The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  *

  He started, and realized that he had passed into a very deep reverie, and was quite . . . stimulated. He blushed and sat up a little straighter and hoped no one had noticed.

  /// That was very interesting.

  Were those thoughts related to the

  love you were speaking of earlier? ///

  Bandicut grunted. He noted that Ik was sitting crosslegged on a low pad, lost in his own reverie—or perhaps sound asleep. There was a platter in front of the Hraachee'an, with several large objects that looked like roots. Bandicut glanced down and realized that he had a tray, too, and on it there was a plate of fish and chips and steamed baby carrots, and a frosty mug of beer. /Whoa. Am I dreaming this, Charlie?/

  /// Nope.

  You've earned your reward, I guess. ///

  /Can I actually eat this stuff, do you suppose?/ He looked around for the foreman-shadow. Copernicus, parked beside him, was enveloped in a golden nimbus of light. Recharging, perhaps? He turned around and saw the foreman-shadow floating just behind him, like a waiter hovering over his shoulder. Bandicut gestured toward the table. "You can, uh, join us if you want."

  The being fluttered, edging forward almost imperceptibly.

  Bandicut sighed with impatience. /I don't want the damn thing in awe of me./

  Wheeep. The foreman-shadow fluttered close enough, and held still enough, for him finally to get a better look. It still had that shifting-in-and-out-of-reality look to it, its angular hands and body twisting ceaselessly, going from black to smoky near-invisibility to black again, as though it were made, not of dark matter, but of constantly opening and closing slits in the local fabric of space.

  /// That's not too far wrong. ///

  But up close now, Bandicut could again see little sparks of light around and through its body—more of them than before—and he had a sudden intuition that maybe those were its eyes. He cleared his throat, wondering if he could make eye contact.

  Something must have happened, because the foreman-shadow moved even closer and spoke in a more subdued voice than usual. ". . . thank you . . . we understand now . . . you are working against the—" tingle "—boojum . . ." Wheeooree. ". . . welcome help . . . this struggle of many—" tingle "—seasons/cycles/years . . ."

  /Working against the boojum? Me?/

  /// Well, you did, didn't you? ///

  /Yes, but—/ Bandicut glanced to see if Ik was listening. The Hraachee'an was asleep. He blinked back at the foreman-shadow. "Do you have a name?"

  The foreman-shadow made a low wh'rooom'm'ming sound, just at the lower edge of Bandicut's hearing range.

  "Um," he asked, "was that your name?"

  Wh'rooom'm'm. ". . . affirmative tone . . ."

  Bandicut nodded to the being as his thoughts wheeled. /Hell, I can't call him that. I can't even pronounce it./

  /// Maybe you could approximate it,

  as you do mine. ///

  Bandicut cleared his throat. "Listen, would it be all right if I called you Hroom?"

  Wh'rooom'm'm. ". . . affirmative tone . . ."

  "Well, then, nice to meet you, Hroom. I suppose you wonder who the hell I am."

  Whrrooop. ". . . your partner . . . has told us much . . ."

  "My partner?" He glanced in Ik's direction.

  /// He means me.

  I've found that I can communicate with them,

  somewhat. ///

  /???/

  /// When you received your update,

  I perceived the slight dimensional shift

  that I needed. ///

  /Ah./

  /// And I conveyed that you are a human,

  that you are a stranger here,

  and lost,

  and that you desire only to help. ///

  Bandicut thought about that. On a sudden impulse, he reached for the beer in front of him. Lifting the glass, he peered approvingly through its amber clarity, then carefully took a sip. It foamed in his mouth. He choked a little on the excessive carbon dioxide as he swallowed. He was stunned to realize that it actually tasted like beer, more or less. He took another swallow, and set the mug down. "Thank you," he murmured, trying not to burp. "For the beer, I mean."

  Whrrrrp. ". . . is there anything we can do . . . to help in return . . ."

  He glanced sideways. Though Ik was asleep, he felt certain that the Hraachee'an would want him to ask. "Well, there is that other fellow, Li-Jared. He's a friend of Ik's." He gestured toward the sleeping Hraachee'an. "We believe he was also trying to work with you, against the—"

  Whreek?

  "—boojum."

  Who-o-o-uuu. Hroom fluttered his hands. ". . . the one we—" tingle "—blamed for the . . . calamity . . ."

  "Yes."

  ". . . your friend said this . . . that the one called . . ." Whred-d-d-d-d. The shadow seemed to stutter, trying to produce the sound.

  "Li-Jared."

  Whrrrrep. ". . . has been attacked by the boojum . . ."

  Bandicut nodded.

  ". . . we would help . . . do you wish to see where he is now? . . ."

  "You know? You know where he is?"

  Whreeee. ". . . we will try to . . . locate him for you . . ."

  "We would appreciate that very much," Bandicut whispered.

  ". . . require time . . . rest and sustain . . . will return with news . . ." And with a tiny squeak, Hroom fluttered away.

  Bandicut stared, open-mouthed. Finally he shrugged and began to consume his beer and his fish and chips.

  Chapter 11

  Memory Lanes

  /// Shall I tell you what I've learned

  about the shadow-people? ///

  /Sure./ Bandicut pushed his tray back and settled into the deep pads of the chair with a greater feeling of comfort than he had felt in a long time. Except, he realized suddenly, for his throbbing knees. Charlie had been deadening the pain, but it hadn't done him any good to walk around as if he hadn't injured himself. /Damn. Didn't you say something about doing some healing?/ He thought of the way he had crashed down onto that control platform, and winced at the memory.

  /// I'm working on that.

  But you don't come with diagrams, you know. ///

  /Sorry./

  /// However, I think I've checked out the damage.

  It appears to be some torn cartilage,

  and maybe some strained ligaments.

  I can work on it while we talk. ///

  /Fine./ He would probably be just as happy not thinking about it, he realized. /So. The shadow-people. An interesting bunch. I'm starting to feel almost fond of Hroom./

  /// Indeed.

  I would like to learn more of them.

  But I did get a bit of a glimpse

  while you were near their translational field.

  Let me tell you. ///

  /Okay./ Bandicut closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. His body couldn't quite seem to decide whether to let the beer act on him or not.

  /// Let's do this the easy way. ///

  And with that, Bandicut passed into a sleepless dream.

  *

  The shadow-people (he perceived) had come to this place a very long time ago, from a world—well, perhaps world wasn't the correct term, but from a place that was most unlike this one. The shadow-people retained a memory of their origins; they still thought of it as "home," and gave it no other name. What the quarx had glimpsed of their memories seemed to reflect a place of astounding physical stresses, full of space-time-altering gravitational shear zones. He could not identify it precisely; possibly it was the surface of a cosmic string, or something violently changing, like the gravity well of two neutron stars orbiting and threatening to collide, twisting space-time and thundering with radiation. It was, in any case, a perfect place for translations in and out of greater-than-three fractal dimensions.

  But (Bandicut thought, imagining the cataclysmic energies) places like that wouldn't last long, would they? How could the shadow-people have had time to evolve?

>   If they did evolve there (noted the quarx).

  Meaning?

  Who knows? They might have been seeded, or created—but whatever, they lived in a very different timescape, where moments could be eons. Any time-comparison was practically meaningless, even in quarxian terms. Ultimately, they were forced out of their home by catastrophe—possibly colliding neutron stars, though the quarx's comprehension remained uncertain on that score—and they came to Shipworld. It was a strange and marvelous story: an entire population of shadow-people, rescued to the safety of the metaship, where their particular skills were tremendously useful to the maintenance of an enormous, and highly complex, ecology.

  Images flickered in Bandicut's mind, confusingly: Charlie catching glimpses, in the moment of their connection with the translation-field, of the shadow-people's history; shadow-people crafting and repairing strange, fractionally dimensional machines, without which significant parts of the metaship could not function; shadow-people ranging, not everywhere in Shipworld, by any means, but widely enough that he should not be surprised if he met brethren of Hroom, elsewhere.

  But how were they brought here?

  Possibly through a star-spanner.

  An image shivered into place: a tremendous machine, like strange generators in a long line, or the most enormous crankshaft in the universe. It dwindled into infinity—not quite through four-dimensional space-time, but through something called "n-space," weaving through the light-years as a thread through a seam, joining distant worlds and stars in a twinkling web.

  I'll be damned (he breathed).

  Shipworld was full of n-space connectors; in fact, much of its own structure was joined together by n-space connectors of various sorts. And the much longer links of the star-spanners reached to more worlds than he could count.

  And from that point, the next question came bursting: Was there a connector to Earth? To the solar system? Was that how he had gotten here? Could he use that method to return? (His heart pounded at the thought of seeing Julie again. His pulse raced, his face flushed. Time seemed suspended, as he waited for the quarx to answer.)

  /// I don't think so, ///

  said the quarx with a sigh, breaking the spell that had linked them in the dreamlike reverie.

  /// At least, I have no knowledge

  or memory of one.

  I assume that's why you were brought here

  by ship and by translator. ///

  Bandicut let out a slow, angry hiss, as the buoyant glow faded. /Is there going to be one? Ever?/ He had a sudden vision of alien planning committees, debating for millions of years whether or not to build an extension to Earth's solar system.

  /// I don't know.

  My knowledge is quite fragmentary.

  I'm sorry. ///

  /Damn. Damn, Charlie. I wish you'd never told me! Bad enough I'm stranded here, do I have to listen to how other people can go home any time they want?/

  /// I—well, that's not really

  how it is, I don't think.

  Not like a rapid transit system,

  hop on, hop off.

  It's no trivial matter,

  operating star-spanners.

  My memory is that they

  open only when someone has a very strong

  reason for wanting them to open. ///

  /My reasons aren't strong?/ Bandicut asked angrily, reeling in pain. That momentary glimpse of a future that would never be—of Julie, love, home—had been enough to rake open all of his wounds when it was torn away.

  /// I didn't realize

  it would bother you this much. ///

  /You live inside my goddamn brain. How could you not know?/

  There was a long moment of silence.

  /// I'm still learning, John.

  About you, about me, about Shipworld.

  Don't forget,

  I'm cut off from my home, and my origins,

  too. ///

  /I haven't forgotten,/ he snapped. But in fact, he thought guiltily, he had. The quarx had just as much right to feel resentful as he did. So shouldn't he be a mensch like the quarx, and somehow rise above it? He cursed silently and opened his eyes.

  Something black fluttered in front of him. "Huh!" he grunted, startled. "Who's there?" But the flutter was gone. With an effort, he focused his eyes and looked around. Ik was now surrounded by a privacy veil of some sort, and appeared to be still asleep. On Bandicut's left, there was nothing except—a flutter of black again.

  It solidified enough to be recognizable as a shadow-person. Whwrreeeek?

  Bandicut cleared his throat. "Um, hi. Hroom?" He cocked his head and thought, It doesn't look like Hroom.

  /// It's not. ///

  /Who is it, then?/

  /// I'm not sure. ///

  The shadow-person drifted sideways, then back. Heeeuuuuu. ". . . message from . . . leader . . . has found the one you sought . . ."

  Bandicut sat up straight. "Li-Jared?"

  The shadow fluttered again. Whriiick. ". . . (affirmative) . . . cannot reach him at this moment . . . but friend safe . . . resting . . ." The shadow-person bobbed up and down, punctuating the message.

  Bandicut frowned, wondering if he should wake Ik. They had had a very difficult day, and while he had no idea how much sleep Ik needed, he knew he needed more. Safe, the shadow-person had said.

  /// If you can remain still for a few hours,

  I think we can take care of those knees. ///

  Bandicut nodded, and said to the shadow-people, "We don't want to risk losing him. Can you let us know immediately if he starts moving?"

  Whreeeooo. ". . . yes yes preparing a way to take you there . . . rest now . . ." Bandicut sighed in relief. Soon enough, he could learn what Li-Jared had found that was so interesting; and Ik could be reunited with his friend.

  He glanced far across the wide room, where he could barely distinguish the shapes of beings moving about, beings whose presence probably ought to have ignited his curiosity. But their concerns right now were probably as distant from his as his were from . . . well, a bartender's in L5 City. He felt as if he were ensconced in a quiet corner of one of the galaxy's biggest cocktail lounges, and was too blindingly tired to appreciate it. He felt a sudden, acute desire to be alone. "Can you get me one of those?" he asked, pointing to the screen around Ik.

  Whreek. The shadow fluttered away, and a gauzy curtain formed around him.

  Bandicut sat back, and found that his chair reclined comfortably. /How 'bout that?/ he murmured. And before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

  *

  He drifted in and out of sleep, half aware of his dreams, dimly aware of occasional movement outside his private area, the elements of his inner and outer consciousnesses blending in a foggy haze of wistful desire. Julie was in his dreams, and his brother and sister-in-law; and he kept asking them, Where's Dakota? Is she all right? Is Dakota safe? Does she know I'm here? And his brother looked at him in puzzlement, shaking his head, until Julie came and lifted his arm up over her shoulder, and pointed. Of course—Dakota was right here in the lobby; she'd come to visit him in space, just as she'd promised.

  Of course. In the dream. But here, now, there was someone who might have been Dakota—an adult Dakota—or at least a human woman. Human woman? That in itself was pretty interesting, he thought in a cottony half sleep.

  At that, he started almost-awake, blinking. He imagined someone or something nearby, moving past his privacy screen—shadowy and yet real, someone very like a woman, with dignity and poise in her movements, with dark streaming hair floating airily as she walked by, and out of sight. He nearly woke completely then, but a quarxian voice soothed him, saying,

  /// Not human, not human, ///

  and he felt consciousness slipping away again, with the urgent thought that perhaps that wasn't Dakota, but Julie. And then he had no further dreams that he knew of.

  *

  Whreeek! Whreeek! ". . . wake wake wake . . ."

  He groaned. It took a mom
ent for the urgent cries to penetrate the haze of sleep; then his eyes flew open. "What?" he muttered.

  A smoky window had opened in his privacy screen, and through it he could see the flutter of several shadow-people. One might have looked familiar, but who could tell. "Okay!" he grunted. "You can get rid of that curtain!"

  The screen vanished.

  Whreeek! Whreeek! ". . . (urgent urgent) . . ." The shadow-people stormed around him.

  He tried, dizzily, to get his bearings. They had awakened Ik, too. The Hraachee'an was unfolding himself to stand up from his pad.

  A shadow-person darted forward, whirling back and forth as if to talk to both Bandicut and Ik at once. Whraaeeeeee! ". . . must come at once . . . he is fleeing . . . in danger . . . fleeing . . ."

  "Hrrraah!" croaked Ik, his voice gravelly almost beyond recognition.

  "Who is in danger? Li-Jared?" Bandicut felt an immediate flash of panic at not awakening Ik with the news that Li-Jared had been found.

  Ik's eyes burned. "Urrrr, L'Jar'd?" He made a long rasping sound, and his voice finally became clear. "Li-Jared is in danger? Where?"

  Whraaeeeeee! ". . . come . . . come with us . . . (bad bad) danger . . . must help . . ."

  Bandicut staggered to his feet—too quickly. His right knee burned as he put his weight on it.

  /// Try to go easy there. ///

  /Oww. I thought you were healing it./

  /// I was. I did.

  The structural damage has been repaired.

  But there'll still be soreness

  and inflammation. ///

  /You sound like Doctor Switzer,/ Bandicut muttered, though not without a flush of gratitude.

  /// Who? ///

  /Someone you never met. Can I use it?/

  /// Yes. But try to be gentle. ///

  Whraaaaeee! ". . . (urgent) no delay . . ." The shadow-people were swarming as if gathering themselves to flee.

  "John Bandicut, your robots!"

  The robots! As he turned, a golden nimbus was just disappearing from around Copernicus and Napoleon. "Coppy?"

  There was a ticking as of hot metal cooling. Copernicus rolled forward and backward, as if in self-appraisal. "Power level one hundred percent, Cap'n," he announced. "That's based on my new capacity."