Paradox Alley

by John Dechancie

  It didn’t take me long to arrive at the decision. I had no desire to see the Commandant. When we got to the Y, I gunned the engine and swerved left, racing down the branch and into the tunnel. The robot either hadn’t noticed we had gone the other way or wasn’t willing to chase us; it showed no reaction.

  Maybe, I thought, because this tunnel is a direct chute to the discombobulator.

  But it wasn’t. We came out onto a high suspended metal ramp that curved through a perplexity of multicolored pipelines, cables, and exotic technology. It was at least a ten-story drop off the edge, and overhead the tangle of conduits and titanic machinery continued up out of sight. I slowed and drove carefully; there was no guardrail, and it was a long and very unpleasant way down.

  “Sam, was that too easy, or am I just paranoid?” I said.

  “Seemed just a tad too easy,” Sam allowed.

  We moved on, soaring through congested and confusing spaces. The ramp took odd bends, banking crazily as it swooped and swerved. Then it did something that made me come to a full stop.

  “Either this roadway has artificial gravity, or it’s for flies only,” Sam deduced.

  A few feet ahead the ramp did an outside loop, curving under itself and doubling back. It then twisted and spiraled downward, finally leveling off a dozen stories below. I looked at Sam. He shrugged. I shrugged, too. Why not?

  It was the best roller coaster I ever rode. A little disorienting, though, as there seemed to be about four equally valid centers of gravity to contend with. As we came shooting down the final dip, my stomach was debating whether to turn itself inside out or plant soybeans this winter.

  We moved on, encountering more nonsense. I could have sworn that at one point we were crawling across the ceiling, instead of the floor, of a huge compartmented chamber. I became convinced of this as loose debris in the cab began to fall up. Then it all fell to the driver’s side. I peeled a dirty sock off my face and considered taking a Dramamine pill. I had a headache, and the contents of my stomach were sloshing about. Darla looked a little green.

  “How long do we do this,” Sam asked, “before we admit to ourselves that we’re lost?”

  I looked back and forth between two branches of a diverging ramp, considering the choice. “We were lost when the saucer crashed,” I said. “Now we’re just making a proper job of it.”

  “Maybe Arthur knows how to get out of here,” Darla said.

  “Holy heck,” I said, “I forgot all about him.” Switching a mike to the intercom circuit, I called, “Hey, Arthur! You okay back there?”

  “Wonderful,” came the robot’s voice.

  “You don’t sound happy.”

  “Things could be better.”

  “Do you want to ride up here in the cab?” I asked.

  “If you want me to.”

  “As a matter of fact, you might be of some help.” I scratched my beard stubble. “Trouble is, you probably can’t squeeze through the access tube.”

  “If you’re talking about that hatch at the front end of the trailer, you’re probably right,” Arthur said. “Actually, I may be able to do more good back here. I have some of the ship’s sensors activated.”

  “Do you know where we are?”

  “Only generally. What we want to do is to find an access terminal that will allow us to plug into the computer network that runs Microcosmos.”

  I looked at Sam, who chuckled. “Uh, I think we were on our way to one when we got lost,” I said.

  “I know all about it, I was listening in. Yes, that’s where that maintenance robot was taking us, I think, though you were probably wise to play it safe, even if we did get lost. No matter, there must a terminal around here somewhere.”

  We meandered for a while longer, touring the guts of the machine that was Microcosmos.

  Presently Bruce announced: “I have made contact with an Artificial Intelligence who seems to act in the capacity of a supervisor, of sorts.”

  “I’m linked with it, too,” Arthur said through the intercom circuit, which I’d left open.

  “It’s a subsystem coordinator. Get off the line, Bruce. I’ll handle it.”

  “Very well,” Bruce said.

  Moments passed until I grew impatient. “What’s up, Arthur?”

  “Hold your pants on,” Arthur said peevishly. “I’m being routed up through the hierarchy.”

  More time passed in silence.

  “Okay,” Arthur finally said with a sigh. “You may find this hard to believe—I did—but the artificial brains in charge of running the machinery of Microcosmos don’t seem to know about Prime. At least I couldn’t get any sort of recognition out of them. However, they do seem to know about the Goddess. She seems to swing a lot of influence around here—which makes sense when you think about all the trouble we’ve been having.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “And that may mean we’ll never get off this pancake alive.”

  “Don’t give up hope, dearie. We do have some friends on this world. I’ve managed to get a message to the industrial facility where we hid out before. I got a reply. It looks like they’d be delighted to have us back, and we can travel there under their auspices.”

  “They can guarantee us safe passage?” I asked skeptically.

  “Practically. The situation has grown into a sort of an internal political tussle. I don’t think the Goddess will want to interfere, at least not at this point.”

  “Okay,” I said. “How do we get to the plant from here?”

  “I’ve arranged for transportation. We’re taking the train. And if you take that ramp to the right, we should reach the station in about ten minutes.”

  I followed Arthur’s directions, and ten minutes later on the dot we entered a high-ceilinged chamber bathed in red light. The layout of the place was complex, but you could see that a wide, slightly concave track or raised platform ran through the middle of it all. Suddenly things started shooting by at phenomenal speed—odd machinery, huge wrecking cranes like the one that had collared us, unidentifiable gadgets and doodads, all skimming along and levitating slightly above the track.

  “What do we do now?” I asked Arthur.

  “Sit tight.”

  A few moments later a gigantic crane arm reached out of a crimson shadow, picked the rig up, swung it out over the track, and lowered it down. A force caught us, and we were whisked away along the track at tremendous acceleration. It nearly broke my neck.

  Eventually the G-forces fell off and our speed steadied.

  “I nearly got killed back here,” Arthur complained over the intercom. “All this loose junk … and that stupid damned automobile!”

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “I’ll live.”

  “I thought you weren’t alive in the conventional sense.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

  Our speed was fantastic; everything outside was a blur. We shot through another huge chamber in the blink of an eye, entered a tunnel and sped through it, hurtling toward a mote of pink light.

  “Jake?” It was Darla.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did Arthur say what I thought he said?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it’s back there.”

  Darla was thunderstruck. “Jake, how?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “But…” She groaned, exasperated. “Which one is it? The one Carl created, or the one …?”

  “You were saying?”

  “Oh, Jake, I’m confused.”

  “You’re confused.” Then I remembered something Prime had told me. Everything will be returned to you.

  We plunged headlong into darkness, periodically flashing in and out of eye-stabbing light. Our speed must have been something close to five hundred kph, but I didn’t feel like asking Bruce to confirm it. I kept my grip tight on the control bars and my left foot heavy on the brake pedal; there was no telling when I might suddenly regain control.

  “Arthur,” I called. “How far?”

&
nbsp; “How far to the plant? Oh, I don’t know. At this speed we’ll be there in a few more minutes.”

  He was right. It wasn’t long before we began to decelerate at a mercifully gentle rate.

  “Now, if I can’t get the spacetime ship started again,” Arthur went on, “you can make a dash for the central portal. The plant is about a half day’s drive from it, as the crow flies.”

  “We’d never make it,” I told him. “Any chance of taking the train to a point near enough to the portal so that we’d have at least a fighting chance?”

  “I’ll work on it,” Arthur said. Then he heaved a mortal sigh and lamented, “This was a peaceful world before you humans arrived.”

  I asked, “Was anything at all going on before we arrived?”

  “No. And that’s just the way I like it.”

  “Sorry, but coming here wasn’t our idea.”

  “I know, I know,” he acknowledged grudgingly.

  We had come to a full stop inside another station, and another crane lifted us off the track and deposited us on a high ramp. I started the engine and drove off, again following Arthur’s directions.

  “How the hell can you see outside?” I interrupted.

  “I told you, I’m partially hooked into the ship’s sensorium. Seeing through walls is child’s play.”

  “Oh, sure,” I said.

  “Never mind. Make the first right.”

  I did, running up a wide ramp that went through a large rectangular opening. We entered an area that looked like a loading dock, and something about it was familiar.

  “We should be here,” Arthur said.

  “I am in contact with the plant foreman,” Bruce said.

  “Put him on,” I said.

  There was a pause. “Some difficulty in audio reception,” Bruce informed us. “Possibly due to our position. I suggest proceeding directly to the Display Area.”

  “Um … Jake?” It was Arthur.

  “Yeah?”

  “Is there—” The intercom went dead.

  I tested the intercom switch, found nothing wrong with it. “Bruce, do we have problems here?”

  “Yes, Jake, a short in the circuit. It will take a few minutes to locate it.”

  “Not important. Just get me to the showroom.”

  A huge sliding door was opening to our right. “That way,” Bruce said.

  A few more turns and we were back where Carl and I had first seen our respective dreams made real. Still no plant foreman, though.

  “Bruce, what’s going on?”

  “Sorry, Jake. We seem to have sustained some damage to our communications hardware.”

  “You should have reported it before this,” Sam said, his eyes suspicious.

  “First opportunity,” I ventured. “Right, Bruce?”

  “Don’t make excuses for him,” Sam snapped. “He doesn’t need them, anyway. He can’t—”

  “Sam, hold it,” I said, cocking my ears. A sound was conducting through the bulkhead, faintly.

  “I guess that’s the foreman,” I said. “Jesus, Bruce, are the outside mikes dead, too?”

  “I’m afraid so, Jake.”

  “Damn it, anyway.” I groused, popping the hatch.

  “Jake, wait a minute!” Sam shouted, too late, as the hatch hissed upward.

  “Don’t twitch a muscle,” said the man who was pointing the gun at my face. I recognized him as Geof Brandon, one of Zack Moore’s gunsels. “Not one move, mate,” he growled, climbing up one more rung of the mounting ladder and shoving the gun barrel under my chin. “I owe you,” he rasped. “I’ll pay you back later for sure, and I’ll burn your fucking face off right now if you blink a bloody fucking eye.”

  Zack Moore himself walked into my field of vision. He smiled. “Hello, Mr. McGraw. I do believe we have you.” And from the computer’s vocal synthesizer came the voice of Corey Wilkes.

  “That’s right, Jake,” he laughed. “And this time it’s for good.”

  23

  THERE WERE FOUR left out the original band of nine men. Krause had told me about the two who had succumbed to the hardships of the grueling trip to Microcosmos, and Moore now informed me that three, including Krause, had perished in the road battle. Of the survivors, I knew Brandon, of course; him I had shoved through the access port of an outhouse back on Talltree. Apparently he was still rather miffed about that. The other two I recognized from the little tussle we had had on the Roadbug Garage Planet. Zack Moore was the leader. He was a big man, large-boned and tall, thick-limbed and unyielding, like the massive trees of his home planet. His roots went deep; they were like braided iron cable, and they were tough, and mean. He looked as though he’d lost some weight. His face was thinner, paler. It made his eyes more intense, two motes of fire in a pale cinder of a face.

  Arthur was outside—Moore had asked him to leave, and Arthur was only too willing to oblige, with the proviso that he be allowed to take the collapsed spacetime ship with him. After examining it, Moore scratched his head and reluctantly agreed.

  Arthur was apologetic. “This is a strictly human affair, Jake. It’s not my place to interfere.”

  “I understand,” I told him.

  “No, you don’t, but I don’t blame you.”

  Sadly, Arthur left through the rear door. It closed behind him.

  This was a reunion of sorts. Everybody who wanted a piece of my carcass was there, including the late Corey Wilkes. He attended by proxy, of course—that being a rogue Artificial Intelligence program imbued with his memories and personality traits. A while back it had invaded the rig’s onboard computer, at one point managing to wrest control from Sam himself. Sam had fought back and eventually prevailed, but apparently with Sam out of the picture there had been nothing to prevent the Wilkes program from breaking out of its restraints and regaining control, this time disguising itself as the A.I. operating system that had come with the computer’s software package. “Bruce” had played his role well, biding his time, fooling the hell out of me.

  Joining in on the fun was another nonhuman being who wanted a pound of my flesh, Twrrrll the Reticulan, former leader and sole surviving member of his Snatchgang. A tall, gaunt nightmare in pale green chitin, he stood in a far corner of the trailer, his zoom-lens eyes focused on me. After all this time, he was still hot on my trail, and wouldn’t give up the chase until either or both of us were dead.

  A cozy bunch. We’d been through a lot together. Old friends.

  Moore whirled and hit me across the mouth hard with the back of his hand. “That’s just to start,” he said.

  Tasting blood, I tugged at the cuffs binding my hands at my back. I hadn’t gone down, and could have kicked at Moore’s crotch, but I didn’t, for fear he might have killed me right then and there.

  “You can have the cube,” I said.

  “Decent of you to offer,” Moore said. “We accept.” A dull, hollow thud came from inside the cab. “That’d be Murray blowing the safe,” Moore said.

  “I would have given you the code,” I said.

  “And have us set off a booby trap? Not likely. Besides, you’ll have no further need for the safe. Or this lorry. In fact, you won’t have much need for anything at all, by and by.”

  “I don’t understand you, Moore,” I said.

  “How so?”

  “All this trouble, all this effort. All for a dead Corey Wilkes—or is it George Pendergast who’s calling the shots here?”

  “I’m not quite dead,” the voice of Corey Wilkes said through the trailer speakers.

  “Corey, you died years ago,” Sam said, shifting his weight. He and the others—John, Zoya, Darla, Oni, and Ragna were sitting cross-legged in a circle at the front of the trailer.

  The voice giggled. “Sam, I’m still not used to addressing you in the flesh. I assume that is flesh, or some reasonable facsimile. When I first saw you like that, I nearly blew my cover. Quite a shock. But to answer your accusation, Sam—no. I didn’t die years ago. We simply began to think di
fferently. Rather, I did. My worldview diverged radically from yours. And, of course—”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Moore barked.

  “I think we do,” Wilkes said evenly.

  “Guv!” Murray came crawling through the connecting tube. “Guv, there’re two of the buggering things!”

  Zack eyed me; then looked at Murray. “What are you blathering about?”

  “There were two cubes inside the safe. Here!”

  He threw one out, and Moore caught it. Then he threw an identical cube. Moore caught the second, dropped the first, picked it up, and stood staring at both.

  “I’m buggered and damned,” he said.

  I laughed. It hurt, so I quit.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Moore demanded.

  “Two cubes,” I said, my fattened lip moving painfully. “One I came with, one I created here, in this industrial facility.”

  Moore snorted. “You don’t say.” He tossed them both to the third gunsel, then sidled between two crates and walked over to where the Chevy, in one of its many incarnations, was parked. He grabbed one of the door handles and yanked. The door didn’t give. He thumbed the little cylinder on the lock, pushing it in and out.

  “Now, this thing,” he said. “You will be kind enough to give us the key.”

  “Don’t have it,” I said.

  For that I got a whack on the head with something hard but not too damaging. I turned to see Geof Brandon brandishing a length of thin, hollow titanium pipe—a tent pole, probably. It had stung.

  Moore smiled pleasantly. “Want to amend that answer?”

  “No.”

  I ducked this time. Geof missed, but got me on the backswing.

  “Sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Geof whipped me across the backs of the thighs.

  “Look, you can have the car, God damn it, but I’m telling you I don’t have the key!”

  Moore raised a hand to stay Geof’s. “Forget it. Murray, take a look at this lock.”

  Murray rummaged through a tool kit he’d brought on board, selected a flex-torque wrench and a long thin metal rod that looked good for picking old-fashioned mechanical locks, then sidestepped his way to the Chevy.