The Omega Egg [A Fictionwise Round Robin Novel]

by Mike Resnick;Various Authors

  “Not as easy as you'd think, is it?” Paddy said. He snatched the egg from the table and trying balancing it himself, with his chin propped up on one taloned hand and a bored look glazing his red eyes. The egg tipped over and he set it up right again, let go, and once more it fell over, wobbling on the table. “I've tried holding it still for an hour or more, thinking maybe the yolk would settle in the middle and give it some stability, but no. It tips over again, every time.”

  As Paddy spoke, he kept trying to balance the egg. Spencer watched, his head pounding, the plate in his skull growing warmer and warmer until he thought it might cook his brains. Paddy continued to play with the egg, over and over and over, and Spencer imagined a lifetime of this, stuck here in this dimension with an Irish demon and an egg and nothing else to do. He could feel the frustration and anger building up in him, laced with everything that had happened since Admiral Ktonga had summoned him: the destruction of Goldmeadow, the kidnapping of Carol and his kids, the realization that the problems surrounding the Leonardoans could conceivably involve a galaxy-wide conflagration, Lindsay Parapara's machinations ... As he was mulling over the depressing thoughts, Paddy balanced the egg yet again, let go, and watched it wobble away once more.

  Spencer's head felt as if it were about to explode. “The fate of the universe is up for grabs, and you're balancing eggs!” With a poorly-stifled scream, Spencer snatched the egg from Paddy. He tapped it once on the narrow end on the tabletop, feeling the tip of the eggshell crush and flatten. He let go and the egg stayed standing, with egg goo and yellow yolk pooling around the broken end. “There,” he said to Paddy. “I balanced the damned thing.”

  Fireflies seemed to be glinting in the air behind Paddy. His mouth gaped open as he stared at the table. “You cheated,” the demon said at last.

  “I didn't hear any rules,” Spencer told him. The plate in his head was cooling now and the throbbing in his skull was easing, but the fireflies around Paddy had turned to meteors, as if the sky were raining stars. “Stand it on end, you said. I just did.”

  “I've brought in, oh, a hundred people over my time here,” Paddy continued, sounding aggrieved, “and none of them did that.”

  “Well, I did,” Spencer answered. He scratched the plate under his hair. “Even better, I think it worked. Take a look.”

  Paddy seemed to notice the light show taking place around them for the first time. Celestial fireworks sputtered above; the ground heaved and fans of shifting light arced up through the cracks. There was a sound like a gigantic egg being slowly crushed in a massive hand.

  Paddy's universe was cracking open. The air around them was brightening, and the feeling of intense cold made Spencer shiver. Paddy's little universe of negativity disintegrated around them, shattering with the overwhelming white radiance of a nova. Spencer felt himself falling, and he screamed.

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  * * *

  Chapter 9: Falling

  by Bill Fawcett

  Spence was falling .. and screaming ... then falling and not screaming. He had been falling for a very long time.

  The human mind is very adaptable. Even so, it was some time before the agent realized he did not appear to be falling toward anything. He was just falling, not floating in zero-G, as there was a definite sense of direction with a distinct down. It took some time—how long being impossible to determine—for Spence's muscles to loosen from being braced for impact.

  Just thinking about hitting the ground threatened to bring on another instinctive burst of fear. But while he fell, Spence was breathing. Or was he? Spence deliberately took a deep breath and then exhaled. Yes, he was breathing almost totally tasteless air. His hands found his face, but in the absolute darkness he could not see his fingers move even inches in front of his eyes. Were his eyes open? Ouch! The coarse skin of his finger hurt the sensitive ocular tissue, and he blinked away tears. His eyes were definitely open. Was there any light at all? Evidently not.

  The falling agent spun around, almost enjoying the sense of diving without end. Even as he moved Spence realized there was no sensation of passing through or against anything. The air he breathed had no other substance. Not a single hair was ruffled by it. He stared “down” and saw nothing. No sounds, no light, not even air rushing past, just his own breath and heartbeat loud inside his ears, the surrounding silence, and the sensation of falling.

  So Spence fell through utter darkness and tried to enjoy it. He recalled happy memories and became annoyed there were so few. Worse yet, most involved his lost family. After what seemed a considerable time, even the sensation of falling without danger lost its novelty and became more annoying than intriguing.

  Was he cold? No. Thirsty? Not really.

  So where was he? Was he been lost between universes? Was he doomed to fall forever, sharing this plane with nothing and no one else? The possibility made the agent shudder. He had to save his family, and maybe the whole galaxy. Spence tried to be analytical, if for no other reason than to calm his racing heartbeat.

  In his universe if you fell, you were falling toward something. He was not. Or appeared to not be anyhow. He had fallen long enough now that something capable of generating enough attraction to give his fall direction should have become visible. In his normal world the air he was breathing would also be pushing past him. Yet there was not a stir of a breeze. Time seemed to still be passing, but he was not tired or thirsty.

  So what did it mean? If he was lost, then there was little he could do. Wrinkling his brow, Spence tried to just will himself to somewhere, Leonardo ... to appear on Leonardo...

  Nothing.

  So much for his glimmer of egotism on the slight chance that if Spence was in his own little universe he was its god as well. No mind over matter or relativistic results, it seemed.

  So if his situation made no sense, then was it real? Was all this an illusion? Could he break free? Willing himself awake did nothing. Nor did pinching himself. But the agent refused to believe he was lost, and so this had to be something else. There was no other explanation for all this nonsense.

  The voice was shocking, showing Spence just how comfortably alone he had been.

  “That is a good word for it,” Parapara's voice agreed from nowhere, or maybe just from inside Spence's head.

  Telepathy, he wondered?

  “Not really,” the voice answered, “though your thoughts are being vocalized to us. Speak normally and it will make it clear which thoughts you desire a response to.”

  “Listen, Parapara,” Spence blustered, “what in the mad gods of Vega is going on?”

  “Just Para, actually,” he was corrected.

  Then a second almost identical but somehow slightly different voice joined the conversation. “I guess you can call me Para too, or Para two or...”

  “Or one Para too many,” Spence quipped, trying to get some bearings and gain some sense of control? Now he was hearing voices and they made no sense. Parapara was, well, Para and Para? “Where am I? Why can't I see?”

  The first woman's voice continued, “You are basically being subjected to non-sense. It is to protect your sanity during the journey.” It was the same voice, but without the anger Parapara always injected into every word.

  “Protect?” Spence sputtered. “With nonsense?”

  “No, not nonsense as in silliness. Rather non-sense as in not sensing your environment. I am afraid if you did there would be no saving you.”

  Spence looked around. Was there a glimmer of light? He could not tell. There almost seemed to be, but with everything around him being equally uniform and featureless he could have been projecting his imagination onto his surroundings.

  “Your kind can sense only a few of the many dimensions you exist in,” it was the second talking Para now, “it would certainly drive you insane when your mind tried to interpret what is happening around you within that limited context. If you had your normal senses your mind would try to bring order to seeing ten dimensions wh
en you don't yet understand the four you do see.”

  “You're no doing my sanity much good either,” Spence growled. But he had to admit that talking to even disembodied voices was better than being alone. Then again, maybe he had lost it and was making these voices up?

  “We are real; at least in the ten dimensions you exist within we would be defined as such,” Para one spoke.

  “I am shifting him in only seven now,” the second Para stated in a business like tone.

  “Was I supposed to hear that?” Spence asked..

  There was no answer.

  “Hey?”

  Still nothing.

  The agent began to worry. He was alone again. Suddenly it felt very, very alone.

  A long time passed. He noticed that the blackness seemed less, well, black.

  “We can communicate again,” one of the Para said.

  Spence twisted, looking around, still seeing absolutely nothing at all. But now the blackness seemed to have an underlying red behind it, just a hint at the edge of his vision.

  “There is little time left,” the voice added.

  “Until what? Until I hit?” Visions of finally and abruptly landing with a large, messy thud caused the agent to shudder and look wildly into the red-tinged darkness.

  “You are exceptional to remain rational at this point. You will remain intact.” It was the first Para talking. “The naval officer was not so strong-willed. We regret the result.”

  “The result?” Spence was not sure he wanted to know, but had to ask.

  “In his mind he landed hard, with a thud, as you put it.”

  “Gaw,” was all Spence could muster. He recalled the report he had read starting the mission. The naval officer had died without a mark on him.

  “Have you noticed that things in your world have suddenly become, well, disjointed? That cause and effect occasionally part company or that someone you know is not always who they were?”

  Spence nodded, not sure if they, she, it, them, his unconscious, or whatever could see it.

  “Long ago our race evolved on the planet you call Leonardo.”

  “You're the freakin’ Guardians...” the agent burst out.

  “The current Leonardins evolved from a scavenger that we sometimes kept as pets. They were smaller and much cuter a few tens of millions of years ago. But some of us do feel some responsibility for them.”

  “You do?” Spence nervously remembered the naval bombardment of Leonardo's cities. Could they have been bombing these Guardians as well? This could be bad.

  “Long ago my race evolved past any physical form. Your bombs could not harm us,” Para one answered his unspoken question. “We bear no ill will for what you or your navy did. Your bombs came only because of what others of my race have done.”

  Spence had at this point no idea of what Parapara, or Para and Para Two or the Guardians were saying. He merely tried to look like he understood, and nodded again. Then he realized they were reading his mind and felt foolish. The red glow was brighter now, subtly visible everywhere within the darkness.

  “There are not many of us remaining in contact with this, our original planet. Some of those who are still connected here have recently decided to do something long forbidden. They are experimenting with what you call reality, playing with it and watching the results their changes make, if you will. It creates a most exciting and ever-changing story, or stories perhaps, but a mad one with many authors and no direction. So few of the rest of us remain that we are powerless to stop them.”

  The agent was beginning to understand, and found he was no happier. What was he supposed to do if fifty-million-year-old ethereal aliens were changing reality? Though now the existence of different Patsys made sense. For a second he wanted to ask if they could bring back the less intelligent, but more complaint, Patsy Kelvin he had, um, known so well. But the Guardians did not answer. They continued their own narrative.

  “The problem is that as they change your realities it does not happen instantly; each reality intersects with the last. This is something new for us to see, the unrealities this intersection generates. Novelty is a rare thing for us after so many millions of years. It is rare to not be able to predict every moment and movement, much less to not be in control of the rich tapestry this creates.”

  “So some of you are screwing up this corner of my universe just to see what happens? Because it is entertaining? Why tell me?” Spence demanded, letting an edge creep into his tone as he felt his hands clenching into fists. Spence decided he had nothing to lose by being angry, or showing it.

  “Not all, or even most of us, agree that this should not be done. Soon they will tire of changing just sentient creatures, but will vary the fundamental laws that rule your corner of this universe. They plan to see what happens if gravity ceases to function, or light moves more slowly.” It was Para Two's voice this time. “When these changes meet your normal ones, it could mean the end of all life in this galaxy.”

  “But there is a way to stop it,” Para One interjected.

  “There is? What?” Spence asked.

  Para Two resumed talking.

  “When we chose to be able to interact with all thirteen dimensions, we lost something as well. Physical beings as you know them cannot sense or travel through the higher dimensions. Now we can no longer interact directly with what you call solid objects. Think of us as being a cloud trying to move a stone. We can see it and flow past it, but not move it. We can manipulate some factors of time and space, which is how you are traveling at this moment, but we cannot destroy or create a single atom.”

  It was definitely lighter now. Spence still experienced the sensation of falling, and a hurried check showed him that he was still not falling onto anything or anywhere. The area around him was still featureless with not a single ripple or change to be seen change as he moved, but somehow his body knew he was still falling.

  Para One took over speaking, “There is a device, hidden deep within the most protected place on Leonardo. It is the last object created by us before we changed. It also is what allows some of us to interact with your realities. Think of it as our last tie to the past. A device we left to allow us to interact with the dimensions we left behind.”

  “Eventually,” Para two sounded almost urgent, “the changes will become so great that all structure will be lost.”

  “Well, only in the sixth and ninth dimensions,” Para One corrected. Spence almost heard Para Two sniff.

  “Nothing in this part of their universe will survive to make the distinction.”

  “Wnderful,” was all the response the agent could muster. His fists clenched tighter and illogically, he felt he was falling faster.

  “What you need to do is find the object, which will appear to be a glowing, twisted strip of metal with no inside or outside. You must destroy it.”

  “How?’ Spence managed to ask. This was better. Destroying was something he could understand.

  “You must simply break the circle. But the twisted ring was made to withstand eons of natural changes, volcanoes and ice ages. It cannot be hurt by anything except a sentient being that truly wishes to tear it apart.”

  “Oh, I do,” the agent replied, feeling on firmer ground. Break the ring; that was simple.

  “Those of us who continue to desire these changes will try to stop you. We can be of no further help. Once you arrive, we will not even be able to communicate with you. If you succeed, we never will be able to contact you again. If you fail, you soon will cease to exist.”

  “Those creating the changes cannot harm you directly, but they can occasionally interact with the Leonardins, who will make every effort to protect the twisted ring. Their minions will protect the artifact with desperate determination, even though it will cause their destruction. They have made it the basis for what the Leonardins feel is their place and role. The Leonardin word for the changers is gods. The twisted ring is the most holy object of their faith.”

  The nothingness was d
efinitely getting much brighter. Spence began thinking furiously about questions such as where on Leonardo the Ring was hidden and if these two Paras were Parapara in his universe too or had just used her voice, but he got no answer. The agent verbalized more questions and waited.

  Nothing.

  Then Spence's nonsensical universe brightened even more. After the darkness the light hurt his eyes, but the agent sensed he was alone again. He remembered the Paras had said he was traveling. Where was he traveling to and when would he arrive? Or had it all just been the first manifestation of insanity caused by sensory deprivation? Panic mingled with concern and confusion.

  Then Spence stopped falling. He was standing in a hillside. The plants nearby were not from any human world, but were familiar. At his feet was a fresh blue bellflower. Not far away the agent saw he was being stared at. In fact, he was being stared at by half a dozen eight-foot-tall, thin, purple, oddly-jointed humanoids.

  He was on Leonardo!

  Spence had less than three seconds to enjoy the fact that he was alive, in part of his normal universe, and possibly sane, when the first shot hit a gray rock near his feet. The source of the bullet was a heavy caliber pistol one of the Leonardins was waving as the humanoid yelled and pointed. They all seemed agitated. That made some sense, as not only had they just seen a human appear from nowhere, but it had been less than decade since the Space Navy had bombarded the city whose ruins stood empty in the valley below. The jumble of broken black and red stones looked familiar. He had been here once before and that meant the agent had a chance.

  “Nards!” the agent spat. That was the name the garrison had given the locals. He dived for cover as a second shot rang out. Spence realized that there was a possible third reason for the Nards’ hostility: could the evil guardians know of his mission already? Had they sent these Leonardins after him? He was here on a mission, but what mission? Was he here to find out what happened to lost agents? Or did he know? Was he now here to save the galaxy, literally, or because he was no longer sane? Not long ago he was half the galaxy away on MacDougal II. Was he really here, or was this more of the Paraparas’ illusion? The racing thoughts lasted no longer than it took to hurry behind thick, turquoise bushes and lie still. The hill sloped steeply behind him.