The Infinity Link (7 page)

Smiling dizzily, reassured, he tries to respond. "I—Mozy, I want to help you. Really I do."

"Do you think you can find a way?" she asks eagerly.

He gestures helplessly. "You can't just walk in and use the transmitter. It's not like that—and besides, it's under security."

"Security isn't
that
tight there," she points out. "And we both have clearances."

"But not for that."

She pleads with him. "Isn't there some way to do it? Can't you help me find a way?" Her voice is tormented, and he finds it increasingly hard to resist.

"It might be theoretically possible," he says haltingly, "but that doesn't mean it's feasible."

"Hoshi, you're smart," she says, and there is no flattery, there is only sincerity in her voice. "You know the computers and the codes, and I'll bet if you helped me, we could do this. I'll accept the responsibility for whatever trouble I'm in. I just have to do it. I have to see Kadin.
Don't you understand?
"

He tries to think this through clearly, but it's like trying to organize a blizzard. Yes, he can probably find a way; he can beat security if anyone can, and cracking the computer codes would be child's play. But she doesn't understand, she doesn't know the full truth, and he can't tell her.

But . . .

 . . .there is one way he might do it. Not exactly the way she imagines. It would be risky—but she's dying to meet her love, and if Kadin means so much to her, then he'll help her—and then she'll understand.

"Please, Hoshi?" she whispers. She leans across the table imploringly, and her gaze reverberates with his.

He bows his head, trying to quell the sound of pounding blood, and thinks: Help you? Oh yes, dear Mozy, I'll help you if that's what you want. You are a sorceress, Mozy, and if fingers dancing on a console or a mind lashed to a computer can help you, then I'm the one to do it. He lifts the glass and sips; it's cool going down.

"Will you?" she whispers.

Nodding shakily, he says, "It—yes—it may be possible. I'll—I'll have to see, to think about it, find a way."

Mozy smiles crookedly, and her hand touches his wrist, lingering this time. She starts talking again—planning aloud—but he hardly hears her, he's thinking so hard himself. There are many things he's unsure of, things they've never told him; he'll have to probe delicately, finesse his way into programs he's never been allowed to touch. But he can do it, he's sure of that; they'll never suspect him, and if they're angry when it's over, then that'll just be too bad. Jonders . . . he's not too angry with Jonders, but as far as he's concerned, Fogelbee's a pompous ass, and they should have trusted him to begin with, instead of playing such pissant games of secrecy.

He's nodding to something Mozy's saying, and realizes with a start that she's getting up to leave. "When will you know for sure?" she repeats.

He's caught between his own thoughts and her question, and he struggles to speak. "I'll . . . let you know," he manages. "When I've checked it out . . . yes. There might not be much warning. We'll have to do it when the opportunity's there."

She's smiling happily now, touching him,
needing
him. He's almost frantic with a peculiar kind of joy. Too quickly for him to react, she stretches and kisses him on the cheek. The next thing he knows, she's out the door and gone. The living room crowds around him with shadowy ghosts as he turns. The lights flicker and spiral in his eyes, and his foot catches on a chair, and he stumbles, sprawling to the floor. He lies there, panting and cursing; his head is spinning, and if he just waits a moment, it will pass.

At last he gets to his feet. He switches off the lamp and sits on the couch and finishes his beer in the gloom—brooding and planning.

Mozy, Mozy, you don't know the dangers! I wanted to tell you, it's not what you think—but I'll try for you, I promised I would. How could I refuse you, even this? I'll help you any way I can, Mozy . . .

 . . .but I wonder . . . should I have told you?

The invasive fingers of the scanning program slipped out of her mind the way they had come in. There was a sense of release, and then the cilialike tendrils were gone from the inside of her skull. Her memories once again were her own.

She sat in darkness, gathering her wits. The scanning helmet was a claustrophobic enclosure, far more cumbersome than the usual linkup helmet. Her feelings from before the session came seeping back into her mind. Lusela had told her today: the sessions with Kadin were over. No final visit, no last good-bye. All they needed now were a few brainscans for purposes of analysis. Too stunned to protest, Mozy had suppressed her anger and gone meekly into the subject booth. But something inside her was darkening to ash, even as the helmet was lowered over her head. Then the scan had begun, and the violating fingers had entered her mind, sorting patterns and memories, tumbling walls like stacks of cards.

Now it was over. All over.

The booth lights rose slowly, and she became aware of a medical tech disconnecting her. Lusela was there, too, murmuring to the tech. The helmet suddenly lifted from her head, giving her a breath of air. Relief. "Why don't you just sit quietly for a few minutes," Lusela said. "How do you feel?"

Mozy stared at her, dazed.

The med-tech was peering into her eyes now, and checking the life-signs monitors. After a moment, she went away, and Lusela was saying, "We'll give you some privacy to gather your thoughts. If you need us, we'll be right outside." Lusela indicated the call button. "Just buzz." She followed the tech out and closed the door.

Mozy let her breath out with a silent cry. She laid her head on the headrest and stared at the ceiling. She needed time to think, to get her head straight. Mindscans . . . the end of Kadin . . . what was happening to her? Trying to understand it all was like picking up pieces of a shattered ceramic vessel and wondering how they had once fit together. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts run at will. The silence was soothing.

A minute passed. The door opened, and closed. She ignored it, keeping her eyes closed, hoping not to be disturbed. She was startled by a whisper at her ear.
"Mozy?"

She blinked her eyes open in astonishment. "Hoshi?" she croaked.

"Today's the day," Hoshi murmured. He bent over her, his copper medallion swinging, his strangely focused eyes seeking hers. "I've got everything ready. We can do it today."

"What?" she said dumbly.

"The transmission!" he hissed. His eyes sparkled with earnest intensity. "I've worked out a method. I can do it. You and Kadin."

As Mozy slowly comprehended what he was saying, all of her suppressed hopes welled up together inside her. Whether from joy or fear or both, she tried to speak, but no words came out. Her eyes filled with mist.

"It's now or never," Hoshi said, his breath close to hers. "We have to do it today."

Her mind raced frantically.
Today? With no warning?
There was so much unplanned, so many loose ends. But if he really could send her to Kadin . . .

Unsure, fighting for time, she stammered, "Can you really . . . how . . .?"

"I've cracked the codes, but it's got to be today." He glanced nervously over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "All right. Listen. When you're through here, go upstairs to the cafeteria and wait. I'll come get you when I'm ready. It might be two or three hours."

She stared at him, trying to follow his words.

"Do you understand?" She nodded slowly. "Wait for me," he repeated. A moment later he was gone, leaving her in stunned silence.

* * *

Three hours? It felt more like three weeks. She nursed a lukewarm cup of tea—her third or fourth—and tried to calm herself down. She felt as though she were on a roller coaster. An hour ago she'd been ecstatic; now she was frightened out of her wits. Thinking of the brainscan, she wondered, what secrets of her heart were now in the computer's memory banks? What private dreams, hopes, and fears? Did the computer know of her love for Kadin? Did it know of her plan to join him?

A tray crashed in the kitchen, the noise jarring the whole cafeteria. Mozy winced and looked up. A dozen other people did the same, and then returned to their meals or conversations. Had any of them noticed her? Don't be paranoid. Soon it'll be over.

She grabbed her purse and pulled out a pen and a battered memo pad. She tore off the top sheets to expose a clean page; then she thought a minute and started writing:

Dear Kink,

   I got your letter. Unfortunately, I can't go home right away, as I'm involved in something

Pausing, she scowled at what she had written. She tore off the page and crumpled it, then started over:

Dear Mother,

   I heard from Kink about Dad. I don't know if I ought to come home or not, but it was a real shock to hear

She slammed the pen down and glared at the tablet—filled with helpless fury at the uselessness of trying to express her feelings to anyone in that family.
They'd
made no effort at reconciliation since the last big fight. They stayed out of her life, and she stayed out of theirs. And now, that letter from Kink was enough to make her want to find an enormous vase and smash it over someone's head.

Still, she ought to send
some
reply. Crumpling the second page, she looked around for a public terminal. There was one in the far corner of the cafeteria. She picked up her things and walked over, digging in her purse for her credit card. Opening a message, she tapped in her mother's and Kink's addresses. Pursing her lips, she typed:

Dear Mom, Dad, and everyone,

   Sorry at the news. I'm going to be gone from here for a while, so can't come home just yet. Not sure you want me anyway.

She hesitated, then struck that last sentence. She continued:

Will be in touch when I can. Keep me informed. Mozy.

She stared at the screen for a long moment, her finger poised, trembling, over the
Send
button. She bit her lip, inserted the word
Love
before her name, then stabbed the glowing square. The screen cleared, and then displayed the words:
"Lettergram sent—receipt verified."

She sat a moment longer, shaking, breathing deeply.

There was nothing more she could do now, where her family was concerned.

She wondered dizzily who else she ought to send messages to. Dee? God, no, that was long since over; what had made Dee's name pop into her mind? Maggie and Mouse! She would have to ask Hoshi to take care of them. And Mardi—she owed Mardi an explanation. She coded for another message and typed Mardi's address. What was she going to say, though? She could hardly tell Mardi what she was planning to do. She chewed her lip, thinking.

"There you are," Hoshi grumbled impatiently.

She started, looking up. She rose, plucking her credit card from the machine.

"For a minute, I thought you'd gone home," he said. "Are you ready?"

Thoughts spun randomly through her mind, and she nodded. Mardi would have to wait. As Hoshi turned, though, she grabbed his arm. "Wait—Hoshi! Will you feed my gerbils for me? Will you take care of Maggie and Mouse?" As Hoshi blinked in surprise, she fumbled in her purse for her apartment key and pressed it into his hand. "I didn't—know to make arrangements."

Hoshi stared at the key before slipping it into his pocket. "Look—Mozy—there are some things I have to explain to you." He hesitated awkwardly, then said, "Let's go down to the lab first." They started walking. "I was the last one out. I told Bill I was staying to finish up some work. Remember, you're just going in to pick up something you forgot."

"My coat," Mozy said.

Hoshi nodded, falling silent as they shambled by the security guard at the cafeteria door. The guard was reading a novel, and scarcely glanced up as they passed. The hallways were quiet outside the Personality Lab. Most of the daytime workers were gone, and the evening shift was much smaller. At the wing security desk, the guard passed them with a cursory inspection of their clearance cards. They entered the lab. Only a few nighttime people were busy in the systems processing area. The control room was unoccupied, and Hoshi waved Mozy in ahead of him. The door hissed closed. She glanced back out through the glass. "Aren't people going to wonder what we're doing?"

"Leave them to me," Hoshi muttered. He was already bent over the console, flipping switches and tapping in codes. He pursed his lips as his hands moved over the board. After a few moments, he straightened. His eyes glinted. "The rest I can do after you're hooked in. Now, there's something I have to explain."

"Wait a minute. You don't have to give me the technical—"

He was shaking his head. "What you don't understand—"

The door hissed open, and a young man entered. Hoshi's gaze snapped up. "Oh, Tim—hi," Hoshi said laconically.

"Working late, Hoshi?" asked the young man. He peered curiously at Mozy.

"Yah—deadline," said Hoshi. "Have to get an extra scan on Mozy before morning."

"Really? I didn't see anything about that on the daily."

"Bill was gone before we caught it," Hoshi said. "Fortunately, Mozy was still here. Don't worry—it won't interfere with what you're doing." Hoshi turned back to the console and studiously began making adjustments.

Tim looked back and forth between them, then shrugged. "Okay—holler if you need any help."

"Yep," Hoshi said, without looking up again.

When Tim was gone, he glanced out into the corridor. "Let's get into the booth before someone else starts asking questions." He nudged her toward the door.

"What was it you were going to explain?"

"In a minute. Let's go." He nudged her harder.

Her legs suddenly were made of wax. It was beginning to hit home, the risk she was taking. "Hoshi, I'm . . . I'm not sure I can go through with this." Kadin or no Kadin.

Hoshi's eyes blazed. "There's no turning back now. We're committed." He propelled her out into the hall and directly to the subject booth.