Linda Nagata - Memory

But the time of day was against me. It was still early in the afternoon, and most drivers were on the road. I looked into several clubs, only to find them empty, or nearly so.

I have known many truckers, and they range from intellectuals engaged with every aspect of the world to automatons whose only interests are chemical euphoria and machine sex. I soon discovered that in the daytime the second variety is far more common in the clubs. In half an hour I did not find a single player I dared approach.

And still I continued from one club to the next, my progress tracked by position sensors that brought the sleepy buildings to life with lights and video as I passed. One display in particular caught my eye. It framed a doorway, and the sights exhibited there were so bizarre my brain took many seconds just to puzzle out the parts.

Someone came up behind me as I hesitated in front of that club, though I was not aware of her until she spoke. “Ah, now, Jubilee Huacho, isn’t it? I remember you . But aren’t you a little young for what goes on in there? Hmm. You should let me show you a happier place.”

I jumped at the first mention of my name and turned, but without earphones it was hard to tell the direction of sound within the market. I toggled my viewpoint to the left, but the only players I saw there were well down the street. So I continued to rotate my viewpoint. I’d gone almost full circle when I finally discovered a diminutive old woman, hardly taller than my chest and scrawny, though what little muscle she carried looked tough and well used to hard work. She wore the bright canvas colors that many truckers favor, and though the wrinkles around her eyes and her cloud-white hair testified to an age well over a hundred, her back was straight and her eyes were bright.

Unlike me, she wore a profile, and it gave her name: Lita. I did not recognize it. Nor was her face familiar to me, and yet somehow she knew me, or at least she knew my name. Judging by the span of her grin, Lita was finding my confusion most amusing. “Now, Jubilee,” she scolded, “what would your mother say if she knew you were visiting a place like this?”

Certainly my mother would have found more words than I possessed at that moment. Lita. Who was Lita? I was desperately trying to dredge up some remembrance of her. She must have stopped at Temple Huacho sometime over the years, but I could not recall her. The names and faces of the truckers who had visited us were blurred in my memory and I could not say if I had ever seen her before.

She cocked her head and gave me a coy smile. “You don’t remember me?”

It was the worst manners to admit it, but I had not the wit to hide behind a polite lie. “No. I’m sorry.”

My apology was waved away. “No offense taken! You were a child when I saw you last. No higher than this.” She held her hand at the level of her rib cage. But then her face grew stern. “You’re growing up too fast, I think, if you’re already coming here for entertainment.”

My cheeks warmed. “Oh, but I’m not—”

Lita cut me off with another wave of her hand. “No explanation is owed! But if you’re going to play here, you should know better than to go in without a name. It implies things. Things you don’t mean, or so I would guess by the warmth of that blush on your cheeks.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“It’s all right,” she said with a laugh. “We’re all curious. But if you want some diversion I’ll show you a better place—quieter—where the real players log in.” She ushered me up the street with gestures and nods that were almost physical, chattering as we progressed. “So how is your mother? Tola was always such a determined woman. Has she kept Kedato in line?”

I could not help myself. A little pained noise escaped me and I stopped—so abruptly that Lita’s avatar brushed mine and disappeared for a moment, before jerking back into existence a step ahead of me. She turned about immediately, her gaze full of concern.

“I’ve said something wrong?”

My voice was not steady. “My father… he was taken by the silver.”

“Oh, no.”Her face seemed to shrink then, becoming something small and wrinkled as if her age had stepped forward to claim her. “Too soon,” she whispered. Then louder, “When?”

“Ah”—I did not want to answer—“a few days past.”

And what was I doing about on this street at such a time? I could see her wondering, and I felt the flush of my cheeks deepen. I was very young still, and I could not bear the thought that she would draw the wrong conclusion. “I’m not here for the clubs. It’s not that. I came because… because something strange happened and… there was nothing in the library, and I—” Her disapproving eyes did not make it easy to find the proper words so finally I just blurted what I had come to ask: “Is there any talk of a man who can survive the silver? Not Fiaccomo, but one that is alive today?”

The transformation was stunning. Lita’s eyes grew wide. She took a step back, glancing behind and to both sides before she spoke in a voice that had gone low and hoarse. “You came here to ask that question?”

I nodded.

“And have you?” she whispered. “Have you asked it of anyone else?”

“No,” I confessed. “There was no one who seemed… savory.”

That stirred a tiny smile, but fear huddled behind it and she continued to speak so that no passerby might overhear. “In that case we cannot altogether despise the filthy habits of this street. They’ve kept you from an attention you would not want. But, Jubilee, you are a young girl from a good family. What would move you to ask a thing like that?”

“I did not know it was a scandalous thing,” I whispered. Then I thrust my doubt aside. “I have seen him.”

All expression vanished from her face, and for several seconds she did not speak. Then she shook her head. “It’s lucky I saw you here. You’re lucky. The goddess must have her eye on you.” She sighed. “I don’t know much about him. The less known, the healthier for me, that’s how I see it. There are some who don’t react kindly to talk of him. They want him to be their secret, and it’s only lately I’ve heard of him myself.”

“Heard what? Of who?”

She glanced around again. “Not here.” With a sweep of her hand she gestured me up the street. We fell into step, resuming our journey toward the unnamed destination where she had decided to deliver me. As we advanced, she searched the street, her gaze darting to take in the face of every player who came into sight. She spoke under her breath. “I’ve set it up. She’s agreed to see you. That’s good. She won’t often talk, but you can trust her. I’ve known her a long time. What she said of the war in Phau… it made my hair stand on end. But the silver is rising, and she said we may soon grow used to such news—”

“What’s Phau?” I asked. “Is it an enclave?”

“Hush! Don’t say it so loud.” Now Lita spoke even more softly, so that I had to cock my head close to hear. “What happened in Phau was no accident. It was not bad luck. He called the silver. It’s what she said, and I believe her. The truth is in her eyes. They look like yours do now, bright and fragile with a vision they were never meant to see. Come. Come in here.”

She turned abruptly onto a tiny side street. Placing her hand against a wall of mortared basalt, she made a door appear where none had been before. When she pushed the latch, the door swung open onto a dimly lit room. “Enter quickly.”

I hesitated. Was this some bizarre game? Or might Lita be the very enemy she warned me against? I glanced back the way we had come—perhaps to see if an accomplice was following, I don’t know. My attention was caught by an open-air restaurant just across the street. Several players were seated at the scattered tables, talking, eating, engaging in their own business—except for one. He watched us. His gaze met mine: a smallish, stoop-shouldered man without hair on his shiny scalp. He gave me a cool smile.