The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  /// Unless, of course,

  the safety systems are compromised. ///

  /You just had to say it, didn't you?/ Bandicut took a deep breath and stepped out over the abyss.

  *

  It was at once exhilarating and terrifying. He tried not to look down. His heart was pounding; he felt as if he were walking a tightrope. The robot whirred behind him, distracting him for an instant. He stubbed his right toe, and stumbled, and felt a sickening lurch as his weight shifted. You're dead. But he wasn't; the transport-field caught him and floated him up, a few millimeters above the slender arch. Dear God! He was shaking now, but he stared resolutely straight across, taking deep breaths, and tried not to think about what the boojum could do to the transport-field.

  The boojum was apparently occupied elsewhere. The arch landed him gently on the far side. He gasped, staggering for the first few steps—and suddenly felt himself reliving, vividly, the first time he had stepped off a moving slidestair as a child. The terror this time was not much different.

  Napoleon landed right behind him. "Interesting, isn't it, Captain. Exciting."

  "Is that what you thought? I'm glad one of us liked it," he answered. "Now, do you know where we are? Where we're supposed to go?"

  "I believe we are there," Napoleon replied, striding toward what looked like an open maze of gardens and shops and terminals and fast-food establishments. It was a well populated little mall which wouldn't have seemed too far out of place back in L5 City. The population mix was as varied as in the hotel lobby. Bandicut saw a number of low, squat beings who looked like stumps with pincers, and he was not disappointed when Napoleon suggested they move away toward another group of shops. There he saw two apparent brethren of the officious treelike being who had met them upon their landing in the park. They kept walking.

  "Do you know what we're looking for?" he asked.

  "We presume Copernicus will be waiting, or perhaps observing us first," Napoleon answered unconcernedly.

  "We presume."

  They continued through a glittering shop full of holo images and rumbling music. It was a dizzying experience; every time Bandicut turned, there were images of faces and places and abstract patterns erupting in the air before him, then imploding back in startling cascades. It seemed to be a form of entertainment, though for all he knew it was a classroom. He blinked away from the holos and realized that he'd been unconsciously swaying to a thrum of dissonant music. "Captain," said Napoleon, "can you explain the purpose of this place?"

  Bandicut squinted at several slender tree-beings and something that looked like a young alligator standing at large, metallic boards with flickering lights. The alligator touched a lighted bar, and the music changed to something Bandicut imagined a shadow-person might like—high-pitched shrieks with no discernible rhythm or melody. The alligator switched a fernlike tail back and forth, and appeared to dance back from the board. "Actually, I think I can," he said.

  The robot clicked. "Yes?"

  "It's a damn recording shop."

  /// Recording shop? ///

  /A music store. I'll be b'joogered./ Bandicut laughed, despite his nervousness, as the alligator-alien danced back to the board and touched another lighted bar. The music changed to something with a recurring bass thrum. /Charlie, they've got teenagers on Shipworld. I'll be damned./

  /// John—am I missing something? ///

  /If you don't know, I couldn't possibly explain it to you. If you ever start remembering those TV shows that Charlie-One loved so much, maybe you'll understand./

  Charlie was silent for a moment.

  /// I guess I'll try to remember those things, ///

  he said at last.

  Oddly lifted, Bandicut walked on, out of the recording shop. He surveyed a semi-open area that looked rather like a fast-food palace—gaudily decorated, with colored lights and potted plants and small design panels inset into ceramic walls. Various patrons were gathered near a chrome counter, where they took turns pressing fingers or limbtips into small, lighted recesses. Bandicut watched in puzzlement. He saw no trays or food emerging. Come to think of it, no one appeared to be eating, although more than a few beings were gathered around tables in little alcoves. He moved for a closer look, and suddenly the air was filled with chiming sounds. He stepped back, and the chiming faded. /What do you suppose this is?/

  The quarx was silent, apparently idealess. Napoleon stood beside him, scanning. Bandicut grunted and focused on a serpent-being with turquoise skin, hunched over a table. He had assumed, before, that the creature was eating; but now he realized that it was staring into a flickering display in the tabletop. As he watched, the serpent suddenly reared up, eyes bright, and roared, "HH'ZAAAAAHHHHH!" It reached out with two big webbed hands and made excited clenching motions in Bandicut's direction.

  Bandicut edged backward, and bumped into one of the stump-creatures he'd seen earlier. "Excuse me," he muttered, in response to a twittered protest. He moved away from both beings, but the serpent was now waving its hands in another direction anyway.

  "Captain John, are you in danger? I see no sign of Copernicus." Napoleon had his sensors spinning, in an undoubtedly futile attempt to comprehend what he was seeing, or perhaps to locate his fellow robot.

  "No, it's all right, Nappy. Keep looking. Maybe Coppy isn't here yet. Let's see what we can learn." Bandicut watched the stump-creature waddle up to the counter and stroke a series of lights with its brown pincers. It was impossible to tell what it was doing. There was a willowy biped moving about the area who seemed to be working there. "Excuse me," Bandicut called.

  The creature approached. "Squeeee?"

  "Ahh, can you help me?"

  "Varooooo!" It pointed with a delicate tentacle toward a glowing panel on one of the partitions. It placed its tentacle on the panel, and seemed to want Bandicut to do likewise.

  "Uh—"

  /// Why not? ///

  Bandicut shrugged and reached out to touch the warm surface. He felt an immediate tingle in his wrist.

  /// Ah. The stones are responding. ///

  Bandicut spoke again. "Can you help me?"

  "Certainly," said the creature, drawing its limb away with a graceful bow. "What may we offer you?"

  "Well, I was wondering—what are those people doing? Do you serve food here?"

  The being chuckled melodically and pointed over Bandicut's shoulder, toward the back of the marketplace. "Eat—over there," it warbled. "Not here, sir."

  "Ah."

  "But we would be most pleased to serve you here, sir."

  "Aha. And—what is it that you do here? If I may ask. I'm afraid I'm new here."

  "Of course you are new. We offer you something special, a welcome for our newly arrived guests." The creature fluttered several of its limbs. "Would you prefer table or counter? We have some very fine positions open."

  Bandicut turned his hands up. "Table for what—if I may ask."

  "Very fine tables," the creature continued. "For—" spleee "—long term betting, lottery investment, and various—" spleee "—forms of life insurance. And at the counters—games of chance, with instant winnings day and night."

  Bandicut opened his mouth. "You mean this is a casino?"

  "The finest in the atrium," said the being, with a flourish of a tentacle.

  "Good lord."

  "May I seat you and your inorg?"

  Bandicut took a deep breath. "No, I'm . . . sure it is very fine . . . as you say," he stammered. The creature placed a tentacle gently upon his forearm, and he felt ever so slight a tug toward the games. "I'm afraid, though—" he jerked his arm back "—that I prefer to dine first."

  "Of course," said the being, and with another bow, turned away.

  At the nearby table, the serpent was bent back over its game, in what appeared to be ferocious concentration. Bandicut had the feeling that its win had been short lived.

  "Let's go, Nappy. I don't think we're going to find Copernicus in here," Bandicut muttered under
his breath.

  "Indeed, where do you think we should look next?" asked the robot, whirring alongside.

  "I don't know. But I'm hungry. Maybe he'll expect me to be looking for someplace to eat."

  *

  The eating establishment in the back turned out to be a colorless place, decorated in oxidized-aluminum grey, with a few bits of trim in a darker charcoal. Perhaps neutrality was the intent. There was no serving counter, but a series of small, cramped tables—half of which were occupied by customers seemingly ingesting food. The tables had centerpieces that looked like terminals. /Iceline connection?/ he asked Charlie, sliding cautiously into a corner table.

  /// I'm not sure. Wait.

  The daughter-stones say, based on past experience,

  that these are probably local terminals,

  not connected to the main iceline. ///

  Bandicut nodded, relieved not to have to worry about meeting the boojum in the course of ordering a grilled-cheese sandwich. He touched the terminal and silently ordered. There was a pause while the terminal tried to sort out, through the translator, his inner impressions of what, exactly, a grilled-cheese sandwich and coffee might be. Then, after another pause, it informed him that he had no registration, and therefore no credit. Hell, he thought—and asked the terminal if Napoleon could pay for him. After a bit of negotiation, Napoleon extended a probe and the order was completed.

  "Thanks, buddy," he told Napoleon, with sincerity.

  A minute later, a small napkin appeared, bearing a flat, grey, three-inch-square object, and beside it a small cup of steaming black liquid. From the amount of steam rising from the cup, he guessed that it must be near the boiling point. The aroma was familiar. Used motor oil, he thought. He frowned and nudged the cup away, and picked up the sandwich. It was firm, not hard, and looked as though it could at least physically be chewed. He hesitated, and nibbled off a bite. It was slightly greasy, slightly salty, and otherwise tasteless.

  /// I guess not all establishments

  in this city are of the same quality. ///

  He remembered wistfully how good the popcorn and beer had tasted in the bar last night. He had no idea how one earned spendable credit around here, but had a sudden intuition that if he were to remain in this city, he would likely wind up eating this kind of food more often than the other. He was still debating whether to swallow.

  /// I'd say, judging by your physiologic signs,

  that it's safe. ///

  /Safe. But not necessarily pleasant, right?/ He finally swallowed, gagging just a little. He decided that it wasn't actually bad, it was just flavorless, colorless, and textureless. He put the sandwich down.

  "John Bandicut," Napoleon said suddenly, rising. "I believe we have a call."

  "Copernicus?"

  "Can't say, but I felt a tingle. I must find an iceline terminal. There, I believe." He crossed to a nearby partition and halted before a mirror-surfaced panel. He placed a probe on it and turned his primary eyes toward Bandicut. "It is not active."

  Bandicut looked around. There were a dozen similar patches around the eatery. "I think it's a decoration, Nappy."

  Clicking, Napoleon rose to maximum height. "Do you see—"

  "Let's look outside."

  As they left the eatery, Bandicut reminded Napoleon that if it was Copernicus calling, he wanted to talk. "I understand," said Napoleon. He located a terminal and made the connection. After a moment, he said, "Captain, it was Copernicus—but another text message."

  Bandicut swore. "What did it say?"

  "It begins, Thank you for allowing me to observe you. I am not physically present in your area, but am reassured by the sight of you both. Do not, repeat, DO NOT speak the rest of this message aloud in public. It then continues with additional, and I must say, alarming, information."

  Bandicut stared at Napoleon. "What do you mean?"

  "If the message is correct, I understand why Copernicus did not wish others to hear it. Is there someplace private where we can talk?"

  Bandicut took a deep breath. "Let's get back to the hotel. Fast."

  Chapter 19

  Decisions

  "CAPTAIN." THE ROBOT paused in the front lobby. "Before we return to the room, you may wish to review this message privately."

  "Why's that?"

  "It contains a suggested course of action which may be contrary to what your companions want to do."

  Bandicut blinked, suppressing a momentary dizziness. Mokin' foke, he thought. He looked around the lobby. "Over there," he said, pointing to a secluded corner. They walked over and sat on a long, low cushion. They were flanked by two pools populated with fat eels and bulbous fish; otherwise, they were alone. "Okay, let's have it."

  Napoleon clicked. "Could you sit closer, please?"

  Bandicut stared at him, then nodded. He leaned forward and put his ear against the robot's external speaker. "How's this?"

  "Better. I am concerned that we not be overheard." The robot's metallic voice was nearly inaudible. "Copernicus reports that the boojum may be intending an attack against a critical Shipworld structure. Soon."

  Every muscle in Bandicut's body coiled involuntarily. He had trouble breathing.

  "Shall I repeat?" asked Napoleon, raising his voice slightly.

  "Negative." Bandicut finally drew a deep breath. "Tell me what he said."

  "Following the warning not to speak in public, quote: Shadow-people believe boojum is planning attack on critical life-support infrastructure. Defense inadequate. Many lives, including yours, are at risk. Request meeting in secure location; coordinates attached. Must have further confirmation you are uncontaminated. Your help urgently needed! Pan pan. Bring all those with translator-stones! Come at once, please! The address—"

  Bandicut sat up abruptly. "Jesus, Nappy!"

  Napoleon paused, then raised his voice to a normal soft volume. "Well, the address appears to be outside Atrium City."

  Bandicut closed his eyes, nodding. Attack on critical life-support infrastructure . . . Jesus.

  /// Sounds as if we should go, I'd say. ///

  /Yeah, but—Charlie, why us? Aren't there systems to take care of these things?/

  /// Maybe the systems are corrupted.

  He asked for "all those with translator-stones."

  That's you. Ik and Li-Jared, too. ///

  Bandicut's head was spinning. He stood up. "Nappy, we've got to get back to the room."

  "Agreed, John Bandicut. But please—how can I prove to Copernicus I am uncontaminated, without direct contact? I do not believe he will allow that. If I were contaminated, such contact could endanger him."

  "Maybe he has some idea," Bandicut said helplessly. He suddenly cocked his head, squinting past Napoleon. In the pool just beyond them, two thumbnail-sized fish eyes were sticking up out of the water. Looking at him. Or listening? He shivered with sudden, unreasoning fury. Were even the damn ornamental fish spies around here? He stepped quickly to the stone-lined edge of the pool. The eyes—or ears—vanished as he grabbed a large stone and smacked it down into the water. He grabbed for another, but through the disturbed surface of the water, he saw the fish dart into a hole, out of sight.

  "Captain? Shall we go?" said the robot.

  He looked around, not sure whether to be angry or sheepish. "Yeah," he grunted. "Let's go."

  *

  "Hraah, John Bandicut!" Ik cried as they entered the sitting room. "You are safe! We were afraid for you!"

  "Why did you take such a risk, going out alone?" Li-Jared chided. "Why did you not speak to us?"

  Bandicut's head hurt; his heart was still hammering. "I knocked, but you were both asleep. Look, I'm okay. But we have to talk. Now. We've gotten several messages from Copernicus."

  "Yes, we saw the messages you left," Ik said. "What else have you learned? Did you see him?"

  "No." Bandicut scowled, pacing in front of the orange wall. "He was just watching us on a monitor or something. I don't know how—through the iceline, I
suppose."

  Ik's deepset eyes flickered in his blue skull. "You were not suffering another—what did you call it—silence-fugue?"

  "No, afraid not. But Coppy says he needs our help, right away. Nappy, would you repeat the message?"

  He watched the others' reaction as Napoleon recited Copernicus's words.

  The electric-blue slits of Li-Jared's eyes narrowed, then expanded with intensity. "What installation is it going to attack? Did he say nothing more?"

  "No. And I haven't been able to talk to him directly."

  "Did you learn anything else?"

  "Yeah, I learned the mall food stinks."

  Li-Jared waggled a black-fingered hand. "We could have told you that, without your risking a trip out alone."

  Bandicut shrugged defensively. "I wasn't alone. I had Napoleon and Charlie."

  "Charlie?" Li-Jared queried.

  Bandicut touched a fingertip to his forehead. "He's back."

  Li-Jared's face wrinkled. He seemed to want to ask about the quarx, but before he could do so, Ik interjected, "This message from Copernicus—it would seem he is asking for Li-Jared and me, as well. 'All those with translator-stones.' Indeed."

  Bandicut nodded soberly. "Yes. And I know you're planning to go with the Maksu to—"

  "Yes, but this—we must consider. A threat to life-support infrastructure? Most disturbing. It could imperil all of us, everyone on the continent."

  Bandicut nodded.

  Li-Jared looked at Ik. "You believe we should go, then? You and I? This is—"

  "Distressing, yes! But if we find the ice caverns, only to have our lives threatened from another direction—"

  Bwong-ng. Li-Jared's eye flashed angrily. "But what do we know of this, really? No doubt this robot of Bandie's is very loyal, assuming it still has free volition. But should we not investigate, before making rash judgments?"

  "Indeed," Ik said. "John Bandicut, can you contact Copernicus and ask for further information?"

  "We can try, sure. But isn't there someone else we ought to call, too? Some authority?"

  "And say what? We know no details. And it might only increase the danger, if the boojum senses an alert. It might attack sooner."