The Great Symmetry (9 page)

So she ate and read articles in the news. Mira preferred text, old fashioned as it was. While people at nearby tables stared at the talking heads or elaborately produced videos, Mira read.

While she was especially interested in the events surrounding Evan’s ship
and the arrival of the Affirmatix fleet, that was not the only topic she read. That wouldn’t be smart. She had learned many years ago that when she was in a public data space, it could be an error to delve too deeply into any topic that might be considered sensitive. Fortunately, the Affirmatix
fleet was the top news story, so it wasn’t too out of place to read all about it.

One sidebar captured her interest. An article with speculations about the existence of the new glome. Was it wise to go there? Mira decided it was worth following the link.

The author, a professor from the U at Arling Heights, started with a recap of glome
exploration, and how relatively rare a new discovery was. Mira skipped ahead to where it got interesting. The timing. The first ship ever to arrive from that glome emergence was big news, and the missiles that destroyed the ship were a mystery. But the kicker was the warships t
hat followed. Those massive ships had arrived in the system before it was possible for them to have received confirmation of the destination of the glome.

Nobody would send large ships, with their crews, into a glome
whose destination was unknown. That wasn’t done, because it would be stupid. Glome exploration was conducted with robots. In a few exceptional circumstances, ships with small crews departed into the unknown in search of glory.

The conclusion of the article was reasonable – the path of the glome had already been
known, but had not been published.

Mira asked her tablet to remember the article, then closed it. That was enough delving, in this data space. She finished her lunch and headed back to the airlock where she could go back to her bucket of bolts. The flight window would open soon.

As she turned the last corner to the airlock, she saw the security personnel.

There was no purpose in trying to run. Top Station was one big confined space. The doors,
every few hundred yards, generally stood open with scanners that extracted a nominal user fee each time you passed through, but could be closed at any time and for any reason. There was only one option.

When she was a teenager, she and her droogs had adopted a motto, in homage to an ancient movie. “Fly casual.” Whether you were slinking in late to class, arriving home in the middle of the night, or simply walking down the street with your friends, it was essential at all times to fly casual. It had become their standard greeting, when meeting or parting. “Fly casual.
” And it was never more important than at this moment.

Without missing a step, Mira continued forward. There were four of them. Quite a pack. Out of habit, she sorted by gender, although it was made difficult by the uniforms and especially by the visors. Two were men, for certain. The whole effect was robotic. While she was sure that the design was functional, she believed that part of the purpose was to make the security personnel a little less like people, to create a distinction between them and their human herd.

“Ms. Adastra.”

“How can I help you?”

“Routine check,” the security guard told her.
“All departures from Top Station. If you would do us the courtesy of opening your lock for us.”

“Okay, but I’ve got a flight window. Seven minutes. I didn’t know about any of this. You could give people some warning, you know.”

“We’ll be as quick as we can.”

“You do that.” Mira opened the inner lock to her ship and stood aside.

“Your computer system. We need access.”

Fly casual. She had to fly casual. “Of course. Ship, please provide system access to these four fine people.”

“Access provided,” replied the ship.

“There you go
. Hey, this is my fuel cost on the line. If I don’t lift in six and a half minutes, it’ll double my cost and it’s all on me. Help out a small business, okay?”

Without replying, two of them entered the ship.

Minutes passed. The flight window came and went. Another window came and went. The next would not be for more than two hours.

Mira did not care in the least about the fuel. At any moment she could wrestle that boat down to the surface. The only question was the optics
. Would someone in her position waste that much fuel just to get home a little earlier? No.

“Ms. Adastra, it’s going to be a while. You may as well leave us at it, and we’ll ping you when we’re done. Don’t worry, we’ll lock up.” Was that a smile?

“Is there a problem?” That might not be a smart question.

“Just a routine check. And one other question for you
, Ms. Adastra. Are you, or have you ever been, a Statistician?”

“Well you know, I have been known to play with numbers from time to time.” It was the wrong time for the old joke. “No, of course not. I stay away from politics. Completely away.”

“Ok. We’ll let you know when we’
re done.”

Mira got the message. Run along now.

Where would a reasonable pilot go, if her ship was being thoroughly checked, but she had absolutely nothing to hide? If she didn’t have a dead person hiding in her turbo intake? If everything was normal?

Mira ran along like a good consumer.

Physical Therapy

Benar Sanzite, President of the Affirmatix Family of Companies, had been reviewing the reports from Arn Lobeck, and he was concerned. The crisis was very real, and Sanzite appreciated Lobeck’s vigorous response. He was glad that Lobeck was personally directing their efforts.

Yet, there were things that Lobeck did not understand. Even as a top vice president, he did not have the entire picture. That was Sanzite’s job. His and the board’s.

Most notably, Lobeck was the fiercest partisan for the interest of Affirmatix. The success of Affirmatix was, in the same breath, his success. This was not only because of the rewards that the family had provided to him. Over the years, Sanzite had seen the merger, or fusion, occurring. Every triumph of the family was embodied as a victory for Lobeck, every loss was a physical blow to him. Gaining market share by clawing it from another of the Sisters, or from the demise of an independent – that was what he lived for.

That very aggression was limiting, and stopped Lobeck from understanding how Affirmatix fit into something larger. Sanzite knew that Lobeck expected to someday be President
of Affirmatix, whether by outliving Sanzite or by some other means. He also knew that this would never happen. Lobeck was not the right material for the top spot.

Sanzite drew the equivalent of a sigh through his tired lungs. He actively disliked travel, but this time it was necessary. He would have to help Lobeck, or at least watch him.

“Room,” he called. “Notify my captain to prepare the ship for me. We will be going to the Kelter system. We will bring along all six delegates from my counterparts, so notify them.”

“Notification sent,” the room told him.
“I will develop a travel schedule for you. We should be able to load you on the ship in approximately two hours.”

He didn’t talk with people much anymore. There was usually no need. The room, with its attendant banks of dedicated computers and large screens, met his requirements. He could see or hear anything that he wished. Have any question answered. Provide instructions that would be followed.
The world responded to him, as it should. There was no need for him to cater to the outside world, and especially to any individual person in it.

Four young men bustled into the room. One addressed him while the other three got busy. “Sir, your travel tank is being readied, and will be here in thirty minutes. We’ll get you transferred to the travel tank and then moved to your ship.”

“I know the drill,” President Sanzite told the attendant. “Just one thing. Allocate time for a PT session before we go.
Here in my home tank. Send for the therapist right away.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sanzite liked physical therapy. Other than unlimited data, and unlimited power, it was what remained to him.

He still remembered, with great clarity, the day when he had given up. It had been the time of morning to go to the gym, and he simply had not. His staff had been deeply disturbed. Sanzite needed vigorous exercise in order to survive, an unfortunate requirement of the Parrin Process. By declining to do that, Sanzite was committing suicide.

Except that he wasn’t. Sanzite had planned years ahead for the moment. He could stay alive, even without the intense exercise regimen, if he received an advanced treatment, just enough to keep his heart, lungs, and brain functioning, supplemented with aggressive filtering and rejuvenation of his blood and other fluids. And one other organ – he had to keep his priorities straight. The rest of his body, over two hundred years old, no longer mattered.

As his body had rapidly turned to gel, Sanzite had simply continued to work. The materials in the tank supported him and met his needs. After a few weeks his skin didn’t itch any more. These days, he didn’t even have a concept of where his body ended and the fluid bath began
. It was all one – it was the system that kept him alive.

These days, his main tank was perfectly adjusted. Just the right density, easily keeping his head above the surface. A supportive, thick material that kept him from drifting, but soft and smooth enough so he barely felt its presence.

The fluid entirely filled the tank, exactly to the brim, so there were no unsightly barriers between Sanzite and the rest of the room or the displays that fed him the information he needed. If a rare ripple sent some of the material over the edge of the tank, it was quickly and automatically replaced with reserves that were always ready.

The travel tank was not nearly as comfortable as the main one. Sometimes some part of his body, he could not usually identify what part, and it didn’t matter anyway, would bump against one of the sides. He hated that experience, and so he avoided the travel tank and thus any type of journey. Unfortunately, it would be necessary this time.

A dismaying thought occurred to Sanzite. “One more thing. The temperature. Get it right
! To the tenth of the degree, and uniform throughout, or we will have words about this.”

“Yes, sir.”

On his last trip, the transfer had been horrendous. The travel tank had been a mess, with variations of several degrees from top to bottom, and uneven viscosity. He had felt the imbalances viscerally, reaching to his core. It had taken almost an hour to get to equilibrium. More reason to hate the travel tank. The morons could never prepare it correctly.

The therapist arrived. Sanzite tried to remember her name. It didn’t matter.
He still had functioning eyes, and he liked how she looked in her uniform.

“Leave us,” he told the men. “I will notify you when you can resume preparations.”

As the men left, he turned to his therapist. “I am going to be taking you on a little trip,” he told her. “I need to travel, and I will need your help maintaining my health for as long as I am away.”

He thought he saw her startle for a moment. Just a moment. Then she looked away. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll take care of you, Mr. President. Now, let’s get started.”

Full Charter

“Hey, Stranger!”

Mira looked up to see Rod Denison sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dangling into the water.

“You must be doing well, affording pool time up here in the station,” he observed.

“Just a splurge,” she told him. “Got delayed and was tired of sitting around.”

“Yeah, I saw. Looks like you’re scheduled to go down to Abilene
as soon as you get cleared. And you’ve got space, which is what I like to see.” Denison smiled broadly.

Rod Denison always looked happy and engaged in his surroundings. Mira imagined that to him, the whole world was a wonderful mystery being revealed a day at a time. He was one of the tallest people Mira had ever met, and that was still evident as he sat above her.

And then there was the hair. Easy, light curls of blonde that always looked casually out of place. Just right. If her hair could look like that, she might even grow
some.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Mira said. “How is that good news?”

“Because I’m going with you!”

“Um, Rod, I’m not so sure−”

“Of course you are. I just got in from Caledonia, and I
have a high-level government courier trip, paying good money for transit. The Descartes is for deep space only, so I need a shuttle. I can pay full charter, and I know you like the sound of that. We can catch up, too. If you want, you can bring me back up
to Top Station. Full charter. What could be better than that?”

“Really, Rod, it’s not such a good time.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Mira Adastra? Full charter! Do you understand a word I’m saying to you?”

Mira scanned around the pool. Just swimmers, swimming and playing.

What would a reasonable pilot do, if everything was just hunky dory? How could she fly casual through this one?

“You know, Port Security seemed pretty interested in my pile of scrap,” she tried. “When I left them at the gate, they were pawing through anything and everything. You know me, they’ll find something, even if it’s old. You know them, they’ll find something even if it doesn’t exist. What I’m saying is, it might not be the smartest idea for you to be around me right now.”

“If I was smart, I’d work in an office
. I’ve logged the charter request, all you need to do is approve and we’re good to go. And you’ll owe me a drink on the surface for bringing you such a sweet deal instead of going home empty.”