by Paul Anlee
She asked not how, but where—Darak noted. Which meant that the how—by Alum’s starstep technology or something related—was obvious to her.
“We are in ESO 461-36,” he replied.
“The Local Void?” Darya asked.
“Yes. Actually, I’m surprised it’s still included in your astronomical maps,” Darak answered.
“Because of the rebels of Eso-La,” Darya said. “It’s the only colony in that galaxy.”
Darak’s eyebrows arched. “That their existence hasn’t been purged from the historical record surprises me even more.”
“Officially, it was,” Darya replied, “Very long ago. I maintain my own separate archives.”
“I’m impressed. But then, you always did value your independence,” Darak noted, and smiled. “As well as your secrets.”
“Exactly how well did you two know each other?” Timothy’s voice, tense with confusion and filled with impatience, cut across Darak and Darya’s conversation.
Darak gave the other Cybrid a wary glance. “Your name is Timothy, yet your full designation begins GER.” He shifted his gaze back to Darya and raised a questioning eyebrow, “I’m sure there’s a story there.”
“A strange story of a Partial accidentally raised to Full, and a sad story of a fallen friend,” was all she offered.
“Someday you’ll have to tell me,” Darak replied.
“You could ask Shard Trillian.”
Darak’s face darkened. “Trillian was involved?”
“You know Trillian?” Timothy asked in a wary tone.
“We knew each other long ago. Not especially well, I’d say, despite working together on numerous projects.”
“You sound less and less like someone I should trust,” Darya said.
“Yes, I can imagine. Nevertheless, I’m likely the best friend you have in this galaxy.” His eyes narrowed. “That is, if you really are the DAR-K that I remember. Or Kathy.”
“I told you those names are meaningless to me,” Darya said. “I sometimes use ‘DAR’ but never ‘DAR-K’ or the other.”
“Hmm,” Darak frowned. “This is going to be difficult.” He passed a hand in front of his face, changing his appearance.
“Perhaps you remember this face.”
Instead of Darak Legsu, Greg Mahajani stood before the two Cybrids.
Brother Stralasi, momentarily forgotten in the three-way conversation, found his voice. “What magic is this?”
Darak/Greg grinned. “This is the face I wore when Kathy Liang and I first met.” He looked back at Darya. “Am I any more familiar to you now?”
“G-Greg?” The Cybrid’s voice faltered. “But, how?”
“Ah! A spark of recognition at last,” Darak said. “Not all of your earliest memories were damaged, I see.”
“What is going on?” Timothy demanded.
Darak/Greg changed his face back to the one Stralasi knew, and spoke tenderly. “I don’t know how I can convince you that I was once Greg Mahajani, Kathy Liang’s husband and friend of DAR-K, the Cybrid designated as DAR143147. I could tell you things only Greg and Kathy would know, but I don’t know how to select from so many memories. I don’t know which ones you have or haven’t lost.”
“Some memories may be less accessible than others; others may have faded. I feel complete, nonetheless,” Darya answered.
“You knew Greg Mahajani.”
“I remember working with a man by that name. He was a friend. He was also human. You may be able to look like him, but he’s long dead.”
Darak turned away in exasperation. His eyes implored Brother Stralasi for help.
The Good Brother’s brow wrinkled as he focussed on the problem.
“An interesting problem,” he began. He pointed a finger at Darak. “You claim you know this Cybrid but it has no recollection of you. Or rather some meager memories and recognition of your…uhh, let’s say, former face, but not enough to trust you.”
“She,” Darak corrected him. Then, in response to the uncomprehending look on Stralasi’s face, he explained, “She, not it. Darya is a she. Cybrids are people too.”
“Of course,” Stralasi corrected. “She has nothing but the barest recollection of you. You claim you were once married. At least, married to the human on whose mind she is based. You claim you can fix her apparent memory loss, but it would require some considerable trust on her part. A trust you have not yet earned.”
Darak frowned at him. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”
Stralasi could barely suppress his grin. “We can all agree you have abilities that rival Alum’s, yet you claim to be someone other than the Living God. None of us can verify that claim independently. Further, you claim to know something of Shard Trillian, who appears to be at least somewhat responsible for the evolution of the Cybrid, Timothy.”
“And you’ve neglected to mention that you’ve stolen one of Alum’s deplosion array elements,” Darya added. “If you’re not actually Alum Himself, you will have attracted a great deal of undesirable attention. For what?”
“I need it to generate a Reality Assertion Field large enough to shut off the Eater,” Darak replied, turning his attention back to the Cybrids.
“The Eater?” Darya involuntarily floated backward a meter. “I know this name but only the name, and a vague sense of astronomical threat. It is no longer mentioned in the official archives. What is it?”
Darak deflected her question. “Do you remember Darian Leigh?”
“I know the name; he is cursed by Alum.”
“Darian Leigh is inside the Eater. At any rate, his memories and knowledge are inside. The Eater was created by the ignorant abuse of a Reality Assertion Field generator. A colleague of Kathy’s and mine, a scientist named Larry who you probably don’t remember, trapped Darian inside it before it grew and destroyed Earth. Now, it’s out here.”
He pointed toward the north end of the asteroid. “About a light-week in that direction, less than one light year away from Eso-La.”
“It’s threatening another world?”
“Yes.”
“How can a deplosion array element help? And why have you brought us here?”
“Actually, I brought the deplosion array element here, which happens to be attached to this asteroid. I didn’t mean to bring you along with it; I didn’t know you were here. As for how it can help, do you remember anything of the Reality Assertion Field?”
“Other than the acronym, RAF, frustratingly little,” Darya admitted.
“The deplosion array is a huge Reality Assertion Field generator. The entire array can cast a field big enough to reach to the edges of the cosmos. The RAF is where my abilities come from. Alum’s, too.”
“Then it is the source of god-like powers?”
“Abilities,” Darak corrected. “The abilities are not magical; they stem from an understanding of the fundamental structure of matter, an understanding first achieved by Darian Leigh.”
“Teach me, then.”
Darak sighed. “I would teach Kathy Liang or DAR-K. I know who they are. I’m not sure who Darya is.”
“Impasse!” Brother Stralasi observed.
Darak glared at the monk. “You’re not helping.”
Stralasi bowed his head. “I’m sorry. Your power—your abilities—are incredible; from my perspective they appear god-like. Other than Alum, I have never known a mind so filled with knowledge; I can scarcely comprehend it. I feel little more than an insect before you. Yet you are stymied by a simple human emotion such as trust. The question is, how do two people—with a common opposition to a powerful foe but ignorant of each other—come to trust one another and move forward?”
Understanding bloomed on Darak’s face, replacing his anguish. “Trust is not automatic. It is earned. It grows.”
“Exactly,” agreed Stralasi. “It grows.”
Darak faced the two Cybrids again. “If you are opposing Alum and His deplosion array, perhaps there is something I can do to hel
p?”
“You could return this asteroid to where you found it,” Darya suggested.
“As soon as I’m done with it, I’ll do that. I’d give you the means to contact me whenever you want.”
“An entangled communications unit could also be used to track me,” Darya pointed out.
“And…we are back to issues of trust,” Stralasi observed.
Darak pressed his lips together. “Is there something else I could do to help build that trust?”
Darya thought for a moment. There was something he could do to prove his worth and his integrity. “I have a friend who is currently being held captive inworld by Trillian. If you want to gain some of my trust, you could rescue her.”
Darak clasped his hands behind his back and paced a few steps. “It’s dangerous. I would have to expose my mind to the inworld. I’d become a target of Trillian’s wrath, and Alum would be certain to learn my true identity.”
“If you have god-like powers—abilities, I should say—then why don’t you just bring the entire recharging station here?” Darya suggested. “If its inworlds are disconnected from the broader net, Alum won’t know who’s responsible.”
Darak’s eyes brightened. “Where is this place?”
47
Mary didn’t bother opening her eyes when she heard the squeak of her cell door.
“Back for more?” she asked. Her lips curled up at each end.
Program Ouroboros initiated—her spin-quark lattice informed her.
“I’m so glad you find this humorous,” Trillian answered. “Perhaps we should try something new today.”
She allowed her eyelids to rise slowly. “Oh, I do enjoy new experiences.” Her voice was flat, without a hint of fear.
“There are worst places than this, you know.” His gaze swung toward the window, behind which flared the fires of Hell.
She suppressed a shudder. “Anywhere away from you would be an improvement,” she said. Wow, I actually meant that. Trillian’s jaw tensed. “You try my patience, Mary.”
“And you’re a crushing disappointment, Trillian. I thought you were a holy man working in the name of God,” she said, defiance seething in her eyes. “Is this how God treats His people?”
“Do not presume to know God’s Will!”
Trillian waved his hand and the floor fell away beneath her, the psychological threat in the clear barrier beneath her feet was made instantly real. Despite herself, she cried out as she dropped into the gaping canyon. The wind tore at her cheeks as the rough, rocky walls flew past, out of reach.
She screamed not because she feared death. Escape by inworld death—whether temporary or a permanent truedeath—was too easy for Trillian. She screamed because she knew there’d be nothing but unrelenting agony at the end of her fall. She imagined her crushed and mangled body barely alive and in pain at the bottom of the canyon for days.
When she plunged feet first into the icy water as if she’d fallen no more than a half-dozen meters, the shock of it took her breath away. She swam upward, fighting for the surface and struggling not to inhale the freezing liquid.
Her vision narrowed to a dark tunnel with a bright light at the end. The light came from above the surface. Her lungs burned for oxygen, her skin stung, and her muscles cramped from the penetrating cold. Could she hold out long enough to get there?
She broke out of the water and heaved a desperate breath, coughing and sputtering. The air stunk of sulfur and it burned. Hell!—she thought. He transported me into Hell!
Her teeth chattered from the glacial water in which she was immersed but, above the surface of the pool, her head steamed. She contemplated doing rolls in the water to alternate the parts of her body exposed to the extreme temperatures. How long could I keep that up? No more than a few minutes.
The water felt like it was growing colder. I can’t stay here.
The fires of Hell were no more inviting, but she didn’t welcome the idea of slowly losing consciousness to hypothermia, followed by drowning.
Would Trillian permit me the release of unconsciousness? Could he keep me awake and alert at the icy bottom of the lake? Could he make me drown forever?
The thoughts were enough to make her swim toward the nearby shore and drag her shivering body out of the water.
For a few seconds, it felt good to be in the warmth. Then the fire surged around her, singing the hairs on her legs and arms. She cried out as she felt the flames lick at her exposed skin. She staggered backward and turned to seek the refreshing, cool water of the edge of the lake, but it was gone.
All around her there were flames. They rose up, more intense than when she’d first climbed out of the water. Her hair caught fire. She felt searing pain and choked on the acrid smoke.
She screamed and ran, hoping to outrun the flames. Failing that, she could only wish to fan the fire. If I burn badly enough, the nerves will be destroyed—she thought. Then the pain will stop and I’ll be able to die. She hoped. Until then, all she could do was cry out and run.
Her skin blistered and peeled, but the agony wouldn’t end. The extreme heat should have destroyed her eyes and killed nerve endings but it didn’t. She didn’t understand.
There! Off to one side, the flames were a little lower. She turned in that direction and found her way out of the fire. Another lake! She plunged into the cool, shallow water.
Only it wasn’t water. The lake of pure alcohol made her raw nerves scream. She scrambled back out as fast as she could. Touching the flames again, her ethanol-soaked body burst into a searing blue flame. She fell and rolled, but the burning didn’t stop.
Thrashing on the bare ground, rational thought finally penetrated her excruciating pain.
This is stupid—she realized. None of this is real. I’m not even real. How can this hurt so much?
Trillian. He had to be enjoying seeing her suffer this way.
“Trillian!” she hollered.
He didn’t answer. Of course not. Silence only intensified her pain.
I’m such an idiot.
She stopped rolling, stopped reacting to the shrieking nerve endings. Darya had given her the gift of fast and powerful thinking; she used it.
She sought the calm display of her concepta and the connection from her operating system to the inworld system.
The pain receded.
She followed the source of the transmission from the inworld code, through her BIOS, to her perceptual routines. She choked off the flow of data along that route.
Her conceptual structures had automatically altered her body to match the inworld experience of the hellfire. Her skin had burned and blistered all over, and most of her hair was gone. Exactly as one might expect in those circumstances.
Except that the hellfire had been virtual, not real.
She returned her body to normal, taking a few microseconds to improve her physical conditioning while she was at it.
Mary opened her eyes, and looked admiringly at the flames that surrounded her and lapped at her without touching her.
A nervous little laugh escaped. It worked!
“Impressive,” Trillian’s voice boomed from above. “Your time in meditation served you well.”
“Your assault on my senses won’t work anymore,” Mary replied. “I’ve reprogrammed my concepta to ignore your stimuli, however painful.”
“Hmm. A difficult balancing act, to be part of this world and yet apart from it. Perhaps we should explore how finely you can tune your sensations.”
The flames died out and she stood alone on an endless, scarred plane. As far as she could see in any direction, there was nothing but desolate landscape.
She picked a direction and started walking. As she strolled, she examined the inworld simulation. Everywhere she looked, the world was bleak and empty.
Where did everything go?
Without the barriers of her prison, she should be able to detect remnants of Vacationland. She scanned for quantum trickery in the code but found nothing. It was
as if the local inworld hardware had been scrubbed of everything, save this infinite plane.
No landmarks. No animals. No people.
This can’t be all that’s left. Did Trillian erase all living beings here, as well? Or did he simply withdraw them to some segregated storage?
She looked for a link to any other simulation or to the Supervisor. There was so much software to search, a huge number of places to hide an external connection in the BIOS.
“Very amusing, Trillian,” she called out to the emptiness. Again, there was no answer.
Is he still watching? She couldn’t detect any monitoring code in the simulation software.
She stopped walking and sat down. Why waste my energy?
She laughed at her oversight. So long as there was power in the quark-spin lattice Darya had constructed in the inworld hardware, she had infinite energy. Walking, at least, felt like she was doing something. She could walk while she explored code.
So she plodded along in as much of a straight line as she could manage without landmarks or navigational aids. This world has to end somewhere, doesn’t it? But where? How far away?
Alternus had simulated the entire Origin planet. Earth—she reminded herself. How long would it take to walk something as big as a planet?
She figured it could take a long time.
She walked for hours, maybe even days. The landscape never changed, nor did the grayish-red light that illuminated it in permanent dusk. Dusk? Always the pessimist, Mary. Why not dawn? The dawn of new hope?
The hope leaked out of her, bit by bit. It came off her in tiny rivulets that were swallowed up by the parched and ragged dirt.
Trillian could leave me here forever.
The thought of endlessly wandering this barren land was more of a punishment to her than Trillian’s previous tortures. At least in the dungeon and in the hellfire, she had something to push back against.
Here, there’s nothing to fight. Just endless trudging.
Her pace eventually slowed to a depressed crawl. Despite the available energy, her legs became listless weights. Her body became a burden dragged down by her hopelessness.
No death for me. No way out. No end. Just this. Forever.
