by Mick Farren
To Billy's alarm, Jetstream suddenly slammed a fist into the control panel.
'I knew I knew you! Billy! Just Billy, huh? I know who you are, friend. You're Billy Oblivion!'
Billy's heart froze. 'I. .'
He could swear that he had never met the man. Unless, of course, the nothings had time-warped him.
Schook Jetstream hit the retros, and the vehicle shuddered to a stop. Billy, who had not bothered to strap in, was thrown headfirst into the canopy. Jetstream was glaring at him with a look of pure hate.
'Out!'
Billy was dizzy and a little stunned. He had trouble getting his arms and legs untangled. Jetstream was throwing off his safety webbing. Billy was on his hands and knees, crawling back down the cabin. Jetstream aimed a kick at him.
'Out, I said! Out of here, you murderous bastard!'
Jetstream was smashing at Billy with boots and fists. As Billy tried to avoid the blows, he wondered desperately what he might have done to the man. He could not remember ever having set eyes on him before. He was well aware that there were plenty of people who might be more than justified in reacting to him like that. He just couldn't place Jetstream among their number. The other man had turned back to the control console. The hatch popped. Then Jetstream was coming at him again, brandishing a short black billy club.
'Out of here! Get out!'
Without thinking, Billy rolled through the hatch. He fell heavily to the road surface, grazing his knees and elbows. Above him, Jetstream was screaming.
'I hope you die out there! I hope you rot! Why don't you crawl into the nothings and be done with it, you bastard!'
The backwash rolled Billy over like a piece of discarded garbage as the red and yellow machine gunned away. He lay facedown on the cold, hard surface. So far, things were not going too well.
In the early days, there were attempts to halt the spread of the nothings. In the notorious Duncannon experiment, a tiny particle of antimatter was fired through the outer edge of a stasis field and into the nonmatter of the nothings. The resulting explosion was so disastrous that the experiment was never repeated.
— Pressdra Vishnaria
CHAPTER FOUR
Renatte de Luxe and the Minstrel Boy had been making love, so they had ignored the warning tone from the submarine's biode. Sex between the passenger chairs was an amazingly athletic challenge. When the tone had come informing him that the lizardbrain had locked to a menu of possible destinations, they were so entwined that the Minstrel Boy probably would not have been able to reach the control to make the selection command if he had wanted to. Now a display glowed in the air.
LOCK LOST.
The Minstrel Boy untangled himself from Renatta. 'Damn!' Renatta's breath was still coming in short, labored gasps. 'So much for the afterglow.'
LIZARDBRAIN SWEEPING FOR RANDOM PROXIMITY.
'What does that mean?'
'It means that we can't pick our spot. The lizardbrain is casting around for the nearest stable area that has a water approach. Whatever 'nearest' means in the nothings.'
'Does it really matter where we go?'
'There are places where I'd rather not go.'
'But we missed being able to choose?'
'The one good thing about coming in by water is that you usually have a chance to take a look and back out if you don't like it.'
STABLE POINT LOCATED.
'All we can do is keep our fingers crossed.'
They came out of the nothings at periscope depth in dark water. The Minstrel Boy raised the scope and made a slow 360-degree sweep.
'We seem to be at the mouth of a very large river.'
'Do you recognize it?'
The Minstrel Boy leaned on the handgrips in the traditional submarine commander pose, although the traditional submarine commander was not normally bareass naked.
'I don't know. I've seen a couple of places where there are sections of wide river.' He stopped the sweep and turned the periscope back again. 'Will you look at that!'
'What?'
'There seems to be a war going on.'
Renatta, also naked, moved up beside him. 'We've come out in the middle of a war?'
The Minstrel Boy slapped the handgrips into the upright position and retracted the periscope. 'I'm going to surface and take a better look.'
'Isn't that dangerous?'
The Minstrel Boy was pulling on his pants. 'We're quite some distance out.'
He swung into the pilot chair and manually brought the vessel to the surface. He set the controls to maintain their current position, then ducked back toward the hatch. Dressed only in his old leather pants, he opened the hatch and began to climb out. Renatta made no move to follow him.
'Be careful.'
As the periscope had shown, they were well out from the mouth of a wide river. It was night, but a pair of phony moons made it almost as bright as day. To one side of the river there was dark green jungle; to the other, a stately mansion with a classic columned portico dominated a low headland. The mansion was burning like a torch, flames streaming from the windows and being reflected in the black mirror of the water. As the Minstrel Boy watched, the roof collapsed in a galaxy of sparks. Farther upriver a red dirigible with skull insignias on its side was dropping incendiaries on a second target while small monoplanes made strafing runs. From the way the airship hung motionless in the air, it was clearly meeting no resistance from the ground. The audible chatter of gunfire must have been coming exclusively from the planes.
The Minstrel Boy leaned into the body of the submarine. 'You should come up here and take a look at this.'
'Is it safe?'
'We're a good way out. I don't think anyone's going to notice us.'
Renatta, dressed once again in her lace shift, emerged from the hatch. She let out a low whistle. 'Pretty spectacular. Why are those planes doing that?'
The Minstrel Boy put an arm around her shoulder. The air was not particularly warm out on the water.
'Anybody's guess. They're probably air pirates. Those guys will hit a target just for the fun of it.'
'People have strange ideas of fun.'
'That's the first thing you learn.'
'We can't land here, can we?'
The Minstrel Boy shook his head. 'It doesn't look as though it would be a very good idea.'
'So what do we do?'
'Quietly go back the way we came.'
As he spoke, one of the monoplanes broke off the attack and made a high turn toward the open sea. It began trailing flares from its wing tips in an obvious signal.
The Minstrel Boy cursed. 'I think that plane's telling the others that it's spotted an unarmed submarine coming in from the sea. We're not going to leave here quietly. Quickly, get below.'
Renatta de Luxe needed no second urging. The Minstrel Boy was pleased that she did not waste time asking redundant questions. He swung down through the hatch right behind her. As he quickly dogged the cover, he gave verbal commands to the biode.
'Take control. Crash dive. We are under air attack. Run for the nothings in a high-speed evasive pattern. I waive stasis protocol and relinquish all participation.'
In such a situation, the biode was much smarter and a hundred times as fast as he was. It was only human vanity that made men involve themselves in the world of machines. As he ducked into the pilot seat, he gestured to Renatta.
'Strap in! The g-comp will only make a dent in what's about to happen. It's going to be a roller coaster until we hit the nothings.'
A Klaxon blared, and warnings hung in the air.
CRASH DIVE!
CRASH DIVE!
The gold submarine made a bucking plunge and started to run for the nothings like a minnow trying to outmaneuver a hungry shark. There were explosions of bubbles on either sideof them. The monoplane was dropping mines of some kind. The Minstrel Boy clutched the inoperative control levers with his shoulders hunched protectively around his ears and his eyes tightly shut. If he was going to be blown to pieces, he saw no reaso
n to watch it coming. The boat rolled and twisted. The whole framework was vibrating, and the noise of the drive was a deafening anguish. The biode had taken him at his word and was pushing firmly at the envelope. When it abruptly stopped, he almost believed that he had died. With absolutely no feeling of deceleration, all noise and motion ceased. There was nothing but the ticking of the clock, their own still-labored breathing, and the small internal sounds of the submarine.
'The nothings,' the Minstrel Boy announced.
'That was something.'
The Minstrel Boy unstrapped. 'You liked that?'
'One way to work up an appetite.'
The Minstrel Boy blinked. 'You're hungry?'
'Threats to my life take me that way.'
'I think we should find a destination before we do anything else. I don't like to be in the nothings for any longer than need be.'
'It'll be better than the last one?'
'I'll merge with the biode and watch while the lizardbrain takes a look around.'
He grasped the control levers and settled into the intelligence cushion. Almost immediately there was an image. A building stood on its own isolated, mist-shrouded hill. It was a strange, uneven asymmetrical structure that looked as if it had been built in relays without a coherent plan. There were buttresses and turrets and sloping batwing roofs. Spires rose from the granite complexity like seedlings desperately reaching for a light that had failed. The place might just as well have grown there. It had that older-than-the-rocks-on-which-it-sat permanence. The most applicable word was "pile." The overall effect was brooding Gothic, but style was joined to style with total abandon. Although there was something very forbidding about its towering bulk, the bright lights shining from its irregular doors, windows, and terraces were warm and welcoming.
'The Voice in the Wilderness.'
'What?' Renatta asked.
'I suppose you could call it an inn. A lot of travelers passthrough there, and you can get pretty much anything you might want. It's the domain of an individual called Ramilles Diamenti, who's as old as God.'
'What's he like, this Ramilles Diamenti?'
'He's about as big as God, too. A huge man, and he rules his kingdom with a rod of iron. You can get rowdy at the Voice in the Wilderness, but if you step over the line and cause real trouble, Ramilles Diamenti will break you in half.'
'You've been there.'
'Sure, I've been through there a dozen times.'
'You think it's the place for us?'
'If it's still the way it used to be, it'd be a good start. There is one small snag, though.'
'There is?'
'It works on a money system, and you don't have any.'
'Why should anybody bother with money when everything comes from Stuff Central?'
'Some places just like to do it that way. Nostalgia, maybe. It's also a matter of control. Diamenti's nothing if not a control freak.'
Renatta looked at the Minstrel Boy with calculating eyes. She clearly had her own sense of nostalgia where money was concerned. 'Do you have any money?'
'I've got some gold coins that I can use in an emergency. I was also planning on selling the submarine.'
Renatta treated him to a dazzling smile. 'Maybe you could help me get started. I mean, if you're selling the submarine, we did both come from the Caverns in it.'
The Minstrel Boy hesitated, then shrugged. 'Maybe.'
Renatta waved a hand, dismissing the subject. 'Money's no problem.'
The gold submarine surfaced in a small lagoon in the outer roots of the structure. It was almost like suddenly coming up into a large swimming pool, except that the quays enclosing it were constructed from huge blocks of rough-hewn stone. It was only up close that the newcomers were treated to the full impact of just how big the Voice in the Wilderness really was. From the bottom, it was more like a fortress than an inn. It had been constructed on a truly monumental scale. There was a mist on the water and a strange metallic smell in the air. Three other craft were tied up at the steel jetty that extended from the quay almost to the center of the lagoon. Two were small submarines similar to the one from the Caverns. The third was a power bathyscaphe of a type the Minstrel Boy had never seen before.
As they walked down the jetty, Renatta hugged her arms around her breasts. 'It's cold here.'
'They don't dress as scanty at the Voice in the Wilderness as they do in the Caverns.'
'I have to get some clothes.'
The Minstrel Boy grinned and hitched the strap of his veetar case to a more comfortable position on his shoulder. 'That shouldn't be a problem.'
At the end of the jetty a flight of stone steps lit by green-yellow gas flames led up to a broad terrace that overlooked the lagoon. The Minstrel Boy pointed. 'If we go up there and along, we'll come to the entrance to the Great Hall. That's the first place to hit. It's where everything goes on.'
Renatta raised an eyebrow. 'Everything?'
'If it don't go on, it at least gets started there.'
There were a number of ground vehicles parked along one side of the terrace. It was an exotic and impressive selection. A Concorde-Napier six-wheeler with hand-assembled coachwork and polished brass trim stood beside a Fragg Crusher with multiple treads and animal pelts hanging from its mast and roll bars. A K7 Road Rocket with extended fins and a black kahee symbol painted on the side was parked by itself. A Zinn walker knelt on immobilized legs. The prize for sheer formidable size went to a fully armored Saab battlewagon with full gun ports and a heat ray. The Minstrel Boy stopped and stared at it.
'There's going to be some hard cases in the old saloon tonight.'
Beyond the ground cars the unmistakable warm, rank smell of marma lizards came from a wide, arched entrance that had to be the mouth of a tunnel to the underground stables.
Renatta glanced back toward the lagoon. 'I'm not sure I like this place.'
The Minstrel Boy put an arm around her shoulders. 'You'll get to like it fine. It could have been made for you.'
She brightened considerably as she got her first sight of the entrance to the Great Hall. They had passed from the terrace, through a short tunnel, and into a wide courtyard where a twice-life-size and extremely lewd hologram cooze dancer undulated on a pedestal.
'That's an actual print of the legendary Desdemona Princess,' the Minstrel Boy explained.
'No kidding.'
'Diamenti's a great collector.'
Music and noise, along with the smells of food, drink, and humanity, wafted from a wide doorway at the far end of the courtyard. There was a loud burst of the electric, nasal music of the ancients.
Memories that linger in my heart,
Memories that make my heart grow cold,
Until the day we love again, sweetheart,
And my blue moon again will turn to gold.
The Great Hall of the Voice in the Wilderness was part bazaar, part saloon, and part marketplace; it was a dance hall and a gambling joint and a public promenade. A dozen different entertainments were going on under its high, hammer-beam roof. The crowds swirled, the pitchmen hollered, and the musicians leaned into their instruments, trying to compete with the noise. Jugglers played with fire and knives, Indian clubs, and bowling balls; dancers twisted and sweated while myriad lights were reflected from oiled bodies. Dice rolled, slick hands dealt the cards, and the wheel of fortune spun. Hands, eyes, mouths, and gestures made offers and suggested exchanges that were as old as time. It all went on under the hard, watchful eyes of Diamenti's keepers, big men with guns on their hips and stun wands hanging from their wrists.
Renatta seemed to have completely reversed her opinion of the place. She looked around delightedly and, in her near nudity, was looked at plenty in return. 'It's like the whole world was here.'
'Maybe more than that.'
Renatta glanced curiously at the Minstrel Boy. 'What do you mean?'
'Aliens.'
'Aliens?'
'There are stories that on the upper floors and in the t
owersthere are aliens, trapped in this Damaged World by the unset of the nothings.'
Renatta grimaced. 'I find that kind of creepy.'
The Minstrel Boy sighed. 'I find that kind of sad, the idea of these strange beings stuck here, never able to go home. Of course, it's only a story and Diamenti always denies it, but it is a fact that nobody's ever allowed on the upper floors.'
They had been in the Great Hall only a matter of minutes when the Minstrel Boy was asked if he would sell his veetar. The offer came from a small balding man in a silk suit. He had the smooth assurance of someone who thought he knew the price of everything.
The Minstrel Boy looked at him in complete disbelief. 'I'd rather sell my mother.'
After the man in the silk suit moved on, Renatta grinned at the Minstrel Boy.' Somehow I can't picture you with a mother.'
'Everyone has a mother.'
'Why didn't you sell the thing? You never play it.'
'Things change.'
'Does that mean that you're going to start playing again?'
'It means that things change.'
A swarthy individual in a black toga trimmed with gold, who looked like a slaver from the Margins, buttonholed the Minstrel Boy and wanted to know if he would sell him Renatta.
The Minstrel Boy smiled. 'She isn't mine to sell. She's not my property.'
'Damn right I'm not his property.'
The slaver spread his hands. 'A thousand pardons, beautiful lady, but you looked so. .' His eyes ran up and down her body, and he licked his lips.
Renatta regarded him with amusement. 'I looked so what? Available? Good enough to eat?'
The slaver bowed low. 'I meant no offense. Indeed, if you would consider allowing me to have a template made of you so I could create a replica, I would pay very well.'
Renatta de Luxe put her hand on a tilted hip, flaunting herself at the slaver. 'I don't see how that could do any harm. How much would you give me?'
The Minstrel Boy scowled and quickly shook his head. 'No. Don't do it.' His voice was hard, almost angry.
Renatta looked at him in surprise. 'Why the hell not?'
'Think about it. Once he's got your template, he can make as many copies of you as he likes. They'd be just like you, with your memories and your feelings. They'd know what you know and think like you think. He could sell them; he could do anything he liked with them. You want that to happen to people just like you?'
