Tomorrow’s World

Chapter 17

And so it was the end, the end of everything he knew. There was nothing any more. The Senso lay dormant in its cans, lacking the money needed to push it across, and the Rees effectively and systematically began squashing Vike entertainment.

Brant took to wandering. He’d put the agency up for sale, fairly certain there would be no buyers, but willing to try, anyway. He had a little money, enough to keep him eating, and so he wandered around the city, walking the streets, watching.

Autumn had given way to winter, and brisk winds moved in as quickly as the Ree upsurgence had. The sky had turned grey, and the dead leaves of autumn were crushed beneath the hurrying boots of passers-by. There was a clean feel to the streets, almost as though winter had somehow purged the air. He breathed deeply, feeling its crispness, tasting its ripe-apple tang. The wind left his face raw and his body invigorated. The people, Ree and Vike, huddled in their heavy garments, pulled their heads in against the cold, lifted the collars of their coats, cupped their ears, smacked their hands together.

The first snow came.

It blanketed the city in white. It covered the pneumotubes, gave a fragile, lace-like appearance to the crisscrossing levels of the city. It deadened footfalls, lent a hushed, almost reverent air to everyone and everything. He walked in the snow, listening to it crunch softly underfoot. It spread ahead of him in unblemished whiteness, clean, a blank sheet of paper. He walked, and he thought.

And he watched, and he listened.

He saw the broken pieces Deborah had tried to explain. He saw these, and he saw the people who were painstakingly picking up those pieces, trying to fit them together into a new pattern. Van Brant saw, and he tried to understand.

He saw young kids holding hands, walking through the snow. He saw bright, red cheeks glistening with health. He saw flashing white teeth, and he heard laughter. Real laughter. Laughter that was generated by a snowball fight, laughter that was spontaneous arid not the result of some scribe’s typewriter pounding.

And he saw tears, honest tears, tears that were not spilled for a stereosoap. Personal tears. Real tears.

When he made his decision, it was after a lot of thought. It was not an easy decision to make.

She was sitting before the fireplace when he came home that evening. The tint of winter clung to his cheeks, and his eyes were clear and bright. She did not speak as he fumbled out of his overcoat, shook the vagrant snowflakes to the floor. He hung his coat in the closet and then walked to the fire, rubbing his hands together.

The flames leaped against the stone chimney, and the wood crackled, and sparks danced like fiery demons, mocking the cold air outside the plexoid windows. She watched the motion of his hands, as he held them out to the flames. There was strength in the fingers, and she lifted her eyes to his face and waited.

When he spoke, finally, there was something of the old sureness in his voice again. Her heart quickened, and she held her breath.

“The new Senso,” he said firmly. “It’s still the biggest goddamned thing on the scene.”

He saw her hope fall. She bit her lip and turned her head to the flames, watching the patterns they formed.

“I’m taking it to Pelazi,” he said.

She snapped her head up abruptly, and the question was in her eyes.

“It’s all over, Liz,” he went on. “You know that. All of it. But this thing is big, goddamnit! It can still be used. Not the way we have it, hell no. But the process, Liz, the process. It can be used for something good... for real entertainment.” He paused, and doubt filled his eyes for a moment. “Don’t you think so, Liz? Don’t you think we could show it to Pelazi, sort of strike a middle ground? Don’t you...”

“Yes, Van,” Liz said softly. “I think so.”

Brant nodded. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe we can.”

She reached out and covered his hand with hers, and her flesh was warm and not at all repulsive. “It’s not the end after all, is it, Van?”

He turned to face her, and the question was in her eyes, and on her mouth, and she lifted her face expectantly, waiting.

“No,” he said. “It may be just the beginning.”