To Hold Infinity

by John Meaney

  “To start?” Yoshiko was puzzled.

  “Our investigation,” said Xanthia.

  Silvery ripples passed over Brevan's grim bearded face: reflections from the holo's shifting infoscans.

  Tetsuo shifted his couch to see more, and Brevan started at the sound, hand flying to the graser pistol at his waist.

  “Sorry.” Tetsuo swallowed.

  Brevan merely glared, then turned back to his work.

  Tetsuo sighed. “You're holding me here. We might as well talk.”

  “Shut up,” muttered Brevan, intent on the display.

  “Maybe I could help you with your analysis.”

  Tetsuo's heart beat faster as Brevan slowly took out his pistol.

  Yellow and red reflections played across the transmission surface. It was the first time Tetsuo had ever seen the business end of an energy weapon. He didn't want it to be his final memory.

  “Maybe I could help you keep quiet.” Brevan's voice was soft.

  Tetsuo nodded, throat tight. He closed his eyes in relief as Brevan returned the pistol to its sticky-tag on his belt.

  If only Dhana would return. Tetsuo pulled back his sleeve, checking the colour of the med-insert which Dhana had fixed onto his forearm. Blue had almost entirely given way to green: the healing process was well advanced.

  He lay back on the couch, avoiding any twisting motion which would set off the pain in his ribs.

  Chess. He tried to visualize a chess board; this was one of the visualizations he practised. For once, it came surprisingly easy.

  Light glinted on the polished grainy surface, on the solid chessmen.

  King's Gambit, he thought, and suddenly the game was flowing, pieces jumping fast as lightning, and he was both opponents fighting desperately as the endgame appeared and Black won, barely.

  Fascinating.

  Brevan's presence was quite forgotten now.

  Three chessboards appeared in his mind. Each game began, as before, with the King's Gambit, but the topologies rapidly diverged until six scheming opponents, all fragments of Tetsuo's mind, were warring furiously, and again the end-games came in no time at all.

  Chess, of course, was easy.

  The boards disappeared, replaced by a disembodied grid of 104 by 104 lines. Two porcelain bowls appeared, one filled with white stones, the other with black.

  A stone rose from Black's bowl, and clacked into place on a strategic intersection of the grid.

  White replied.

  Soon black and white armies swirled across the go board: fractal outreachings into enemy territory, impenetrable “eyes” of stones around blank nodes, minor skirmishes and major campaigns. Suddenly, the balance tipped in White's favour and the game whirled to completion.

  Shuddering, tasting the joy of White's victory and the bitterness of Black's defeat, Tetsuo withdrew to reality.

  The cabin was deserted.

  Darkness, outside. Flashes of light. In the holding-pens, Brevan and Dhana were inspecting their herd of native lifeforms.

  Groaning, Tetsuo levered himself off the couch. There was a distant twinge of pain in his ribs, but his arm was completely healed already. Very sophisticated femtocyte inserts. Just what you'd want for medical emergencies, far from human assistance.

  He could get out, now.

  Measuring angles, he carefully aligned the couch, so that its end was towards the outer door. If he could run with the couch, leap onto it as it passed through the smartatom film and the door membrane itself, then momentum should carry him through.

  Unless there was a recognition-lock, and the door membrane remained hardened. Then he would just be stuck inside the room, lying on the couch with his restraint bracelets snapped together as before.

  A shadow passed the window.

  Tetsuo moved hurriedly back, and sat down just as Brevan stormed in through the door. Had he and Dhana been arguing?

  Glistening membranes retracted into Brevan's eye sockets, nostrils and mouth. “So you don't need resp-masks, after all.” Tetsuo spoke without thinking.

  Brevan glared at him.

  “You used the term “Shadow People” earlier, when you chased off the Agrazzi. How many of you are there? Dozens? Tens of thousands?”

  The latter, Tetsuo thought, watching Brevan's eyes. Possibly more.

  Amazing. All these people, living in the hypozone.

  “And you must have sympathizers in the SatScan hierarchy. You all live permanently here in the hypozone. No one's camouflage is that good for long periods. Your presence must be something of an open secret.”

  “Keep talking, Luculentus.” Brevan rested his hand on his pistol butt. “Give me an excuse for getting rid of you.”

  “So you're not autonomous? You need to justify yourself to your superiors?”

  Brevan turned away, and stamped off, cursing, through the door which led to his own quarters.

  Tetsuo's heart pounded. How could he play such a risky game?

  But Brevan wasn't here, and that was what he wanted.

  He caught sight of his reflection in the dark window: large and rotund, not a warrior at all. Not like his mother.

  A whisper of sound. Dhana's hand pierced the outer door's membrane.

  With desperate strength, Tetsuo picked up the couch and charged as though with a battering-ram, straight for the door.

  “Hey!”

  As the couch struck the glimmering film, he dived onto it and momentum carried him through the door membrane, slamming Dhana aside, and then it stopped.

  Shock rang through him as the bracelets snapped together, jarring his bones.

  Acid in his throat, fire in his lungs.

  He couldn't breathe.

  It should have been laughable, him lying here with head and shoulders poking outside through the solidifying door membrane, but this atmosphere was not designed for Terran organisms to breathe.

  “Damn you.”

  Her hands were on his collar, tugging him back inside.

  A fit of coughing shook him, and his chest was burning, as the bracelets freed themselves and he staggered into the cabin and fell.

  Dhana's hand was pushing into his face, and suddenly something cold and liquid forced itself into his throat and down to his chest. It pulsed inside him.

  Tetsuo was drowning.

  He rolled over, coughing out smartgel, until all of it had exited from his lungs and gathered into a pool on the floor.

  “You're lucky we had this stuff ready,” said Dhana.

  At that moment, Brevan, roused from his study, came in.

  “OK, you bastard.” Brevan grabbed Tetsuo's collar, and twisted it into a stranglehold. “I warned you.”

  “Outside—”

  “What? Ah!” He pushed Tetsuo away in disgust, as Dhana forced a hand between them.

  “My head—” Tetsuo coughed again. “My head—was outside.”

  “What?”

  Dhana's voice was very low. “He's right.”

  “Oh, really.”

  Suddenly, Brevan threw back his head and laughed.

  “Oh, really,” he said again.

  Dhana looked startled. “If he's accessed Skein, there'll be proctors or a TacTeam here before you know it.”

  “No, I don't think so.” Brevan wiped his hands across his eyes, as though brushing away tears of laughter. “Not for this one.”

  “For God's sake, Brevan. We've got to get out of here. He was outside the null-sheet.”

  The pain in Tetsuo's chest slowly subsided. He was as surprised by Brevan's behaviour as Dhana, but had no breath to speak.

  “Fat lot of good it did him.” Brevan chuckled. “I've got to hand it to you, boy. That was a nice bluff.”

  Another fit of coughing seized Tetsuo.

  “—because this one,” Brevan was saying, “is an Earther boy. Aren't you, Mr. Sunadomari?”

  “He can't be.” Dhana's eyes were round with surprise.

  Tetsuo looked at her.

  “Upraise.” A wheeze
sounded in his chest, embarrassing him. “Just had—the op.”

  “Just as I said.” Brevan chuckled. “Got more balls than I thought.”

  Dhana was furious. “You mean you can't access Skein?”

  “Don't know how.” Tetsuo shook his head. “Haven't a clue.”

  Brevan laughed again.

  Dhana, exasperated, looked from him to Tetsuo.

  “Then why did you risk your bloody life, sticking your head outside?”

  Tetsuo did not reply.

  “If we'd cleared out,” Dhana continued, “we'd have left surveillance. No proctors would have turned up, and we'd know the truth.”

  “Then I'd have said—” Tetsuo sighed, his chest feeling almost normal again. “I'd have said, you could trust me, because I hadn't called the proctors when I could have.”

  “Very subtle,” said Brevan, grinning.

  “I'm glad I've amused you.”

  Afterwards, Brevan removed Tetsuo's restraints. Dhana watched silently from the corner of the room.

  “So you do trust me,” muttered Tetsuo.

  “I trust you not to access Skein.” Brevan smirked.

  “Fine. Aren't you going to tell me about your philosophy of life? Living in harmony with the wilderness, isn't that what you believe in?”

  There must be more, obviously, but Tetsuo had not figured it out yet. The Shadow People's presence must really be an open secret, yet he had never heard of them.

  Brevan shook his head. “You wouldn't be interested.”

  He could guess: they had settled the hypozone, to live according to their own ways, away from what they saw as Luculenti oppression. On the other hand—

  “You must have Luculenti supporters.” Tetsuo looked at Dhana, who seemed ready to protest. “Otherwise, you see, Brevan wouldn't have known about my upraise.”

  “Not that he bothered to tell me.”

  “I might have guessed it,” said Brevan, “from your short haircut, and the healing where the headpiece is connected. If you look closely, your scalp's quite scabby.”

  “Thanks. But you didn't just guess it.”

  “Maybe not.” Brevan turned to Dhana. “You didn't want him trussed up. He's your responsibility now.”

  “My responsibility?”

  “After all the excitement, he probably needs a hearty supper.”

  “Then he can get it his bloody self, can't he?”

  Dhana glared at both of them, then stormed out of the room.

  “Bloody hell,” said Tetsuo.

  “Just what I was thinking.”

  “Thanks for getting rid of those things.” Tetsuo pointed at the restraint bracelets.

  “You're welcome. Oh, and by the way—”

  “Yes?”

  “Those balls you've just demonstrated you've got—” Brevan drew his pistol very fast, and smiled. “—I wouldn't want to shoot them right off, because you'd done something stupid.”

  “Ah, no.” Tetsuo breathed out, a long shaky breath. “Let's try to avoid that.”

  Brevan returned his pistol to his belt.

  “Supper's in the autofact. Help yourself.”

  Trap. Subtle bastard.

  A web of network diagrams modelled the key relationships. In Skein, Rafael pointed at a node and grasped it, sending his offer price.

  He subverted his opponent's strategy by buying out a key supplier three levels along the chain. In seconds, he turned the share-price movement around; within a minute he controlled seventy-three percent of his opponent's stock and shut him down.

  Not bad.

  There was no time to relax. Two more opportunities appeared, and he went for them simultaneously.

  Rafael, immersed in the icy cool flow of financial info, swimming among the icebergs of corporate dataseams, doubled and redoubled his gains. In small display volumes, matching his movements like pilot fish, pulsing intention-indicators mapped the intricate strategies of his Luculenti opponents and partners.

  He played this game at the highest level, where double- and triple-cross were not unknown, where business alliances might last only seconds, or less. The trick was to become one with the vast flow of planetary wealth, that cold turbulent sea where even the minnows had to be observed lest they turn suddenly into sharks, and where Rafael was the most cunning shark of all.

  A new display volume blossomed beside him.

  <<>>

  The ident was unknown to him.

  ((text: I'm a Terran journalist. Might I have word with you?))

  The (text) was prepared by a public-access terminal.

  Rafael crushed the display volume in his fist, and shards of code flew apart in Skein.

  Why would a Terran journo want to talk to me?

  Rapidly, he concluded a rapid series of mergers and takeovers and long-term investments, while he formed a group of NetAngels and sent them searching through immigration tables, for any attributes of the caller's ident code.

  Almost immediately, one returned with a name: Maggie Brown.

  Ah, yes. The Terran woman he had met at the conference centre. The one who had been interviewing Rashella.

  Interesting.

  More info came flooding in. The Earther woman had a child, here on Fulgor.

  If he needed leverage, there was her weak point.

  Still in Skein, smiling now, he willed a real-time comm session with Maggie Brown, and she accepted and came on-line.

  Quickly, Rafael constructed a virtual room, a green old-fashioned study, and caused his own ghost-image to lean back in a deep black leather chair.

  “I must apologize,” he said smoothly through his ghost. “I was in the middle of some delicate financial dealings when you called. I beg your pardon.”

  “Not at all. Thank you for coming back to me.” She hid her surprise well, for an Earther.

  “You were covering the Skein conference. Has it been going well?”

  He completed another merger, while awaiting her reply.

  “Boring as hell,” she said. “But, you know, I didn't expect it to be riveting.”

  “Not a chance, I'm afraid.” Rafael laughed. “So, can I help you with some background info? Or the views of the ordinary Luculentusin-the-street? Though there are at least four major viewpoints on the connectivity issue, I have to say.”

  “From Earth's point of view, they're details. Regardless of the type of access, Skein's going to become more available to EveryWare, and that's news.”

  “I think you're probably right.”

  “I was thinking,” said Maggie, “of a more human story, of interest back home.”

  “To do with Skein?”

  “To do with offworld trade, to a small extent—”

  “Offworld trade? I do enter into joint ventures, occasionally, with offworld companies. I don't believe in a closed economy.”

  “Me neither,” said Maggie. “I believe you know Tetsuo Sunadomari.”

  All of Rafael's senses swung to full alert.

  In the background, he shut down all his tasks and withdrew completely from the financial strata of Skein.

  “Yes, I know him.” He went with his intuition. “Ah—I'm not supposed to say this, but I sponsored him for upraise to Luculentus status.”

  “Upraise? To Luculentus status?”

  Nice try.

  In Skein, he could make his ghost assume any physical characteristics he chose. But Maggie Brown's image was fed from a terminal input, and he could read the minutiae of her body language, zoom in on her eyes, on the muscular tension in her face.

  She already knew about Tetsuo's upraise.

  Therefore, she had Luculentus—or Luculenta—help.

  Nothing to do with Rashella: she had not known of Tetsuo's upraise. He knew that, for Rashella's memories, subsumed within his own, were quite clear upon that point.

  “It's possible for an offworlder to undergo the so-called upraise operation—although there's more to it than a simple piece of sur
gery, of course—if they fulfil the requirements. And if they have a sponsor.”

  “And that was you, in this case?”

  “Oh, yes. I'd like to think Tetsuo is my friend.”

  “Is?” Maggie's expression was intent. “Does that mean you know where he is?”

  “No…I haven't seen him for a tenday, or so.”

  “Do you know where he might be?”

  “No, I'm afraid not.” He smiled. “The proctors asked me that as well.”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if he should have given her that piece of info. He had just told her, implicitly, that he knew of Tetsuo's disappearance, and realized that she did, too. Would his candour make her more or less suspicious?

  Was he being too subtle for an Earther?

  “Listen,” he added. “I interrupted my business to make time for this chat.”

  “I appreciate it,” Maggie said quickly. “If you could just spare a couple more minutes—”

  “I was going to suggest, perhaps you could come over here in person. Have you had lunch yet?”

  “Ah. No.”

  “I'll send my flyer for you. Where are you staying?”

  He already knew perfectly well: one of his NetAngels had returned with that information.

  “The Bright Lights hotel, at the conference centre.”

  “I know it. If I send the flyer to arrive in, say, twenty minutes?”

  “OK,” said Maggie. “Thank you. That would be great.”

  “My pleasure.” He constructed one of his most charming smiles. “By the way, the flyer will be unmanned. I don't believe in employing servants, you see.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  “I look forward to seeing you again.” He returned to reality.

  His lounge was still tuned to a grey and silver, somewhat cubist décor. He liked its clean strength, but perhaps something softer would put his luncheon guest at ease.

  Slipping into direct command mode, he caused the floor to rearrange itself. In the centre, a low well appeared, ringed by shallow steps.

  He looked at the walls, and willed them to a deep orange. Indirect lighting spread from floor and ceiling.

  The carpet became a sea of warm browns and oranges, in which tiny yellow mandelbrots slowly swam.