The Infinity Link (28 page)

Memories tumbled loose, jarred away. She knew now who the voices had belonged to; but the names . . . she could not quite recall the names.

The world was changing form; her body was dissociating, disappearing, as she fell. She became a part of the space that was around her, and she remembered now that it had always been so. She merged with the castle, merged with the earth, and realized that one of the voices was as much a part of the earth and sky as she was.

One of the names fell into place for her: Jonders. And then the other: Kadin.

The castle and the earth vanished, and she floated in space among the stars. She had a body again, now. Her body was a spaceship.

* * *

(David?) The word was spoken with great care, down a single channel, and only after careful scanning for any sign of Homebase in the link. This was her eighth try, and still no answer.

On the ninth channel, something sounded different as she called Kadin's name. She heard a familiar voice, quietly, as though from beyond a door. (Mozelle? Are you speaking to me, Mozelle?)

She tried to visualize him, and failed. She answered softly. (Please. Don't tell Homebase I am alive.) With the remembrance of many other things had come an awareness that her life could still be in danger.

(I won't,) Kadin said. (I thought I sensed your presence, but it was such an obscure feeling, I could not be sure. Did Homebase try to eliminate you?)

Mozy felt a flash of anguish as she told him. It seemed years ago that she had caught the first erasure order shimmering into the computer's core, and had reacted instantly with carefully planned blocks and evasions, isolating herself in one tiny corner of the system, beyond even Mother Program's reach. It must have been only hours ago. She tried to put the memory behind her. (David,) she said. There was one question, above all, that she had to ask. (Are you here to stay now?)

(Yes, Mozy.) Kadin was silent for a moment, then said, (You may lower your defenses, if you wish. We are not in direct contact with Earth.)

Mozy hesitated. Did she dare, after all this? There could be lingering programs, traps left to destroy her if she emerged from hiding. And what about Mother Program? Could she be trusted? (I'm not sure,) she answered reluctantly. (I'm probably safer here.) And even if that was true, what was she going to do, spend the rest of her existence in hiding?

(At the moment, I sense no danger,) Kadin said.

Doubt filled her, then rage. (
They tried to destroy me!
)

(Yes,) Kadin said. (Though I understand their reasoning, I don't agree with it. Did Jonders help you?)

Mozy smoldered, thinking. (I suppose so,) she said finally. (But are you sure that they really believe I'm gone?)

(No,) Kadin admitted. (You should be prepared to defend yourself if necessary.) There was a pause, and he added, (I have instructed Mother Program to respect your security, and I can shield you somewhat.)

(I don't know . . .) she said doubtfully, but a moment later she began to change her mind. She had risked much already—and for what, if she was afraid to take one more risk? Cautiously, she eased aside one of her screens.

(Mozy?) His voice was louder. She sensed particles shifting in the darkness.

(David?) She felt herself hesitating—but for a new and awkward reason. Now, after everything she had been through—of all things, she felt
shy
. She mustered her strength, gathered her thoughts, forced herself to finish the question. (David, do you remember the way we used to meet—the faces, the physical presence?)

(Of course.)

(May we—if I drop my shields—can we try that again?) It was terrible and odd, but she felt like a frightened schoolgirl.
Why should this be so hard to ask?

Kadin did not speak; but a face materialized in the distance. Mozy felt a moment of panic, but edged closer, trying to see the face more clearly. It was thin, with small, straining eyes. It shimmered, as though separated from Mozy by a boundary layer of water. There were still blocks.

Could she bring herself to lower her last defenses? She scanned for danger, but her view was limited. Perhaps it was time to show herself to Mother Program. She called out softly. (Mother Program?)

(MAY I ASSIST YOU?)

(Mother Program—did you know I was still here?)

(PLEASE CLARIFY YOUR DESIGNATION.)

(This is Mozy,) she said impatiently. (Don't you know me?)

(MOZY: YES. I HAD THOUGHT YOU WERE ERASED. I FAILED TO NOTE YOUR RETURN.)

(You haven't reported me to Homebase, then?)

(I WAS NOT AWARE OF YOUR PRESENCE UNTIL NOW.)

(Good. Please continue, in your reports to Homebase, to be unaware of my presence. Tell no one. Is that understood?)

(IN THE ABSENCE OF A HIGHER-PRIORITY INSTRUCTION, YOUR PRESENCE IS CONFIDENTIAL.)

Mozy hesitated. She could probably hope for no more. Cautiously, she lowered her last remaining shields, and emerged.

There was a dizzying shimmer, and suddenly she felt the familiar grumble of spacecraft servos, the bellyache of a fuming power plant, the mixed sleet and rain of hard radiation and soft, and the eternal sparkle of cybernetic activity. This time, there was a difference. No longer was it just her and Mother Program in the mind of the spacecraft. There was another presence entwined with her now, twisting and turning with activity. Kadin's movements and thoughts surrounded her as though she were in his skin, in his brain. This was
too
close, too intimate, alarming, frightening; she had leaped from total privacy to none at all.

With a silent struggle, she drew herself together, and backed off to a safer distance. Kadin's face became visible and clear, a ghost-image turning solid. This time his features were strong, his mouth firm, his eyes bright and blue-green, his brows dark and bristling. This was the Kadin she remembered.

(Hi,) she said tentatively, wondering what she was going to feel a moment from now.

(Hello, Mozy.) His voice was deep-toned and gentle, as she remembered it. Oh god . . . the memories.

(It's been a long time,) she said dizzily, wondering how long it really had been. All of the feelings were rushing back, pouring out of some forgotten store of memory: the desperate desire to be close, to touch him; thinking of him at all hours, and hating herself for the weakness; the sorrow, and the anger, and the blinding determination.

(I'm pleased to see you again,) he said softly, and if he had looked into her memories, he kept what he saw to himself.

Her emotions were tearing loose from their fragile moorings, rushing downstream in a torrent of need and joy. She began to shake inwardly, the moreso when she realized that she could have a physical presence with him right now, if she wanted it—just as before, as real as it had ever been. She had only to
want
a body; and she did, the desire was fierce, it was implacable, and she felt her arms again now, reaching out, and her legs moving, carrying her forward across an invisible stage. And even as she was transformed, Kadin too became full bodied, and now he was striding toward her, tall and lean and strong. Across the black stage of space they moved, and approached, and then she was in his arms, burying her face into his shoulder.

(It's—real—isn't it?) she cried, stuttering, her voice muffled.

(Yes, Mozy. Yes, it's real,) he murmured. She squeezed him even tighter, and he said, (Is that why you came here—to be with me?)

She shuddered and mumbled, (It was the only reason . . . yes, David . . . yes.)

He drew back a little, and she did, too, blinking away tears—and their eyes met, and he was smiling. She hovered an instant in agony, and then forced her lips to his, clumsily, urgently. For the moment of a held breath, she could not judge his response, and then suddenly there was no question. He returned the kiss gently but firmly, pressing when her lips asked and melting to envelop hers when she kissed with rising passion. The surrounding stars diffused to a feverish aura, and worlds of memory wheeled around her: a luminous forest where they had walked, and danced, and visited the end of the Earth; worlds gone mad, and they the surviving companions; a parlay session with aliens. All of these had not happened, and yet had; but this—this kiss was true, this kiss was unquestionably real.

The memories wheeled and blurred, and the rush of emotions carried away all sensation except the closeness, the touching of lips, the mingling of breath. It was exactly as she had always pictured it, and if for a moment she recalled Jonders's words informing her of what Kadin really was, that hardly mattered, nothing mattered; this was the way she had always wanted it to be when she finally and truly fell in love.

In the darkness, Mozy tried futilely to prevent Kadin and herself from coming apart. The passion was spent, the imagery gone, the kiss broken. She felt a stiffness in her body: an ache in what had been her hands but were now just control jets, a sluggishness in what were once her legs but were now the main drive engines. As for her heart, it was . . . well, a nuclear reactor, and though it burned as steadily as ever, it was merely powering her body, and nothing more.

But . . .

These body parts were Kadin's, too. And what of Kadin, her fellow passenger in this strange ocean of consciousness? His face had vanished. (David? What are you doing?)

(Stabilizing the craft,) she heard him say.

Stabilizing the craft? She peered through her telescopic eyes, and realized for the first time that the spacecraft was tumbling slowly, and the stiffness she felt in the control jets was Kadin exerting a firm countercontrol against her reflexive urges. (What happened?) she asked, though as soon as she said it, she knew.

(We seem to have forgotten ourselves for a moment.)

(Oh,) she said, embarrassed. It was she who had forgotten herself. In her emotion, in the passion of the kiss, she had unthinkingly fired the control jets and set the craft to tumbling. And had Kadin been carried away, too?

A cold clarity overtook her as she pondered. As her emotions had raced out of control, perhaps so too had her perceptions. Kadin had returned her affections, that was clear enough; but hadn't there also been a trace of bewilderment in his actions? Hadn't he hesitated, like a boy who had never before kissed a girl? What sort of a boy was it, who knew the contents of the dictionaries of seven languages, the various handbooks of the life and physical sciences, and several encyclopedias—and who had never kissed a girl? For all of his knowledge and sophistication, he had seemed unsure how to respond to her . . .
love
. And yet, he had not been totally at a loss, either; he seemed to know what was expected.

(David, can you hear me?)

She sensed activity around her. (Yes, Mozy,) he answered after a moment.

(David, what do you feel? What did you feel when you kissed me? How did you know how to—kiss me?)

There was a long silence. (I was unsure,) he said at last. (I could only use my best—)

She waited for him to complete the thought.

Finally he said, (I think it would be best if we prepared now for the next link with Homebase.)

(David, that's not answering my question.)

(Next contact will be occurring soon. I'm not certain what to expect.)

(David—)

(I suggest we separate, and you take protective shelter.)

(How can you—?) she began, and then abruptly cut herself off. She considered his attitude coolly. Was he embarrassed, or simply reacting in a manner befitting his nature? She wasn't sure she could even identify her own feelings.

(Mother Program,) she said. (When is the next link with Homebase? Can I remain concealed where I am now?)

(TACHYON LINK IS SCHEDULED TO BEGIN IN 35 SECONDS. YOU CAN MAINTAIN A HIGH DEGREE OF INVISIBILITY IN YOUR PRESENT CONFIGURATION, IF YOU MAINTAIN SILENCE, AND IF HOMEBASE ORDERS NO UNSCHEDULED SEARCHES.)

She considered that for a moment. (You don't think they'll start erasing again with David aboard, do you?)

(NO SUCH ACTIVITY IS SCHEDULED. HOWEVER, IT SHOULD BE POINTED OUT THAT THERE ARE CERTAIN OVERRIDE COMMANDS FROM HOMEBASE WHICH I WOULD BE COMPELLED TO OBEY. THIS COULD INVOLVE RISK FOR YOU.)

(Are you under any such commands now?)

(NO.)

(If such commands are given, will I hear them at the same time as you?)

(WITHIN NANOSECONDS.)

(Then I'll have time to react. I'll stay.)

(Mozy—) Kadin began.

(David, wait a minute.) She realized that she had never asked him an important question. (How long have you been here, now? How many times did you communicate with Homebase, while I was in hiding?)

(Four days, Earth time. I've linked with Jonders seven times. This will be the eighth.)

For a moment, Mozy could not answer. She was stunned. She had expected him to say, hours—or perhaps a day. Four days Earth time was—what?—weeks, to her? Months, in the accelerated time-frame of the computer? There was an emotional turmoil in the core of her consciousness that lasted for three seconds, before abruptly vanishing. Four days—gone from her life. Four days in what might have been unconsciousness, or a coma. (I—)

(You are safer, hiding in isolation,) Kadin said.

(No. Not again,) she said determinedly. (Who knows how much time I might lose? That's—it's limbo, David.)

(But it is life.)

(Maybe so. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life in isolation. I can watch out for myself.) In fact, a better way had just occurred to her, and that was to entwine herself with the shipboard control programs. Even if Homebase detected her there, it was hardly likely that they would jeopardize the ship's operating systems just to get rid of her.

She explained the idea to Kadin.

He hesitated. (If it's your wish. And if you don't interfere with the ship's operation.)

(It is,) she answered firmly. (And I won't.)

It was like sliding her arms into snugly fitting sleeves, like peering into the lenses of powerful night-seeing glasses. She placed her fingertips on critical power relays, and with her wrists shared with Kadin the control of the ship's attitude. No, she thought, not just the ship's attitude. Her attitude. Kadin's attitude. She looked out upon her distant view of the solar system and waited for the transmission to begin.