Approaching Oblivion

  He stood up.

  “It’s simply I see no reason why we have to be on the outs. There are still some good memories.”

  Side by side, they walked across the enormous dining room of the Full Fathom Five, toward the curving wall of glass-fronted private rooms.

  “Look, Joice: I don’t want to talk about it. You stopped to talk to me, remember? I didn’t force myself on you.”

  “Just now, or three years ago?”

  He couldn’t help laughing. “Point for you,” he said, opening the door to the private room. The magnifying glass of the room’s front wall curved the diners beyond into a mere smear of moving color. From outside, the tableau in the room was cast large for anyone to watch.

  “I’m sorry I said that about the dust,” Joice said, slipping the soft fabric of the chiton off her shoulders. It floated to the floor like fog.

  “I’m not sorry about my comments where Breve is concerned,” Neil replied. Naked, he moved his shoulder blades in a loosening movement, realizing the scene with his parents had made him unbelievably tense. He slid into the free-fall cumulus fizz and lay on his back.

  “Gardyloo!” she said, and dove into the mist beside him. Her long auburn hair floated wildly around her head.

  “What the hell’s all this in aid of, Joice?” the thief said. She rolled him under her, sitting astride his thighs, positioning herself above his erect penis.

  “Peaceful coexistence,” she said, and settled down slowly till he was deep up inside her.

  “Has he filed for you?”

  “No.”

  “Does he intend to?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You’ve gotten more laissez-faire since we were a pair. I can’t recall a week when you weren’t badgering me to file.”

  “I loved you.”

  “And you don’t love Breve.”

  She moved her hips in a circular pattern. He contracted and expanded his penis in a steady pulse. She leaned back and rested her hands on his upper thighs, sliding up and down smoothly.

  “I didn’t say I don’t love Breve. He just hasn’t filed and it isn’t a problem at the moment.”

  “Why don’t you file for him?”

  “Don’t be cruel; you know Breve isn’t in the Pool.”

  “So what is the problem? Twinkles?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He freed one hand and, pressing her lower lips, very gently sought out and stroked the mercury heaviness of her clitoris. She shuddered and opened her eyes, then they slid closed once more.

  “Then what is?”

  “There’s nothing wrong between us. He’s doing very well, his work is going well, and I’m fulfilled. It’s a good merging.”

  She spasmed, from deep in her stomach muscles, and he felt her contracting around him. When she climaxed it was with a succession of small ignitions. He continued touching her, maintaining a rhythm, and she spiraled upward through a chain of multiple orgasms till she dropped her upper body onto him, reached under to grasp his buttocks, and thrust herself up and down rapidly. He thought of metal surfaces.

  She forced air through her clenched teeth and groaned from low in her throat, and he felt her rising for the final ascent. When it came, Neil held his breath and could feel the sudden cessation of her heartbeat. Then rolled and turned in the free-fall mist, and Joice spasmed for half a minute.

  They lay locked together for a time, and then she raised her head and looked down at him. “Nothing happened.”

  “For me. You’re fine.”

  “Too much dust, Neil?”

  “Too little interest.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Life is filled with little disappointments.”

  “You make me feel sad.”

  “Life is filled with little disappointments.”

  She pulled off him and reached for a moist and scented serviette in a dispenser on the wall. She dried herself between her legs and swam out of the fizz. Neil Leipzig lay on his back, at a forty-five degree angle to the floor, hanging artfully in mid-air, and watched her. “I don’t regret losing you, Joice. I have more to work with, now that your appetites are satisfied at other groaning boards.”

  “Spare me the metaphors, Neil. Are you aware that in most circles you’re considered ridiculous?”

  “I seldom travel in those circles. It must get you dizzy.”

  “Hurting each other won’t make the past more liveable.”

  “I don’t live in the past.”

  “That’s right, I forgot. You live in tin cans.”

  He felt his face getting hot. Too close, she’d come too close with that one. “Goodbye, Joice. Don’t slam the door.”

  She draped the chiton over her arm, opened the door and stepped partially into the dining room proper. “Don’t get metal splinters in your cock.” She smiled a smile of victory and closed the door behind her. Softly.

  He watched her striding across the Full Fathom Five to join a group of Twinkles, Dutchgirls, a Duenna…and Breve. As she moved, she was comically distorted by the magnifying window. It was like watching her stride through rainbows. She sat down with them and Breve helped her into the chiton. Neil smiled and with a shrug reached for a serviette.

  The door opened, and the maître d’ stuck his head in. “Mr. Leipzig, Lady Effim and her party have arrived. The coral room. Would you like your drink sent over?”

  “Thank you, Max. No, a fresh one, please. Chin-chin, a little heavier on the Cinzano. And tell Lady Effim I’ll be there in a moment.”

  He lay in the fizz for a few minutes, thinking of metal surfaces, his eyes closed, fists clenched.

  The thief had no real, concrete data on what Lady Effim’s side-boys did to earn their keep, but he was gut certain it was at least partially sexual in nature; and Neil Leipzig did not dismiss the possibility that another part of their services dealt with various deaths; and that another substantial expenditure of their time in her behalf was legitimately connected with the continent she owned and exploited; and that other time was spent in illegitimate pursuits; and darker times spent in places, and doing things, the thief did not wish to dwell on.

  The side-boys numbered three this time. Sometimes Lady Effim had six, sometimes eight, sometimes a squad. Never less than three. This time there were three.

  One was obviously a twinkle: fishtailed hair parted in the middle, tinted blue-black like the barrel of a weapon, giving off the warm odor of musk and jasmine. Very slim; hands delicate and skin of the hands so pale Neil could see the calligraphy of blue veins clearly outlined; large nostrils that scooped air so the twinkle’s chest rose and fell noticeably; skintight weskit suit with metal conchos and leather thongs down both sides; heavy on the jewelry.

  “Neil, I’d like you to meet Cuusadou…”

  The second was some kind of professional student: his like were to be found in the patiently seated waiting lines of the career bureaus, always ready to file for some obscure and pointless occupation—numismatist, dressage instructor, Neurospora geneticist, epitaphologist, worm rancher. His face was long and horsy; his tongue was long and he could bend its tip back on itself; he wore the current fashion, velvet jodhpurs, boots, rhodium manacles with jeweled locks, dark wrap-around glasses. He had bad skin and his fingernails were long, but the quicks were bitten and bloody down around the moons.

  “…and Fill…”

  The third was a killer. He made no movement. His eyes stared straight ahead and Neil perceived the psychotic glaze. He did not look at the third man for more than a second. It was painful.

  “…and Mr. Robert Mossman.”

  She invited him to join them, and Neil took the empty formfit where the domo had set his chin-chin. He settled into the chair and crossed his legs. “How’ve you been?”

  Lady Effim smiled a long, thin smile of memories and expectations. “Warm. And you?”

  “All right, I suppose.”

  “How is your father?”

  “Exc
ellent. He sends his best.”

  “That was unnecessary.”

  Neil laughed. “Less than an hour ago I said the same thing to someone. Excuse me; I’m a little cranky tonight.”

  She waved away his apology with a friendly, imperious gesture. “Has the city changed much?”

  “Since when?”

  “Last time.” That had been six years earlier.

  “Some. They turned the entire fourteenth level into crystal cultures. Beautiful. Peculiar. Waste of space. Helluva controversy, lot of people making speeches, the screens were full of it. I went off to the Hebrides.”

  She laughed. The crepe texture of her facial skin made it an exercise in origami. Neil gave it a moment’s thought: having sex with this creature, this power, this force of nature. It was more than wealth that kept three such as these with this woman. Neil began to understand the attraction. The cheekbones, the timbre of her voice, ice.

  “Still vanishing, Neil?” She said it with amusement.

  “You’re playing with me.”

  “Only a little. I have a great affection for you, darling. You know that. You amuse me.”

  “How are things in Australia?”

  Lady Effim turned to Fill. For the answer.

  “Cattle production is up two hundred percent, trawling acreage is yielding half a million barrels of lettuce a month, tithes are up point three three over last year at this time, and Standard & Poor’s Index closed up eight points today.”

  Neil smiled. “What about all the standard poor bastards who were wiped out when the tsunami hit two weeks ago?”

  Everyone stopped smiling. Lady Effim sat straighter and her left hand—which had been dangling a gold-link chin and baited fish-hook in her jeroboam snifter of brandy in an attempt to snag the Antarean piranha before it bellied-up—the hand made a convulsive clenching movement. The killer’s eyes came off dead center and snapped onto the thief with an almost audible click: the sound of armaments locked into firing position. Neil held his breath.

  “Mr. Mossman,” Lady Effim said, slowly, “no.”

  The air began to scintillate around Neil.

  “Neil,” said Lady Effim.

  He stopped. The air settled. Mr. Robert Mossman went back to rigidity.

  Lady Effim smiled. It reminded the thief of an open wound. “You’ve grown suicidal in six years, Neil darling. Something unpleasant is happening to you; you’re not the sweet, dashing lad I used to know. Death-wish?”

  Neil smiled back, it seemed the thing to do. “Getting reckless in my declining years. I’m going to have to come visit your continent one of these days, m’Lady.”

  She turned to the twinkle. “Cuusadou, what are we doing for the company peasants who were affected by the disaster?”

  The twinkle leaned forward and, with relish, said, “An absolutely splendid advertising campaign, Lady Effim: squawk, solids, car-cards, wandering evangelists, rumors, and in three days a major holo extravaganza. Our people have been on it since almost before the tide went out. Morale is very high. We’ve established competition between the cities: The one that mounts the most memorable mass burial ceremony gets a new sports arena. Morale is very high.” He looked pleased.

  “Thank you, darling,” she said. She turned back to Neil. “I am a kind and benevolent ruler.”

  Neil smiled and spread his hands. “Your pardon.”

  It went that way for the better part of an hour.

  Finally, Lady Effim said to Fill, “Darling, would you secure the area, please.” The professional student fiddled with the jeweled lock on the right-wrist manacle, and a sliding panel in the manacle opened to reveal a row of tiny dials under a fingernail-sized meter readout window. He turned the dials and a needle in the meter window moved steadily from one side to the other. When it had snugged up against the far side, he nodded obsequiously to Lady Effim.

  “Good. We’re alone. I gather you’ve been up to some nasty tricks, Neil darling. You haven’t been teleporting illegally when you were off-shift, have you?” She wore a nasty smile that should have been on display in a museum.

  “I have something you want,” Neil said, ignoring the chop. She knew he was breaking the regs at this very moment:

  “I have to go out for a while.”

  His father looks up. Their eyes meet.

  “No. Nothing like that,” he lies. His father looks away.

  He rubs and rubs till his palm is bloody. Then he vanishes, illegally.

  “I’m sure you do, Neil mon cher. You always do. But what could I possibly have that would interest you? If you want something you go to the cornucopia and you punch it up and those cunning little atoms are rearranged cunningly and there you have it. Isn’t that the way it’s done?”

  “There are things one can’t get…”

  “But those are illegal, darling. So illegal. And it seems foolish to want one of the few things you can’t have in a world that permits virtually everything.”

  “There are still taboos.”

  “I can’t conceive of such a thing, Neil dear.”

  “Force yourself.”

  “I’m a woman of very simple tastes.”

  “The radiant.”

  It was only the most imperceptible of movements, but Neil Leipzig knew the blood had stopped pumping in Lady Effim’s body. Beneath her chalky powder she went white. He saw the thinnest line of the biting edges of her teeth.

  “So you did it.”

  Now the smile was Neil Leipzig’s.

  “A thief in a time of plenty. So you did it. You clever lad.” Her eyes closed and she was thinking of the illegal Antarean drug. Here was a thrill she had never had. Farewell to ennui. She would, of course, have it, at any cost. Even a continent. It was a seller’s market.

  “What do you want?”

  She would have it at any cost. Human lives: these three, his own. His father’s.

  His mother’s.

  “What do you want, Neil?”

  His thoughts were a million miles away. A lie. They were only arcology levels above and across London.

  “You! What do you want?”

  So he told her.

  He would have preferred the other three not be there. The look of revulsion on their faces—even the zombie Mr. Robert Mossman’s—made him defensive.

  Lady Effim sneered. It did not become her. “You shall have it, Neil. As often as you care to go, God help you.” She paused, looked at him in a new way. “Six years ago…when I knew you…were you…”

  “No, not then.”

  “I never would have thought—of all the people I know, and you may be assured, dear boy, I know oddnesses beyond description—of all I know, I would have thought you were the last to…”

  “I don’t want to hear this.”

  “Of course not, how gauche of me. Of course, you shall have what you need. When I have. What. I. Need.”

  “I’ll take you to it.”

  She seemed amused. “Take me there? Don’t be silly, dear boy. I’m a very famous, very powerful, very influential person. I have no truck with stolen merchandise, not even any as exotic and lovely as soul-radiant.” She turned to the killer. “Mr. Mossman. You will go with Neil and obtain three tubes from where he has them secreted. No, don’t look suspicious. Neil will deliver precisely what he has said he would deliver. He understands we are both dealing in good faith.”

  The twinkle said, “But he’s…”

  “It is not our place to make value-judgments, darling. Neil is a sweet boy, and what he needs he shall have.” To Mr. Robert Mossman: “When you have the three tubes, call me here.” To the thief: “When I receive Mr. Mossman’s call, Fill will make the arrangements and you’ll receive very explicit instructions where to go, and when. Is that satisfactory?”

  Neil nodded, his stomach tight, his head beginning to hurt. He did not like their knowing.

  “Now,” Lady Effim said, “goodbye, Neil.

  “I don’t think I would care to see you again. Ever. You understand
this contains no value-judgment, merely a preference on my part.”

  She did not offer her hand to be kissed as he and Mr. Robert Mossman rose to leave the table.

  The thief materialized on the empty plain far beyond the arcology of London. He was facing the gigantic structure and stared at it for minutes without really seeing it: eyes turned inward. It was near sunset and all light seemed to be gathered to the ivory pyramid that dominated the horizon. “Cradle of the sun,” he said softly, and winked out of existence again. Behind him, the city of London rose into the clouds and was lost to sight. The apartments of the Prince of Wales were, at that moment, passing into darkness.

  The next materialization was in the midst of a herd of zebra, grazing at tall stands of deep blue grass. They bolted at his appearance, shying sidewise and boiling away from him in a mass of flashing lines of black and white. He smiled, and started walking. The air vibrated with the smell of animal fur and clover. Walking would be a pleasure. And mint.

  His first warning that he was not alone came with the sound of a flitterpak overhead. It was a defective: he should not have been able to hear its power-source. He looked up and a woman in torn leathers was tracking his passage across the veldt. She had a norden strapped to her front and he had no doubt the sights were trained on him. He waved to her, and she made no sign of recognition. He kept walking, into the darkness, attempting to ignore her; but his neck itched.

  He vanished; to hell with her; he couldn’t be bothered.

  When he reappeared, he was in the trough of a dry wash that ran for several miles and came to an end, when he had vanished and reappeared again, at the mouth of a cave that angled downward sharply into the ground. He looked back along the channel of the arroyo. He was in the foothills. The mountains bulked purple and distant in the last fading colors of dusk. The horizon was close. The air was very clear, the wind was rising; there were no sounds but those of insects fore-telling the future.

  He approached the cave mouth and stopped. He sat down on the ground and leaned back on his elbows. He closed his eyes. They would come soon enough, he was certain.

  He waited, thinking of nothing but metal surfaces.

  In the night, they came for him.