The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  In the time required for those words, she had broken off her gaze, continued her movement, and stepped off into the darkness. She began floating to Bandicut's right, and down. He dropped his handful of popcorn, lurched up, and took an uncertain step away from his table. Wait! Let's talk! he cried silently, his voice caught in his throat. He glanced down, saw his feet hanging in midair, and gulped back a momentary vertigo. He blinked hard, shifted his gaze, and looked for the alien woman again.

  She had vanished into the gloom.

  He searched the darkness frantically, but in that moment of dizziness, he had lost her. "Damn!" he whispered to the emptiness. "Damn!" /Can you enhance my vision any more?/

  /// I'm trying—but I think she's gone. ///

  Cursing his clumsiness, he reached out for his table to steady himself, and floated back into his seat, trembling. Napoleon swiveled his sensors and began to say something, but Bandicut cut off his words with an angry gesture.

  He pressed his palms together, resting his chin between his fingers, and stared into the darkness. /There has to be some way—/

  /// Maybe the iceline can help you. ///

  /Iceline?/ He thought about it for a moment, then leaned forward and placed both hands around the globe in the center of the table. /How do you suppose this works?/

  /// My guess is it's a simple interface.

  Just ask it for what you want.

  But I'd be ready for anything. ///

  Bandicut felt the quarx gathering his concentration, preparing to help him interpret, if necessary.

  He cleared his throat. "Hello," he said in a gravelly voice. "If you can understand me, please reply." There was no answer. He focused his thoughts. /Can you understand this?/

  The globelight flickered.

  /Does that mean yes?/

  <<>>

  He closed his eyes. The voice had sounded more like a bank machine than a datanet. /Yes. Can you track an individual for me?/

  <<>>

  He felt himself growing lightheaded. /The woman, or individual resembling a woman, who just left here./

  <<>>

  Bandicut twitched his gaze away from the flickering yellow globe, to indicate the direction of the vanished creature. /She just went that way. And her physical, um, morphology resembled mine, somewhat./

  <<>> There was a translational buzz for a moment. <<<. . . Thespi adult female, clothed in a loose-hanging red garment? Two legs, two arms, one head—>>>

  /Yes!/

  <<>>

  /Uh?/

  /// Perhaps it cannot tell you about her,

  without clearing it with the individual herself. ///

  /Oh./ Bandicut kept his eyes glued to the globe.

  <<>>

  /Uh?/ Bandicut wondered how he would pay a surcharge. /Yes,/ he answered, figuring there was no point in worrying about it.

  <<>>

  He tapped the table with his fingers.

  <<>>

  /Third female?/

  <<<. . . and her system signature is a bright red sun. One moment for translation difficulty . . .>>>

  He waited impatiently.

  <<>>

  /Um—"Antares" would be one./

  <<>>

  The voice cut off.

  Bandicut waited. That seemed odd, the way the globe had just stopped in midsentence. But then, the whole system was odd. Antares? /Is that how I could reach her, if I wanted to? Through the sys—the iceline?/ There was a deadening silence, and he thought with alarm that perhaps he should look up from the globe, break the connection. Something was wrong.

  He tried, and could not. He did not know how it had happened, but he could not look up from the globe; could not move a muscle, not even to blink an eye. He was completely locked into the iceline, and though he could now feel a distant change rippling through the connection, he could no more react to it or remove himself from it than he could walk out of this bar and back into the smelly, noisy rec room on Triton . . .

  Neptune . . .

  Sol system . . .

  Orion spiral spur . . .

  Sagittarius arm . . .

  A shudder passed through him as he felt that knowledge pass out of him as if through silently moving lips.

  Something had hold of him, and it wasn't the iceline itself.

  /Charlie?/ he whispered, and even that thought took a terrible effort.

  From the quarx there was no answer. Charlie had fallen silent—or been silenced—and he hadn't noticed it happening. His skin prickled.

  Boojum.

  Bandicut felt a rush of fear, and tried to stop it, but couldn't. He tried to identify the force that was gripping him, to locate it and push it into the open; but he couldn't touch it, or see it, or feel exactly where it was in his mind. As he struggled, in silent desperation, to free himself, he was aware of a new physical sensation, not quite a spasm but a tightening of certain muscles. It seemed to be creeping through his body, searching for a particular point of control. And then it found what it wanted. He felt a sudden sharp pressure on his windpipe.

  What? he thought, finding himself suddenly struggling to breathe. It was becoming an almost overwhelmingly difficult effort to draw air into his lungs, to expel air. He fought for breath; his lungs began to burn.

  He could scarcely comprehend what was happening. So quick, so deadly. There were no hands choking him, but his own muscles turned against him . . . his breath had become a strangled rasp. Where was Charlie? Gone?

  How could this have happened? So suddenly.

  He could die. Was about to die. Strangled by the boojum.

  You bastard, he managed to think, barely able to form the thought before another sharp tightening made words impossible to form in his mind.

  A gray darkness began to enshroud him. His ears were ringing in the silence. He managed to think a wistful good-bye to Charlie.

  And then . . . something slipped and jarred in his mind. He felt what was left of his thoughts veering abruptly, wildly, out of control. Not just out of his control, but any control. Voices clamored around him. In his last moments of consciousness, he was careening off into the madness of silence-fugue. He was free, free—but only for a moment, only to drown at the bottom of a deep, dark sea.

  Chapter 16

  Missing Parties

  THE MEMORIES AND folded and unfolded with blinding speed, sorting and resorting and never quite coming into focus. What was it that had led him to flee? Fear? Danger? Real? Imagined? Surely real: his last sight of his companions had been of them fleeing from the same whippets of energy that Copernicus himself had evaded. But they had not followed him into the metaship, at least not at the same location. He had watched as long as he'd dared, and then set out to reconnoiter.

  Copernicus sat, paralyzed with thought, atop a low rise overlooking a small settlement of unfamiliar beings. They were not humans, nor Hraachee'ans; he did not know what they were. They were four-legged, and appeared to spend significant portions of their time—when not engaged in heated verbal communications— working at or around the soil, paying particular attention to low-growing foliage. They did not appear to be mining; he did not know what they were doing. He had already decided that he would not risk approaching them, if he could avoid it.r />
  But he had seen something in their settlement that interested him. Terminals. Data-connect points. Access of the sort that he badly needed. Perhaps, if he kept looking, he would find other terminals, away from unpredictable aliens. He needed to make contact: not just with the datanet, but with his companions.

  And he had to make sense of the voices he'd begun hearing in his head. >> . . . can you hear us . . . vital that you answer . . . Napoleon not responding . . . must respond . . . >>

  They were not human voices, and not Napoleon's. Was it the voice of the boojum? Should he obey? No way to tell; couldn't be sure.

  He searched his memory for clues. What was he supposed to do now, cut off from his partners? What was he to make of Napoleon? He was to assist and protect John Bandicut, wasn't he? Or were these voices his new masters? He remembered being afraid, and Bandicut reaching out to protect Napoleon, who was behaving irrationally. But why? Had they all fallen prey to the boojum?

  Copernicus needed time to think, but more than that, he needed information. Wherever he was, it was time to move on.

  Turning, Copernicus drove down the hill away from the village. He had seen a long, flat path that seemed to resemble a road. If he followed the road, perhaps he would find more terminals.

  And perhaps then he would also find the answers he needed.

  *

  Ik sighed through his ears, as the Maksu fireflies buzzed and flickered about the table. They reminded him of the sparkles he often saw before his eyes when he came out of certain sleep-meditations. Ik was due for some sleep-meditation right now. He had been in a state of alertness for too long. He glanced at Li-Jared, who was stirring restlessly, and Li-Jared's eyes flashed, conveying his thoughts: These creatures make me nervous.

  Ik was not about to disagree.

  The Maksu-swarm flew together in close, orbiting whirls, making a sound like a low, structural metallic groan. "Your information is valuable, though alarming," Ik heard through the voice-stones in his head. "We would seek any further information you may acquire about the boojum."

  Ik rubbed his chest with his fingertips. "Of course. And your exchange?"

  The Maksu moaned, "A group will conduct you to the Tree of Ice nexus, 'ice caverns,' and there will attempt to assist you in making contact with the metavoices. We cannot guarantee contact, nor can we guarantee any information you might receive in the caverns."

  "We understand that," Ik said, catching Li-Jared's eye. The Karellian flicked his fingers casually.

  The Maksu continued, "We do not expect physical difficulties. However, interference from the boojum or other influences may occur at any time. In such cases, we cannot be responsible for your personal safety, or for the completion of your journey."

  Li-Jared bwanged indecipherably. He undoubtedly found the disclaimer irritating, even while expecting no more nor less.

  Ik touched his stones thoughtfully. During the entire discussion of the boojum and their own recent experiences, the Maksu had buzzed with fear. They seemed terrified of the boojum, though whether out of concern for the integrity of the iceline, or concern for its danger to them personally, he couldn't tell. The iceline network provided considerable information exchange through this sector of Shipworld—not just Atrium City, but a wide region spanning several continents. As nearly as he could gather, the Maksu did not use the iceline as a medium for their distributed colony consciousness. But as dealers in information, they were keenly aware of its role in keeping data flowing.

  "We always take responsibility for our own safety," Ik said. "However, in the interests of taking the longer view on the question, we would prefer a certain readiness to provide mutual assistance, if necessary."

  The Maksu buzzed for a few moments, but in the end simply left the question hanging. What he heard in translation was: "We are agreed, then?"

  Ik and Li-Jared exchanged glances, and agreed.

  The Maksu swarmed higher above the table, to depart. "Inform us when you have rested, and we will complete the arrangements. If you have further business to conduct, do not hesitate to contact us."

  Ik bowed, and as the privacy curtain dissolved from around them, the Maksu streamed away into the gloom. Ik looked at Li-Jared with relief; his friend's eyes were dim with fatigue. "I am glad to be done with that. I too find the Maksu tiring. And now I am sure that John Bandicut anxiously awaits our return."

  Li-Jared muttered his assent. Ik led the way, letting his thoughts touch the local control system for help in finding their table. He felt a nudge that sent them floating through the air toward a partially shrouded table.

  "John Bandicut!"

  There was no answer. Ik hurried, and passed through the hazy screen around the table.

  It was empty.

  Ik called to Li-Jared in alarm. "John Bandicut is gone!" Neither man nor robot sat at the table. But there was a puddle of liquid spilled from a glass that was now lying on its side, and a quantity of large, puffed grain kernels strewn across the tabletop. For a moment, Ik thought he had come to the wrong table. But no, John Bandicut had been drinking from that tall glass. Had he gone for a walk—perhaps to find a relief area? It seemed unlikely that he would have left the table in such a state.

  "I fear something is wrong," Ik said as Li-Jared joined him. He touched the table globe, rolling his tongue in dismay. The globe was still lit, but there was no response from it when he reached out with his thought.

  Click click.

  Ik looked up. Behind Li-Jared's hunched form, an inorganic maintenance unit floated into the privacy zone. Li-Jared's eyes flared, but he dipped a shoulder to let it pass. It floated forward and hovered over the table like a game ball, bristling with probes and attachments.

  "Is there difficulty with the unit?" the inorg buzzed.

  "It would seem so. Our companion disappeared while we were away," Ik rumbled. "I want to track him, but the globe does not respond."

  Click click. "Malfunction was detected at the local iceline control node. I was dispatched to investigate."

  Ik felt the muscles behind his ears twinge. He watched as the inorg drifted, humming, close to the globe light. He glanced at Li-Jared. "Do you think it could be the boojum?" he murmured.

  "The robot, you mean? Perhaps it was contaminated, after all, and overpowered him?" Li-Jared circled the table warily, peering for clues.

  Ik considered the suggestion, as the inorg did something that caused the globe light to wink out. "It is possible. But if there was a malfunction in the globe light or the iceline, what I fear is . . ." He hesitated. "I do not truly know what to fear."

  Li-Jared circled back to him, eyes blazing. "I fear the robot." His gaze swept the darkened room outside the privacy zone. "It is a pity. I was almost starting to like your new friend."

  "That is remarkable in itself," Ik murmured. "I wish John Bandicut were here to appreciate it."

  "He does, after all, have stones," Li-Jared said.

  Ik hrrm'd. "I think more than that, my friend, that John Bandicut has skills and perspectives that you and I lack. We are a good team, Li-Jared, but I have often felt that we are incomplete. John Bandicut may be the missing component."

  The globe light blinked back on. Click click. "System contact is reestablished. Do you wish to try again?"

  Ik felt a steely chill. Did he wish to try? Of course. How else could he hope to find John Bandicut? But what if the iceline malfunction was connected to the boojum? "Do you know what caused the problem?"

  "System disruption, cause unknown."

  "Gaah," Ik muttered, and leaned forward over the globe. This time the light sparkled and danced at the edge of his thoughts. /Request tracking tag on companion John Bandicut, human of Earth,/ he thought silently.

  The iceline's response was immediate: <<>>

  Ik's eyebrows hardened. /Please elaborate./

  <<>>

  He hesitated. /Can you provide tracking tag on companion Napoleon, robot of Eart
h?/

  <<>>

  Ik rumbled softly to himself. What could the robot possibly be doing? And why would it have left—unless it was under the boojum's control, or out of control? He and Li-Jared would have to proceed with great caution. /Is there,/ he asked the globe, /anyone organic or inorganic with the robot?/

  <<>>

  Hraah. /Thank you./ Ik straightened from the globe. The inorg was still hovering over the table, and he informed it that the globelink appeared to be working.

  Click click. "Very good. We apologize for any inconvenience caused by the malfunction." The unit buzzed again, then floated away into the darkness.

  Ik told Li-Jared what he had learned, and they did likewise.

  *

  As she sat in silent repose in her hotel suite, Autumn Aurora (Red Sun) Alexandrovens, iceline signature Antares, wrestled with newfound confusion. It was a disconcerting state for the Thespi third female. But lately she had been feeling this way far too often.

  Twice tonight she'd been taken by surprise. First the glimpse of that being in the lounge, whose racial features so strikingly resembled her own. He was not a Thespi male, but he was astoundingly close in appearance, compared to anyone else she'd encountered on Shipworld. She'd sensed his interest at once, his startlement, his hesitation. And his . . . alienness, even in his similarity. She'd been so unsettled, when he'd just stared at her without making any greeting, that she'd practically fled in her confusion. And then in the midst of her transport back to her hotel had come the iceline contact: a query from that very same one, through the iceline mediator.

  John Bandicut was his name. Human was his race. Earth was his homeworld.

  She'd given him a signature for making contact, but he'd made no attempt to do so.

  She was torn by conflicting desires. She found it excruciating to simply wait for his call. How long had she been seeking others of her kind? A year, at least. And now: not her wish, exactly—but something tantalizing, and yet alarming. The iceline gave her a name trace, and the answer was a shock. A John Bandicut had been present in the southern continent, where a star-spanner factory and much of the surrounding population had nearly been destroyed by a control system demon. That information set her pacing, until she forced herself to sit and focus.