"Despite the fact that some of their parents are total idiots," Chornoi said through clenched teeth.
Rod gazed at the manager. "You're taking quite a risk."
Larn smiled. "I suppose a good lawyer could get me off. All those games out there are just machines. The customers may be learning, but nobody's teaching, right? And they don't learn very much, by the hour."
"Sure, but they spend so many hours at it, that they do learn!"
Lam nodded. "And will keep on learning, for the rest of their lives, I hope. Which is better than spending all their days without anything more than the primary education the law allows."
Rod frowned. "How many of them graduate from the games to the back room?"
"Only about twenty percent. Most of them are very satisfied with the games, which is why we have to keep thinking up more and more challenging ones. But between games, 3DT epics, and song cubes, I think we're getting a good, solid elementary education across to about a third of the population."
" Tis remarkable, surely," Gwen said, "yet can you teach them no more than that?"
Lam shook his head. "Not with the techniques we've worked out so far, though I understand some drunken poet Cholly knows, has come up with some new approaches to epics that're conveying abstract concepts. But the real limitation is learning how to reason—and that takes a live teacher to guide you."
"Yet ere thou canst so guide them, thou must needs bring them to this place of study."
Lam nodded. "The few who do develop real intellectual curiosity are quietly ushered back here to the books, where tutors can guide their reading and develop their thinking abilities through discussions. Education always comes down to the live teacher, right there with the student. Nothing can really replace the human mind."
"And once they have started learning to think," Rod inferred, "they're not too apt to turn you in?"
"No, not terribly." Larn smiled. "But if they do, there's always that lawyer."
"The lawyer can't get you off if the case never goes to court though," Chornoi said softly.
Larn nodded again. "There is that little problem. PEST intends to enforce the laws, even if they're not sure the person's guilty. And if they lock up one innocent man for every three guilty ones, who cares?"
"No one who counts," Rod growled.
"Which means no PEST officials," Chornoi added.
"Except. "^Yorick held up a forefinger. "Except that they're not going to lock 'em up—prisons cost too much. It's a lot cheaper to terminate them."
"Lends a wealth of new meaning to the term 'executive,' doesn't it?" Larn gave him a bleak smile. "However, there is hope, if you can call it that. There're still a lot of jobs that're cheaper to do by hand than by machine—as long as the worker doesn't have to be paid."
"Convict labor." Yorick nodded, lips thin. "Well, it beats execution, I suppose."
"Don't be too sure. For myself, I'd rather not find out the hard way. So let's get you folks helped and moved on, shall we? From the 3DT bulletins, I gather the armsmen are after you, and I don't relish having them as patrons."
"They are," Yorick confirmed. "But behind them are the PEST spies. They're trying to eliminate us."
"Join the club," Larn snorted.
"I did." Chornoi's face was frozen. "But I began to realize that their 'more efficient government' was going to end up being total oppression, so I quit."
Larn shook his head. "Only one way out of the Security Service."
Chornoi nodded. "That's what they're trying for."
Larn gazed at her. Then he gave a bleak smile. "Well, that explains it all nicely. Can't think what I can do to help, though; we can't hide you for more than a few hours—too risky. How about a quick makeup job?"
"That would help." Yorick nodded. "But what we really need, see, is to get into PEST's central headquarters."
"What!!?!"
"I know, I know." Yorick held up a hand. "But we're stranded time-travelers, see, and we think PEST might have a time machine hidden away somewhere in the bowels of its labyrinth."
Larn just stared at him for a minute, then shrugged his shoulders. "Why not? I believe the masses can be educated, don't I? But they've got an outer wall and an inner wall, folks, and all the gates are guarded by lasers that fire if you don't push the right button. The landing pad on top of the building has blasters all around it, and a dozen live guards day and night. I could go on, but I think you get the point; the only way into PEST HQ is to be carried in… as a prisoner."
Yorick looked at Rod. Rod looked at Gwen. They both looked at Chornoi. All four swallowed heavily, and nodded. "Okay," Yorick said. "How do we commit a crime?"
"We could have thought of this ourselves, you know," Chornoi growled as they walked down the concourse.
"But we didn't," Rod reminded her. "That shows we needed help."
Chornoi shook her head. "I still don't like it. Letting myself get caught goes against all my training."
"Yes, but this is a bright new innovation," Yorick pointed out. "This way, getting caught lets you keep control of the situation."
"Keep talking," Chornoi growled, "you may convince me."
Yorick shook his head. "No time. If we're gonna do it, we gotta do it now." He dropped back and, before the other three could quite realize what he was doing, he was pointing at them and shouting, "There they go!"
Everyone walking on the concourse, in both directions, stopped and stared.
Rod felt the old sick sinking feeling in his stomach and the itch between his shoulder blades, where he just knew somebody was aiming a blaser. "Too late now," he growled. "Gotta go through with it! Run!"
They broke into a sprint.
Behind them, Yorick was shouting, "Get them! That's Public Enemy Number One—both of them! And Public Enemy Number Two! Haven't you seen them on 3DT?"
But the passersby only stared at him, then at the fleeing trio. Fear haunted their eyes.
"Oh, f crying out softly!" Yorick growled. "If you want something done right…" And he ran after Rod and the ladies, howling, "Stop them! Stop!"
He'd managed to catch up to them before the Security Service finally showed up. Even then, not a bystander was doing anything but standing by—and most of them had just speeded up their walk a little, heads down, shoulders hunched.
But the Security Service finally did come swerving around a corner, and the ones in front dropped to one knee, aiming blasters.
"That's no good!" Rod yelped, and Gwen glared at the blasters long enough for her companions to charge.
The armsmen almost started to retreat, taken by surprise—but then reflex took over as Yorick slammed a fist into an armsman's belly, and Chornoi aimed a chop at another's collarbone. They blocked out of sheer reflex, and their mates joined in.
Gwen caught up and spun, back-to-back with Rod, as he furiously blocked and punched. She managed to stop every blow aimed at his back, and if a slender lady's forearm shouldn't have been able to stop a blaster swung by the barrel, who noticed?
Chomoi was chopping and kicking for all she was worth, and three guardsmen surrounded her at a respectful distance; but they were watching for an opening, and kept leaping in for a quick jab. Sometimes she caught them, but they were professionals, too.
Yorick grabbed an arm and a strap and threw an armsmen into one of his mates, but a third caught him with a forearm around the throat and yanked back. Yorick dropped to one knee and lurched back up, bowing, too fast for the armsman to counter. He sailed over Yorick's head, but another armsman slammed a haymaker into Yorick's face as he stood up.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rod saw Chornoi crumple. Apprehension gripped his belly as he thought, This is it, dear. Remember, knock 'em out if they try to kill us—or if they even get fresh!
Aye, my lord, her thought answered. She dropped her guard, closing her eyes, and started to fall just before the blow caught her. Then a sap cracked into Rod's skull, and searing pain heralded darkness.
He came to wit
h a raging headache and a dry-sand thirst. He cracked his eyelids open in a squint, and looked around. All he saw was white tile, and the surface under him was cold, very cold. He rolled his head to the side, and saw Yorick and Chornoi strapped to steel slabs, wrists manacled up next to their heads. As he did, Chornoi blinked, squeezed her eyes shut, then strained them open. Beyond her, Yorick was watching him, looking surly.
Rod took a second while a huge burst of relief washed through him. Then he stared at Chornoi and raised one eyebrow in question. She squinted against pain, but she nodded. Beyond her, Yorick shrugged.
So. They were okay. Now the apprehension could claw loose. Where was Gwen? She was supposed to have stayed awake the whole time, faking unconsciousness.
He heard a soft moan behind him.
Rod turned his head quickly and winced at the pain, but opened his eyes wider.
He saw Gwen with her eyes closed. Frantically, he felt for her mind, and found it lulled, buffered, adrift on a sea of drugs.
Rage erupted in him, but he fought to hold it in. Not yet. Soon—but not yet. Not quite.
The anger abated a little, enough for him to notice a nearby voice saying, "But why didn't any of them use any of those tricks we've been hearing about?"
"They did," another voice snapped. "They froze the blasters."
"All right, so they did pull one. But just one! From what I've been hearing about this gang, they had a hundred gimmicks like that in their arsenal!"
"So they panicked," the second voice snarled. "Or maybe their tricks really were just a bunch of gadgets, no matter what superstitious claptrap you've been hearing!"
"Then where are they?"
"In a trash cycler, dodo! They ran out of power, and these yahoos threw them away! Now will you shut up and get busy finding out what they know about those gadgets?"
The other man grumbled and turned. He saw three out of four looking at him, and stopped short. "Bruno!"
Bruno turned. "What? Oh, they've come around! Well, isn't that cozy? Okay, folks, let me explain—you're going to tell us everything you know about those gadgets you used, especially that force-field generator and the invisibility field. And, of course, everything about this revolutionary underground you're working for. If you don't want to, you're going to go through an awful lot of pain, but you'll wind up telling us, don't doubt it."
"Wwwhy… why not use drugs?" Chornoi still squinted against a headache.
"Because it isn't as much fun." Bruno grinned. He looked up, and saw the direction of Rod's gaze. "No, don't go looking for any help from her! We got our doubts about her, so we did use drugs to knock her out. She won't wake up for another dozen hours." He fell silent, eyes narrowing as he stared at Rod. Then he nodded and moved forward. "We'll start with you—and the old-fashioned methods."
Rod felt hands undoing his manacles. Frantically, he retreated inside his own mind, remembering the analog-appearance his mind had given him for the inter-universal realm they'd traveled from Tir Chlis. He knew he only had a few seconds before the beating started, and with that kind of sensory stimulation, he'd never achieve a trance.
But he made it—awareness of his body faded out as it was being lifted upright. Through the limbo about him, he reached out for the feel of Gwen's mind. There it was, a fragile hull on waters of Nepenthe, slumbering, removed. Gently, he moved closer, merged, melded, and moved inside. Waken, he thought. We're all done for if you don't. I might be able to handle them alone—but I might not. It hurt him to say it, but he had to.
Dimly, he felt a stirring; but she lapsed.
They could kill us, he thought. We might never waken.
This time, there was response—the single thought, Together.
Rod hauled back on the reins of exasperation, reminding himself that women's romanticism wasn't completely incurable. If that basic drive could be met in oblivion, there was one that couldn't. Grimly, he conjured up a vision of Magnus hugging a weeping Cordelia to him, while a glum-looking Geoffrey sat by, holding a dry-eyed but fearful Gregory. Alone, without us, he thought. Can you bear to leave them to strangers?
He had the impression of a titan, roaring up from the waters to look around. Then it clambered up, rage building into an avalanche.
Rod got out, and got out fast. Limbo seemed very safe suddenly.
But Gwen would awaken, and fight those sadists alone.
He pulled himself back down, forced himself to become aware of his body…
And it hit. Pain. Every square inch of his body ached, and some of it seemed to burn. Instantly he was aware, seeing, as Bruno threw him back against the steel slab in disgust. "This is getting us nowhere! You'd swear the guy doesn't even have a mind! Go get the probes, Harry!"
Rage built, at two brutes who would so maltreat a helpless body—Rod's helpless body! And they meant to do it to his friends, too—and his wife! The rage rose, and Rod welcomed it, reaching down into it for the power he needed…
But beside him, manacles burst like grenades, and Gwen stepped away from her slab, fury fairly flaming from her.
Bruno and Harry slammed into the wall, their bodies actually seeming to grow thinner for a moment before they slid to the ground.
Gwen turned, glaring in wrath. "They have hurt thee!" she cried, and began to touch and probe Rod's body. Wherever she laid her hand, the pain abated as the neurons stopped firing. But even as she did it, howls of agony filled the air, then were still.
Chornoi stared in horror. "What the hell was that?"
"Folk who watched us, unseen," Gwen answered. "What thou dost hear came through a device they had, should they need to speak to those within this chamber. They sleep now, of course."
"Of course," Chornoi repeated, numbed.
"I would nurse thee a week, an I could," Gwen said gently, "yet I cannot, and thou must needs arise and aid me."
"Oh, no—Ow!—problem. No, now, I can stand." Rod removed her hand gently as he hefted himself up onto his feet, aching in every joint—but functional. He kept hold of her hand, though.
Gwen gazed at Chornoi's wrists, and her manacles exploded. She stared, then rubbed her joints to make sure they were untouched by all that force. As she did, two more explosions burst the cuffs at her ankles.
"Watch out for shrapnel," Yorick said softly.
"I did." Gwen looked up at him. "None struck thee, did it?"
"Not a bit," Yorick assured her.
Gwen nodded and glared at his handcuffs. They burst, then his ankle-cuffs, too.
He stood up, flexing his fists. "Shall we go?"
Gwen nodded and turned toward the chamber door. "What bearing, husband?"
Rod frowned, gazing off into space as he opened his mind to the myriad of thoughts that spun and twisted through the great complex around them. Down—it would be down low, for protection… There! He caught the thoughts of someone thinking about sending something ahead. He focused on the thoughts… yes, "ahead" meant "future"— 3511, after Rod's own lifetime. He nodded, satisfied, and reached out to touch and meld with Gwen's mind, leading, showing her.
She nodded. "Aye, I see. Then let us go, husband."
The door blew out and away from them, its hinges and bolts shredded like raveled rope. Yorick and Chornoi stared, appalled.
"She's angry," Rod explained. "Catch up, folks."
They leaped to keep up with Gwen, and the familiar moire sprang up around them. Just in time—four guards stationed outside looked up in alarm, then yelled as they leaped back, whipping out their blasters.
The blasters burst into flames in their hands.
They howled, throwing the torches from them, nursing their burns. Gwen ignored them and moved on. The other three had to hurry to keep up.
Chornoi was still staring back at the guards, then turned her head around to look up at Rod. "But she's the gentlest soul I've ever met!"
"I told you," Rod said impatiently, "she's angry."
An iron grille blocked their path. Gwen glared at it, and it burst into sm
ithereens. She marched through the steel rain of its pieces, into an intersection. Blaster fire erupted from both sides. The bubble around them glowed briefly before the blasters exploded in the armsmen's hands. They screamed and whirled away. Gwen marched on.
"Uh, I hate to be indelicate," Yorick said, "but…"
"Because she loves me," Rod answered. "Besides, I've got some power myself, you know. I could survive long enough to get out of range."
They turned into a stairway. As they came out at the bottom, they saw a dozen men blocking their path with iron nets. Gwen narrowed her eyes, and the strands glowed white-hot. Flames licked out along them, and the guardsmen dropped them, cursing. Gwen surged forward, and the force field crashed into the dozen, bulldozing them out of the way. Some of them screamed as it squashed them against the wall, but Gwen paid no heed.
They turned a corner into a wide hallway. Twenty men were drawn up in front of a high double door in two ranks, one kneeling, one standing, all with blasters ready.
The blasters melted in their hands.
They threw them away with yowls of agony, just before the door behind them exploded into iron filings. The guards leaped aside, staring in terror. The iron filings filtered softly to the floor.
Gwen stepped through the door.
A lone technician stood by a wall full of keys, pressure-pads, and sliders, with an open-faced cubicle six feet wide set into it. At the sight of them, his mouth stretched in a grimace of horror, but he whirled and started slapping at keys and pads.
Gwen glared.
An invisible hand yanked the man off his feet, three feet into the air. Suddenly he slumped, unconscious, and the unseen hand dropped him in an untidy bundle.
"He sleeps," Gwen explained. The moire around them disappeared.
Yorick leaped for the wall and started turning and punching.
Rod stood slack-limbed in reaction. Only once before had he ever seen Gwen in a real towering rage, and there hadn't been anywhere nearly as much power arrayed against her.
"Dost'a truly know how this device doth function?" Gwen demanded.
"No fear," Yorick snapped. "I know the standard settings by heart."
The Warlock Wandering Page 27
