A Different Light (8 page)

There were tears on her cheeks for him or for herself, perhaps. But he could see that she didn't understand. Couldn't understand. Would leave him, not understanding, not feeling the cold death in her own bones. They never understand, he thought. They just leave.

He wanted to hit, and then he wanted to cry.

* * *

In the morning Leiko went out early, without a word of where she was going or what she planned to do. He had not expected her to tell him. He was sitting alone, watching the light climb the ivy and the ivy climb the wall, when Russell walked in. He wore a green shirt and green earrings and gold glitterstick around his eyes.

"Hung over again?" he said lightly.

"No. Just thinking."

Russell turned lazily on his heel, gazing at the prints and sketches on the wall. When he came to the print of the Rider he nodded to it with recognition. "I remember that."

Jimson roused himself. "It's been with me a long time," he said. "You want some coffee?"

"No. You want to come on an excursion with me?"

"An excursion?"

"To visit a friend."

"A friend?"

Russell said, "Are you going to sit there and repeat everything I say, or are you coming with me?" He looked at Jimson with affection and challenge. Jimson had forgotten what it was like to be around Russell.
Let's go watch the ships, Jim!
The clear voice danced in memory.
Let's go to North Island.
He had always gone.

"Sorry," he said, "I'm not tracking. You want me to go with you to visit a friend."

"Yes. He lives a little ways from here. His name is Hari Oregon. He's—an interesting person."

Jimson stood up. "I'd like to go with you."

"Good. Is there any more of that wine we drank the other night? Hari likes wine."

Jimson went to look. There were two more bottles. "Will one be enough?"

"Hari isn't greedy."

Jimson stuck a bottle under his arm. "Ready."

Russell surveyed him. "You've filled out."

"I've grown up," Jimson said. "You've filled out too. But I think your hair's redder than it ever was."

Russell said, "And my temper's just as hot. That hasn't changed." They went into the sunlight. Bubbles slid noiselessly overhead on their cables.

"Where to?'

"Let's take a short walk on the Bridge."

Jimson followed Russell across the square. People on the ramp glanced at the medallion on Russell's chest and moved politely aside. Jimson said, "I've never walked around Port City with a Starcaptain before."

Russell rested a hand on Jimson's shoulder for a moment.

"Tell me about Hari Oregon. Why is he interesting?" asked the artist.

Russell said, "Hari works for Compcenter Records, Systems Division, where they keep all the records on known solar systems. Hari loves his work. He's crazy about it. He claims to remember everything that he's ever seen or heard or heard about or read. It's illegal, of course, to sell information out of Records, and Hari would never do that. But he just remembers everything and likes doing favors for his friends."

"He's a Hyper?"

"No. Hari was born on Nexus, and I don't think he's ever been offplanet in his life. He's obsessed."

"I see," Jimson said.

They went down the Bridge ramp into another city square. This section of Port City was newer than the section Jimson lived in. The houses looked like bright, sharp-edged boxes. But as they got close Jimson saw that the colors were scratched and dirty, and the edges worn down with time. Russell stopped in front of a white door without number or name. He drummed with his fingertips on the plastic. The door opened. A small dark man poked his head out.

"Russell O'Neill!" He opened the door. "In, in, before somebody sees you. Ah, the Pirate and a friend." He closed the door behind them and put a hand over his eyes. "Wait, don't tell me. Hari Oregon sees all, knows all. Alleca! Jimson Alleca. You draw at Rin's in the corner table and you're pretty damn good, right? Right?" He uncovered his eyes and looked expectantly at Jimson.

Russell said, "Right, as usual, Hari."

"I didn't know you knew each other." He sounded disappointed in his lapse of knowledge. He had dark skin, curly black hair streaked with grey, and very bright black eyes. "Come in, come in, and what's that under your arm?"

"It's a gift," Russell said. Jimson held out the bottle of wine. Hari took it in both hands, read the label, and nodded.

"Good stuff," he said. "Come and sit down." They followed him into a room lit by hard bright lights. It overflowed with booktapes. Hari cleared two chairs by sweeping the booktapes on them onto the floor. One unrolled. He kicked it into a corner. Jimson sat down on a chair. The room was filthy; the walls barren and white without a print or picture or scribble. The hard light made him want to squint, and the dust made him want to sneeze. Hari bustled away, kicking the booktapes aside. He returned with three glasses and a bottle of red wine, half empty.

Russell said, "Hari, you cheapskate. At least you could serve us what we bring you."

Hari grinned. "You drink this, I need to get rid of it." He leaned forward. "Want to know who brought it?"

"Now, Hari," said Russell, "you know I don't."

Hari put the bottle down jerkily. "Then what did you come here for if you don't want me to tell you things?" He looked suddenly as if he were about to throw a tantrum.

Russell said, soothingly, "I do want you to tell me things, Hari. But you have to let me ask my questions first, remember?"

"Oh." Hari licked his lips. "Yes." He picked up the bottle and filled the remaining two glasses. Jimson took a cautious sip. The wine was half-vinegar. Hari said suddenly, "Jimson Alleca! What did he tell you about me?"

Jimson said, "That you were his friend, and that you knew everything."

"Um." The man looked mollified. "That was kind of you, Pirate. But I don't know everything, not yet. I'm getting there." He was serious. "I'm getting there."

Russell said, "About the records, Hari, you know everything."

"That's true." Hari was abruptly in a very good humor. He stamped on the floor. A creaky and very dirty mushroom chair lifted from the floor. Hari sat on it. He brushed the worst of the dirt aside with one hand. "All right. Ask your questions. What do you want to know?"

Jimson decided that Hari Oregon was not sane. He'd never known anyone to jump from mood to mood so quickly. Russell said, "82 Eridani. And its system."

"82 Eridani," said Hari Oregon in a monotone. "Absolute magnitude, 5.29. Class G5 sub P sub delta. Congruent to hyperspace currents 0-36FR8,1-37DR7, 0-36H—" he stopped. "That's in the Maze."

"Not quite in the Maze," said Russell. "Tell me about its satellite Demea."

Hari sat silently, brow furrowed. Finally he said, "No."

Russell said,
"
No,
you won't tell me?"

"
No,
I can't tell you.
No,
it isn't there. No satellites."

Russell sighed softly. "Thank you, Hari," he said gently. "You're a good friend."

Hari said, in a disappointed voice, "That's all?"

"I'm sorry, Hari," Russell said, "but that's all. We have to go now."

"But you haven't finished your wine!"

"Save it," Russell said. He stood up. Jimson stood up. They walked down the bright hall.

"Wait!" said Hari. "Wait. Let me tell you—" he followed them to the door babbling numbers, places, names. Once in the street, Russell put his hand to his head for a moment. "Hari's gotten crazier than ever," he said.

"Do you think he was wrong?' Jimson asked. "Or lying?"

"No. I think he said truthfully what the records say, that 82 Eridani has no satellites. That's interesting. That means that De Vala lied to me, and I don't think he did. Or it means Demea's a planet no X-team ever visited. But how can De Vala think the Masks he wants are there? He described to me the very building he expected them to be in. Very precise. Very odd."

Jimson said, "Does that mean you won't go?"

"Oh, no." Russell frowned. "But it means I have to try to get information from some other sources. Hari isn't the only person on Nexus who knows things."

"Russell O'Neill," said a woman's voice. Russell whirled, quick as a cat, and then relaxed. A woman stood on the street. She had broad flat features and brown hair with blond tones in it, and very large and lovely green eyes. She wore a Starcaptain's medallion on a chain round her neck.

"Tori," said Russell. "Nice to see you. How are things in Sector Garnet?'

"Things are fine."

"Jimson Alleca, this is Starcaptain Tori Lamonica. Tori, Jimson Alleca. Jim's an artist."

"How do you do," she said, polite, uninterested.

Russell said, "None of my business—but I think you're a friend of Hari Oregon's, just as I am."

"I might be," she said.

"He's not doing very well right now," Russell said. "Not very well at all."

Tori Lamonica nodded. "I see. Thank you."

"At your service, Starcaptain," Russell said.

They walked away from the bright dirty house. "Why did you do that?" Jimson asked.

Russell said, "Word will get round. If Hari's cracking up, there's no reason for anyone else to get caught in the cracks."

Jimson thought of Hari Oregon sitting amid his booktapes, waiting for his "friends*' to knock on his door. He glanced at Russell: the redhead's eyes were hard. Jimson decided to keep his thoughts to himself. "What's Sector Garnet?" he asked.

Russell grinned. "The Federation divides the Hype into territories, called sectors. Tori works Sector Garnet and Sector Sardonyx. The last time we met, in Garnet, we, um, disagreed. She snatched a cargo from under my nose. I got it back. No hard feelings."

Jimson swallowed. He tasted the dregs of vinegar in his throat. "Isn't there an easier way to get information than by asking Hari Oregon? Don't Starcaptains have access to Compcenter records?"

"Certainly," said Russell. "But if I went to Compcenter that would leave yet another datum on the records: that Russell O'Neill on such-and-such a date wanted to know all about the planet Demea, satellite of 82 Eridani. In the kind of work I do I can't afford to leave those traces."

Jimson could not get Oregon out of his mind. "What do you think will happen to him?"

"Can't you forget about Hari?" said Russell. But then he shrugged and answered. "One day he won't go to work, and they'll call him and he won't answer, and they'll come looking for him and find him staring at a wall. A telepath at some clinic will put his head together again. It's happened twice before."

Before he could stop himself, Jimson said, "Don't you care?"

Russell's face went cold. "I care where it counts," he said. "Not for Hari Oregon—what could I do for him? But I do care."

They walked silently, stiffly, side by side. Then Russell laughed. He caught Jimson's shoulder to hold him still. "I was going to suggest that we find a place to talk and tell lies about the past. But I can't now, I have to run around and try to dig out information on Demea. Will you be at Rin's tonight?"

"I usually am."

"I'll try to meet you there. I can't promise to make it, you never know what might come up. But I'll try." He brushed Jimson's cheek with his palm. "All right?"

"All right," Jimson said. It was hard to resist the familiar touch, the familiar teasing smile.

"Do you know how to get home from here, babe?"

"I'll figure it out." He stood quietly, watching Russell stroll towards a Bridge ramp. The warmth in his heart began to fade. He felt evaded, manipulated. He rubbed his hands together. He needed to talk to Russell, and not necessarily about the past. And he did not want to hear any lies.

* * *

He went home to an empty house and spent the afternoon trying to draw. By evening he was tense, and the floor of the house was littered with crumpled pieces of paper. The litter made him think of Hari Oregon. He went to Rin's. When he sat down at the bar Rin looked at him curiously. "Not in your corner?"

"No. Give me a drink, please."

Rin brought it to him and he drank it quickly. He sensed that Russell was not coming. Perhaps he had never meant to come. He stared around the bar. Chi was there. Denny and Kay were there: Miri was there, fabulous Miri, looking no more than twenty-two. Ysao was not there. He tapped on the bar for another drink. Rin brought it to him. "Word is that Leiko's found a ship," said the bartender. "That true?"

"She's leaving soon," Jimson said, and then he snarled at Rin, "Fuck off! I don't ask
you
questions!" He leaned his back to the bar. He had begun to think of Rin's as home. That was a mistake. No place for him was home. What the hell had he come to Nexus for? He couldn't remember. Go back to New Terrain, he told himself. Go back and hide in your cave, until one day they come and find you and haul you out and bury you.