Cyber Way

by Alan Dean Foster

  “A little time passes. Can you imagine what happens then?”

  “Enlighten me.” Moody strove to sound bored, knew his obvious interest belied the attempt.

  “The ants come out, my friends. The ants come out for a look around.

  “They clamber all over and around the forgotten tools, not realizing what they are because of their own ignorance and the sheer size of the devices. But one ant acquires a key. Perhaps he stumbles across a diagram rendered somehow ant-comprehensible. Or possibly he is present when the tools are being used. Perhaps he is even given instruction, much as children playing by a creek will offer ants leaves and twigs so they can make a tiny bridge with which to cross a rivulet. They do this because they find it amusing to watch the ants at work. Ants that do not understand the

  concept of a bridge will still make effective use of one. So it might have been with whoever painted that first template.

  “Somehow this one perceptive insect learns how to activate the previously invisible tools, only the tools were not invisible: they were simply too massive for the ants to comprehend. They seemed a part of the natural order, of the everyday terrain.

  “The hard part is not making use of the tools, my friends. It is recognizing that they exist at all. The sandpainting holds the diagram recognized by the ant who preceded the rest of us, a thousand years ago. No, gentlemen, if the web was placed here for a defined purpose it would have announced itself long ago. It is just something that was left behind, forgotten.

  “I am only just beginning to learn how it might be used. The possibilities are impressive. After all, if a colony of ants discovered a power jack next to their anthill and found a way to activate it, consider what they might accomplish. Lizards eat ants. A power jack would smash a hungry lizard to pulp. It could crush huge pebbles to provide easier access to food, or for building stronger shelter. It might even offer a way for ants to advance themselves mentally. I know my analogy is weak but—”

  Moody cut him off. “So basically what y’all are saying is that this web is somebody else’s garbage?”

  “Only that it is one possibility among many,” Gaggii replied reprovingly. “It may in fact be of value to its original owners, but not of sufficient value to be worth the cost of recovery over time and distances we cannot imagine. You might, for example, leave an expensive holomager in Paris. While you would regret its loss, you would not travel all the way back to France to recover it.”

  If it had not been evident before, it was clear enough now that whatever else he might be, Yistin Gaggii was no madman. He had yet to raise his voice. While unusual, the ability to maintain control of one’s emotions under abnormally tense conditions was not generally an indication of mental instability. Now that he’d been found out, he actually appeared to be enjoying the sharing of his discoveries with someone else.

  “What’s your interest in this?” Moody found himself asking. “I mean, what do y’all want with it, personally?”

  “Goodness.” Gaggii eyed him with mock surprise. “A really perceptive question that deviates from the strict guidelines of police procedure.” His sarcasm did not affect Moody, who’d suffered it a thousand times before. It was standard prisoner modus for trying to reassert rapidly disappearing independence.

  “Let’s just say that I have my own desires, as do all of us. Recall the analogy of the power jack. Suppose that instead of that, our imaginary travelers leave behind among their debris a can of bug spray. What might the ants make of that?”

  “I liked the power jack analogy better,” Moody snapped.

  “Such a device could be devastatingly employed against enemy ants.”

  “Or against its discoverers, if they did not properly understand how to use it,” Ooljee pointed out meaningfully.

  Gaggii nodded agreement. “In any event it would be of no use to those who had departed.”

  “We asked it how big it was,” Moody said. “It replied, ‘big enough.’”

  “Yes. It can be responsive without being specific. I do not think there is a deliberate intent to be evasive. I suspect instead that we simply do not possess the terminology necessary to ask the right questions. So it provides answers in the form it thinks our simple brains can most easily comprehend.”

  “One last thing.” Gaggii waited patiently while Moody framed his question, as though he had all the time in the world. “You say you have your own desires, your own idea how to make use of this whatever it is. What might that be?”

  Gaggii looked straight at the detective and pursed his lips. “I am sorry, my friend, but that is none of your business.”

  Moody sniffed. It was no more than he’d expected. He started to rise from the couch. “Well, we’re real sorry to have to put a crimp in y’all’s hobby, but there’s still this lousy business of you killing two people in cold blood.”

  “I am very close to answering my own questions.” Gaggii made no attempt to rise.

  If he’s trying to put us off guard, Moody thought, he’s damn sure taking his time about it.

  “I don’t suppose I could appeal to your higher senses, though it is clear that you are both unusually intelligent individuals—for policemen.”

  “Sorry,” Moody replied. “I’m afraid my higher sense tells me it ain’t a good idea to let murderers run around unpunished.”

  “I see your point of view.”

  Gaggii rose. Both officers tensed, but still their prisoner made no move toward hidden switches or concealed devices. Instead he extended both arms out in front of him.

  “Do you wish to cuff me?”

  Ooljee glanced at his partner, who shrugged. “I do not think that will be necessary. The back seat of my truck is equipped with a restraining mesh. That will be sufficient. Cuffs can chafe and it is a long ride down to Ganado. I would not want injured wrists or hands to delay your arraignment.”

  “I appreciate your concern. Bearing that in mind, may I get a coat? It is quite cold outside.”

  “What coat?” Moody asked warily.

  Gaggii smiled at him. “The one with the explosives sewn into the lining, of course.” He pointed. “In the closet over there.”

  Moody nodded tersely, went to the closet and looked inside. “Which one?”

  “The false wolf, with the low collar.”

  Moody checked the coat over minutely. Gaggii’s composure troubled him more than anything he expected to find. But the coat was clean. After patting him down, he handed it to the prisoner, who chatted easily as he put it on.

  “I guess I have to go with you, my friends.”

  “I guess you do.” Moody opened the door while Ooljee remained behind. Now that the moment of departure had arrived, neither officer was taking any chances, no matter how cooperative their man seemed to be. They both had their guns out. “And do us a favor, will you?”

  “If I can,” said Gaggii graciously.

  “Don’t call us your friends.”

  Gaggii’s only visible reaction took the form of still another tight-lipped, impenetrable smile.

  Moody was relieved to be outside again, in the cool evening air, away from the sterile mask that was Gaggii’s house. It was as devoid of genuine human warmth as a tomb, the furnishings frozen skeletons pinned to the walls and floor like specimen moths.

  He wanted to see Gaggii’s workshop. Plenty of time for that once the prisoner was safely incarcerated in Ganado. Ample time to return for a leisurely examination of his notes and files.

  “I have to admire you, gentlemen.” Gaggii had to turn sideways to fit into the truck’s narrow back seat. Ooljee locked the restraint net in place. The carbon composite mesh would prevent anyone in the back from reaching through to the front.

  “Thanks,” Moody replied flatly as he climbed in on the passenger side. “We’re doin’ the best we can.”

  Ooljee started up, turned and headed for the dirt track that led to the little bridge. They’d acquired a lot of information at the expense of the rest of the afternoon. Twili
ght was creeping through the pine trees as the truck bounced down the slope, over the bridge, and climbed into the woods on the other side.

  “No, honestly. I did not think anyone would ever find out. Certainly not so soon. And to think you have even accessed the web.”

  “Everybody thinks cops are dumb.” Moody settled himself deeper into the seat. “It’s the shows. Cops on the vid are always overlooking the obvious and then they have to compensate by shooting all their suspects. That’s not police work any more than trials are lawyers making big speeches in court all the time. It’s mostly legwork, dull and plodding. Me, I’m weird. I happen to like research. That’s how you really catch people.”

  “But not how you keep them,” Gaggii responded. “You realize that you cannot tie me to Kettrick’s death. I know that you were not recording any of our conversation in the house. I would have been warned if you had been and would have comported myself accordingly. Since you were not, I felt free to talk. I enjoy talking.”

  Ooljee shook his head sadly. “You may know a lot about mollys and webs, but you do not know shit about legal procedure. At least one secretary and two security guards witnessed you arguing with Kettrick in his Tampa office. Also, as an important businessman, Kettrick recorded all his conversations. Voiceprinting will identify you easily.”

  “Arguments supply a possible motive, but they are not grounds for a murder conviction.” Gaggii was confident. “Nor can you connect me to the wiping of the insurance company files in Atlanta.”

  “We’ll see,” said Moody, adding offhandedly, “then there’s our eyewitness, the one who saw you enter Kettrick’s house the night of the killings.”

  This time it took their prisoner a while to reply. Moody was pleased at having finally gotten under his skin, howevei minutely.

  “You are bluffing,” Gaggii said finally. “You may be a good card player, detective, but I know I entered unobserved. There is no such witness.”

  “Oh, good.” Moody shrugged indifferently. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about, right? Shoot, I’m just a big oF fat liar from the sticks. There’s no witness, so you can just relax in your holding cell until the time comes for you to appear before a magistrate. Be tough for the local D.A. to prove anything because there’s no such witness. See, I just made it all up, just to bug you.”

  Out of the comer of his eye Moody could see that his partner was fighting to keep from smiling. When Gaggii spoke again there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He was trying hard to maintain his former aplomb.

  “It will not work, this bluff. You can prove nothing. Search my house all you wish. You’ll find nothing to confirm your suspicions. If you attempt to access my molly, the database will self-destruct.”

  “Hell, why would we bother with your work?” Moody was enjoying himself now, knowing that he shouldn’t be. “It don’t mean shit. All we want to do is tie you to Kettrick’s murder. Don’t y’all worry none about that. We’ll manage.”

  “I see. Then, if I’m to be put away you don’t mind if I amuse myself while I have the time?” He began to sing, softly and liltingly, to himself.

  They were coming up on the main road. Moody looked back over his shoulder. “Amuse yourself another way. I don’t want to have to listen to that all the way back to Ganado.”

  Gaggii paused momentarily. “Why, detective, it is only a song. A little something to pass the time. As you point out, it is a long drive down the mountain.” He resumed singing.

  “It would not be so bad if you could carry a tune.”

  Ooljee was concentrating on the track ahead. “So do as my friend says and—He broke off abruptly, staring into the rearview mirror.

  Moody tensed. “What is it?” Gaggii ignored them both, concentrating on his song.

  “Bracelet. Left wrist.”

  Moody whirled, the seat complaining beneath him. His gaze went straight to the specified piece of jewelry, a thick band of traditional turquoise and silver. Except that the turquoise wasn’t copper ore and the silver was an alloy of something else.

  There was more than enough metal in the bracelet to form a strong receiver-transmitter, just as the chunks of blue which Gaggii was toying with moved too freely in their bezels for stones that should have been firmly epoxied in place. Several of them shone with a faint inner light.

  Moody drew his service pistol and aimed it through the mesh. “Put a clamp on it right now, Jack, or you won’t have to worry about a trial.”

  “Easy now, detective.” Gaggii cautiously moved his right hand away from the bracelet. “What are you worried about? That 1 might be signaling friends? I have no friends. That I might be calling up the gods? That is superstition, suitable only for troubling the sleep of children. ” The bracelet continued to glow.

  “I don’t care if you’re trying to pick up local radio,” said Moody threateningly. “Stop it.”

  “Ah, it doesn’t matter, does it? You have your witness, sergeant. So I think it only fair that I invoke mine.” Ooljee uttered a violent curse. The pickup swerved wildly as something immense filled the windshield. Its surface was as yellow as the sun and its eyes boiled crimson.

  CHAPTER 15

  The truck swung off the dirt road and went bouncing and squealing through the forest. Ooljee wrestled wheel and suspension, somehow avoiding the army of trees that loomed dangerously in front of them.

  A vast pulsating shape struck repeatedly at the careening pickup. Sparks flew from the composite frame every time contact was made. Lowering his window, Moody tried to get a better look at the impossible manifestation.

  It had to have come from the alien web, the web that was all around them. They walked through it, breathed it. It imperceptibly thickened the fabric of existence. Now something denser had coalesced out of that region of rainbow threads and animate explosions, some kind of program sucked up by Gaggii’s manipulations to harass and frighten them. At which it was succeeding admirably.

  Moody flinched as the glowing head twisted toward him. He fired reflexively, suspecting even as he did so that his shells were unlikely to have any effect on the force field or database or whatever the hell it was. But he’d been trained to return fire during an attack. Besides which, it was the only response at his disposal.

  He remembered how Kettrick and the housekeeper had died. Here before him, twisting and contorting madly in midair, was the instrument of their death immensely enlarged. The tinier version Gaggii had invoked that night on Steel Key had killed two people. Its monstrous relative was trying to destroy their truck.

  He recalled what Ooljee had told him about a hatathli being able to utilize one portion of a sandpainting. Gaggii was using a small part of the alien web. It was a device an ancient Anasazi might have found useful in dealing with an enemy, something formulated in familiar terms—if one could call a fifty-foot-long yellow and red serpent familiar. It continued to strike at the hood and sides of the fleeing pickup, trying to smash its way in.

  Moody fired again. It was impossible to miss the gigantic writhing shape. The shot had about as much effect as he expected. It was like trying to kill a breeze. The snake was more concept than creature, a tenebrous serpentine program dredged from the depths of some hatathli’s thou-sand-year-dead imagination, a realized representation of old legends.

  Meanwhile Ooljee was cursing in an extraordinary mix of English, Navaho, and Japanese as he struggled to keep them from compacting against the nearest ponderosa pine. This he succeeded in doing for a commendable length of time.

  Forward motion ceased abruptly and without warning, accompanied by a tremendous metallic clang. Moody felt like the clapper inside a gigantic bell. His head swung forward to smack the dash.

  Providentially cushioned by the restraint mesh, Gaggii escaped a similar concussion. The impact cracked the rear window, allowing the prisoner to kick out the rest of the glass. There was just enough clearance for him to crawl through to the bed of the pickup.

  A dazed, groggy Moody tried to aim his pis
tol in that direction but he was having a hard time just hanging onto the suddenly heavy weapon. His head and vision cleared fast, but by that time Gaggii had vanished into the woods.

  “He’s getting away!” Ooljee yelled unnecessarily.

  “I can see that!” Moody forced open the damaged door and started to climb out, quickly withdrew his legs as the yellow vastness struck at them. Glistening yard-long fangs sent dirt and rock chips flying.

  As his partner tried to get a bead on the violently twisting shape, Ooljee struggled with the truck, alternating curses with prayers. One of them must have worked, because the engine hummed to life. Slamming into reverse, the pickup bounced away from the tree, then rolled awkwardly forward once more.

  The snakeshape struck at the front windshield, spidering safety glass tough enough to turn bullets and darts but not fangs the size of pickaxes. Moody threw up his arms to protect his face, but the glass held. It would not withstand a second such assault.

  Ooljee swung around, did something to the wheel, and yelled at his partner, “Jump!”

  Moody eyed the hard, rough ground outside. They weren’t going very fast, but still. . .

  No time to argue. He popped his own door, tried to will into existence a depression filled to the brim with a hundred years worth of pine needles and leaves, and jumped.

  Any local accumulations of vegetable matter had already been spoken for. They lined fox dens and squirrel nests, not the ground beneath the careening pickup. He hit hard, pain splintering his right shoulder. It felt like some crazyboy had taken a good whack at him with an iron bar. He rolled over a few times before coming to rest.

  Struggling to hands and knees, he watched as the driv-erless pickup, headlights gleaming, rumbled away into the night with its brilliantly glowing yellow and red nemesis twisting and coiling above it. The snake thing struck repeatedly at the truck’s cab, attacking effortlessly, a mad manic mass of pulsating serpentine energy.