Imagination Fully Dilated: Science Fiction Part 6

"I don't want to steal your spotlight."

"Please do. I just want to go home and get a good night's sleep."

"You can do that after the party. The catharsis will be worth it."

He stared at her, seeing her as if for the first time. "You understand."

She shrugged. "I'm not as shallow as I look."

"That's not what I-"

"I know. n.o.body expects happy people to need primal scream moments, but we do. We need 'em just as much as you tormented types." She pressed a hand against the gla.s.s bubble at her back. "I want to watch this tumble down just as much as you do."

"Good."

His wristcom wiggled for attention, and when he held it up, the screen displayed a single word: "Speeches."

"Ah, b.u.g.g.e.r," he said. "It's time to listen to the prez blather on about manifest destiny."

"Patience, brother," Nendy said. "Let him have his moment. Yours will be the one everyone remembers."

Talan carried that statement with him like a torch in the dark, letting it buoy him through the interminable introductions and acknowledgements and lame jokes as speaker after speaker stepped up to the podium at the center of the grand ballroom and thanked everyone who had played a role in the atmosphere project. At last the president took the stage, but Talan was only listening with half an ear by then. His hand kept stealing to his breast pocket, where the remote control for the destruct sequence awaited his command. He could practically feel the rumble of falling blocks already.

A burst of applause brought him back to the present, and he realized that everyone was applaudinghim .He nodded and smiled and made a little self-deprecating shrug, but his smile melted like ice under flame at the president's next words.

"His original intention was to destroy it at the end of today's festivities, as a symbol of the transition from our old way of life to the new." A murmur rippled through the audience, punctuated with gasps from those who hadn't heard the rumors. "But," the president said, the word echoing like a gunshot, "I think we can all agree that we can't let such a beautiful work of art go to waste just for our momentary amus.e.m.e.nt."

There was a hearty cheer, but Talan barely heard it over his own shout. "What?What do you mean, you can't let it go to waste? It'sdesigned to go to waste. That's the whole point of it. How can you not-that's what you-look at theshape of it! It has to fall!"

Faces turned to look at the gibbering man at the fringe of the crowd, but he didn't stay at the fringe for long. He shoved his way through to the podium while the president said, "Come now, Talan, surely you can't expect us to go along with the desecration of such a work of art. An ice sculpture or a crystal chandelier, certainly, but this needs to be preserved for posterity."

"It needs to come down!" Talan yelled. He mounted the stage and stuck his head next to the president's to make sure he was inside the microphone field. "It needs to come down," he said again. "You can't let sheer immensity, or even beauty, stop you from finis.h.i.+ng what you've started. If we were that kind of people, we would never have terraformed Nivala in the first place."

The president tried to force a smile, but it looked like a death grimace to Talan. "I know that was the original intent," he said, "but none of us imagined you would come up with something quite this . . . this astonis.h.i.+ng. You should take it as a compliment that n.o.body wants to see it destroyed."

"Iwant to see it destroyed. Nendy wants to see it destroyed." Talan looked out at the audience. "I bet most of you here tonight would love to see it destroyed, once you have a chance to get used to the idea."

The president tried to speak, but Talan cut him off. "I had trouble accepting it myself, at first, but the idea grows on you pretty fast once you start thinking about it. It's a grand thing we've done here, turning an airless moon into a home for humanity. It requires a grand gesture to commemorate it. Not some cheesy ice sculpture; itshould be something big. Big and beautiful and ephemeral, like-" He looked over at the president, now nearly purple with pent-up frustration, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them: "-Like the promise of a politician."

The audience laughed, and surprisingly, the president laughed, but then he shook his head and said, "I deserved that. I commissioned a sculpture to be sacrificed at the dedication ceremony, and I agreed when Talan asked if he could hold the ceremony inside the sculpture, but even with the considerable talent he has displayed in the past, I had no idea how beautiful it would be."

"Beauty doesn't enter into it," Talan said. "Except that beauty is ephemeral, too."

"Tell you what," the president said. "Let's let the people decide. Who wants to see it destroyed?"

The crowd murmured, and a few voices called out, "Yeah!" and "I do!" but the president had hit them too quickly for any groundswell of agreement to build. Not even Nendy, standing near an hors d'oeuvre table and shouting, "Do it, do it, do it!" could stir up a coordinated response.

"Tell you what," Talan said, trying the president's tactic. "Let's stick with the original program. There are coats enough for everyone in the cloakroom, and there's a walkway from the docking level to the crater rim. Let's all convene outside and watch the show."For just a moment, it looked like they might obey. A few people turned away from the stage, but the vast majority of them stood rooted to the spot, and then someone shouted, "No!" Another voice echoed it, and another and another until it became a chant.

"No" sounded quite a lot like "Boo" to a person onstage. Talan tried to start a counter-chant of "Yes, yes, yes," but even his amplified voice couldn't penetrate the outcry.

The president leaned in close and shouted in his ear, "You've lost the vote, my boy, but think what it means! They love you. When this all winds down, you can name your price for your next commission."

"Money isn't the point, either," Talan yelled back, but he might as well have been shouting at Satipur. He looked out at the crowd, thousands of faces with their mouths open, all yelling, "No!" Then he turned away and walked off the stage.

The crowd parted for him as he walked to the hors d'oeuvre table where Nendy waited, champagne bottle in hand. "Here," she said, handing him the whole bottle.

They proceeded to get smashed while the party started up again around them. People avoided them after Talan nearly bit the heads off the first few who came to offer their insincere condolences. He took perverse delight in scaring them away from the food and drink, even though there were dozens of other tables s.p.a.ced all the way around the perimeter of the hall. He commanded this one, at least, and by the time he and Nendy finished their second bottle of champagne, he was sitting on the table and throwing chocolates at the dancers.

"This was supposed to be cathartic," he told her. "I im . . . imbued all of my frustrations and all of my anger into this d.a.m.ned thing, and they were supposed to disappear with it when I pushed the b.u.t.ton."

She laughed. "There's an infinite supply of frustration. You'll never get rid of it all."

"You're probably right." He tilted the champagne bottle to his mouth, but got only a few drops. He c.o.c.ked it back to send it after the chocolates, but Nendy held his arm.

"Not a good idea," she said. "Broken gla.s.s and crowds don't mix."

"Right." He lowered the bottle, but didn't set it down. "Right," he said again. " 'Snot their fault they're cheep."

"Cheap?"

"Sheep!"A few people glanced over at him, then quickly looked away.

He hefted the bottle-a heavy, pleasant weight in his hand-then looked out the window at the icy plain below, dotted with lifepods and air injection towers. "Sheep," he said again, and before he had time to think of the many reasons why it was a bad idea, he heaved the bottle through the gla.s.s.

He had designed it to shatter. The bottle made a satisfying crash on the way through, and left a hole the size of his head. Air began to whistle out through the hole, and people screamed as only people who are used to living in sealed domes can scream when a sudden wind begins to blow.

Talan stood up and grabbed the end of the table. "Give me a hand here!" he said to Nendy.

It was nearly too big for them, but they tipped it until all the food slid to the floor, and then they were able to heft it up to waist level and swing itone ,two , andthree right through the window.Air howled out around them now, whipping their clothes and their hair, and Talan nearly stumbled out the hole before he caught himself and stepped sideways out of the worst of the gale.

People ran for the elevator and the glideways, but Talan and Nendy walked calmly to the next table and heaved it through another window. The last of the building's air whooshed out, and the familiar smell of ozone and dirt wafted in. Talan panted as the air pressure dropped and he endured the moment of burning lungs until he was able to stand up and laugh at the fleeing party guests.

"Broken gla.s.s and crowds don't mix!" he told Nendy happily as he led the way to another table.

The antigravity bubble from overhead slid down past the windows, emergency protocols overriding its original program and piloting its occupants to safety. Almost everyone was gone from the ballroom by now, but a few people had gathered in a huddle near the stage. They began to advance on Talan and Nendy, but Talan pulled the remote control from his pocket and shouted, "Time to leave! Self-destruct in five minutes."

"You can't drop it with people still inside," Nendy whispered frantically.

"No, but they don't know that," Talan whispered back, and sure enough, when he held the remote overhead with his finger on the b.u.t.ton, the group of would-be heroes broke apart and fled down the glideway, leaving them alone in the ballroom.

The plain beyond the windows was alive with lifepods swarming for the bubble city. "I think it's time we joined everyone outside," Talan said. He picked up another bottle of champagne on the way out, stopped briefly in the cloakroom to get coats for himself and Nendy, then led her out past the base of the docking pods and across the wide catwalk to the crater rim.

"Think anyone's still inside?" he asked, turning around once they had put another few dozen steps between them and his creation.

"I don't know." She s.h.i.+vered and pulled her coat tight around her body. "What if there is? You can't risk someone's life just to make a point."

"You're right. That's why there are heat and motion sensors all through the structure." He pushed the b.u.t.ton. "Nothing will happen if there's anybody lef-oh."

The gigantic droplet quivered, then slid downward like a spoonful of sugar poured into a cup of water.

The ring of observation pods at its base stretched outward for a second, then fell to the surface, just reaching the edge of the crater as the surge of water displaced by the tower crashed against the rim and shot upward in a circular fountain. The rumble of blocks and water shook the ground, and wet spray pelted down out of the sky.

Water sloshed back and forth a few times, smoothing out the pile of rubble in the center of the crater.

The waves subsided, giving way to ripples that chased each other around the crater, but in a surprisingly short time even those faded away and the surface of the water returned to gla.s.sy smoothness.

"Feel better now?" Nendy asked.

"Yeah," Talan replied. He pitched the remote control into the crater and watched the splash spread out in one last wave. "Yeah. But now I really hope people can live out here, because I don't think I'm going to be welcome inside the domes anymore."

Nendy laughed. "Well, you've already proven you can build a habitat."He scuffed a foot on the ground. "That was for show. There are more efficient designs for living."

"Like what?"

He looked out across the flat gray plain at the injection towers rising into the sky. Tall, slender, graceful . . . and free. All they needed were a few tweaks to their genetic code, and they would be perfect. It would mean learning how to handle DNA, but he supposed it wouldn't kill him to work in a new medium. He smiled at Nendy and said, "Ever heard of a treehouse?"

Fired

Ray Vukcevich

Deep inside the s.p.a.celinerCan of Peaches there was a small dim bar called the Slingshot Lounge. The Can of Peaches along with three sister hotel s.h.i.+ps moved between Earth and Mars continuously. The s.h.i.+ps never stopped. They never landed. Because there were four of them, you never had to take the long way. The s.h.i.+ps were really in an orbit around the sun and used the planetary gravity to slingshot forever between the two worlds and thus the name of the bar where John Wagner went looking for love in one of the very few places it might reasonably be found and met the fire woman.

When John was on duty, he was an "outside guy" -a man or woman who gets into a s.p.a.ce suit and goes out to fix whatever needs fixing on the outer skin of theCan of Peaches . He was a permanent peach. He had not set foot on Earth or Mars in many years. Tourists were ferried up to the liners from the surface of either planet. That was the most expensive part of the whole deal. The rest was just a matter of going around and around and since almost anything could be simulated to a degree you couldn't tell the difference and since everyone was augmented to the eyeb.a.l.l.s and beyond, you had to wonder why people bothered going in the flesh. Part of it was a status thing. You had to have the bucks if you wanted to take the ride. People claimed there was something immediate and elemental that squeezed the very core of your being when you looked into the deep darkness of s.p.a.ce with unaided eyes. John didn't see it anymore. Maybe he'd gotten used to it.

Another factor was the long shot that you might be there when the "dark spot" returned. If it ever did come back, you might get gobbled up and disappear forever. A little danger tossed into the mix. Ten years before, the rip in s.p.a.ce known as the "dark spot" had appeared. Several things had emerged and the spot had disappeared. Just like that. None of the emerging things had ever been tracked down and identified. Aliens or rocks. Who knew?

Since there was never a shortage of tourists on board, John figured there might be someone new in his favorite bar, so he got his persona buffed and beaming (dress-black uniform and s.p.a.ceman boots, rugged chin and piercing ice-blue eyes, a random gleam from the teeth) and set on out after work, augmented peepers scoping and pheromoner sniffing around for monkey business. He waltzed on into the Slingshot and took a stool, signaled the polar bear bartending that he needed an Irish on the rocks, looked left and right without really looking like he was looking, and oh, man, would you look at her?

John couldn't say exactly why the fire woman was so hot, sitting there (if sitting was what she was actually doing) looking anything but human, all blue and maybe made of some kind of transparent jelly your fingers just ached to touch. You'd pretend to touch her and say, "Ouch!" Or "sizzle" or maybe just "ssssss," and she'd say, "Oh like I haven't heard that one before," but by then she'd be smiling (if you could call it smiling) and everything would be cool. He'd buy her a drink. Or would she go for some kind of gas instead or maybe a hickory log? Whatever fans your flames, sweet cheeks. And speaking of cheeks, that black splatter spot just below her left eye was a nice touch. It was like looking at the "dark spot" through a telescope from a long way away. He should say something, but how do you break the ice with a fire woman?

But then she beat him to the punch. "You ever do it in a s.p.a.cesuit, bobby?" When she spoke, sparks drifted from her mouth and winked out as they touched the bar.

"What?" John was knocked off his game. "My name's not Bobby."She looked startled like she'd been working on that utterance for a long time and was confused by his reaction. Maybe he hadn't heard her right. Maybe she had an accent. She'd be from some exotic locale on Earth or Mars, somewhere no one ever went who didn't have a lot of money or wasn't sweeping up or serving little sandwiches and tea and now she was up here slumming and looking for a s.p.a.ceman but she couldn't know much about s.p.a.cesuits if she thought they could both get into one much less do anything once inside.

He was tempted to look at the fire woman with his "other eye," but that would mean he was done here.

Looking at the sad underbelly of the bar and the people in it unaided by augmentation would end any fantasy he might get going. He'd made that mistake more that a few times-the worst was probably the Amazon Queen who turned out to be a little old guy who might have gotten small inside suddenly, since his exterior draped around his frame like a cloth double-ba.s.s bag around a cello. Looking had spoiled the mood.

So John didn't look at her with his other eye. Instead, he rolled out his own practiced line like a jet fighter ready to zoom off into the sky and shoot down many objections she might have against coming back to his humble s.p.a.ceman quarters with him. Of course, if she wanted to go off and do it in a s.p.a.cesuit, she might not have any objections anyway, but he had been working on this line for a long time, so he said, "So tell me, what's your favorite moon of Jupiter?"

"You ever do it in a s.p.a.cesuit, b.o.o.by?"

Well, she was nothing if not single-minded.

"I don't think that's possible," he said. "My name is John."

She just sat there burning in silence for a moment. Then she said, "You ever do it in a s.p.a.cesuit, baby?"

He thumped his chest. "Me John. You . . . ?"

"Oh," she said. "Pam."

Oh, sure, Pam the fire woman from some place where people spoke the universal language with an accent.

"Well, Pam, there are lots of things we can do without s.p.a.cesuits."

"Yes," she said. "Show me your s.p.a.cesuit."

"You want a tour? You looking to see some of the places the tourists don't usually get to go? I think that could be arranged."

Why not? Escort her around a little, see some safe sights, and end up back at his place.

"Yes, let's go!" she said, and somehow she was standing without ever stopping sitting. It was like someone threw a couple of sticks on her fire.

John tossed down the rest of his drink and got up. He made a crook of his arm so she might take it, but she said, "Not yet."

"This way," he said and walked for the door.

There was a place where he could show her a view she wouldn't have seen from the pa.s.senger areas. It would not be a better view (the pa.s.sengers had the best views, since they were the point, after all) but itwould be a little different. They could swing by the workshops, and maybe take a peek at a kitchen or two along the way. And after that she might be impressed by the staging area for outside work.

Hey, they could pop in on the bridge. Maybe the Captain would let her take a turn at the wheel.

They moved into the corridor, and the music and fake smoke stopped when the door slid shut behind them.

"You might want to turn down your nose through here," John said. Dumb speak. What was he thinking?

She would know about the smell in these corridors, since she'd come through them not long ago to get to the bar in the first place. She probably saw the Slingshot Lounge blurb in the pa.s.senger brochure about seeing some "genuine Permanent Peach life in the belly of the Can." Completely safe. Well, maybe you'll want to go in a group? Spicy. Dicey. Babbling. He hoped he hadn't been saying any of that out loud.

He gave her a quick glance. She was still on fire.

"So, are you from Mars or Earth?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Are we there yet?"

"Not yet," he said, and it occurred to him that he had just echoed what she'd said when he'd put out his arm and invited her to touch him. They were moving along side by side but were they going in the same direction? She seemed pretty single-minded about seeing a s.p.a.cesuit and that was okay with him, but he didn't intend to end the evening looking at his equipment-well, okay, so he did intend to look at his equipment . Show and tell. Touch. Boy, if she knew the adolescent babblony that was going on in his head, she'd go out like you blew on a match, but hey maybe there was something similar going on in her head; after all she'd searched out a s.p.a.ceman and they were on their way to see his suit and who knew what else? It was like the way you could project whatever you wanted people to see when they looked at you, but did you really know what they were seeing since they could take your projection and work it into their own world in any way they wanted? When you were with someone you weren't always in the same place at the same time. Like they say, stretch it out, wad it up, get loose, and be elastic. He and Pam might be walking along together, but they were worlds apart and alone and he suddenly wanted to really connect with her. He would turn off his inferences and ignore her implications. He would start with his "other eye."

He stopped himself just in time.

Life is all about the stories we tell ourselves.