To Hold Infinity (46 page)

The words hung, glowing amber, above the shrine.

A gentle breeze carried the forest scents beneath a pale, clear green sky. Dark grasses sloped down to a wide, slow river. To one side, thick forest ended with a stand of proud birches, silver bark fairly glowing in the sunlight.

Their black capes swayed, tugged by the breeze. Kneeling, the two Pilots laid their wreaths, and stepped back from the white marble shrine.

Six Shadow People, led by Brevan, were the next to pay their respects.

The lynxette, crouched at Tetsuo's feet, flicked his tufted ears, but kept position. Dhana's grip tightened on Tetsuo's arm.

He read the poem's words softly, to himself. White chrysanthemum. Translated into Nihongo, it was beautiful.

Tetsuo had chosen it, for the shrine. It was a facet from one of the FourSpeak hypercube-haiku his mother loved to write.

 

<>

 

Tetsuo his reply:

 

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Yoshiko directed her skim-chair forward. It hovered slightly above the grass, and lowered itself before the shrine. Sunlight sparked sapphire highlights from the blue gel encasing her throat.

Sunlight. Flowers' scent. Wondrous life.

Though she could not speak until her throat was healed, she could communicate with her fellow Luculentus, her son.

Beside her, Eric, limping, took the chrysanthemums from her hand, and laid them at Felice's shrine.

Somewhere in Lucis, Rafael's funeral was being held today. There would be few flowers at that grave.

Rafael. Memory fragments: solitary childhood, traumatic Baton Ceremony, dark hunger, bright talent…

The skim-chair lifted and Yoshiko withdrew—slowly, so that Eric could keep pace—and they rejoined Tetsuo and Dhana.

Maggie, looking slightly flustered, composed herself, and laid a small, simple wreath. She had arrived late from the hearing, and only now went to stand beside young Jason. He was looking solemn beyond his years. Amanda, Xanthia's soul-daughter, stood with him, clutching his hand.

LuxPrime representatives, dressed in funereal white, laid their own wreath at Felice's shrine.

There was silence, as the mourners closed their eyes and bade Felice farewell, each in their own way. Then a young Luculenta with haunted eyes—Felice's soul-daughter, and the chief mourner—clapped her hands three times. The ceremony was over.

As people began slowly to return to the waiting skimmers, Jana and Edralix came over to Yoshiko, and bowed deeply.

When Jana straightened, her jet eyes glinted, black on black, like deep holes cut into the universe's heart.

Yoshiko started to rise from the skim-chair—she would not need it much longer, anyway—but Eric's hand on her shoulder stopped her. Instead, she inclined her head towards Jana, the nearest she could manage to a formal bow.

Yoshiko was alive because Jana had shut down the communications network of an entire world. Commerce, from the lowliest shop to the grandest corporate empire; education; government—all had ceased. Fulgor's heart had stopped beating.

Without any way to separate Rafael's comms from the rest, Jana had caused all mu-space comms to be closed down for five whole, endless minutes. Convinced of death's imminence, the Rafael-fragment in Yoshiko's mind had given up, disintegrated. All those other fragments, drawn into Yoshiko's suicidal determination, had been cut loose, each on their own, broken apart and terrified, adrift in hellish chaos.

Yoshiko could not imagine the politics, the frantic negotiations among the Pilots in their mu-space habitats, the humanity of those who would risk so much for one frail person. She knew only that her debt to the Pilots was one she could never repay.

Edralix winked.

The two Pilots gathered their capes around them and left. Yoshiko noticed the way other mourners fell back to give them room.

Maggie, walking up to Yoshiko's skim-chair, looked back at the departing Pilots and shivered.

“Sorry,” she said. “I'm still not used to—Well, anyway. Guido sent you a message:
Flower bends, stone breaks.
Quite the poet, don't you think? He must have hit his head when you knocked him down.”

Yoshiko, unable to speak, could only shake her head slowly, smiling.

Maggie added, “Petra—Major Reilly, I mean—sent her apologies. She's testifying right now.”

Eric shifted his weight, easing his still-healing leg.

“Hey, Yoshiko. Are we ever going to go snorkelling? I'd like—My God!”

All eyes followed Eric's gaze.

The mourners froze.

Rustling, from the forest.

Eyes glinted among the shadows. Leaves trembled.

Movement…

The forest came alive with movement.

Realization swept across Yoshiko, but she could make no contact with them. The sparks of awareness, reflected shards of her own shared consciousness, were forever beyond her reach. The crystal relay, currently sitting in a courthouse, was dead.

In feline stealth, they crept forwards. With waddling bipedal gait, primate foreknuckles brushing the ground, they came. Rodent whiskers twitched. They advanced in slow unison, then stopped.

No one breathed.

The moment lasted forever.

Then a thousand eyes turned from the shrine, seemed to linger on Yoshiko, and looked away.

At Tetsuo's feet, the white lynxette stirred, then settled: home, now, was with Tetsuo and Dhana.

The animals disappeared, back into the forest's shade. Soon, the rustling faded and the trembling leaves grew still, as though they had never been here.

“Eric?” People started, as Tetsuo broke the silence. “Mother says, don't worry—” Tetsuo grinned, “—about the snorkelling.”

“Sorry?”

“She says,” added Tetsuo, as Yoshiko reached out to press Eric's hand, “there's always tomorrow.”

“Wait.” Dhana pointed. “Look, up there.”

They came.

Five hundred pairs of wings split the air.

The flock wheeled in the clear green sky, and the arc they traced was the very curve of Ken's sweet smile. They cleaved the sky with the
strength of collective purpose, then split apart and flew away in all directions, like freedom's promise borne on crystal winds, leaving yesterday's dreams scattered across the trail of time: waiting, waiting, to be dreamed again, on the day when love connects us all and those that are gone will sing again, and our tears will be of laughter, not of grief.

 

THE END

 

A paradox: writing is a solitary discipline; it is nurtured by the warmth and love of friends. To Yvonne, my wife, thank you for accompanying me on the path.

To the indomitable editorial director of Pyr, Lou Anders, thanks yet again for your energy and belief. And to the whole team at Prometheus/Pyr®, especially Peggy Deemer, a million thanks.

John Richard Parker, literary agent extraordinaire, continues to guide my steps, for which I am always grateful.

J
OHN
M
EANEY
is the author of four novels—
To Hold Infinity
,
Paradox
,
Context
, and
Resolution
, the latter three titles comprising his critically acclaimed Nulapeiron Sequence. He also has numerous short fiction publication credits. His novelette “Sharp Tang” was shortlisted for the British Science Fiction Association Award in 1995, and
To Hold Infinity
and
Paradox
were on the BSFA shortlists for Best Novel in 1999 and 2001, respectively. His novella “The Whisper of Disks” was included in the 2003
Year's Best Science Fiction: Twentieth Annual Collection
, edited by Gardner Dozois. His novella “The Swastika Bomb” was reprinted in
Best Short Science Fiction Novels 2004
, edited by Jonathan Strahan. His story “Diva's Bones” was reprinted in
The Year's Best Fantasy 5
, edited by David G. Hartwell and Kathryn Cramer. The Pyr® edition of
Paradox
was selected by Barnes & Noble as the number two science fiction or fantasy work in their Editor's Choice: Top Ten Novels of 2005. The
Times
called John Meaney “The first important new SF writer of the 21st century.” Meaney has a degree in physics and computer science, and holds a black belt in Shotokan Karate. He lives in England. Visit his website at
www.johnmeaney.com
.