Paradox Alley

by John Dechancie

  “But I’m not human,” Prince said, “except in very small part. I will repeat, though, what I said to you earlier. It is a very active and vibrant part of what I am. Now. Here. When I am speaking with you. Otherwise, I would not be able to communicate with you at all.”

  I finished off another two or three fingers of brandy and set the snifter down. “Which brings us to another question. Just what are you? What is the Culmination?”

  Prime drained his glass and sat forward. “Again we run into the problem of trying to do too much at one sitting—and again I will try to convey some general ideas. Let’s begin by stating what the Culmination isn’t. We are not a race, but are composed of many races. We are not a culture, but are beyond culture. We exist outside the stream of universal events—we stand, so to speak, on the shores of the river of time, looking out across the waters. Yet in another sense, we are at the mouth of that river as it spills into the sea of eternity. What we are is this: we are that toward which the consciousness of the universe has been tending.”

  The rock-walled silence fell again, but this time I thought I could hear faint stirrings beyond the dark archways. My imagination, probably. But I believe in ghosts Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and I had no idea what day of the week it was.

  “Forgive the metaphors,” Prime went on, “but they are sometimes useful. What we are speaking of here is the evolution and final culmination of consciousness in the universe. Think of each sapient race in the universe as a tributary to that great river of awareness, feeding into it, flowing on toward some distant ocean of fulfillment. To pose the ultimate questions … then, if possible, to answer them. We seek the ultimate limit of knowledge. We seek the consummation of being.”

  Prime rose and swept his eyes around the table.

  “What you see before you—this body, myself—is but an instrument by which it will be possible for you to communicate with the Culmination. You have been in contact with the Culmination since our first meeting, some few hours ago. We will talk again, but now I must leave you. You will be conducted to your quarters.” The warmth of his smile was almost withering. “I have enjoyed our luncheon together. Forgive my being abrupt, but I have pressing matters to attend to. I hope you will be comfortable during your stay here, however long you choose to make it.”

  “I thought you said we could go now if we wanted to?” I reminded him. “Anytime, you said.”

  “And so you may. Do you wish to leave now?”

  I glanced around the table and got looks of varying degrees of befuddlement. “I think we have to take a meeting on that,” I said to Prime. “Can we get back to you?”

  “I’m afraid I will be occupied for some time,” Prime told me. “I had hoped you would at least stay the night. However, I can return in a few hours to hear your decision, if that is what you wish. You may remain here, or if you like, you may retire to your quarters to rest. It is up to you.”

  “Uh … um.” Nobody seemed to want to take the lead. “Look, can we sit here for a little longer, then go to our quarters?”

  “Certainly. I will send the guide to conduct you in, say, half an hour?”

  “Uh, make it twenty minutes. Then how will we get in touch with you?”

  “I will contact you again as soon as I can,” Prime said. “You can then apprise me of your decision. If you choose, you may then leave.”

  “Well, that sounds okay. How long do you think you’ll be? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Certainly not. I don’t think I will be occupied more than three hours:”

  “Oh. Fine with us, I guess.”

  “Very good. Again, I want say that I have enjoyed our luncheon. Your company has given me great pleasure.”

  “Well … thank you. I think I can speak for all of us—it’s been … interesting. To say the very least.”

  “Thank you. A very good afternoon to you.”

  We all got up as he turned and strode away from the table. He passed through an archway and entered one of a number of corridors branching away from the dining hall. Nobody said a word. He receded from us, striding purposefully, gracefully, soft-soled boots padding over the polished onyx floor, green cape billowing in his wake. Without looking back, he turned a corner and went out of sight.

  We sat.

  “Anybody know what that joker was talking about?” Carl asked.

  John cocked a sardonic eyebrow at him, then turned his head to me “We have a decision to reach, Jake.”

  I poured myself more brandy. These weighty matters call for inspired thinking. “I’m for getting the hell out of here, like, mucho fasto.”

  “I wish he could have stayed to answer more of our questions. So many of them still hanging.” John shook his head slowly. “Absolutely astounding. Incredible.”

  “If he’s telling the truth,” I said.

  “Well, I suppose he could be leading us on. I’m incapable of imagining why, though.”

  “Maybe he’s got plans for us. The last survivor of a dead race. Alone, desperate. Or maybe he’s just crazy, We don’t know.”

  “I think we are all very weary,” Yuri said.

  “I’m sleepy as hell,” Carl said. “I ate too much.”

  I realized that I was feeling pretty logy, too, what with the brandy and all. I set down my glass, resolved to drink no more. For now at least.

  “Any other votes?” I asked. “Lori?”

  “I think we should stay and find out if Prime needs us. I think we should help him.”

  “Why should we help him?” John asked.

  Lori thought about it, then said, “I don’t know if he’s God or not. But he did build the Skyway.”

  “Remember what he said,” Yuri reminded, “about the Culmination not possessing any technology.”

  John rubbed his chin. “Yes, he did say that, didn’t he? Strange.”

  “Actually, he said that they didn’t originate any,” I put in. “Doesn’t mean they don’t use existing technology.”

  Yuri shook his head skeptically. “I don’t know. Difficult to imagine all that miraculous Skyway technology just lying about, waiting to be used.”

  “Maybe the Culmination merely developed it, adapted it for the purpose,” Roland speculated.

  “Well, that makes them consummate engineers, at least.”

  I yawned. Recovering, I said, “I guess we really don’t know yet who built the Skyway.”

  “If the Culmination didn’t do it, who did?” Darla asked.

  “I suppose we have to stick around to find out.”

  “Then we should stick around,” she said firmly.

  I turned to Carl. “What about it, kid?”

  “I say let’s get the hell out of here. I want to go home.” John said, “Well, ‘home’ is a separate problem for you.”

  Carl cocked his head toward the hallway down which Prime had made his exit. “He kidnapped me, he can take me back.”

  “You’re still convinced Prime’s responsible?”

  “I sure am.”

  “Okay, that’s one no vote so far. Any others? Ragna?”

  “I am thinking—and so also is Oni—that we should be staying perhaps for the night, at least. Perhaps some further questions can be put to our host that he might be answering. Maybe?”

  John glanced around the dining hall. “What about all this? And what we saw outside and in the basement?”

  “Maybe the story about Microcosmos is true. It’s a museum, a junkyard, a disneyworld, whatever. And he’s the robot caretaker.”

  Yuri asked, “You think he’s a machine?”

  “Sure,” I said, “or an android, something like that. He admitted as much himself.”

  Zoya said, “He’s not human. I’m very sure of that.”

  “He sure puts on a good show,” I said.

  “Yes, he does.”

  Darla asked, “What about his saying that he was part human?”

  “Don’t know quite what to make of that,” John said. “What could he
possibly mean?”

  “What do you make of this Culmination business?” Yuri said. “Any idea, Jake?”

  “Nope. Sounded like a lot of bullshit to me. Actually, it sounded a little like what your Teleological Pantheism is all about.” I took a sip and added, “No offense.”

  “Yeah, bullshit,” Carl seconded. The Teelies looked at each other.

  “Remind me to kill you later, Jake,” Susan scowled. “But he’s right, John. It does strike very close to home.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice,” John said. “He sounded like a Teelie himself.”

  “I think he’s telling the truth,” Roland said. “And I think we should stay.”

  “Okay, that’s one vote,” I said. “Anybody else want to exercise his franchise. Or hers?”

  “Well,” Yuri said. “We…” He looked at Zoya, who returned a cool stare. “I think at least that it’s my duty to stay. The opportunities for learning here … I can’t begin to guess what secrets this place holds. The issue is clear. I must stay.”

  After a short silence, Zoya said, “I … think we should stay for a while at least. I…” She ran a hand through the tangles of her chestnut-brown hair, then heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes. “I just have a bad feeling about him.” She lowered her head. “I’m so very tired.”

  “You should be,” I said, “after running around the universe, lost for two years.”

  “Maybe. Anybody else? How ‘bout you, Susan?”

  “I’m intrigued, to say the least. I want to go home, but…”

  “Should we stay the night, do you think?”

  She nodded. “At least.”

  “John?”

  John brooded for a long moment. Then: “I would… I would not think very highly of myself if I walked away from the chance to discover the answer to some very basic questions. If Prime is a man … or a being from ten billion years in the future, he could tell us things … Lord, what things he could tell us!” He looked around the table. “It seems as if my no vote would be in a distinct minority, wouldn’t it? Therefore, I say we stay. I don’t think we’re in any danger.”

  “I wonder what became of our friend Mr. Moore and his lads,” Sean said.

  “No one thought to ask,” I said.

  “Maybe Prime doesn’t know they’re here,” Liam said.

  “He must. But he doesn’t have to worry about them. We do. They could show up here. Anyone forget to bring his weapon?”

  Shaking heads around the table. Everybody was armed except Lori, and that was because we were short a gun for her. “Well, we’ll take turns on watch. We should be okay. What about you guys—Sean? Liam? Think we should stay?”

  “Ah, it was high adventure we were wanting,” Sean said, grinning. “I think we’ve got it.”

  “That we have,” Liam seconded.

  “Jake,” Sean asked, “are you really voting no?”

  “If I had any sense, I would. But…”

  In my mind, the long string of events that had led to all of this played back like a recording on fast-forward. The universe and everything in it had conspired to get me here, it seemed. The Paradox Machine was still frantically spinning its wheels. I knew—I had known all along—that I would have to keep wrenching levers and pulling toggles until the damn thing either stopped or did what it was supposed to do, whatever that was. There was no avoiding it.

  “I say we stay and get some answers.” I looked at George and Winnie. “Those two look like they’re at home here.”

  “Home!” Winnie said.

  “Home!” George said.

  “Home,” I said, nodding.

  “Here’s the butler,” Carl said, looking behind me.

  The sphere was back, ghosting toward the table. It stopped a few meters away. Any time you’re ready.

  “Well,” Liam said, “I could use a lie-down.”

  “So could I,” I said, and yawned again. It had been a long trip here. A very, very long trip. Some ten or twelve billion light-years. “But,” I went on, “somebody has to take first watch. I will.”

  We left the dining hall.

  6

  THE DREAMS CAME that night.

  Our rooms seemed to be a full kilometer from the dining hall, or maybe our “butler” didn’t use any of those spatiotemporal shortcuts Prime had talked about. It turned out that the distance wasn’t quite that much; it seemed like a long way, though, what with all the twisting and turning. We saw nothing new en route, just more gizmos and gadgets lying about.

  The rooms were something. There were six of them—six main ones, anyway. They were spacious, with alcoves and walk-in closets adjoining each. The major spaces communicated by means of wide L-shaped passageways. There were no doors except those to the six bathrooms. The fixtures in these were strange but usable. What was remarkable was how the place was furnished.

  “Look at this bed!” Susan squealed.

  It was circular and big enough to park the rig on. Mounds of fancy cushions covered it. Overhead hung a tent-like canopy, and a translucent fabric screen ran around it.

  “You could have an orgy in here,” Susan said. “What do you say, gang?”

  “You go first,” Darla told her.

  There were other beds, most not as large, but big enough, three to each room, along with smaller daybeds, couches, recliners, and other things you could rack out in. More than enough for everybody. There were tables, chairs, settees, ottomans, and other pieces, everything executed with exquisite craftsmanship. The place was lavish. There were imaginative lamps, painted screens, inlaid tables, tapestries, intricately woven rugs, and shelves of objets d’art. Nothing in any of the rooms was done in a recognizable style. Some things were faintly oriental, others functionally modern. A few looked positively antique. All were tasteful and seemed to complement one another. The shiny black floor and the lucent green glass walls made the place absolutely striking. A showcase.

  “Nice,” Lori said after touring the suite.

  “I wonder if all this was here,” Liam said, “or Prime had his lads bring it up from the cellar.”

  “Had it manufactured special,” Sean ventured. Then he yawned, scratching his unruly red beard. “Mother of God! I could sleep for a week. After all that time in the truck…” He lowered himself onto a purple velvet chaise lounge and plumped a pillow. He sighed and smiled, then keeled over.

  He was right. Those beds looked inviting. Too inviting, maybe. But what else was there to do? We had some time to kill.

  “Okay, children,” I said. “Nap time. I’ll stay up, then. Carl? How about you taking second watch?”

  “Yeah,” he said through a yawn. “Sure.”

  I caught it, and yawned, too. “Jeez, everybody stop doing that. I’ll never stay up.”

  Ten minutes later, after everyone had had a chance to go to the head, they were all conked out and I was left stalking the suite like a ghost. I considered the possibility that the food had been drugged. But I had probably eaten more than anyone, and though I was tired as hell, I wasn’t on the verge of passing out. I felt capable of staying up as long as I needed to. As long as I didn’t lie down.

  There wasn’t much to do: Hanging in one of the rooms was a landscape painting, done with watery colors in an impressionistic style. I spent a few minutes examining it. It had been done on a hard oval board with no frame. The scene was of a pleasant, semi-arid planet, stunted trees fringing on a low hill to the right, jagged rocks up on a high ridge on the other side, a rock-strewn dry streambed meandering through the middle. A heavily cratered half-moon, far bigger than most I’d seen, looked over the hill in a hazy, dark-pink sky. I speculated as to where and when this planet existed or had existed. Inhabitants? No signs.

  I don’t know at what point I realized that this wasn’t a painting. The more I looked at it, the more real it became. Edges got gradually sharper, detail came into focus. This was a photograph of some kind. Perhaps. Something different, maybe.

  The scene
reminded me of a place I knew, certain areas of a planet called Osiris, I forget the catalogue number. The moon was a little too big, though. But Osiris has a pink sky. I remember eating lunch one day on Osiris. I’d pulled off the Skyway and had opened the hatches, letting in warm, dry air. Pleasant smells, quiet. I’d come by way of an ice world, and the sudden shift in climate was soothing. I’ve always liked that aspect of the road. Radical contrasts, abrupt changes. Yes, the place did look a lot like Osiris. Those rocks should be a little more on the beige side, though. Yeah, like that. And the trees were a little different. Make them a little taller and color the foliage russet—there we go. Come to think of it, Osiris’s moon is pretty big at that, but smoother. Not as many craters—make it look more like a baked potato with acne scars, that’s it. And I jumped when I realized what was happening. There was the surface of Osiris—beige rocks, russet trees, potato moon. I had changed the painting.

  I walked away. Or the painting had been reading my mind. Yuck. I don’t like things that hang on walls and read my mind. Don’t like it at all. Call me stodgy and conventional.

  I meandered on. There were other things to look at, other pictures on the wall, but I was spooked a little. I did stop to examine some pottery. The stuff could have come from anywhere. From Earth even. It had a vaguely American Indian feel to it—but I’m no expert, and really couldn’t tell for sure.

  The gang had all zonked out in one of the big rooms. George and Winnie were rolled up into a ball; Carl and Lori, too. Susan and Darla had stretched out side by side on the circus-tent bed, with long, skinny John prone and perpendicular to them, the three of them forming the Greek letter pi. Roland had curled up on a divan. Yuri and Zoya occupied separate day beds. Those two were not a pair. I wondered how long they’d been married. Must’ve been sheer hell. But then, their long, desperate journey must have put a considerable strain on things. Even so, I half regretted having picked them up. Sometimes their bickering got to me.

  I checked them all, looking for signs of drugged sleep, and didn’t suspect anything. I found out how to douse some of the lamps. Each was different, none seemed to work by electricity. I left one glowing—it was a goose-necked thing with a bright painted-paper shade—and walked out of the room, nearly tripping over Liam’s leg sticking out over the edge of a low couch.