Impossible Places

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Now then: You still haven’t told me what brings you here. What troubles you? What would you like to discuss? The nature of Existence? The secrets of the Universe? The reversal of entropy?”

  “I have a headache.”

  “Oh.” Tamrul was crestfallen. “Is that all? Then why come to me? It sounds like you need to pay a visit to Doc.”

  “I thought I’d get your opinion first, Tamrul. The idea of going to see Doc doesn’t thrill me.”

  “Perfectly normal reaction. Nobody does.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if his reputation was better, but on my shift they’re saying he has a tendency these days to overprescribe. It’s only a headache.”

  “Well then, why don’t you drop down to Twenty-Eight and see Marspice instead? Maybe his diagnosis will suit you better.”

  “Come on, Tamrul. You know the physicians. They’d run a consult on me automatically, and I’d end up worse off than if I’d gone to see Doc in the first place. Marspice is out of my section.”

  “Consultation is performed to ensure more accurate diagnosis—or so they say. Still, I suppose you’re right. Someone in Administration might raise hell if you purposely avoided Doc Welder in favor of Marspice. What is so remarkable about this particular headache that it brings you to me in the first place? You have them all the time.”

  “I know. But this one is different.”

  “Different how?”

  “They usually fade away after a day or two, without ministration from Doc or anyone else. Not only isn’t this one going away, it keeps getting worse. It’s really bothering me, Tamrul. Bad enough to cause me to miss two checks: one in Underlying Physics and the other in Biosearch. Pyon covered for me both times, but she has her own schedule to keep. She can’t back me up forever. Pretty soon I’m liable to mess up on something important, and Admin will take notice.” She quivered slightly. “You know what that could mean.”

  “No need to be so melodramatic. I swear, you have a particular flair for it, Ory. In your own words, this is only a lousy headache, albeit a persistent one.” He softened his tone. “Much as the idea displeases you, I don’t think you have any choice except to see Doc.”

  “That’s not what I wanted to hear from you.” Disappointment flashed across her face.

  “Sorry. I provide honest opinion, not salving balm.” He was regretfully inflexible, as she had feared he might be.

  “I know.” She sighed resignedly. “I guess I just needed confirmation from someone else. It makes a difficult decision a little easier, somehow.”

  “At least I can commiserate.” He touched her gently. “You stop by again sometime, and we’ll have a nice debate on the nature of karma, okay? And remember that no matter how low you’re feeling, we’re still on course for undying iron.”

  “I know we are, Tamrul. Thanks for your time. And for your personal concern.”

  Reversing from the Philosopher’s cubicle, she let herself drift back out into the corridor. With an effort, she turned her thoughts to completing the rest of her shift. Neither the visit nor her determination did anything to alleviate the pain in her brain.

  But she did not go to see Doc. Instead, when she had finished her shift, she returned to her rest cubicle. Other Checkers were heading out, speeding past her, intent on making good work of the Beta shift. Pyon was already in her own resting place, curled up tight in sleep position. She blinked when Ory, unable to turn her thoughts off, entered silently. From above and below came the soft whispers of other Alpha shifters discussing the events of the day.

  “Lilido down in One Sixty-Five went crazy today,” Pyon quietly informed her visitor.

  “Wonders! That’s the third in six months. What’s the matter with those people down there?”

  “Don’t know.” Pyon shrugged. “Nobody else seems to, either. Apparently she was working normally when she just started spraying everyone and everything in sight. Finally turned the flow on herself and choked out. Nasty business, they say. Took a whole Maintenance crew the rest of the shift to get the mess under control. Routing had to shift traffic around the clogged Tunnel. Admin was pissed and didn’t try to hide it.”

  “If everything you’re telling me is true, then you can’t blame them.” Ory snuggled close to her fellow Checker and tried to relax. “Personally, I never thought those Lilidos were all there upstairs anyway. Always sucking up that gunk they work with. That’d make anybody go crazy after a while.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” The cubicle was silent for several moments before Pyon inquired, “How’s your headache tonight?”

  It was hard to prevaricate while the back of her brain throbbed. Not that Ory felt any need to evade with Pyon. She was her best friend.

  “It’s still there. Gets better, gets worse, but won’t go away. I went and told Tamrul about it today. He told me what I already knew and didn’t want to hear: that I ought to go see Doc.”

  Pyon’s soft whistle echoed eerily in the enclosed space. “Sounds pretty serious, for a headache. I think Tamrul may be right. How long have you been trying to cope with this?”

  “Longer than normal.”

  “I have some medication. Want to try it?”

  Ory hesitated only briefly. “No, thanks. I’d better not. I could get into real trouble if anyone else found out that I was using an unauthorized prescription. You can imagine the reaction from Admin.”

  “I won’t tell.”

  Ory smiled. “I know you wouldn’t, Pyon, but if there were persisting side effects or if it only made my head worse, it would come out during a deep-probe examination. It’s not worth the risk.”

  “Up to you. You’re the one who’s suffering.”

  By now the voices of the other Alpha shifters had stilled, and the resting chamber was suffused with the soft hum of sleep.

  “Thanks for covering for me yesterday.”

  “Forget it,” Pyon insisted. “What are friends for? Are you going to see Doc?”

  “It doesn’t look like I’ve got much choice. I’m about out of ideas, and I have to do something. I can’t take much more of this. Sometimes the pressure gets so bad my whole brain feels like it’s going to explode. I’ve had headaches before, but never anything like this. This one is unprecedented.”

  “You know what Doc will want to do.” Tension and unease had crept into Pyon’s voice. “He’ll suggest a purge of your system. They say that’s his remedy for everything these days. Diagnosis be damned, purge the system!”

  “Not this Checker’s system, trouble blotter.” But beneath Ory’s bravado she feared that her friend was right. “It’s not that serious yet.”

  Pyon turned reflective. “I know it sounds awful, but maybe a system purge wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Everyone says that you feel like a new person after a purge.”

  “Everyone says that you are a new person after a purge. They also say it hurts like hell. No thanks.”

  Pyon yawned. “Well, I’m glad it’s a decision I don’t have to make. My head feels fine. I hope you find some other way of treating the problem. I don’t mean to kick you out, but it was a long day and I’m feeling about half unconscious. Sleepwise we’re already significantly behind the others. Good rest to you, Ory. Go to the undying iron.”

  Ory tried, but sleeping was next to impossible. Desperately as she tried to ignore it, the headache did not go away, and it was worse by the time the next shift start rolled around. The internal pounding was so intense it was a struggle to keep from crying aloud several times. Despite her self-control she drew questioning stares from several patrolling Mokes and had to force herself not to hurry too quickly past them.

  There was no avoiding it any longer. System purge or not, she would have to go see Doc.

  His oversized cubicle was as spotless as ever, and his departmental insignia glistened beneath the painfully bright lights. So did his attitude.

  “Well hello there, Alpha shifter. You’re a Checker, aren’t you? I don’t get to see many Checkers. You’re a conspicuousl
y tough bunch. What can I do for you?”

  She sidled carefully into the cubicle, keeping her distance from him. Her hesitation made him chuckle.

  “Take it easy, Checker. Despite my reputation, I don’t bite. Not unless it’s required by diagnosis, that is.”

  The comment typified his sense of humor. Maybe another physician would have found it funny. Ory didn’t. Half panicked, she wanted out, but she was already inside. Recognition committed her. If she fled without allowing herself to undergo examination, Administration would be notified.

  “I have a headache.”

  He frowned slightly. “Is that all?” His expression critical, he turned and drifted across to a cabinet. “You want a repress injection? That should take care of it.”

  Despite the temptation to accept the offer and get out of that stark white place, she plunged onward with the truth. “I’ve had headaches before. I don’t think a repress will do the job this time.”

  Doc shook his head and looked sympathetic. “You Checkers: always worrying, always offering suggestions. I think you should all take more time off, but then I suppose you’d probably worry about someone else running your schedule incorrectly. Headaches are congenital with you, or at the least, an occupational hazard.” He pondered. “Very well—so you don’t think a repress will do the trick. What makes you believe this headache is different from any you’ve had before?”

  “I can tell,” she replied with certainty. “Not only hasn’t it gone away, but it hurts worse than anything I’ve ever experienced previously. And there’s something else.” She hesitated. “A feeling, which also won’t go away.”

  His gaze narrowed. “What kind of ‘feeling’?”

  “That something exceptionally out of the ordinary is going to happen.”

  “Dear me! That sounds ominous. Are you contemplating a change of specialties, perhaps? Thinking of applying for a Prognosticator’s position? Iron knows there are plenty of vacancies.”

  “No, it isn’t that,” she replied impatiently. “I couldn’t be a Prognosticator anyway. That’s too much like Tamrul’s work.”

  “So you’ve been talking to that old fraud. Filling your head with chatter about anticipatory emotions, has he?”

  Ory leaped to her venerable friend’s defense. “This has nothing to do with him, Doc. These feelings originate entirely with me. I didn’t get anything from him. Tamrul’s just old and tired and . . . bored.”

  “Maybe so. In any event, he is beyond my help. What he needs I cannot give him. Whereas you, on the other hand . . .” His lenses sparkled. “If you refuse a repress, that leaves me with only one sensible alternative. System purge.”

  She eyed him distastefully. “You enjoy your work, don’t you, Doc?”

  “Yes, and a good thing it is, too, since there’s been so much of it lately. Well, what is your decision?”

  She slid away from the examination brackets and along the back wall. “I think I’ll hold off for a while yet. I was hoping you might be able to prescribe a third course of treatment.”

  “I just told you: There isn’t any third course. Repress or purge, those are your choices. What else would you have me do?”

  It was difficult even to form the words, but with the threat of a system purge looming over her she forced herself.

  “Ask Mother.”

  All traces of Doc’s ready, if slightly ghoulish humor, evaporated abruptly. “You’re not serious. That’s a joke, right? A poor joke.”

  “I’m serious, Doc. I wouldn’t joke about a request that serious.” Pain flared in her brain, momentarily numbing her perception. She waited for it to subside. “I think we need to ask Mother about my headache.”

  The physician’s response was stern and unbending. “As you are well aware, Mother is sound asleep. She is not to be awakened because some lowly Checker has a bad headache. Where’s your common sense? Maybe you need that purge more than I thought. Maybe this is no longer a question of alternatives.” He was staring hard, almost accusingly, at her.

  She found herself backing away from that unrelenting, no longer sympathetic gaze. “I understand what you’re saying, Doc. My head seems better now. I think I’ll be okay. Really.”

  “So you claim. That’s what worries me. I don’t think there’s any question about it. You require purging. In fact, based on this interview, I’d say that it is long overdue.” He reached out for her, and she barely managed to skip past him.

  “Be sensible about this, Ory. I know what’s best for you. It’s my job to know. Now, are you going to cooperate, or do I have to call a couple of Mokes?”

  “Rest easy, Doc. You were right all along. It was just a bad joke.” She laughed. “I really had you going for a minute there, didn’t I? You think you’re the only one in this section with a low-down dirty sense of humor?”

  Eyeing her uncertainly, he hesitated with one digit hovering over the Call switch. Finally, he drew back. Calling in the Mokes was a serious step, one that the caller had better be able to justify. Her laughter seemed spontaneous enough.

  “First another Lilido goes off, and now a Checker plays jokes.” A warning tone pervaded his voice. “Don’t play these kinds of games with me, Ory. It’s too serious. Suppose I had called the Mokes?”

  “Then the joke would be on you. Really, Doc, can’t you spot a gag when it’s being played on you?” She resumed her methodical retreat toward the entrance.

  “Hmph. Say, what about your headache? Was that made up, too?”

  “No, but it’s far from being as serious as I made it out to be. This visit wouldn’t have been funny if it was. Let’s give it another couple of days and we’ll see if it goes away of its own accord.”

  “And if it does not?” He was watching her closely. “Suppose the joke doesn’t stay funny?”

  “If it doesn’t go away then I’ll certainly let you run a system purge on me.”

  He looked satisfied. “Now, that’s being sensible. Very well, we will hold off another couple of days. But I am going to have your shift monitored, so don’t think you can fool me about this. I’ll know if it gets serious.”

  “Of course you will. How could I hide something like that?”

  She practically knocked over a couple of passing Chelisors in her haste to escape from the white, threatening cubicle. The ambling pair recovered quickly and tried to peddle their zings and thomes, but she wanted nothing to do with their wares. Not now. All she wanted was to put plenty of distance between herself, the medical cubicle, and Doc’s eager, grasping hands. Most certainly she did not want to be purged by him. It seemed to her that he was growing a little senile himself.

  But her time for exploring options was running out. He was going to put a monitor on her shift, and her head hurt so bad she was near tears.

  There was one more close friend whose advice she could ask, one more independent party who would not prejudge her. She rushed heedlessly down Eighty-Five Tunnel, hardly bothering to acknowledge the greetings of puzzled friends and acquaintances. At the speed she was making it was not long before she entered restricted territory.

  Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she maintained her pace.

  Checkers could go most everywhere. She would be all right if she didn’t have the bad luck to run into an Inspector.

  That was what nearly happened, but the one who had been coming toward her stopped to bawl out another Checker Ory did not recognize, and so she was able to slip past and blend in with a crowd of maintenance workers. Jonn Thunder’s section was always busy.

  The rising heat began to affect her as she made her way through several sealports well striped with warnings. A Lilido or an unshielded Moke would soon overheat here, but Checkers were equipped for travel anywhere. As Doc had noted, they were built tough. She could stand the local conditions for a little while.

  Then she was through the last protective sealport and there he was: immensely powerful, confident of his strength and ability, hardworking and tireless. Not for the first time, sh
e thought she might be a little bit in love with Jonn Thunder. Her feelings for him seemed to go beyond simple admiration. For his part he sometimes treated her like an infant, infuriating her. She knew this amused him, but she could never get used to it. Her personality demanded that she be taken seriously. Perhaps, she thought, that was one reason why so many Checkers suffered from bad headaches.

  She didn’t think he would toy with her this time. He had the ability to sense seriousness in a visitor.

  “Hello, little Ory Checker,” he rumbled pleasantly. “What brings you to Purgatory?”

  “I’m running a check on its unstable inhabitants. Making sure they haven’t been guzzling any more hydrogen than they’re entitled to.”

  “Who, me? Do I look drunk? Hey boys: Do I look drunk?”

  Overhead, Matthew Thunder belched conspicuously. “Yeah, come to think of it, you do, but you always look drunk to me, Jonn.”

  “Been stone drunk these past hundred years straight, that’s my opinion,” Luke Thunder declared from another region of Purgatory. At the moment he was sweating over an uncommonly delicate adjustment. “He just camouflages it well, don’t he, Checker?”

  “You’re all making fun of me.” She would have admonished them further, but a bolt of pain made her yelp. Instantly, Jonn Thunder was all sympathy and concern.

  “Hey, little nosey-mote, what’s wrong?”

  She unburdened herself to him, telling him all about the headache and the persistent fearful feeling that accompanied it, about her talk with Tamrul and her encounter with Doc, and lastly of the suggestion she’d made that had nearly caused her to be short-listed for a system purge.

  Jonn Thunder was very quiet when she had finished. For a moment she thought he was going to berate her just as Doc had, and suggest a purge, but he had no such intention. He was thinking. Jonn Thunder might not be very deep, but he was methodical.

  “Did you make the same suggestion to Tamrul?”

  “No. My head wasn’t bothering me as much when I went to see him. Besides, I know how he’d react, what he’d say. He’s a dear old thing, but in his own way quite inflexible. That always struck me as a strange quality for a Philosopher to have.”