The Web Between the Worlds

by Charles Sheffield

  It was she who broke the tension between the two groups, as she laughed and said, “Cornelia, my dear. This is certainly not the place that I ever expected to find you. What is it that brings you to sample the pleasures of Way Down?”

  Her voice was a surprise, deeper and fuller than Rob expected. She was still smiling, revealing small, even teeth of glittering white. Rob looked instinctively at her temples and the side of her neck. The scars were there, but the job had been superbly done. The marks were scarcely visible, so that with make-up it was hard to tell that a rejuvenation had ever taken place. Rob kept on staring, unable to control his curiosity. The woman seemed to vibrate and pulsate with an unnatural energy and vitality, while her skin appeared to glow beneath the surface. Then he looked at her eyes again, and caught the first hint of something else. The pupil of one seemed to be fractionally bigger than the other. Suspicious, he glanced down at her hands. It was there, the slight characteristic trembling — and there was a fine line of perspiration above the upper lip. Rob felt a sudden twist of pity.

  “I’m sorry, Senta.” Corrie’s tone was stiff and uncomfortable as she took the dark-haired woman by the hand. “I knew that you came here regularly, but I thought the chance that we would meet was small. I came here myself by invitation.” She turned to Rob. “I would like to introduce you to a friend” — her voice was husky on the last word — “of mine. Senta, this is Rob.”

  “I’m delighted to meet you.” Senta took Rob’s hand in both of hers and inspected him closely, while he stood silent. Her grip was burning hot against his skin. “Very good,” she said at last. “Now let me introduce my friends. This is Howard Anson.”

  The taller of the two men nodded politely at Rob, whose hand was still imprisoned in Senta’s. Then, surprisingly, he gave Rob a broad wink and a friendly grin.

  “And this is Eiro and Lucetta Perion,” Senta continued.

  The other couple stared at Rob in confusion. It was obvious that they knew something that he didn’t, and they were less good than Howard Anson at hiding it or accepting it.

  Senta seemed quite unaware of any of their reactions. “He’s not at all your usual space-hero type,” she said to Corrie, finally releasing Rob’s hand. “He’s very nice.” She looked up at him through long, dark lashes. “What did you say that your name was?”

  In spite of his knowledge of what she was, Rob could feel a tug of sexual attraction emanating from the woman in front of him. How old was she? Fifty at least, assuming one rejuvenation treatment. Her face and body were those of a twenty-year-old, overlain with the subtle odor of desirability of a mature and knowing woman. It was nature, heightened by another factor. The appearance of those dark eyes and the trembling of the hands were unmistakable. Senta — beautiful, sensual, and obviously wealthy — was a taliza addict.

  The drug had been widely tested and used for five years after its discovery. It seemed an ideal tool, the answer to the psychologists’ dreams. A patient could re-live, in complete detail, the previous experiences of life.

  Rob had seen taliza at work before. Apply the correct input stimulus, and the return would be instantaneous and total. The patient did not remember the original scene — he re-lived it, as it had happened. Conversations were re-heard, scenes re-visited in memory, old messages played back through the stimulated brain. The patient repeated his exact words, as audio and visual input streams were short-circuited and replaced by recollection.

  The perfect tool for psychological research? Not quite. Taliza had been far too expensive for routine use. Then CGG Pharmaceuticals found the alternate production technique. The new, cheaper taliza should have been identical to the old. It was not. It produced addiction, total and irreversible and remorseless, after a single full dose.

  Following addiction, regular use was essential. If it were withheld for more than a couple of weeks, withdrawal symptoms ended in a long-drawn and disgusting death as key synapses of the brain discharged random electrical signals through the highly organized and delicate cerebral cortex. Mind and reason went first. Soon after came the loss of all physical control of body functions and finally the collapse of the autonomous nervous system.

  When the side effects were discovered, CGG’s form of taliza was quickly banned from the System. Too late. Given a sizeable investment in equipment, the drug could be produced simply and cheaply. Illegal production, sale and use increased at once to the point where all other addictive drugs became irrelevant, and the pusher’s dream came true. For taliza offered one other thing that much of the world seemed to need: an entranced high, in which the user felt a glorious sense of self-satisfaction and inner contentment, stronger than hunger and pain, able to relieve any sorrow.

  Howard Anson had observed Rob’s close inspection of Senta. He caught his speculative expression and gave an almost imperceptible nod. There was sorrow and compassion in his face. Rob began to suspect that Howard Anson might be more than the butterfly escort that had provided his first impression. He nodded slightly in return and turned back to Senta, as she frowned at him and said again: “Come on, I’m not trying to steal you away from Cornelia. Why don’t you tell me your name?”

  “I will,” Rob said softly. He looked into her dark eyes. “I’m Rob. Rob Merlin.”

  As he spoke his full name he was aware that Corrie stiffened beside him, and Howard Anson frowned at him in a sudden surmise. He concentrated on the skin of Senta’s forehead, which seemed to burn with a dusky bloom beneath its deep tan. She must have had a shot within the past couple of hours and be almost ready for the booster.

  “Your name suits you.” Senta reached again for Rob’s hand and took it in her warm grasp. “But how on earth did you meet Cornelia? She rarely lets pleasure interfere with her work.”

  Rob looked questioningly at Corrie, but she would not meet his gaze. “I’m part of work, I guess,” he said at last. “We’ll be talking about it here tonight.”

  “You mean that you work for Darius Regulo?” The tremor in her hands was becoming more noticeable, passing from her hands to his. She would need the taliza booster in a few minutes, or lose the high completely. Rob noticed that Howard Anson was watching her hands also and fidgeting uncomfortably in his perfectly cut evening suit.

  “Well, Cornelia,” went on Senta, turning again to Corrie. “I must admit that surprises me. You must be getting more interesting work-mates out on Atlantis. How is Darius?”

  Her tone was light, but there was an undercurrent that suggested some other emotion — one strong enough to cut through the feeling of well-being and self-confidence that came with a taliza high.

  “As ever.” Corrie’s tone was unhappy. “Still the King of Heaven, still busy remaking the Solar System.”

  “And still `winning small’?” Senta opened her eyes wide at Rob. “Darius has always been willing to settle for two percent — provided that it is two percent of the whole Universe.”

  “You know Regulo better than I do,” broke in Corrie. “But I don’t think this is the place for us to talk about him. We have a reservation in the restaurant, and I’m sure that you need to get to a private booth.”

  Rob heard the significant stress on the word “private.” Corrie knew what was happening to Senta.

  “She’s quite right, Senta.” Howard Anson’s voice was a pleasant tenor as he entered the conversation for the first time. “We ought to get to the private booths, and you know how the restaurant reservations are run here. They operate everything to the split-second. If these people don’t get to their table in time, the food won’t be any better than it would be anywhere else in the System. They’ll miss a unique experience. We ought to separate now and go our own ways.”

  Senta was nodding. She had released Rob’s hands and seemed to be deep in thought. “One moment, then we’ll be on our way. I just want to say goodbye to Cornelia, and her friend Rob Merlin… Merlin… Merlin…”

  Her dark face suddenly changed and become the setting for a dozen different expressions. Deli
ght, fear, the flush of sexual fulfillment, the smile of seduction and the frozen blank of grief followed each other across her countenance. The taliza was exercising its unique alchemy. Inside Senta’s brain, beyond any shred of conscious control, the synapses had become hyper-active, changing and re-connecting the channels of thought in response to a sudden input stimulus.

  Senta was coming off the first great high and needing her booster, but she was still in a condition where any stimulus might throw her back to the past. After the first random emotions, her face was settling into a pattern of deep worry and concern, with an unhappy frown wrinkling her perfect forehead.

  “Merlin… Merlin has them,” she said. She seemed to be talking to someone tall, looking up attentively into an invisible face. “That’s right, Gregor Merlin. I just heard it from Joseph, over the video. He has no idea how they got there, but he’s convinced they are located in the labs.”

  She paused, listening to inner voices. The others watched her without speaking. Senta’s companions all clearly knew what was happening to her. Rob noticed with a sudden chill that Senta’s face had even changed in its overall impression. Much of the maturity had gone from it, leaving a younger and more vulnerable result. Corrie reached out her hand to Senta, then pulled it back without touching as Anson made a quick gesture to restrain her.

  After a few seconds of silence, Senta nodded to her unseen companion. “That’s right, there are two of them. No, they weren’t alive — there was no air in the supply capsule. I don’t know if Merlin knows where they came from, but he must have a good idea. He told McGill he had found two Goblins — that’s his name for them — in a returned medical supply box. He sent one of them to another man, Morrison, and now he’s going to try and…”

  She stopped speaking and coughed harshly. Her full chest began to heave in deep, labored breathing and the spasms came back to her face, a tableau of shifting expressions. She was reeling back through the years, returning from her brief visit to the past. Howard Anson put an arm around her, supporting and comforting, as the big dark eyes slowly focused again on the present.

  “Come along, Senta,” Anson said gently. While she was still unresisting he began to lead her away along the blue-walled corridor that led to the private booths of Way Down. After a brief, uncertain look at Rob and Corrie, the other couple followed Anson without attempting a conventional leavetaking. As they moved down the corridor, Howard Anson turned and flashed an apologetic look back at Rob and Corrie.

  “She’ll be all right in a minute or two,” he said. He looked tenderly at Senta, who rested trembling against his shoulder. “You two go ahead and have your meal and don’t worry about all this. Now you’ve seen it, I hope you’ll never let anybody talk you into trying taliza — not even a partial dose. What you just saw isn’t the worst part. It’s nothing like the worst part.”

  Rob shook his head as the others disappeared from view. “I’ve seen it before in the construction crews. He’s quite right, what we saw isn’t the worst part. You ought to see somebody who’s suffering withdrawal symptoms and can’t get a dose. Do you have any idea what all the rest of that was about? I had the feeling that one of those men — Howard Anson — knew exactly what was happening to Senta.”

  Corrie shrugged. Her pale eyes were frightened, but she seemed to have herself under firm control. “I’d never seen it before, only heard about it. But you know how taliza works, she was off somewhere in the past. She must have known somebody with your name, a long time ago. When she said it, that was the trigger to set her off.” She looked along the corridor, as though to follow the other party, then checked herself. “I suppose we’d better get along to the restaurant. We’re late already.”

  “But she said Gregor Merlin.” Rob walked alongside Corrie, but he was like a man in a trance. “That was my father’s name. And she said that she’d heard from Joseph. I know that isn’t a particularly uncommon name, but when we met Joseph Morel, up at the station, he said that he’d known my father. I’m getting worried about the number of coincidences.”

  They were greeted at the entrance of the Indian restaurant — Corrie’s preference — by a white-robed figure who led them silently to their table. Like any facility at Way Down, privacy was available at the flick of a switch. Sound and sight inhibitors would come into operation, shielding Rob and Corrie’s words and actions from neighboring diners. About half the patrons used the inhibitors. The rest were there because they wanted to be seen. Celebrity-spotting was a big piece of Way Down.

  Corrie turned on the inhibitors, leaving them in a silent, white-walled room. The discreet human servitors seemed to step in through solid walls as they offered their quiet suggestions and recommendations to the two diners. The whole restaurant held about four hundred patrons, and at least twice that number of attendants providing food, wine and stimulants to the diners.

  As they settled into their seats Corrie bent her head to the long, hand-scrolled menu. As with everything at Way Down, manual service was the rule — robochefs were not used, even in the kitchens. Rob could not see Corrie’s eyes, but her tone sounded artificially casual as she spoke.

  “It’s not coincidence, Rob. Senta suggested that she knows Regulo well, and that’s a fact. Knows him very well. For a long time, many years ago, they were lovers until it became obvious that he couldn’t live on Earth much longer. I don’t know why she didn’t follow him, but he says that she couldn’t stand the idea of leaving everybody here on Earth. She needs all her friends, to bolster her confidence. But she knew Joseph Morel, back in the days when she lived with Regulo — and if he knew your father, then it isn’t surprising that Senta knew him, too.”

  “You don’t like her, do you?” Rob said it deliberately. He wanted to startle Corrie out of her remote and wooden mood. He was surprisingly successful. She lifted her head and looked at him for a long time with those intense, troubled eyes, as unexpected as ever in the dark complexion.

  “You have it backwards, Rob.” Her voice was husky. “I would have gone with her just now, but I knew she wouldn’t want me to. I don’t go where she is for her sake. I used to think that she didn’t want me around because it would reveal to her fancy friends how old she is. Now I think perhaps she doesn’t want me to see what taliza is doing to her, and doesn’t want me saddened. I never introduced her by her full name, you know. It is Senta Plessey. She is my mother.”

  Corrie looked down again at the menu in front of her. “We haven’t seen much of each other in the last ten years,” she went on in a low voice. “That’s my fault more than hers, I suppose — I chose to live off-Earth. I don’t really know why I haven’t tried to see her more, even though our life-styles are completely different.” She looked up again, pleadingly. “If you don’t mind, Rob, I want to change the subject. And I don’t want to talk about work, either. Unless you have to talk about Darius Regulo tonight, I’d rather let it wait for another day. No beanstalks, no Atlantis, and no taliza — I want some relaxation.”

  Back in his room, at the hotel on the surface that served those of Way Down’s guests who preferred to spend the night above ground, Rob found it hard to sleep. As soon as Corrie had said it, he could at once see the strong resemblance between the two women. There was an obvious similarity of features, and Corrie’s figure was a slimmer and younger version of Senta’s. It was clear where Corrie had inherited that flawless complexion and the easy grace of movement. It was the eyes that had led him astray. Where had Corrie found those, that startling blue instead of Senta’s dark brown?

  His thoughts were interrupted by the soft buzz of the door-call. He looked at his watch. It was past three A.M., local time, but that meant nothing. Guests for Way Down flew in from all over the System. It was probably Corrie. They had been together until almost one-thirty, with dinner itself lasting nearly four hours. It had taken her a while to recover from the disturbing meeting with Senta Plessey, but a relaxing atmosphere and incredible cuisine had helped. Rob had worked hard to avoid turning the
conversation to Darius Regulo’s background and empire, and he had mostly succeeded.

  His main problem had been Way Down itself. Something about it made him uneasy. He fancied that he could hear tiny creaks and groans from the roof and walls of the great cavern, as though the depths of Earth resented the unnatural cavity within it. He had insisted on returning to the surface after they finished their meal.

  As the door-call repeated its summons he got up, wrapped a loose robe around himself, and went to answer it. He was hoping, if not really expecting, that it would be Corrie. She had refused his offer of company when they had arrived back at the surface, but she had refused with a smile and an interested look.

  It was Senta’s companion, Howard Anson. Rob looked at him in surprise. Anson was still dressed in his formal attire of the earlier evening. Rob noted again how naturally the clothes fitted Anson’s lean form, a perfection of tailoring that quietly told of great expense.

  “I know it’s late.” Anson’s manner was brisk and business-like. “Normally, I would have waited until morning. But I didn’t know where you would be, and tomorrow I have to head to Warsaw for a business meeting.”

  “Come in. I wasn’t asleep anyway.” Rob closed the door and motioned the other man to a chair. “I’m a little surprised to hear that you’re in business.” He smiled. “You certainly pass yourself off well as a convincing social parasite.”

  Anson laughed. Like his speaking voice, it was a pleasant tenor. “That’s part of the reason for my success, being a worker and imitating a drone. But I’m like you, a busy bee. I run an Information Service. Half my clientele and most of my business is drawn from the wealthiest one-half percent of the System.”

  “You run Anson’s Information Service?”

  The other man nodded.

  “Then I’m impressed,” went on Rob. “You’re the best there is. I’ve used you myself, many times. How did you ever decide to do that for a living? I would have no idea what a person ought to study before they can sell information.”