Alexis Latner: A Pillar of Stars by Night

“As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t know,” Mark replied, glum. “I don’t patronize them like you do.”

Ev swept the escalator and the sidewalks below with his gaze. He said cheerily, “It’s in the same league as LA High, the Tower of London and Luna Prime. With a better unifying environmental motif.” Mark snorted in disgust. Ev turned to take a well-timed step off the escalator into the shopping district.

As he followed suit, Mark looked over his shoulder. He thought he saw the Pennington man, the thick black Virtuality glasses bobbing among the other heads of people being conveyed up by the escalator. But Ev led Mark away quickly. Mark lost sight of the glasses in the crowds that filled the lowest, mall level of Uptown.

Throngs of people, the City’s professionals leaving work and its affluent and leisured class coming for entertainment, surged through the pyramid’s thoroughfares in waves, much like corpuscles pumped through broad arteries and narrow capillaries. Except that Uptown had no heart.

The upper levels of Uptown were full of offices. An artificial stream descended from the pyramid’s apex to its base in spectacular indoor waterfalls. Between descents, the cascade flowed through pools and fountains on each level. Lush, well-groomed vegetation fringed the stream. “They did a particularly nice job with that fall,” Ev remarked, wandering toward the pool at the foot of the waterfall that tumbled down to mall level.

Mark glowered back. He loathed the stream. It pretended to be the soul of a forest. Clear and lifeless, a zombie imitation of something natural; it was an only an elaborate exercise in plumbing.

Ev stepped onto the stone path that led behind the falling water. Directly behind the waterfall, its sound absorbed his words. Only Mark heard him. “Mark, have you decided? It’s not a game anymore, not even for me. If we get stopped before the ship leaves, it could be unpleasant for us. You can back out now without having lost much more than a good many nights’ sleep.”

The liquid curtain blurred the crowds and the stores and bright lights of Uptown into a patternless watercolor. But the sharp edges of Uptown’s artificial color in fresh sharp memory pained Mark, as did the foul reek of the Wards, Uptown’s malignant shadow. And the whining sound of a bulldozer hitting a stump still rang in his ears even now, years later. “I want to go to Star Field.”

“For sightseeing, or for a further trip?” Ev asked drily.

“I’m still thinking.”

Ev sighed. “Follow me.” He plunged back into the shopping district.

Minutes later, to Mark’s surprise, they stepped out into daylight high on the pyramid’s side, at the skyport. Ev said, “Interested parties could find out about the airline reservations I made for us, but not that I parked my dad’s jet here. I used an alias.”

A valet wheeled the Merlin out, its silver skin and blue stripes gleaming, freshly washed. Under its forward-swept wings, the two big ducted fans were locked into position for a vertical takeoff. Ev preflighted the Merlin. He cycled its control surfaces and checked the fuel. Mark steeled himself and climbed in, buckling himself into the copilot/passenger’s seat.

Ev peered into the cockpit at Mark. “Usually you say something about how little it looks, and you pace around looking unhappy until time to take off. I guess you mean what you say about going as far as Star Field.”

Grim and impatient, Mark watched Ev, now in the pilot’s seat, finish the preflight checklist, using a string of icons on the glass instrument panel. The jet engines spooled up with a rising whine. “Here we go,” said Ev, commanding takeoff thrust. The ducted fans lifted the Merlin almost straight up from the pyramid into the gray air. The ascent tweaked Mark’s stomach. High over the city, the Merlin’s fans rotated into position for horizontal flight. The Merlin surged forward and merged into the interstate air traffic stream.

The little jet tilted toward its final course, westward. Mark stared out at the horizon that was bloodied by the tag end of sunset. The live animal carrier rested on Mark’s lap. One of the mice inside squeaked.

“Hey, thanks for holding that,” said Ev. “The trip would jolt them more if the carrier was just strapped in the baggage rack, and they’re gentle and insecure by nature. Nice mice.”

Mark glanced at Ev. Tonight—maybe because of the red sky’s light tinting his blond hair weirdly pink—Ev looked strange to Mark. Mark remembered the Reynolds family nickname for their son. According to Ev, from an early age his parents had called him Bern, short for Bright-Eyed Monster.

Ev informed him, “That’s San Antonio off to the right, and the Edwards Plateau, where the land stops being coastal plains and develops interesting wrinkles—see? I can get us an even better view if I drop a wing ” Ev’s hand rested on the slender sidearm control stick. He twisted his wrist.

The earth below lazily tilted. Mark closed his eyes. “Ev, you know how sometimes I don’t tolerate heights too well? Today’s one of those times.”

“Oh. Sorry!” Leveling the jet, Ev asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve thought about how we’re getting up to space?”

“As little as possible,” Mark replied grimly.

Ev flew in silence for a few minutes. Then, “Since this is the last flight—I’m going off the Air Net to do my own flying. OK with you?”

Mark nodded.

“I may even take the scenic route, since we have time to spare. Thanks to Dad,” Ev added, giving credit where credit was due and where the line of credit was extensive: the jet belonged to Ev’s father. “Some private jets can’t get off the Net at all. Dad calls ’em overgrown model airplanes. If you’re feeling vertigo, keep your eyes on the horizon. Hey, look at the sunset, that’s quite a sight! Have you ever seen a sea of red like that? The orange-brown streak at the bottom of the sky, though, that looks a lot like Titan. And for the same reason. Hydrocarbon smog.”

From Titan, Earth was just a blue star beside a brighter white one, the Sun. That must have made it easier for a Titanian like Ev to think about leaving forever. Ev did not seem unhappy, just excited.

Mark hoped that Ev would fly in a straight line with minimal sightseeing. Instead, the Merlin banked again. Mark felt his stomach quiver. “Why’d you do that?” he asked crossly.

“I didn’t,” said Ev.

The Merlin had an elegant, simple-looking instrument panel with dark, blank spaces for everything not in use. Ev tapped the panel with one finger. More of the dark places lit up: gray-green screens contrasted with the spidery graphics traced across them. Small bright icons flashed. The Merlin had more numerous and informative instruments than did a typical personal jet. Scanning the instrument readings, Ev said, “Aha!”

“What?”

“We’re back on the Air Net and San Antonio control is attempting to fly us in their direction. They can do that if a pilot is drunk or disabled.” Ev quickly pushed buttons on a keypad set in the instrument panel. “To regain control from their override requires a complicated response sequence, demonstrating that I am not incapacitated.” The Merlin’s slow curving turn stopped, the jet’s nose swerving back toward the sunset. Ev looked over at Mark, and his face was somber. “I wonder who persuaded San Antonio control to do that.”

The instrument panel flashed an eye-catching, bright red icon. Ev interpreted. “Traffic at four o’clock. No response to my computer’s request that they identify themselves. Move your head so I can see past you.” He studied the night sky beyond the back end of the cockpit’s bubble canopy.

“Is it going the same way we are for the same reason?”