Geoff Ryman - Air (or Have Not Have)

Everything went still.

Suddenly Kwan's attic was just a room, quiet and full of sunshine, a room full of peace, even joy. Mae cradled her stomach. I will build you a safe harbour, little boat. I will fence you in with docks and sea walls. They won't frighten you out of me. If I have to call on all of Air, you will stay.

Mae felt her face stretch with a relieved smile. She slept.

The army did not come. That day.

Mae still had to find a place to work.

She and Sunni had made amends, but Mae would hardly be welcome working on Sunni's machine day and night as she needed to. And it would be better if the Circle did not operate out of Kwan's premises. So where, how?

____________________

audio file from: Mrs Chung Mae

14 December

Dear Mr Oz-sir

It is plain that my business has reached the point at which it is necessary to run it from our own machine. The grant has been more than generous, especially as regards our beautiful knitting machine. Would money be available for me to operate a service centre of my own?

____________________

audio file from: Mr Oz Oz

14 December

Dear Mrs Chung-ma'am

It is possible. Form for grant is attached, partially filled in for you, but do not submit it until I can take soundings here. Your course of action is wise.

Mae scanned the message and pondered its every word for any sign that Mr Oz had sent the two encrypted mails.

She decided that he had. The soundings he spoke of were to find out how the government viewed Mae's controversial connection with the Wings. Mae felt like a traitor to Kwan. 'Your course of action is wise,' meant simply that she had done as she was warned, and moved her site.

Mae stared at the form, filled in completely by Mr Oz, except for a white box which read: 'Reason for Expense/Benefits for Community.'

She could say that she was running a service centre for the whole valley, so more commercial sites could be implanted. She could say that she was offering her own expertise in building sites, and publicizing them.

In fact, that was not just an excuse. In fact that was a very good idea indeed.

Mae sat pondering it, seeing it clearly. Mounting sites for Mr Ah's car repair, setting up an electronic voting station, providing a link for Mrs Mack to her Christian church. She saw specifically, Sunni's Valley Fashion Service. She saw again, the Swallow School, now on the Web itself, giving advice, explaining terms, trading Info with other Net traders.

She sat staring into another new branch of the future, happy.

The machine made a noise like a rooster. 'You have follow-up message,' said the screen.

'Mae,' said Mr Oz in video mode. 'My friend, the most amazing thing has happened. Open a second window, and I will transmit.'

She did so. The window was full of writing in the Roman alphabet and a photograph of the Circle: Kwan, Mae, Sezen, Suloi, Mrs Doh, Hatijah.

We look so happy, Mae thought. We look like the kindest people in the world, and the happiest.

Mr Genuinely Sincere kept talking: 'Mae. It is an article that has appeared in the New York Times, both online and in disk. It is called "Mae's Story," and it is by one of your customers – you know her, an editor of a New York magpie. Mae, it is all about your life and how you fight for info, and how Mrs Tung was copied into your mind by overhasty Formats. It quotes your friend Mr Tunch. It quotes you saying you hate the UN Format. But Mae! It is a perfect reflection of the government line! How the West must not take us for granted, but must consult on Info. It could not be better. Everyone here is so pleased! They are calling it a diplomatic coup for Karzistan!'

Mae looked at the photograph of Kwan's beautiful face. Have I managed, accidentally, to save my friend?

'Does this mean I get my own machine?' Mae asked.

Mr Oz laughed. 'I expect so.'

And suddenly Mae was sure: Oz was not the one who had warned her. He would never be so cunning or so quick. She was relieved she had been so discreet in her mail to him.

It was Tunch, she realized, Tunch who had intervened.

'Let me complete the form and send it to you.'

And that meant the encryption equations came from Tunch as well.

That means Tunch watches me, in Air. Guardian angel indeed.

Oz jerked with pleasure like a colt. Mae thought: Being robbed and thrown in jail by his bosses has not made him older. He will always be a boy.

He asked her. 'You okay on what to say on the form?'

'I know exactly what I want to do with it, but you advise me, okay?'

'Okay. You want to save the article? Your machine can read it.'

Mae paused and reflected. 'No,' she said quietly. 'I would rather not.'

He looked a bit perplexed. Then the windows closed. Mae completed her application and sent it to him.

Then she asked the television to write a proper letter to Sunni.

My old friend,

How strange is life. I keep saying that these days, especially thinking over the last few months. Now, here comes something just as strange as everything else that has happened.

Can I rent my old house from you? Consider: The real value of what you have purchased resides in the land, and there are plenty of farmers hereabouts to whom you can rent the land. That is very good business for you, especially as you do not need to give accommodation as part of the deal. It is pure land rental. So what do you do with the house? Rent it to Mr Ken for his hens? How much is he going to pay you for a barn?

Ah, but, Sunni, a workshop for my Circle, now that is a business premise, and you can charge far more for that. And I will have the money to pay, once my machinery arrives.

I make a proposition to you. I offer 10 riels a month rental. That is in place of given-away accommodation on which you make nothing, or 5 riels a year for a ham - 120 riels a year.

Do we need to talk further?

And, Sunni, for me the old days are dead, forgotten. Forgiven. My hope now is that you can forgive me the wrongs I did to you. Your friend Mae

Mae sat back and looked at the letter. So, she thought, my battle for the future begins again. I'm doing it for my baby. New song new life.

Mae looked out of her attic window and saw snow was falling.

Winter is here, she thought with excitement. Winter was dark, enfolding, and safe. She saw her new winter very clearly: long happy hours alone in her old house, with her own glowing screen.

In the grey morning, snow blew like feathers. It nestled along the top of the stone wall, and on the roof tiles. This was good heavy snow that fell with a gentle hissing sound and mounted up quickly, as if the town were being padded with thick white pillows.

It had been so long since Mae had been outside. In winter, everyone stayed inside; no one would see her. The snow would be a veil.

Mae threw a scarf over her head, and wrapped round one of Kwan's Eloi sheepskins. It sat slightly askew around her shoulders, bulky and still smelling of lanolin.

Outside on the landing, she snapped on a light. The staircase stayed dark. Kwan called up through the darkness. 'There's a power failure!'

Mae felt her way down the staircase. The main room had its front door open to let in grey light.

'I'm going out in the snow!' Mae announced. 'Come along!'

Kwan's answering chuckle was both affectionate and edgy. There had been no sign of the army, but Kwan was still cautious. 'I'll stay here,' said Kwan.

Mae eased herself down Kwan's slippery stone steps. The snow was already sealing over the dungheap next to the barn. Mae's own breath was a sheltering scarf of fog.