as though he were going to finish the job himself.
“Damned Agrazzi,” he said finally. “We're supposed to be on the same bloody side.”
“I'll get the med-kit.” Dhana peered at Tetsuo's cut face.
“Nice friends you've got—” Tetsuo muttered, but his voice was thick and he was not sure they understood.
“Stay here.” Brevan hefted a graser rifle. “I'll make sure they haven't circled back.”
“But—”
“Yeah, sure. We're all Shadow People. Let then come back here—” he slapped his weapon's resonator housing “—and I'll show them a little solidarity. All right?”
Dhana said nothing. Brevan glowered, then he turned and was gone.
“Your arm's broken, I think, where you fell on it. A bruised bone, at least.”
“And my ribs. Where they—ah, damn it.”
She came back with a microdoc, and released his restraints by voice command.
“I wish,” she said quietly, “we knew just what to do with you.”
“Letting me go is out of the question, I suppose.”
She looked away, with troubled eyes.
Treat her, Rafael told himself, as though she were a Luculenta. There is danger here.
“Would you care for a drink, Major?”
“No, thank you. This is a nice house, Luculentus de la Vega.”
“Very kind of you.”
The lounge was tuned to plain grey, the furniture to black, with solid silver statuettes—real, not holo—standing here and there. It was a décor, Rafael hoped, which gave away nothing of his personality.
“I hope you weren't waiting long,” he added. He assumed Major Reilly's flyer had been hovering in cloud cover, awaiting his return.
He had been lounging back with his ankles crossed, and now he deliberately uncrossed them. His body language should be open rather than defensive.
“Not long,” said Major Reilly.
His mind, though, was racing. How much did the proctors know?
He had to find out. There was a risk, an enormous risk, but he took it.
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He had been seen.
Trajectory maps unfurled in his mind: four-dimensional geodesics plotting his movements for the day. Privacy laws prevented continuous surveillance—except under court order—but SatScan's AIs could interpolate heuristically between random sightings.
He was taking a huge risk, infiltrating SatScan with the benefit of Tetsuo's mu-space commsware, but he had needed to know.
“I was at the Lupus Festival,” he said. “You should have called me in Skein.”
“That wasn't necessary.” Major Reilly's tone was designed to give nothing away, but it was obvious she would rather talk in person than in Skein.
In Skein, whatever she saw would have been what Rafael wanted her to see. Here and now, in reality, he would have to make sure that the same applied.
“You're sure you wouldn't like a drink?”
“Perhaps a glass of water.” A menu image grew beside her, and she selected a plain water; a glass rose up through the chair-arm's membrane. “Thank you. I gather you import tech from offworld, quite successfully.”
Dangerous ground. If Rafael hadn't been on full alert before, he was now.
“Yes, that's true. I pick a niche product or expertise—offworlders can be just as effective as us, you know, in any single given field.”
He watched the major stiffen slightly, as she sensed his veiled barb: how unenhanced humans might be compared to Luculenti. Point noted.
He knew how to make her angry, should that become a useful ploy.
“And mu-space comms?”
“That too.”
Rafael was appalled. If they knew of the uses to which he had turned mu-space comms—if they knew that, then he would be facing a team of LuxPrime specialists, Luculenti inquisitors. Not an unenhanced Fulgida proctor.
Unless they did not want to follow the obvious tactic, preferring a more subtle approach.
The girl, the girl. Don't forget the girl. It's probably just her murder they're investigating.
“I was showing some prospects, a couple of Algidiran businessmen, around the music stores in Lowtown, just this morning.”
That was true, as far as it went, but he had left them to their own devices very early.
Note this: no iris contraction or muscular tension when he mentioned Lowtown. Either this Fulgida major had immense self-possession, or she was after something else.
Not Rashella, in the Inez Banlieues? He had thought his smartatom cover was perfect. Dare he risk another search through SatScan dataseams?
“Do you know Tetsuo Sunadomari, a comms specialist?”
Worse and worse.
“Oh, yes. I haven't seen him for a tenday, or so. Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“Can you recall the last time you saw Mr. Sunadomari?”
“Yes, of course. I can download full details. Shall I?”
Major Reilly powered up her wrist terminal. “That would be very helpful.”
Status displays flowed as Rafael dumped text and video logs direct from Skein.
“If there were any irregularities in our dealings,” said Rafael, frowning, “I'm afraid I didn't catch them.”
“This seems very comprehensive.” Major Reilly killed her display. “Thank you.”
“All I've omitted are the contents of copyrighted designs. If necessary, I could provide those also, under privacy safeguards.”
“Thank you. Would you regard Mr. Sunadomari as a friend?”
“I'd—like to think so.” Hesitation was easy to feign. Why was she questioning him about Tetsuo? “In fact—Major, I actually sponsored him for upraise.”
He was watching her strong jaw muscles, the tension in her hands: no reaction, despite her feelings about Luculenti.
She knew about Tetsuo's upraise, though he had not yet been presented in Skein.
“He passed the security checks,” he added. If nothing else, surely Federico would have passed him the word, if there had been anything odd in Tetsuo's background. “Quite above board.”
“Yes, of course. I'm afraid Mr. Sunadomari hasn't been seen for several days. Do you have any idea of his whereabouts?”
Not seen? Something had happened to him?
“You've tried his house, of course? I can't think where else he might be.”
“Have you visited him there?”
“Never. Though I have details of the location—”
“That won't be necessary.”
Tension, now. The major had been there, he was sure of it. But for what purpose? And what had she found?
His skin crawled with the notion that Tetsuo might have realized just how much tech Rafael had actually pilfered, over and above their commercial agreement.
But Tetsuo could not have realized the significance of the code Rafael had stolen—
“Tetsuo has stayed here,” he said, musing. “During advanced studies before upraise.”
“Are there any other people he might stay with? Girlfriends?”
Rafael shook his head. “None, that I know of. He seemed quite consumed by his work.”
“Seemed? Why the past tense?”
“Just a figure of speech.” Rafael swallowed; his nervousness was not entirely faked. “This is serious, isn't it? You think he might be dead.”
Major Reilly put down her glass. “We're just covering all possibilities.” She stood up, holding out her hand.
Her grip was firm and dry, as they shook.
“By the way,” she added. “Do you know a gentleman named Adam Farsteen?”
“No, I don't.” Though he had heard the name, he thought, in connection with LuxPrime.
He raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Not to worry.” Major Reilly nodded. “You've been a big help, sir.”
He escorted her out, down the long hallway to the main doors. There, he stood on the steps and watched the three flyers lift into the night.
So Tetsuo was missing. An interesting slant to the game.
He went back into the lounge, and sat where Major Reilly had been—it was still warm from her body's touch—and sipped from her unfinished glass of water.
A vision flash: the slender girl, the young/old face, the delicate neck and the power flowing through his steel-strong fingers. The fire, then the dying light, fading in her eyes.
Pale eyes. In that regard, somewhat like the major's. But lacking the major's resolve. How would Major Reilly's eyes look, at the grand moment of death?
Yes, a very interesting slant to the game.
A fine game, indeed.
An opening, at the throat.
“Yeee!”
Yoshiko dropped to one knee and thrust.
Her long naginata, a narrow halberd, speared straight towards the swordsman's throat.
At the last moment, the black-clad swordsman parried with his blade, and the shock reverberated down the naginata's shaft.
Yoshiko jumped up, sidestepping and spinning, but her foot slid in the long wet grass and that was enough. She tried to recover but the swordsman beat aside her weapon and sliced back with his blade and it cut across her throat and she was dead.
Death.
The swordsman stepped back, bowed, and winked out of existence.
Damn it.
She knelt down in the grass, panting. Cold night air enveloped her sweating body, and steam rose from her bare forearms.
The lawn here was yellowish, beneath floating orange glowglobes. Outside their warmth, the night pressed blackly in.
Come on, you old fool. You'll freeze to death out here.
She
undid the cord which ran behind her neck and around her upper arms, fastened across her back. Freed, her sleeves fell down to her wrists. She was wearing a white jacket and a black hakama, the split skirt favoured by master warriors of both genders.
Yoshiko pulled her sleeves back up, and retied the cord.
She stood, left arm outstretched, right hand holding her naginata vertically. Her back was arrow-straight, her breathing calm.
On the grass, some five metres away, a low black box hummed. It was a very special and expensive holoprocessor.
“Hai,” she said, and a blank-faced swordsman was standing in front of her.
No expression, empty eyes. Bright curving katana sword upraised, held in a two-handed grip.
“Hajime!”
They attacked simultaneously. The sword's blade slid up the naginata's hilt—physical contact perfectly simulated by electromagnetic induction in the naginata's superconductors—and the blade was almost on her fingers when Yoshiko twisted away.
She spun the naginata propellor-like through a horizontal circle, covering her retreat.
The swordsman recovered composure.
They clashed again.
For ten more minutes they fought, cutting and swirling across the grass, till Yoshiko's sides ached and her legs grew leaden.
“Yame!”
The warrior dropped to one knee, sheathing his sword, then knelt down and sat back on his heels.
Breathing heavily, Yoshiko knelt also in the seiza position, laying down her naginata.
She kept zanshin, focussed awareness, though the fighting was over. Her holoprocessor was programmed occasionally to attack once more, at random, to ensure that awareness.
The swordsman bowed as she followed suit, palms on the ground and forehead almost touching the damp grass. As she straightened up, her enemy vanished.
She stood up, performed gentle leg stretches and rotation exercises to cool down, then resumed her kneeling position.
Mokuso! She could hear the voices of all her bushido instructors, every sensei she had studied under, ordering her to meditate. She closed her eyes.
Empty, empty, empty.
Clear night air. The planet beneath her, holding her firm. She was a dissipative structure, a tiny mote of far-from-equilibrium thermodynamics, a gesture in the cosmic dance, an insignificant wave function among the sum-over-everything that was the universal ocean, the Tao function.