To Hold Infinity (21 page)

Yoshiko stood on tip-toe to get a better view.

“There's Maggie,” she said. “Down there with those other journalists.”

“I should think so.” Vin grinned. “We gotta invite our friends. That's what these bashes are for.”

They were netarazzi, a crowd of squabbling journos with loud voices and an obnoxious manner, their questions so loud and insistent that Yoshiko wondered how their thought processes could ever function. Maggie stood out from them by virtue of her silence and the slightly disdainful smile flickering about her mouth.

“Excuse me,” Vin murmured. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”

She disappeared in the direction of the nearest bathroom. Yoshiko had the sense that it was less from biological necessity than from a desire to get away from the neterazzi's floating video globes as they swarmed up the broad marble steps with the mayor.

Maggie grinned at Lori and Yoshiko, and came over to Yoshiko and hugged her briefly. The small silver globe floating over her shoulder bobbed out of the way, focussing on the mayor.

Lori greeted the mayor with a smile, and the two of them turned to go back inside. Yoshiko and Maggie followed them down the hallway to the ballroom's bronze doors, but the squabbling journos stayed outside, waiting for the next guests to arrive. It looked like they weren't invited to the ball itself.

“Thank God for that,” said Maggie. “They were getting on my nerves. I nearly thumped them a dozen times over during the flight here.”

Yoshiko smiled. “I sympathize.”

“Yeah. Well.” Maggie snagged her small silver globe from the air, thumbed it, and inserted it into a pocket of her jacket. “No vids allowed, I gather. Don't know why I'm here, really.”

“Gathering local colour,” said Yoshiko.

“Right.”

As they reached the ballroom, Lori and the mayor turned to Yoshiko and Maggie.

“Sorry,” said Lori. “Sunadomari Yoshiko, this is Neliptha Machella, the mayor of Lucis City.”

“Madam Mayor.”

“Neliptha, please.” Her smile was very bright. “This mayor crap is just for show.”

“Is that why the mayor's term of office averages a hundred and fifty days?” asked Maggie.

“Off the record?” Neliptha was smiling.

“Something tells me,” said Maggie, “that you'd know if I had a recording device activated.”

“Possibly. Anyway, the mayoral position's only a figurehead, you know. Just to give the gossip-gatherers someone to focus on.”

“Touché,” murmured Maggie.

“The real issues are too complicated and fast-moving,” said Lori, “for NewsNets that need to concentrate on personalities.”

Yoshiko had a brief vision of the mass of Luculenti minds, immersed in their own swirling sea of alternate reality, where arguments flashed back and forth in highly nonlinear fashion, and voting or executing some more complicated decision-making process which cascaded rapidly through Skein before moving onto the next issue.

What power could non-Luculenti ever truly hold here?

“The thing is—” Neliptha grimaced, “—the whole charade's a pain in the ass. Sometimes I can hardly form an equation in my mind while the netarazzi are chattering away.”

“Don't blame you.” Maggie's voice was sour. “Makes me ashamed to call myself a—Say, you aren't the manifold Machella? I mean, the mathematician who derived the Machella Manifold?”

“Sure am.” Neliptha turned to Lori. “You were right, she's sharp.”

Maggie reddened slightly: not sure, Yoshiko thought, whether to be pleased at the praise or annoyed at the unconscious condescension.

“In the same vein,” continued Neliptha, looking down at Yoshiko, “you must be the enzyme-semantics Sunadomari, Professor.”

Yoshiko bowed slightly, feeling more than seeing Maggie's amusement.

Lori said, “There's a friend of ours you'll have to meet. Felice Lectinaria's done some work in your field.”

“Right,” said Yoshiko noncommittally.
Lectinaria.
She would have to check that name. It was vaguely familiar, but she rarely paid attention to the names of article authors. And most of the time, she was looking at edited context-linked abstracts.

“Well.” Neliptha looked around. “I'm famished.”

“Every room down that corridor,” said Lori, pointing, “is set up as a dining room. Or we've buffet stuff in the ballroom.”

“That will do very nicely.”

They went into the vast ballroom. The buffet awaited on the long white tables under the balcony. Maggie picked a samosa from a tray before the young uniformed man behind it could offer anything.

“Very good,” she said, grinning.

There was something about the young man, but Yoshiko couldn't—Oh yes, he was the young proctor who'd been at Tetsuo's house. Brian something. Donnelly, that was it.

“Vin's on her way,” she said to Maggie, and saw from the corner of her eye that the young man's cheeks were slightly reddened.

“You know—” Maggie grabbed a second samosa. “—This is going to be better than I thought.”

Lori and Neliptha threw back their heads and laughed.

Blades smashed together in explosions of orange sparks. The dozen men leaped away in a series of spectacular jumps and back-flips, and dropped to a crouch, kicking out feet alternately while keeping their arms crossed.

“Can you do that?” Maggie, leaning against the wall with plate in one hand and goblet in the other, tapped her foot in time to the energetic Slavonic beat.

“Not a chance.”

Yoshiko joined in the applause as each Cossack dancer dropped to one knee and spread his arms and stopped, grinning and breathing heavily.

They stood and bowed, sweeping off their hats, and Maggie's breath hissed as she breathed sharply in.

“My God. They're Luculenti—Bloody amateurs, doing it for fun.”

Yoshiko raised an eyebrow. “Very impressive.”

They watched the men file out of the vast cathedral-like ballroom.

“They're so friggin' talented, they really piss me off sometimes.”

Yoshiko laughed. “I know what you mean.”

“Yeah, well.” Maggie shrugged.

“You need another drink.”

“I just love doing this.”

Maggie let go of the goblet.

It fell a little way before catching itself in the EM field, then floating off in the direction of the buffet tables, where it hovered, waiting, in the airborne queue of plates and goblets. Behind the table, young proctors were busy at autofact spigots and trays of
hors d'oeuvres.

“Look over there.” Yoshiko inclined her head towards a group of Luculenti.

They were enveloped in eerie silence. Occasional half-expressions flitted across their faces as they stared at each other.

“Deep in Skein,” said Maggie. “Not polite, with non-Luculenti around.”

Maggie's refilled goblet nudged her wrist. She took hold of it, deactivating its lev-strip.

“Nice,” she said, sipping winelike
rayna
.

“Why thank you.” The speaker was a short woman who had been walking past: Jenny-something, whom Vin had introduced to Yoshiko earlier. She was in charge of the catering.

“Hello, Jenny.” Yoshiko introduced Maggie, then gestured towards the tables. “You've done a great job.”

Yoshiko looked around for Vin, but could not see her.

“Nice of you to say so.” Jenny nodded.

There was Vin, standing with a group of young Luculenti friends. Just for a moment, when none of them was looking in her direction, sadness crossed her features.

“Could you do me a favour?” Yoshiko asked Jenny.

Yoshiko had seen, earlier, Vin's sidelong glances across the ballroom.

“Well, of course.”

“Your staff are doing such a good job, perhaps they need some time off for good behaviour.”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps—” Yoshiko looked meaningfully in Vin's direction (while Vin's attention was on her friends) then over at the table where the young proctor, Brian, was serving, “—they could have a break for the occasional dance? I'm sure the Maximilians would appreciate it.”

A slow smile spread across Jenny's face.

“I'll see what I can do.”

 

The party sounds faded to a distant hubbub, as Yoshiko sank into thought.

Oh, Ken. If only you were here to see this marvellous house, to meet these wonderful people. You'd make such fun of their absurdities.

“Drink?” Maggie's voice intruded on her reverie.

“Why not?”

 

They sat on a chaise longue in the big entrance hall, and watched the guests arrive in all their finery. Yoshiko was on her third drink, maybe her fourth, and a kind of warm glamour seemed to wash over this superb house.

“Nice dress.” Maggie inclined her head.

Peacock feathers—holo, presumably—sprayed out in a circle behind a haughty-looking Luculenta's turquoise gown.

“Interesting mating display.” Yoshiko suppressed a hiccup.

“Impersonating a cock, instead of—”

“—Attracting one,” said Yoshiko.

They leaned their heads together and giggled like schoolgirls.

“Am I interrupt—? Are you two drunk?”

Yoshiko, struggling to focus on the speaker's black gown, sniggered.

“No way, Vin.” Maggie was adamant. “Are we, Yoshiko?”

Yoshiko snorted with laughter and shook her head violently.

Bad move.
She squinted, willing the room to stop rotating.

“Oh, my God. You two aren't safe out together.”

“Just getting into the party spirit. Half-a-dozen glasses of it, in Yoshiko's case.”

Half a dozen?

“Anyway,” Maggie continued, “I thought you were busy inspecting the catering staff.”

Things came back into focus in time for Yoshiko to see Vin blushing furiously.

“Er, anyway, I came to tell you that Xanthia's on her way. She'll be here soon.”

“Hear that, Yoshiko? Xanthia's on—Ouch!”

Yoshiko, playfully punching Maggie's arm, had struck precisely on the deltoid insertion—

“Oops.”

—opening Maggie's hand by reflex and tipping her goblet to the floor.

“Bloody hell, Yoshiko!” Maggie rubbed her arm. “Sorry, Vin. I'll clean it up.”

“No need.” The spilled
rayna
disappeared into the black and white tiles, soaked up almost instantaneously. Vin handed Maggie the empty goblet.

“Levitated the wrong way,” murmured Yoshiko.

Vin pointed at the thumb-shaped depression used to activate the goblet's lev-strip.

“You're supposed to—Oh, never mind.”

Suddenly, the three of them howled with laughter.

“Oh, my God,” Vin wiped tears from her eyes. “I can't let you two out of my sight.”

“Don't worry.” Maggie grinned evilly. “I'll sort out Yoshiko. Watch this.”

There was a slap on the back of Yoshiko's hand.

“What—?”

Icy cold blasted through her veins, delivered a jolt behind her eyes.

Detox patch.

 

 

“Thanks. I needed that.”

Maggie grimaced. “You needed to let your hair down for awhile, too. But—”

“But I need my wits about me now. I know. Where's Vin?”

“Went back in the ballroom, while the detox was scouring out your brain.”

“It did that, alright.” Yoshiko performed some neck rotations. “Whew. Blew out the cobwebs, that's for sure.”

Maggie started to say something, stopped, and stared over Yoshiko's shoulder.

Yoshiko turned.

A group of four Luculenti: they were dressed in bright crimson and white finery, coming though the entranceway, laughing lightly.

“Who are they?” Yoshiko murmured.

“Not them.”

Behind them strode a tall, lean, deeply tanned man dressed in a long black cape. His shirt was of burgundy silk, his matador suit deep black, and his eyes, too, were dark as he glanced around the atrium.

Ice veiled those eyes, just for a moment—a reptilian coldness, of calculating eyes assessing their prey—and steel talons swept briefly down Yoshiko's back.

Then the man smiled, and the ice melted, and he walked over to them.

“Hello, Maggie.” He held out his hand. “How are you doing?”

Maggie swallowed, then stood and took his hand.

“I'm fine.” Her voice was a little hoarse.

“That's good.”

His voice, though, was superb. Smooth and mellow. With those bottomless eyes and easy smile, he was irresistibly charming. Or would have been, Yoshiko thought, if she had not—warned by Maggie's reaction—caught that brief glimpse into his true soul when he had looked at them first.

“How do you do,” he said to Yoshiko. “My name's Rafael.”

Yoshiko stood and took his hand, and almost gasped at the warm tingle of his dry gentle grip on her hand. Her skin tingled, and she felt herself flushing with pleasure.

“Yoshiko Sunadomari.”

“This—” Maggie cleared her throat. “—is Luculentus Rafael Garcia de la Vega.”

“I'm very honoured to meet you,” He bowed low over Yoshiko's hand without quite kissing it.

“Thank you,” said Yoshiko.

She almost felt like crying when he released her hand.

“I know Tetsuo very well.” Rafael arched an eyebrow. “I'd like to think I'm one of his best friends here on Fulgor.”

Yoshiko just nodded, unable to speak.

Rafael glanced back at the doorway, then returned the full power of his attention to Yoshiko and Maggie, who were spellbound before him.

“I would very much like to talk with you some more later. May I see you then?”

“That—would be fine,” said Maggie.

Yoshiko nodded in agreement.

“Until later, then.” His smile was incredible. “See you.”

He turned with a swirl of his cape, and made off with a tall elegant stride towards the ballroom. Both Yoshiko and Maggie watched him until he was inside the ballroom itself and had disappeared among a throng of dancing couples.

“Whew,” said Maggie.

Yoshiko nodded wordlessly.

They were still standing looking in the direction in which Rafael had gone when a touch on Yoshiko's shoulder made her jump, heart pounding crazily in her chest.

“Sorry.” Xanthia was standing there. “I didn't mean to startle—Are you two alright?”

“I think so.” Yoshiko looked at Maggie.

“We've just been talking to Rafael,” Maggie said. “It was, ah, a bit different from before.”

“Oh.” Xanthia smiled. “He can be pretty overpowering when he turns on the charm, can't he?”

“I'll say.” Maggie breathed out and placing her palms on her cheeks. “Am I as flushed as I think I am?”

“Well…” Xanthia's eyes were sparkling.

“OK, OK.” Maggie dabbed at her eyes. “I'll get over it. How are you doing, anyway?”

“I'm just fine,” said Xanthia.

“Nice dress.”

That was an understatement, Yoshiko saw. Xanthia's robe was deep-blue velvet, cut in deceptively simple classical lines. Gold and amber brocaded strips passed under her bosom and over her shoulders, and formed striking cuffs on her long flared sleeves. The velvet was slashed at the shoulders to reveal puffs of gold and black silk.

Golden netting was strung in and around her mass of wild black hair, in addition to the slender gold fibres of her Luculenta headgear. A tiny sphere of white light floated over her left shoulder.

“You're very beautiful.”

“Why, thank you, Yoshiko.” Xanthia gave a mock curtsy. “Perhaps I'll find a decent man who agrees with you.”

“No problem.” Maggie raised an encouraging fist in salute.

“Thanks, girls.” Xanthia smiled. “Shall we go in? I'm ravenous.”

“You want guidance to the food and booze,” said Maggie, “you've come to the experts.”

The three of them went in past the great open bronze doors, into the ballroom, where a vast wave of warmth and marvellous music washed over them. They stood at the edge, watching the great swirl of dancers move past them.

Yoshiko felt an elbow nudge her. She followed Maggie's gaze.

Vin was dancing, arms around the shoulders of the big young proctor, and the two of them were looking deeply into each other's eyes, aware only of each other and the music and the beat of their own hearts.

“His name,” said Yoshiko, racking her memory, “is Brian Donnelly, and he's a third dan in solid
go
.”

“Really?” Xanthia looked impressed. “That's interesting. He's very young for that grade—I'd say he's a prime candidate for upraise, myself.”

“That would be nice.” There was ambivalence in Maggie's voice.

It
would
be nice
, thought Yoshiko, watching the youthful couple dance, and feeling warm and privileged to see them falling in love before her eyes. What else gives meaning to an otherwise cold and uncaring universe, however marvellous its intricacy, but the warmth of true love?

For humanity, only time and love can ever truly matter.

Was it a fleeting romance? Or would Vin and Brian marry and grow old together? Yoshiko would be dead before their old age, but somehow she did not, just at this moment, mind that thought at all. Life, among her friends and her descendants, would carry on.