The mountains fell behind in the dusk. The monorail sped through flatter country, in a wide arc that took it around the Phoenix crater safety zone. As drowsiness overtook her, the land slowly changed to a great arid vacuum, pulling images out of her subconscious and dancing them before her like lights on a pond: visions of ragged suitors crossing a wasteland to reach her—and David Kadin striding along, overtaking them all.
* * *
The train eased into the New Phoenix metro station, and Mozy made her way down two flights to the subway platform. She waited with the rush-hour crowd, watching the street musicians with their ghostly holos gyrating around them, the music itself periodically drowned out by the din of the trains. Finally Mozy's train appeared; a half hour later, she stepped out into the street a few blocks from her apartment.
It was one of the brick-and-concrete postwar housing projects, built in '17 to help accommodate a populace displaced by the destruction of Phoenix in the Great Mistake. Now it housed students from the New University, as well. Further down the street were several similar projects; on the facing side of the street was a row of modern townhouses. Children's voices could be heard in the street as Mozy turned up the walk to the front entrance.
The lobby was empty, the orange and crimson colors of last year's redecoration shouting a hollow welcome. She hadn't checked her letter box in a week—she rarely got paper mail, anyway—so she went over and unlocked the compartment. To her surprise, there was a letter inside. She plucked it out and read the return address. It was from her sister Kink. She tucked the letter into her bag and trotted up three flights of stairs.
Pushing open her apartment door, she nudged the lights on with her elbow. "I'm home," she called. Scratching noises greeted her. She crossed the living room and peered down into the chamber where two gerbils were scrabbling about on their bed of wood shavings and waving their tiny noses in the air. Mozy made whistling noises and checked the food and water dispensers. "Nice to see you, Mousie. And you, little Maggot." Maggie, in answer, poked her nose up to one of the air holes in the side of the chamber.
Tossing her coat over the back of a frayed sofa, Mozy went into the kitchen. She turned about aimlessly, peering into cupboards, wondering at the feeling of restlessness that plagued her. She shrugged, put on water for tea, and began making dinner.
* * *
The phone chimed. "Phone on!" she called, her mouth full of spinach greens.
"Mozy? It's Mardi."
"Wait a minute!" Mozy carried her salad bowl into the living room. "Picture on," she ordered, and when Mardi's image appeared, she lifted a fork in greeting. "Hi. What's up?"
Mardi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Didn't you get my message?"
"I just got home. What was it?" Mozy forked more salad into her mouth.
"Mozy, I called two days ago! Don't you ever check your messages?"
Mozy swallowed, realizing for the first time that her phone's message light was on. "Sorry," she said guiltily. "I've been sort of preoccupied. Was it anything urgent?"
"It is now," said Mardi. "Tomorrow's the last day of registration at school. Do you want to go over together? If we get there early—"
Mozy gasped. "Tomorrow? It
can't
be!"
Her friend groaned in frustration. "How could you have forgotten? After all the times we've talked about it!"
Mozy sighed uneasily. She hadn't exactly forgotten; actually, she'd been keeping it out of her mind. Mardi and she had attended classes together last year, and they'd agreed to do the same in the coming session. Now, Mozy was doubtful about wanting to go back to school at all. She'd been at the university, off and on, for six years; and she still hadn't made notable progress toward finishing her degree in philosophy. "I still have to go through the catalog," she said. "I haven't decided what I want to do yet."
"You haven't been
that
busy, have you?" There was a slightly wounded tone to Mardi's voice. "It sounds like you haven't even thought about it."
Now you've done it, Mozy thought. She ought to have called Mardi, but . . .
"I have been kind of wrapped up in this thing," she said finally. "Tell you what—let's meet for breakfast. We can talk about it then." She forced a smile and stabbed at her salad again.
Mardi shrugged. "Okay—sure. Eight-thirty in the Sunshine Room?"
"Fine."
They talked a minute longer before Mozy begged off, pleading the need to study the school materials. The screen went dark, and she sat and stared at it and finished her dinner and thought about what she was going to tell Mardi in the morning.
She played halfheartedly with Maggie and Mouse for a while, then took a bath, and went to bed after spending two minutes shaking her head at the course listings. She tossed and turned for nearly an hour before drifting off, thinking of Kadin and the fire at the end of the world.
* * *
The morning sun revived her as she walked the four blocks to the student union. Trotting up the steps, she caught an open door and darted into the main cafeteria. She stood near the door, scanning the tables. Not seeing Mardi, she went to the serving line and loaded her tray, then turned from the cashier to find an empty table.
She was halfway through her omelet and coffee by the time Mardi found her. Out of breath, Mardi slid into the seat opposite her. "Feels like I haven't seen you in ages!" Mardi cried, smiling with good humor. She was a shy young woman, several years Mozy's junior.
"Tell me how you've been," Mozy said, putting on a face of cheer. As they ate, Mardi reeled out a summary of her plans for school, obviously hoping that Mozy would share in the enthusiasm. Mozy listened with a display of attention, postponing the inevitable.
Finally Mardi pressed her. "We'd better get moving. But what do you think? What are you going to do?"
Mozy poked at her coffee cup. "Mardi—"
Her friend frowned. "What's the matter?"
"I'm—not going to register."
Mardi stared at her, crestfallen. "But—you said—" She gestured emptily.
I know, Mozy thought. I know I said it.
She cleared her throat.
Mardi groped almost visibly. "Is it the money? Is that it? Have you thought about going part time, and still working?"
Mozy shook her head. "It's not the money. It's the job." She closed her eyes, trying to sort it all out in her mind. She wanted to explain it, but she scarcely understood the reasons herself. She suddenly realized that she was fingering her scar again, and she dropped her hand. "Here it is," she said. "I want to work full time at the project, if I can. It's not definite"—which was the world's biggest understatement, since she had yet to even ask—"but I want to keep my time available for it." She sat back uncomfortably.
"You've never said anything about that before," Mardi said, puzzled.
Mozy grasped for words. "I—feel more involved there now. More involved than I ever felt at school. Besides, I can always go back to school. But how often do you have a chance to be in a project like this?" With a vast sense of relief, she realized that she had, in fact, gotten it right. It was that feeling of involvement that she wanted. It seemed so obvious now.
Mardi nodded slowly. "Well—I guess I can understand that." Her voice suggested that she did not. She looked at the table. "It's just that you never said anything about it before. From what you said a few weeks ago, I thought you didn't like the project that much."
Mozy took a breath to answer, then sighed. She didn't know what else to say.
Mardi looked up suspiciously. "Say—you haven't fallen in
love
or something, have you? You'd tell me, wouldn't you?"
"No, nothing like that," Mozy assured her. She swallowed with difficulty. "I hardly even know anyone out there. I see this guy Hoshi now and then, but it's nothing romantic."
Mardi looked unconvinced. "Okay, but who's this David person you're always meeting with, in your sessions?"
Mozy scoffed. "I could hardly be in love with him. I've never even met him in real life." She wrapped her fingers around her coffee cup. "He's not even on Earth. It's just a long-distance linkup." She looked up. "That's all I'm allowed to say about it."
"Okay," said Mardi. "You're not in love. And I can't change your mind." Her voice sounded more distant than it had a moment ago. "Well, I'd better get going, or I'll be in line all day."
"Mardi, it's the project itself," Mozy insisted, suddenly wanting to make it clear before her friend went away hurt. She felt foolish, and was probably blushing from her attempt to deny that ridiculous notion about being in love. She gestured agitatedly. "It's these feelings I have about what I'm doing there. It means something—" She ran out of words. She couldn't articulate it any better than that. Damn it, why did friends always have to make life so complicated?
"Well, it's your decision," Mardi said, rising. "Look—stay in touch, at least, okay? I've got to get going."
Mozy wanted to blurt a last plea for understanding, but instead she just nodded. It was no good; it would be better to call Mardi later. Nevertheless, her face was still stinging when she walked back out into the morning sun.
Hoshi called that evening. Mozy was glad for the diversion. She had been leafing through books, flipping channels on the tube, trying one role-game after another—and nothing had kept her occupied for more than a few minutes. "You got home before midnight," she said. "That's a switch."
As usual, Hoshi had the visual off. "Yeah, they let the rats out of the cage early tonight. Want to have a drink at the Chance?"
"Rats? I thought we were the rats, and you were the keepers."
"All a matter of perspective, I guess. What do you say?"
"Sure," Mozy said. It would be a perfect opportunity to grill him. "Twenty minutes?"
"See you there."
Leaving books and computer cubes scattered on the table, she dumped her dinner dishes into the sonic bath, grabbed her coat and wallet, and headed for the door.
The Golden Chance Cafe was a five-block walk from her apartment, on the southwestern edge of the campus. She slipped through the entrance and stood in the shadows, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. The cafe was narrow, with a partition down the middle. She peered down both sides, and finally located Hoshi in the rear. "Have room for another rat?" she said, sliding into the booth.
Hoshi looked up, his eyes sweeping briefly. "Ah!" he said. "An escapee! Do you want to join our conspiracy?"
"Only if it involves drinking. How are you?"
"Starved. They didn't even give us Purina at work."
He flashed a disconcerting smile. Actually, it wasn't the smile that was disconcerting; it was the eyes. She often wondered just how much of the world Hoshi really knew by sight, and how much by inference. Blinded in a radiation accident as a boy, his vision was partially restored now with the assistance of implanted retinal scanners and microprocessors. According to his own description, the world he saw was a montage of lights and shadows. His depth perception was poor—hence the medallion he wore on a neck-chain, a transducer for a sonar ranger. Apparently his condition did not interfere with his work, most of which he performed in direct linkup with the computer. He was considered one of the top program analysts at the Center.
She realized she was staring at him. "I'm glad I don't have to work late like all of you," she said, lying. She grinned with one side of her mouth, trying to conceal her envy.
Hoshi studied her silently, his eyes flicking and shifting. He gave her a quirky smile. "We're either supermen or maniacs. I'm not sure which. But what about you? Have you decided if you're going back to school?"
She shook her head. "I'm not." Her stomach began to flutter. "Not while I'm working at the Center. I wouldn't have time for both."
Hoshi angled his head to one side, frowning. His eyes glinted, catching the light of a globed lamp on the wall. "Haven't they told you? The project is ending soon—at least, the part you're in."
The stomach flutter tightened to a knot. "They hadn't mentioned a date. I thought—maybe they'd keep me on. Maybe working more hours—or helping—" Hoshi was scowling now. "They told me once that there was a chance that—"
She cut herself off as a waitress appeared. Hoshi ordered a turkey club and a Bohemia draft; she just ordered a beer. When the waitress was gone, she raised her eyes again.
"It's just like them not to bother telling you," he said. "Talk about people wrapped up in their own little worlds." He shook his head. "It'd be nice if you could stay on, but—I don't know. I suppose you could ask Bill."
Mozy shrugged, smarting inwardly. How stupid of her to think . . . they'd never actually
offered
her more work, and the last time they'd even hinted was a month or two ago. How could she have assumed . . .?
She avoided Hoshi's eyes. Images whirled in her mind: of the computer link, and of Kadin; of those rare and cherished moments when she
was
somebody and her real personality emerged, and she could laugh and cry with a man who didn't care what she looked like, and who was always there. All of that would be gone. No more link, no more Kadin. And what the hell would she do then?
When their orders arrived, Mozy stared at her beer for a time, fingering the glass. "So—what now?" she said finally. "Why are they ending the project?"
Hoshi lifted his sandwich, then paused. "I can't tell you that, you know. I don't even know all the details myself."
She stared at him as he took a bite.
He put the sandwich down and cleared his throat, tapping his fork against his plate. "Well—" His eyes moved from side to side. "I can tell you something, I guess. Don't talk about this with Bill or Lusela, though—not that it's a breach, exactly, but they're kind of touchy about it."
Her head buzzed as she nodded.
"They're going to do a transmission. I can't tell you who, or where, or why—but they're going to send someone through a long-distance link."