The Infinity Link (5 page)

Mozelle sighed heavily, and nodded.

"We were going to formally tell all of you next week," Lusela added gently.

Mozelle nodded again and said. "Right. I get that—now. But—" she shifted positions "—this is hard to explain—but it makes me uncomfortable, not knowing what's going to happen after this, or what goes on behind the sessions." She pulled at her hair. "I wish I could be more involved, really. I'd even work full time, if I could. But now, I don't even really feel a part of it. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think I do," Jonders said, thinking, I shouldn't be surprised by this—but why did it have to happen now?

"I don't even feel like I want to keep working," she said abruptly. "I feel like I'm not important here."

Jonders raised both hands. "Whoa, that's not true at all. You're
extremely
important to us. I understand that it's frustrating—but we did explain that there were certain parts of the work that had to be kept secret, because of the nature of the experiment. Do you remember that?" She nodded. "Well, even though we haven't been able to share with you exactly what your contribution has been, you certainly have helped us—more than we can say. And we need your help for a few weeks more, to see it through to the end."

She sighed again. "There's no chance of my working beyond that?" The sparkle in her eyes, normally present, was missing.

"I'm sorry," he said sympathetically. "I appreciate your interest, but what we need is for you to help us finish what you've started, on schedule."

Mozelle nodded unhappily. She seemed to want to say something else; then whatever was in her expression was gone. Jonders glanced at the time. "Can we count on you?" he said gently.

Mozelle's thoughts seemed turned inward. Finally she said, "Yes." And she nodded again.

"Wonderful. Now, why don't you go grab yourself some coffee, since we have an hour until your session. Okay?" Jonders smiled, and ushered her out of the debriefing room. Lusela followed, giving him a wink as she left.

Lord, he thought, sitting alone at the briefing table. His head was throbbing. He had visions of frenzied hordes at the stockades, and vultures circling overhead. All of them thundering inside his skull.

* * *

The afternoon clattered by. Everything got done, somehow, and Mozelle's scenario rated high marks all around. Mozelle seemed muted at the start, but only until she was in the link with Kadin. Then she blossomed with enthusiasm and just the right blend of vulnerability and stubbornness to provoke an excellent performance by Kadin. Jonders doubted that motivation would be a problem with her again.

At six-thirty, Lusela dropped the day's summaries on his desk. "What else needs to be done?" she asked.

"Go home," he said.

"What?"

"Before I remember whatever it was I forgot to have you do. And get everyone else out of here, too. Just once I want you all home at a decent hour. Have dinner with your husband, if you still have a husband."

She looked at him incredulously. "Are you going home, too?"

"As soon as I review these reports with Ken. Now, go." After a quick glance at the reports, Jonders tossed them into a folder and took the elevator to the third floor. Fogelbee's secretary was gone for the day, so Jonders walked straight through the outer office to Fogelbee's half-open door. He rapped and peered in. Fogelbee looked up from the phone and gestured for him to wait outside. Jonders pulled the door almost closed and sat and began reading the summaries in detail.

He gradually became aware of Fogelbee's voice drifting out. "Tracking from Tachylab . . . they say it's more than a million kilometers closer than expected . . . no, no explanation . . ." Jonders's ears prickled. Was that
Father Sky
they were talking about? he wondered. Fogelbee's voice became softer. "I wonder . . . reliability of tracking . . . transmit sooner?" His voice became inaudible; perhaps he was conscious of Jonders's presence nearby.

Damn it, anyway, Jonders thought. Whatever Fogelbee was talking about was probably something that
he
ought to be privy to, as well, except that the "need to know" principle was so almighty around here. It griped him that a man was supposed to do his best work on the project without being given information that would help him do so. He had complained before, but to no avail.

Fogelbee came out, a tall, hawk-nosed man with thinning hair. "Your answer on the transmission date," he said, "is the distance to the receiver and signal-to-noise ratio. The twenty-fourth is our limit, if we're to have a safety margin. Come on in."

Jonders followed Fogelbee into the office. "I couldn't help overhearing—something about the target being
closer
than expected?"

Fogelbee turned. "Whatever you may have heard was private," he said, a bit roughly. "In any case, you probably misunderstood."

Jonders raised his eyebrows.

"That's all you really need to know," Fogelbee added brusquely.

Maybe yes, maybe no, Jonders thought. "You'd think that they would have figured out the signal requirements well in advance," he said, "instead of making all these last-minute adjustments."

Fogelbee shrugged. "No one's ever done this before. Sometimes you don't know these things until you get a craft out there and try it. Now, what do you have for me?"

Jonders opened the folder on Fogelbee's desk. "Better news than I'd expected," he said.

The landscape spun by, a blur of fading greens and browns. Mozy's spirits soared among the clouds, among the striated patches of mist that glowed crimson against the sky's deepening blue.

Her mood had been completely turned around by the scenario, featuring Kadin, a host of aliens, and her—Kadin bargaining for her life, using diplomatic skills a professional would have admired. The aliens had been willowy creatures—tall, swaying, murmuring mystics by whose laws there was no wrong in taking a single Earth woman captive, to witness her spiritual powers in life and in death. Kadin had challenged them—persuading them of the wrongness, in
human
spiritual terms, of killing, and of abusing human spirituality as a means of studying it. In the end, they had relented.

Mozy had never admired or loved him more, and not just because he'd saved her "life" in that scenario. It was his courage and sensitivity she admired, his use of reason and compassion, even when force had been available as an alternative.

She stared out the window as the monorail sped toward New Phoenix, watching the upside-down plains and valleys in the clouds shifting slowly with the winds and the changing light of the setting sun. She imagined pink sand dunes rolling down to the upside-down, azure sea of the open sky. She imagined herself crossing that land with David, encountering aliens and other strange sights. Perilous and wondrous journeys, with David Kadin at her side.

Had she said that she loved him? Yes, certainly she did, in a friendly and platonic fashion. The thought of his name brought a glow to her heart, and that was nothing to be embarrassed about—not after all they'd been through, not after the confusing and the frightening situations they'd faced together, and not after the laughs and triumphs they'd shared.

She imagined him with her now, and found herself confiding in the image of him.
They're all crazy there, you know. Every one of them. They're certifiably nuts about this project, and everything being just so, and I don't think even they understand what it's all about.

Kadin nodded.
I can believe it. What was going on today? Was there some trouble between them and you?

Yes—I was furious with them. They're cutting me off from the project soon. I won't be able to see you anymore—and I'll
never
see you for real.

Kadin was silent for a moment, before saying, softly,
I wish you could. I'd like that very much, to meet you in person.

She exhaled, aware of a dull pain in her chest.
Soon I won't even be able to see you in the link.
She scowled, staring out the window. Kadin, beside her, made no answer. After a moment, she added,
They're just using me. I see that now. They don't care a damn about my feelings.
She blinked. Her eyes were getting blurry. She rubbed them with her knuckles.

She was about to speak again, when she realized that Kadin was no longer with her. She was alone in the rocking train, and Kadin was somewhere out there among the clouds.

* * *

"So what the hell am
I
supposed to do about it?" she asked aloud. There was no one to answer her. She tossed her sister's letter back onto the table and avoided looking at it as she paced the living room. She managed to put it out of her mind for most of the afternoon; but when she'd come home, there it had been on the dining table to greet her. Kink's scribbled words stuck in her mind like barbs:

" . . .Dr. Atkins says he may have less than six months to live. We're all going to have to pull together in this. Jo's home already, helping Mom out, and they want you to come home, too. I would, myself, except that I'm coming up on my bar exams, and for the next couple of months, I won't be able to break away . . . ."

So—their father was ill, gravely ill, and Kink wanted her to make up with everyone and go home. Not because they'd
all
be there pulling together as a family, and they wanted her, too—oh no, it was because Kink couldn't quite spare the time right now, and she needed a stand-in. And no one else, apparently, could take the trouble to write. Ordinarily it would have been Jo; but even Jo had taken the others' side a couple of years ago, when she'd told them all off, once and for all. None of them had
ever
wanted her for anything, except when they'd wanted something
from
her.

Whatever her choices in the near future, one of them was
not
to drop everything to go home. Maybe Kink thought her own future was more important than anyone else's, but Mozy didn't see it that way. She stood, feet planted, arms crossed, glaring at the letter.

Maggie and Mouse, scratching at their feeder, caught her attention. "What's the matter?" she said, peering down. "Oh. I haven't fed you, that's what." She opened the cage door. "Come on out for a stroll." She scooped them out and left them on the table while she unscrewed the water bottle and went to get their feed. When the dispensers were filled, she corralled the sniffing gerbils once more.

As she straightened up from securing the cage, she felt a sharp twinge in the back of her neck. She was tired and tight all over. More than dinner, what she needed was a long, hot soak in the tub. She walked into the bathroom, undressing as she went. She turned on the tap full blast, heedless of the cost to her water allowance. While the bathtub filled with steaming water, she stripped off the rest of her clothes and peered self-consciously into the mirror. Her hair was a mess. Her face, as always, looked gawky and unattractive, marred by . . . she turned away quickly and adjusted the tap, thinking: How insecure can you get? Why was it so hard for her to look at herself in the mirror? Was she so afraid of a scar? Or was she afraid that the reflection of her own eyes could lay bare her soul . . . silly notion . . . .

Almost as silly as being in love with a man she'd never met.

She straightened up with a wince.
In love?

The pipes thumped as she shut off the faucet. She stepped into the tub and lowered herself slowly into the hot water. Sliding down as far as she could, she rested her head against the end of the tub and tried to pull her legs in to make herself smaller. Why didn't they ever make bathtubs large enough for real human beings? She took a few slow, deep breaths, and the aches and cramps began to flow away with the heat.

The water lapped at her chin as she shifted positions, surging over her breasts with sudden warmth and then rushing away to leave her chilled. She kept sinking and rising, repeatedly warming her chest and shoulders. Her thoughts lapped and surged like the water, always returning to Kadin. If only he could be here to help her decide.

Even if only in her thoughts . . .

Mozy, you're torturing yourself. What's made you so sad?

She closed her eyes and smiled, and saw him sitting on the edge of the tub, talking to her calmly. She felt no urge to cover her nakedness. This was only a daydream, after all.

David. David, David.

What's wrong, Mozy?

What's wrong is that I'm in love with you, David. I'm in love with you, and in a few weeks, I'll never see you again! Isn't that enough? Do I need my family ruining my life, as well?

She bit her lip, afraid to open her eyes, afraid he would be gone. He looked down on her with grave affection; or was there more than simple affection in his eyes? Did he know a solution? He was so good at solving problems . . . .

Yes, she admitted finally—she was in love with him.

And there was no way to keep from losing him.

She sank lower in the water, seeking to melt away the pain that was building in her chest, swelling in her throat. Why? she thought miserably. What was the point of being in love with someone you could never meet, or touch? And yet, they
had
been together, sharing thoughts, and touching with their minds, with an intimacy deeper in its own way than the intimacy of lovers. Did he share her feelings? she wondered. He cared for her; that was clear. But did he, or would he, find her attractive?

She was shaking with emotion, and she realized that she was touching her scar again. She pushed her hands under the water. Then, deliberately, she cupped her breasts, and slowly brushed her fingertips over her stomach, down her thighs. All right, she thought angrily. I'm not perfect; but I'm not ugly, either. I have a decent face and a respectable body, and that scar doesn't
matter
.

David, where are you?
she whispered, realizing that she'd opened her eyes and he was gone.
David? Come back?
She was answered by silence, and only the cracks in the walls looked down upon her now.