his way down the corridor.
She sat on the floor of the flight-deck in the lotus position, the soiled soles of her feet upturned, thumbs and index fingers forming perfect circles. Her eyes were open, watching him.
He leaned against the wall, slid down and sat on his haunches. He felt unutterably weary, drained of all emotion. He tried to detect in Ten Lee’s pacific visage some trace of censure or compassion.
“What now, Ten?” he asked.
She lifted her shoulders in an expressive shrug, maintained her posture. “You have a choice, Joshua. We always have choices. It is the choices we make that determine how we regard ourselves.”
He shook his head wearily. “I don’t understand what the hell you’re talking about, Ten. What choice do I have?”
“I made a copy of the old Ella program. You can have it, and resume your relationship with the hologram. Or you can leave it in my keeping to dispose of later. The choice is yours. I am saying nothing to persuade you one way or the other, and I will abide by your decision.”
He hung his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“Then go, Joshua, and make your decision later,” and she closed her eyes and resumed her meditation.
After perhaps a minute, Bennett pushed himself to his feet and hurried down the corridor to the suspension chamber. His thoughts rang with her words, the need to decide. He knew what he should do, he knew very well, but the spirit was weak and habit was hard to break.
He lay down in his unit and closed his eyes, and oblivion claimed him.
This time, upon awakening, he was beset by images of flames, and beyond the flames Ella’s face staring out at him and calling his name. He reached out for her, towards her illusory fingers, but as fast as he approached her she seemed to retreat, smiling sadly at him.
He awoke in a sweat, her words ringing in his ears. He swung himself upright and sat on the side of the unit, massaging sensation back into his arms. As the minutes elapsed, so the images faded, became nebulous and increasingly more difficult to recall. He was left, as he made his way to the showers, with an elusive sensation of loss somewhere deep within him.
After showering he moved to the flight-deck, expecting to find Ten Lee there and not relishing the encounter. He found only Mackendrick, lying on the engineer’s couch. He looked frail; the months in the suspension unit seemed to have aged him, even though Bennett knew that the tycoon had aged not one second during the flight.
“Where’s Ten?” Bennett asked.
“In her room.”
Mackendrick eased himself into a sitting position and Bennett sat down on the end of the couch.
“How do you feel?”
Bennett shook his head. “I never realised how much suspension takes out of you. I feel like I’ve just had major surgery.”
“What happened to your body was even more radical than surgery, Josh. We were cryogenically suspended, maintained on a sophisticated life-support system for almost four months, and then revived. No wonder we feel like shit.”
Bennett smiled. “You okay?”
“I’ll live.” Mackendrick glanced at him and laughed. “For a little longer, anyway.”
Bennett saw that the old man was holding a pix; he’d been staring at it in silence when Bennett entered. Now Mackendrick passed it to him. The pix showed Mackendrick’s wife, Naheed, sitting on the porch of a big colonial house, smiling at the camera. Bennett passed it back.
“I miss her, Bennett. Even after twelve years. When we knew there was nothing we could do, I financed research into how the suspension units might be utilised to preserve life. Sustain terminally ill people indefinitely, until a cure was found. Of course it can’t be done. Oh, my scientists pushed the boundaries back a bit—the units can be used on trans-c flight for up to a year now, before living tissue starts to corrupt. Twelve years ago it was only six month, but that was a small gain. Nothing could be done to help Naheed, or the millions like her.”
“You never remarried?”
“Too busy, Bennett. Threw myself into my work. Never met the right woman. No one could replace Naheed. I suppose I shouldn’t have compared, but…”
Bennett found himself saying, “We can’t hold on to the past, Mack.”
“Suppose you’re right, but sometimes it’s the only thing to hold on to. Sita, my daughter…”
Bennett glanced at the old man. He was pulling something from the breast pocket of his flight-suit. He passed a second pix to Bennett. This one showed the head and shoulders of a young woman, presumably Sita, very much like her mother.
Bennett recalled that Mackendrick had said he was no longer in contact with his daughter.
Mackendrick was shaking his head. “When I said that the past is the only thing to hold on to, I meant that sometimes things happen, things that are hard to understand or believe. They leave you wishing that it might have happened somehow differently. You hold on to the past you knew before
Bennett waited, not wanting to force the old man to talk of things so obviously a source of pain and regret. Filled with a sense of foreboding, he returned the pix of the young woman.
Mackendrick smiled. “This isn’t an actual image of a real person, Bennett. It’s computer-generated, taken from pix of Sita when she was nine. It’s how she probably would look now.”
Bennett found his voice. “You mean, your daughter died?”
He wondered why Mackendrick had kept computer-aged images of Sita. Perhaps, he thought, for the same reason that I rely on the hologram of Ella.
Mackendrick was shaking his head. “It was thirteen years ago, a year before Naheed passed on. I was working at my offices in Calcutta. Putting in a lot of time. Looking back I realise I neglected Sita. I hardly saw her during that period. She was looked after by a nanny. She was just ten at the time.”
Mackendrick paused there, staring through the view-screen at the flickering void.
“I was at the office when the break-in happened. Sita was in her room, her nanny asleep in another part of the house.” He paused again. “They took some things from the safe in my study—nothing that valuable, as it happened. The shortest way from my study to the grounds of the house was through Sita’s room. They broke in through her bedroom window on the first floor. We don’t know what happened exactly…
“When I got back early that morning I found the safe opened and Sita missing. I… I couldn’t live through that discovery again, Josh. Finding evidence of robbery, thinking only of my daughter. Rushing to her room… There was evidence of a struggle. Things thrown around the room. But there was no trace of… no sign that she’d been injured. We think they took her because she saw them, might’ve been able to identify the intruders. Rather than kill her they took her and…
“At first we assumed she was dead, killed and dumped somewhere. It was a nightmare period, Bennett. I couldn’t help but think of the worst, that they’d sold Sita to surgeons for medical experiments, or for spare parts surgery, or to other evil bastards. Then, a month or so later, sightings of a young girl fitting Sita’s description started coming in. I was filled with hope, convinced that she was still alive, living on the street, unable to find her way home. I thought perhaps she’d lost her memory.” He shook his head. “That was thirteen years ago. The terrible thing is not knowing. I keep having these pix updated, in the hope that some day…”
He returned the pix to his breast pocket.
“We live in hope, Bennett, and I don’t know whether that’s an admirable thing or not. Perhaps I should have reconciled myself to the worst-case scenario long ago, and tried to forget.”
A silence came between the two men. Bennett wanted to say something, to find words of consolation. Instead, inadequately, he just nodded.
Footsteps sounded along the corridor. Ten Lee entered the flight-deck.
“We’re due to phase from the void in one hour,” she said. “Will you run through the systems with me, Joshua?”
Bennett nodded, relieved that she didn’t mention the SIH. He needed time to think about what she had said.
He left Mackendrick on the engineer’s couch, strapped himself into the pilot’s couch and for the next hour
