I opened the bottle and studied the pills, which were small and dark and soft, like caviar. I tossed them in my mouth, took a gulp from the canteen, and swallowed. “What are they?”
“Brain worms,” she said.
I froze.
She caught my expression, and added quickly, “Oh, but not bad brain worms. Good brain worms. They know most of the languages that are spoken across the worlds, and pretty soon you will too.”
“Oh,” I said, uncertainly.
She passed me the knapsack. “Take this too. It’s got pretty much everything a cross-world traveler might need. There’s silver in the side pocket.”
“Silver?” I said.
“Right. It makes a good universal currency. It gets traded around quite a lot, actually, so any silver you come across has a fair chance of having a higher OF than ambient materials. Doesn’t this world have any legends about invincible monsters that can only be harmed by silver?”
“Yeah,” I said.
She nodded. “Most worlds do. Now you know why.” She frowned. “Unfortunately, I have yet to come across anything on this piece of crap world with a high OF.”
I was getting a little irked by her attitude. I mean, I had mixed feelings about this world myself, but it was my home. On the other hand, maybe the place she came from really was a whole lot better. Certainly what little I’d seen of a world with an OF of two tended to bear out her prejudices. That reminded me...
“What if I get attacked again?” I said.
She blanched. “Yeah, that’s an issue, for sure. Be careful with yourself. They’re eights and you’re a five, so they’re basically untouchable as far as you’re concerned. But I don’t expect you’ll have any problems. Eights tend to be pretty civilized, you’ll see.”
I shouldered the pack. “All right. Is that everything?”
“Yup,” she said. “Thanks for doing this, kid, I really appreciate it. See you soon, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, and departed the library, making my way toward the orange door.
I stepped out into a hot, dry day, and looked around. On this side, the door was built into a white brick wall that was about as tall as I was, and that hugged the contours of the rolling hills for as far as I could see in either direction. In the valley below, a perfectly straight road ran from the horizon to a city of gleaming spires a few miles away.
I took a deep breath, adjusted my pack, and started down the hill toward the road. Hopefully, I thought, my sophomore effort at cross-world travel would turn out more auspiciously than my first. Though I was a lot more prepared this time around. I had shoes, for one thing, and a pack full of food and water and money. I also had a gun, though it was empty. Most importantly, I had a rough idea of what was going on.
I also had worms in my brain. Good worms. Yeah.
On the other hand, this world was an eight, and I was a mere five. I stomped on the ground experimentally. I supposed that it did feel a bit more substantial than usual, and the colors around me did look more vibrant and saturated, especially the looming orange sky.
After an hour I reached the road, which was a hundred feet across and made of a smooth white substance that showed virtually no wear. I set off toward the city.
A bit later I heard a distant humming sound, and raised my head. Something was speeding down the road toward me, and throwing up clouds of dust as it came. It was white, and seemed to float above the ground. As it neared I saw that it looked almost exactly like a giant flying egg.
It came to a halt beside me, then spoke in a low, soothing voice. The language was unfamiliar, but I realized that I could indeed understand it. It said, “Greetings, pilgrim. May I conduct you to the city?”
“Um, okay,” I replied, in that same language.
The egg’s top half unfolded like a blooming flower, revealing a cushioned red seat within. “Welcome aboard.”
I climbed a short set of steps and settled into the chair. The dome re-formed itself above me—the vehicle resuming its egglike shape—and we accelerated toward the city. From inside, the thing’s walls were transparent, and I watched as the ground sped by beneath us and the city drew ever nearer.
We flew through an enormous gate and came to a halt in a white plaza beside a giant fountain. The vehicle opened and let me out, then sped away, back to wherever flying eggs go.
There were people all around me. They were varied in appearance, but were all apparently human, and most were dressed in white, their garments simple and clean. I felt a little conspicuous standing there in my street clothes, which were still a bit spattered with fish-man, but no one seemed to pay me any attention as they strolled about, chatting and laughing.
I wandered down a broad avenue toward the city center, keeping an eye out for any sort of weapon. Having no knowledge of local customs, I was a bit reluctant to just come right out and ask where I could buy a gun. I kept hoping to see a big sign with a sword or machinegun on it, but no such luck.
I passed a park. The grass there had been shaped into a triangular field, upon which children played a sport involving a cube-shaped ball and sticks that looked like a cross between a golf club and a cricket bat. I paused for a moment to watch.
On a bench beside me sat a man who was watching the game. He said, “Dhajat season is always my favorite time of year.”
He was an older fellow with a placid face and a long white beard, and he held a glass of what looked like lemonade.
“Uh, yeah, mine too,” I said, hoping that was an appropriate response.
He gave me a friendly smile. “What brings you to the city, pilgrim?”
“Um, I’m looking for something,” I said.
He nodded sagely. “We’re all looking for something.”
“Oh,” I said. “Right.”
Should I chance it? Oh what the hell, he seemed as friendly and talkative as anyone I was likely to meet.
I added, “But, um, actually I’m looking for something kind of specific.”
“Truth?” he said. “Enlightenment? I was like you once. Don’t worry, you’ll find it.”
“No,” I said, “more like, um, a gun.”
He chortled. “Ha! That’s a good one.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. He was back to watching the game. I said, “Or a sword. I mean, any sort of weapon, really.”
Slowly he turned to face me. “You are...joking?”
“Um...” I said.
“You came here to shop for weapons?” He laughed uproariously. “Tourists!” he declared, wiping tears from his eyes. “Don’t you know where you are? No one would ever dream of bringing a weapon within a hundred miles of Nervuh Nah, City of Peace.”
I started to get a sinking feeling. I turned away.
Things were definitely not looking good. There were no weapons here, no weapons anywhere near this whole city. My mission was a complete failure. There was nothing I could do to help stop Abraxas, and now he’d probably escape through the purple door, leaving Earth forever in a state of crippled ontological peril.
Also, Asha was going to be really pissed off.
Then I had an idea.
Asha eyed my offering with disbelief. “And what exactly,” she declared, “is that?”
“A dhajat bat,” I said.
“And just what am I supposed to do with that?”
“Um, play dhajat,” I said. “But—”
She put her face in her hands and shook her head. “Kid,” she moaned, “is there something about the concept of a ‘weapon’ that you’re not getting?”
“It’s not my fault!” I said. “It was like a whole city of pacifists! There were no weapons anywhere. I just thought—”
“All right, all right,” she interrupted. “Give it here.”
I passed her the bat, and she took a few practice swings.
She sighed. “Well, it’s better than nothing, I guess. But I wish you would’ve—”
She stopped suddenly.
“What?” I sa
id.
She whispered, “He’s here.” She nodded at the fireplace. “Get over there. Stay out of this.”
I hurried to comply. A short time later I heard footsteps approaching. Asha hefted the bat.
My dad walked into the room.
“Wait!” I cried, as Asha rushed him. I lunged to interpose myself between them, waving my arms. “It’s okay, it’s my dad!”
Then I noticed that my dad was grinning in a very sinister, very un-dad-like way. And he was holding something—a snow globe?
“Steve!” Asha roared, shoving me aside, “get out of the way! It’s—”
My dad hurled the globe to the floor at Asha’s feet.
Then it was like I was staring into the sun. I flew through the air—
I came to moments later, draped across one of the overstuffed chairs, which had been knocked to the floor, apparently by me, and I hurt everywhere. I raised my head to try to see what was going on.
Asha lay sprawled on the floor. Whatever that glass ball weapon had been, she’d absorbed the brunt of it, and seemed to be out cold. The dhajat bat had flown from her grasp and landed in the corner, where a tall, thin figure was bending over to retrieve it.
He didn’t look at all like my dad now. He wore a brown trenchcoat and fedora, and the hat cast impossibly deep shadows over his face, but I could make out hints of gaunt, skeletal cheeks, and a heavy jaw lined with jagged teeth.
He gripped the bat and straightened, turning toward Asha.
“No!” I cried, stumbling to my feet. I snatched up a heavy ceramic ashtray and threw it at him, but when it struck him it bounced off as if it were made of styrofoam, and he paid no attention.
I felt a flood of despair. The only object in the room with enough reality to affect him was the bat, and—
Wait! I thought. Asha’s knapsack. Her gun! If it had come from her world, it must have an OF of ten, like her. I tore open the pack and yanked out the gun.
Abraxas stood over Asha and raised the bat to strike. With a cry I hurled the gun at him as hard as I could.
It hit him in the back of the head, and his hat went flying. “Ow!” he screamed.
Then he turned to regard me, and his face was even more frightening than I’d imagined. His eyes were black sockets within which green ghost-fires blazed.
I fled in a mad panic, sprinting out the door and into the hall. As I rounded the corner, Abraxas stepped out through the wall right in front of me.
He smiled, and I backed away, cringing and stumbling. As I retreated past the library door, I noticed that Asha’s body was gone. Where—?
Suddenly two hands reached out through the wall, seized Abraxas by the shoulders, and yanked him sideways. He gasped—and the bat fell from his fingers—as he was dragged back through the wall.
I moved to the door, and watched as Asha raised him above her head, and then she spun him around and piledrove him into the floor, which exploded like it’d been hit by a meteor. I ducked behind the wall as bits of flooring and foundation rained all about the room.
When I peeked in again, I saw that the center of the library was now a giant crater, and at its base were Asha and Abraxas. He was on his knees, and she had him in a chokehold. I scooped up the dhajat bat and hurried forward.
As I neared, Abraxas slumped. The fires that were his eyes dwindled to the size of candle flames, then went out, and Asha yanked his arms behind his back and bound his wrists with glowing cuffs.
Then she stood, looking immensely pleased with herself. “Ha!” she declared, clapping her hands and raising them before her. “What did I tell you, kid? These hands are formidable things.”
I let out a deep breath, and lowered the bat.
“Thought he was pretty clever,” Asha said, “using my own stun-bulbs against me. Good thing I had them all rigged for one-quarter power...just in case someone ever grabbed one and tried to use it on me.” She prodded him with her toe and said, “Guess you’re not the only sneaky one around here, eh, smart guy?”
She turned back to me, and added, “Still, I don’t know if I would’ve been able to get the drop on him, if you hadn’t distracted him. That was real good thinking.”
“Wow, thanks, Asha. I—”
“Of course,” she said, “you did almost get me killed by jumping between us like that.”
“Oh,” I said glumly. “Yeah.”
She waved a hand. “But don’t worry about it. That was my fault. I should’ve warned you about his disguises. No, overall you did pretty great, I’d say.” She added, “For a five, I mean.”
I grinned.
“So what happens now?” I asked.
A few weeks later all the preparations had been made for my extended vacation. A cab dropped me off in front of Cornelius’s mansion, and I made my way through the house to the library, which had been repaired with some help from Asha’s off-world friends—without anyone around here being the wiser.
Asha stood waiting, beside the purple door.
“You all set?” she asked me.
“Yup,” I said, as I crossed the room.
In my backpack was food, water, and silver, as well as a handgun that Asha had provided, loaded with OF-ten bullets.
She gestured to the door. “You want to do the honors?”
I smiled and stepped forward, and gave the door a push, and it swung aside to reveal a night sky full of massed purple clouds and circling flocks of long-necked birds, and below that soaring peaks beside plunging chasms, and on every precipice a fortress whose windows blazed with yellow light, like jack-o’-lanterns. The night air that blew in past us was pleasantly brisk, and smelled of rich earth and sweet flowers.
I paused to admire the view, even if this world was only a six.
“Let’s get a move on,” Asha said, as she stepped through the door. “No time to waste gawking at second-rate realities. We’ve got a full itinerary ahead of us. Nines and tens all the way.”
I took one last look around the library, at my home world, in all its modest five-ness, then moved to follow her.
“Come on, kid,” she told me. “Let me show you what a real world looks like.”
DEAR ANNABEHLS
MERCURIO D. RIVERA
Nominated for the 2011 World Fantasy Award for his short fiction, Mercurio D. Rivera’s stories can be found in venues such as Asimov’s Science Fiction, Interzone, Nature, Black Static, Sybil’s Garage, Murky Depths, and Year’s Best Science Fiction 17, edited by Hartwell & Cramer (HarperCollins). His fiction has been podcast at Escape Pod, StarShipSofa, and Transmissions From Beyond, and translated and reprinted in the Czech Republic and Poland. He is a lawyer, a sports enthusiast, and a proud member of the acclaimed Manhattan writing group Altered Fluid (www.alteredfluid.com). “Dear Annabehls” is set in the same universe as his story “Snatch Me Another,” which can be read at online magazine Abyss & Apex.
== 1. ==
Dear Annabehl:
I’m concerned about the inordinate amount of time that my 13-year-old son “Jeff” spends with himself. A boy his age should be out and about, playing with friends, participating in sports and other after-school activities. I come from a very traditional family, and I have to confess that I’m concerned that this behavior suggests that Jeff may be gay.
My husband thinks I’m overreacting. What do you think?
Concerned Tuscaloosa Mom
Dear Concerned:
Generally, a boy Jeff’s age spending time with himself is perfectly normal. The question I would pose is: How many of his selves does he spend time with? Attachment to any particular self might prove to be unhealthy. If your son’s behavior persists for more than a few weeks, you need to revoke his Snatcher privileges and take him in for some psiprobing. If it’s of any comfort, this sounds more like classic narcissism than homosexuality. However, should your son be gay, you need to learn to love him for who he is. Alternatively, search for a heterosexual replacement. I recommend that you swallow two Validums, and pick up the recently publi
shed Bonds Between Multiple Me’s by Dr. Gregory Byars for an excellent discussion of this subject.
== 2. ==
Dear Annabehl:
I’m going through the most difficult period of my life. I caught my husband Robbie cheating on me. The thing is, he’s cheating on me—with me. He insists that as long as the person he’s sleeping with is me, he isn’t technically cheating. That’s BS! I say that he exchanged his vows with me, not with skinnier, stringy-haired, slutty versions of me. He’s being immoral and unfaithful, isn’t he, Annabehl? I just don’t get it. What does he see in other me’s that he doesn’t see in me? I’m hurt, lonely and frustrated.
Dora/Memphis, TN
Dear Dora:
Take a deep breath and a Xantax, dear. It’s all a matter of perspective. That Robbie chooses to spend his time away from you with you is actually quite romantic. In fact, one might say he’s exceedingly faithful and truly devoted. You should be flattered as heck. What strikes me as odd is that while Robbie is off enjoying you, you’re “lonely and frustrated.” Get up off your derriere, girl, and kwitcherwhining! You should be spending time with other Robbies. You’ll find that doing so will strengthen your marriage and make both of you much happier in the long run.
== 3. ==
Dear Annabehl:
We lost our son Tommy to an inoperable brain tumor, just a few days before his sixth birthday. My wife got it into her head that we should go forward with the birthday party with another version of Tommy as a way to say our final goodbyes. We set the Snatcher to a high-end frequency and nabbed another Tommy, who was none the wiser about his displacement. Well, you guessed it. The birthday party came and went and now “Tommy” is still with us. What about “Tommy’s” real parents? They must be going through hell. And what about our Tommy? Doesn’t he deserve to be mourned?
Whenever I raise this issue with my wife, she gets angry and changes the subject. She pretends that nothing ever happened. I know I should love the new Tommy, but all I feel is numb. What should I do?
L.P./Chicago, Illinois
Dear L.P.:
I strongly recommend professional psiprobing so you can learn to accept Tommy’s variant as part of your family. Your emotional confusion is understandable, sweetie. Many people who suffer a loss like yours find it difficult to accept a replacement. But your wife is behaving no differently than any mother would in her situation. Be sure to have Tommy routinely checked for the condition that caused his initial passing. It may become necessary to get yourselves another replacement. Good luck to you.
Other Worlds Than These Page 47
