The Infinity Link (42 page)

Kadin calling?

(
Too immersed . . . too much at once. Paradigm . . . wrong.
)

(What?) she said dreamily, scarcely taking her attention from the chamber. In the reddish illumination, the Talenki's similarity to Earthly creatures seemed less evident now—the details in their musculature, their silken fur, the arms and hands that seemed more delicate, somehow, than the legendary centaur's, the harnesses that some wore, plain or ornate, empty or filled with strange-looking objects. The eyes that sparkled and danced with an inner, unfathomable light. Only a few of the Talenki had stirred in this communal chamber; but some spoke from time to time, either by link or by sound. Their vocalizations were complex, at times shifting from one medium to the other, interrupting one another, finishing one another's thoughts, digressing, and singing.

It was difficult to understand the language, the behavior. But she was beginning to get a
feeling
, and the feeling was good.

(Must . . . rest,) said Kadin, his voice flat, undemanding but unyielding.

She felt panic at the thought of leaving. (We're just beginning to learn!)

(Soon . . .)

(But not yet!) So much there was yet to see. So very much to see. Questions to be answered.

For one: was this asteroid, as she suspected, a generation starship? It was so large, so active, so populous—she could easily imagine it filled with generations of Talenki living, giving birth, dying in their journey among the stars. Did a honeycombed asteroid seem too confined a place to spend a lifetime? Who knew what a Talenki found confining? But when she thought of these eerily shimmering walls, opening into . . . what? . . . another dimension? . . . something else she could not even imagine? . . . perhaps it was not so confined a place, after all.

It would be difficult to explain to Homebase. But Homebase had their problems and she had hers.

Kadin, on the other hand, might well be her problem.

That thought broke the spell. She came back to the present, somewhat abruptly. (David, are you really in distress? Shall I tell them that we need to rest again? Now?)

(Yes, please.) Tonelessly.

She felt a twinge of guilt. (All right. I'll explain it to them.)

She did so, and then, withdrawing from the probe, asked Kadin if he would join her in the ship's lounge, for a private talk. He agreed, but with seeming reluctance. She felt his presence subside, and after a deep breath and a glance around the spacecraft for the sake of her own equilibrium, she gathered herself into bodily form and entered the ship's lounge.

The room was silent, the walls shimmering as she paced before the fountain. She had to concentrate to keep the image steady. Computer glitches reaching this far, disturbing the lounge? Probably they were affecting her, too—subtly, insidiously—a grim thought. She felt a renewed urgency to learn as much about the Talenki as possible, as quickly as possible. She realized that her palms were sticky, and she was breathing rapidly, shallowly. She closed her eyes and counted slowly to ten, taking deep breaths, conscious of her chest expanding, contracting. When she opened her eyes again, the lounge was out of focus. She blinked several times. There. Calmer, now.

Kadin was nowhere in sight. (David?) She walked the length of the lounge, pausing to reflect upon the water that trickled through the fountain. She called again. The walls flickered and darkened. In the viewport, the stars brooded.

She became aware of his presence, but could not locate him. (David. Where are you?)

There was a stirring in the air, and slowly he became visible—or, rather, his face became visible—in the viewport, like a reflection, or a ghost peering into the spaceship from the void outside.

She stared at him, waiting for him to speak; but he simply stared back, with haunted-looking eyes. Suppressing the clammy feeling that slid down her spine, she circled around the divan and came to stand directly in front of the viewport. His eyes followed her movements. (You're not well,) she said simply.

His eyes scanned back and forth, roving the room. Searching for memories? This was the room where they had met once as man and woman, joined in an act that was perhaps the most beautiful moment of her life. But things, somehow, had never been quite the same since.

His shell-shocked eyes focused upon her. (No,) he said.

Her shoulders sagged with weariness. (Is it the aliens?) she asked. (Or is it us . . . our world?)

For a long time, there was no answer, just his stare. Then, his voice distorted, flat, buzzing: (I don't know. But . . .)

She waited.

(It is so difficult. The aliens . . . I cannot understand them, it is all wrong . . . in conflict . . . the paradigm must be changed . . .)

(Isn't that what we're here for?) she asked gently. (To learn these things?)

(I . . . cannot follow. Mozy. I . . . need time away. Perhaps rest will . . . allow me to focus my thoughts . . . clearly.)

She hesitated. (If we sleep on it, will you discuss it with me later? Perhaps—) she swallowed (—perhaps if you're ill, I can . . . carry on.)

(Sleep,) he said. (Yes. Sleep. Then talk.)

(All right, then.) She allowed the lounge to evaporate around her, and floated in the darkness. (Sleep—and I'll call you later.)

* * *

Colored curtains swirled in her dreams. She was floating down a hallway lined with fluttering pastel curtains, doorways opening and vanishing behind billowing fabric. Whistling sounds drifted to her, from far away. Words?

Lightning flashed, thunder rolled over a hidden landscape. She found herself standing on a knoll, under a tree, beneath a brooding nighttime sky. Lightning flickered through clouds, illuminating distant hills. Somewhere beyond those hills, her family and friends were on the march, moving further away with each passing second, everyone she knew or cared for—and with certainty and despair, she knew that there was no possibility of following. Her destiny lay elsewhere. A terrible destiny, filled with loneliness.

The ground rocked, lights shattered the night. She was suddenly stone cold awake, heart pounding, searching for a glitch that could have triggered such an abrupt nightmare. There was only the slow progression of the computer processes, and Mother Program grunting uncommunicatively. Kadin was nowhere evident. Externally, the spacecraft was still squarely moored to the asteroid, all systems functional. She peered into the probe, through the lens into the Talenki world, and saw shifting stroboscopic light—and fawnlike Talenki moving about disconnectedly—or was that an illusion of the lighting? They were paying no attention to the probe. But why such agitation?

(Mother Program!) she said, and this time she persisted until she got an answer.

A groggy answer. (YES?)

It was probably useless, but she had to try. (Have there been any communications from the Talenki since our sleep period began?)

(NO #&CIPHERAB!E MESXAGES.)

Mother was in bad shape. Mozy experienced an image of a building tottering on the bank of a darkly swirling, churning river, mud and foundation sliding inexorably away with the current. Dizzily she checked and tightened her own defenses against . . . whatever might threaten. She had better awaken Kadin; there were too many alarming signs.

First she had to find him. She felt no sign of his presence, and Mother Program responded to her queries with silence. She would have to search. She began by exploring the usual pathways and locations frequented by Kadin, and found only ringing emptiness. She expanded her search, prepared if necessary to inspect every one of the nine hundred-some individual memory vaults. She thought of her own success in hiding once, ages ago, and thought, suppose he did not want to be found.

But why wouldn't he?

As time passed, and room after room turned up empty, she eventually decided to contact the Talenki on her own. By the time she had composed a request for their attention, she had explored one tenth of the available memory space, and found nothing. She transmitted the message, and kept looking.

The Talenki responded in the same moment that she found Kadin. Locked into a three-dimensional matrix of crisscrossing blue lines, embedded like a bale of hay in a loft, was a pulsing, luminous violet cube. There was a terrible energy bound up in there, spinning within itself. Intuition, more than any external sign, told her that Kadin was in that cube. (David!) she called fearfully.

There was no sound from him, but echoing as though from a great distance, she heard Talenki voices: (WE HEARD—) (—A CRY—) (—AS IF—) (—OF PAIN—) (—DISTURBING.)

A cry of pain? Was that what woke her? The sight of Kadin locked up, walled into himself with only a sickly violet energy leaking out, frightened her more than anything she could imagine. What had he felt, or thought, that was so terrifying, so hurtful that he couldn't allow it to be known, that he had to trap it to prevent its escape? More importantly, could she help him?

Or was the same thing going to happen to her?

No, damn it. (Mother Program! I am going to attempt communication with Kadin. Monitor, and inform me of any changes or manifestations of his personality, anywhere in the system.)

Silence.

(Mother Program! Respond! Are you functional?)

Finally, in a sigh: (REQUEST NOTED.)

That wasn't much cause for confidence, but she had no time to worry about Mother Program. She reached backward into the link and addressed the Talenki. (My companion Kadin is in distress,) she stated. (I may be occupied for a time. Please—please; it might help me—could you tell me what happened just before he called out, and after?)

From the Talenki there was no immediate answer, but her attention was already back on Kadin. (David?) she called softly, probingly. The grid blinked and returned full strength; the violet cube showed no response at all. This was too much like something she had dealt with once before—with Mozy-Earth, who even the last time had stirred from her catatonic trance only under duress. Please, David, she thought, don't go the same way. The memory of her own and Mozy-Earth's horror rose in her thoughts, from that night in a chair eons ago: ghastly images of her memories and soul being torn open and flung to the heavens.

Kadin was a man made of electrical patterns; but he had known feelings, known hope and fear, known the love of a woman. Mozy thought of those last, desperate moments she had seen him, his face haunting the viewport of the commons. The face of a man torn with emotion, a man terminally ill.

At last, she sent out fine, fearfully delicate tendrils to explore Kadin's shield, to see if there might be openings, or if, at least, he might be aware of her. Her fingers touched, slid along the smooth, sparkly hard surface of his shield, and found no weakness, no response—only a static discharge that told her that someone, something was alive inside. But as she touched, the staticky, sickly feeling dissipated.

Had he, she wondered, gone away to die?

For a time, she sat in desolate stillness, not attempting to reach him, nor even trying anymore to think of a way. She thought . . . but of death, not life . . . the fading of Kadin like a dying rose, darkening and wilting in a world that no longer seemed his own . . . the dying of the mission, and of her hopes. Was it even remotely conceivable that she could carry on alone?

When she stirred, she realized that Kadin's violet cube was dimmer, now, the grid lines surrounding it shrinking, drawing tighter, like drawstrings. She was doing him no good sitting here, watching. And what of the Talenki—were they going to answer her query? It was then that she realized that in her reverie, just broken, she had heard, but passed unheeded, their answer. (Mother Program,) she commanded, (replay last Talenki message.)

The answer from Mother Program was garbled almost into unintelligibility, but one word emerged: ( . . .TRANSSMIXIOP . . .)

Transmission from the Talenki? she wondered; but before she could so much as frame another question, there was a surging of power around her, and she felt herself bobbing as though on a raft at sea, a sea of free-swarming electrons, thunderclouds shifting overhead. And then the sky cracked open, blackness yawned, and she felt herself spun around, lifted, teleported, and cast into a spotlight of intersecting laser beams.

(Kadin or Mozelle! Respond!) Homebase's voice was flattened with feedback, but even through the distortion, the urgency of the demand rang in her ears.

The feeling of the contact was distinctly wrong. Jonders heard distant screeches, and voices rebounding chaotically, as though in a vast system of caverns. Mother Program was not responding. And where the hell were Kadin and Mozy?

He barked out their names—and his voice reverberated back to him, unanswered. His heart beat anxiously.

Finally a trapdoor creaked open, somewhere in the darkness, and he heard Mozy's voice, distorted and watery. (Homebase? Homebase?)

(Mozy! This is Jonders. What is your condition?)

( . . .erratic . . . cannot reach Kadin . . .) Her voice crackled and broke up.

(Say again! What's happened to Kadin?) Backward through the link, he muttered: (Engineering, boost that signal!) There was a sudden pressure in his ears, and a jump in volume.

The background noise was like gravel pouring. He had to shut that out, to focus on Mozy's voice alone. A dark tunnel opened through the interference: drilling straight through to Mozelle. He stretched himself headfirst through the tunnel, ground shifting beneath him and above him and around him; claustrophobia loomed. Then the static cleared, and he heard Mozy saying, ( . . .best I can do. Are you there, Homebase?)

(I hear you.) He peered futilely. (Now what about Kadin—?)

(It's just me, now,) Mozy said. (Mother Program is incoherent, and Kadin—I don't know.) She began describing her situation, but the signal kept slipping, and he missed half of what she was saying.

(Mozy! Hello!)
Damn
it. She was gone, leaving an oceanlike roar in his ears. He struggled first just to subdue the roar. When he could hear again, he probed the distance until he heard a tiny
click
.