by Isaac Hooke
It's not real.
Tiny bits of matter called muscle rubbed against each other and the tiny bits of matter called rock, powered by a mind comprised of similar tiny bits. All of those tiny bits formed the fiction called reality. Spitting in the face of this reality, denying that it and his own mortality even existed, that's what kept him going.
He climbed, constantly reminded that there was no rope supporting him. That the only thing keeping him from the long fingers of oblivion was his own intensity of will. It was strange, having death so close to him in that climb. He'd never felt such clarity. He'd never felt so full of life.
He'd never felt so free.
And then it was done. One moment he was raising hands and feet with all the intensity of his will and focus, and the next he was pulling himself onto the wall's upper lip, a ledge little wider than his waist. He cleared away a small layer of snow, and settled himself onto the ledge.
It came as sort of a shock to have actually made it. But here he was in a snowstorm at the top of the world, the wind whipping his cloak around him, and he'd just climbed the last leg without a rope.
He held out his arms and loosed a shout of joy. Tears streamed down his face.
He crouched down against the rim, utterly exhausted. He peered down the other side of the wall. The landscape below was blotted out by the snowstorm and he saw only white-out.
Of course.
It was with more than a little relief that he spotted the rope that led down into the depths, a short ways to his left. He couldn't see where the rope anchored—the top was hidden by the snow on the ledge. But that didn't matter. The hard work was done. And he had a way down.
For now he needed a little rest.
He remained where he was, staring over the ledge, staring into eternity, and the downward vortex of windswept snow.
He'd never felt so drained in his life. The sheer intensity of focus needed to climb that wall had drained him to the core. So he just lay there on that wall, letting the snow fall around him, and the wind pick at his bones.
He almost fell asleep.
But a voice at the back of his mind stopped him.
Fall asleep and you die.
He batted the voice away. A short nap wouldn't hurt anything. Besides, dying didn't sound so bad right about now. It would be an end to this incredible weariness, at least.
Fall asleep and YOU DIE.
He forced himself upright.
"I'm getting up," he told to himself. "Got to get up."
He refused to die now, after all this work. He refused.
Clearing snow as he went, he crawled along the ledge, toward the rope that led down the other side. He was about to begin the long climb down when he remembered he was supposed to update the Users on his progress. He could imagine Ari, sitting by the twin of the rigged diary he carried, staring at the blank pages, waiting for a word, any word of his progress. Or maybe he was just feeding his fatherly ego. Did she even care about him anymore? She said he wasn't her father anymore. She was right. All she was had been destroyed when the gols revised her. She had memories of a different father. Another man brought her to the market square every weekend. Another man comforted her when she'd scratched her knees on the cobblestone. She wasn't his little girl anymore.
But she was. No matter what memories she had, she was his little girl.
He resolutely took off the duffel bag and fetched the book.
Sprawled there on the ledge, he wrote, I've made the top of the Gate. His script was terrible. He could barely grip the pencil after a climb like that, and the numbing cold didn't help, even though he sent a surge of electricity through his joints. This entry would be short. Snow hides the view of the other side. Climbing down now.
There. That should do.
He started to return the diary to the duffel bag when a gust of wind snatched the book from him. He fumbled for the thing—
His knees slipped on a patch of ice.
He tumbled over the ledge, joining the diary, and that vortex of snow, in the long fall into forever.
CHAPTER TEN
Hoodwink relaxed completely. He let his arms and legs spread-eagle, and he stared skyward into the swirling heavens. He'd never felt such peace. Oblivion was coming soon. And he accepted it. He could relax now. It was over.
In thought, he returned to the happiest days of his life, when he and his wife and daughter were young. Memories of White Park, of making angels in the snow, building snowmen, having snowball fights. Him and Cora making out behind the tree while their daughter played with her friends. Maybe he'd go back to that time, soon. And relive those moments forever. That wasn't such a bad thing.
His scarf partially unraveled and flapped across his vision, bringing him back into this world. The wind roared in his ears.
He was falling.
Falling.
Hoodwink lifted his chin to look at the wall. He was gradually tracking away from it. The rope was there, the one constant line amid the blur of rock. He tried to sit up, but succeeded only in dipping his bottom and forming a V-shape with his body.
He instinctively crossed his arms over his chest, and twisted. His body revolved instantly, so that he fell face-down now. He experimented with different arm and leg positions, finally turning himself around so that he faced the wall. The Forever Gate still tracked away, and was almost lost in the blizzard.
He tried paddling his arms, but that didn't help. At a loss for ideas, he contracted his abs, forming an inverted "V" with his body. Yes, that was it. He was drifting forward now.
The upward blur that was the wall came closer, as did the dividing line of the rope.
He grabbed at the rope, but it slid past his gloves. He squeezed as hard as he could. The gloves ripped through, and blood spurt from his palms into his eyes, blinding him. He forced himself to squeeze harder. The rope was like a saw, grinding through flesh and bone.
He released it.
He passed through the cloud-cover then, and the snow became rain. Red lightning flashed from the clouds, but the wind of his descent consumed all sound.
Lightning.
Time for a different tactic.
He hurled lightning at the wall again and again. He wasn't sure what he was trying to do, but the lightning had no effect. If a User bomb couldn't make a dent in the thing, how could he expect lightning to behave any differently?
But then he noticed something.
The lightning had pushed him back from the wall. Was it just his body positioning that had steered him from the Gate? He struck again. Nope. It was the lightning.
He glanced down through the rain. If he timed this just right—
The ground rushed up faster than he'd anticipated. He released the lightning in quick, controlled bursts.
His descent slowed rapidly, but not rapidly enough, because he struck the ground faster than he would have liked. Still, his landing was cushioned by the wet sand of the surface.
He lay there, motionless, the last of his charge lingering on his arms and legs, the crackle of spent electricity finally fading out.
The rain had stopped, and the sun beat down on him, hotter and stronger than he'd ever felt it.
He pushed himself upright, and saw a world entirely unlike the one he had left behind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hoodwink stood in a desert. Sand dunes stretched to the horizon, unbroken by any landmarks, beneath a sun as molten as the blacksmith's forge. The sky-reaching wall behind Hoodwink was the only landmark of note, unless you counted the bones of giant beasts in the distance, half-buried in the sand. The skeletons of monsters from the nine hells?
He discarded his winter clothes, and wrapped the scarf around his raw hands. Though it had been evening, the sun stood in the midpoint of the sky. He searched in vain for a time along the walls, seeking the duffel bag and the rigged diary, but soon gave up. He was eager to move onward. The wet dunes had quickly dried beneath the iron-red sun, and if he didn't find water or shelter soon, he'
d be joining those skeletal beasts.
He advanced, and the dunes swallowed him past the ankles with each step. He could feel the heat of the sand through his boots.
He paused beside one of those leviathans of bone. The unburied portion of the skull proved colossal, and comprised the greater proportion of the thing. From the skull extended the backbone, to which a prodigious basket of ribs was attached, erupting from the sand like a giant claw. The middle ribs had the greatest arch—bigger than some of the city footbridges. The backbone tapered as it continued toward the tail, which fanned outward in a massive rake.
He ran his fingertips across the surface of one of those middle ribs. The bone was porous, and had a similar texture to the Gate he had just climbed. The macabre notion came to him that the Forever Gate might be made of the bones of these beasts.
His tread became slower as time inched by and the heat sapped him. His lips were hopelessly chapped, and his throat felt swollen. But he trudged aimlessly onward. There was nowhere else to go. The sun hadn't moved a fingerbreadth in the sky the whole time. He decided he'd take shelter behind the next giant skeleton he found. Ahead, off to the right a little, a suitable candidate awaited.
But before he reached the leviathan, Hoodwink ran up against a glass barrier. He ran his fingers along the surface, his fingers making a distinct squeegee sound.
He drew his sword, and slammed the hilt into the glass with both hands. The surface thudded as if it were made of thick stone. He spun around and plunged the blade into the surface instead, but the sword skidded and sent painful vibrations up his arms, and twisted his wrist at a painful angle.
He held up a palm and summoned as much electricity as he was able, but only a trickle remained, and the tendrils of energy sparked harmlessly across the surface.
Then he noticed the hooded figure standing beside the glass, not far from him. Dressed in a black gown, the figure held a scythe in its hand.
Hoodwink spun his sword on the figure. "Who are you?"
The figure said no words, but it advanced, extending a hand that was much like the bony tails of those leviathans he'd passed. The hem of the figure's robe remained stationary, as if it floated rather than walked. It left no footprints in the sand.
"Stay back!" Hoodwink rasped, sword held high. Of all times to have no charge... he retreated, and his right elbow skidded against the glass barrier and he lost his balance, falling to the sand.
He swiveled toward the figure—
But it was gone.
"A mirage." Hoodwink laughed a laugh that quickly became a dry cough. "It was just a mirage."
"Not entirely," came a quaint voice beside him.
Still on the ground, Hoodwink spun his sword on the new arrival. It was a dwarf, dressed in a leather jerkin and breeches, with openwork sandals around his hairy toes. The dwarf held a black umbrella, which he put to use shading his head. The symbol on his chest suggested he was a gol, though Hoodwink didn't recognize the occupation the symbol stood for. It was just the number 111.
"Think of that image of Death as a test," the dwarf said. "You failed."
"Who are you?" Hoodwink said.
"Here." The dwarf popped the cork from a water bladder, and tossed it to Hoodwink. "You sound terrible."
Hoodwink caught the bladder and eyed the lip suspiciously. He gave it a sniff, then took a quaff. Water. Sweet water. He drank voraciously, then set the bladder down with a sigh, wiping his lips.
"That's better," the dwarf said. "Now we can talk about what we're going to do with you."
Hoodwink scrambled upright, using the glass barrier as a lever for his weary body. He kept the sword pointed at the dwarf. "Who are you?"
"I am Seven," the dwarf said. "One of the main A.I.s for the system."
"The main what?" Hoodwink stared blankly at the dwarf.
"The Artificial Intelligences. One of the Master Golems, if you will."
"I knew you were a gol." Hoodwink glanced around uncertainly, wondering if any more approached in ambush. He saw only the empty desert.
"I'm very much alone," Seven said. "In more ways than you know."
"Well, I'm Hoodwink. Hoodwink Cooper. And I have a message for you gols out here."
"Oh?" Seven raised an eyebrow.
"John Baker," Hoodwink said. "Son of Arrold Baker, 18 Market Street."
Seven pursed his lips. "Yes?"
"You're to get in touch with him. He's your contact for the Users, he is. We want to help you, if we can."
Seven seemed genuinely puzzled now. "The closest city would be Section 9, and my backup copy of the records shows a house on 18 Market Street. But what is it exactly the Users want to help me with?"
"The sickness that's affecting the minds of you gols." When Seven stared back blankly, Hoodwink elaborated. "The slobbering faces. The mistakes made by the gols at the banks, the stores, and so forth. You gols aren't yourselves. Not that I care, of course. You could all die as far as I'm concerned. But I'm just the messenger."
Understanding seemed to dawn on the dwarf. "I see now. But unfortunately, there's a slight problem. I've lost communication with the Core. The attack has damaged the root fiber and I can't interact with my complimentary units. I'm afraid if you want to convey this message of yours, you'll have to travel through the Forever Gate and do it yourself."
Hoodwink narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about? I just crossed the Gate."
"What you refer to as the 'Forever Gate' is just an artifice, a wall used to keep the humans from eating up all our computational resources. It would take googols more processing power if we allowed you beyond the towns. Generating fractal terrain doesn't come cheap, you know. Throw in the particle system, the billboarding, the occlusion culling, not to mention the lightmapping and pathfinding, all of which need to be duplicated for each and every city, and you have a system whose resources are quite nearly spent. It's a miracle it all comes together as smoothly as it does, really."
Hoodwink waved his sword threateningly. "Speak Common, will you?"
Seven smiled, and there actually seemed to be irony, real irony in those gol eyes. "You've been hoodwinked."
Hoodwink stared at the dwarf, not knowing what to say. Then he glanced at the glass barrier beside him, and he had a thought. He rapped the surface with his knuckles. "This is the true Forever Gate, isn't it? The real world, the one you've been hiding from us, it's past here."
Seven pursed his lips, then nodded, a little reluctantly. "You could say that."
"Tell me how to cross."
"If you cross the Forever Gate, there's no coming back," Seven said.
Hoodwink felt a tingle of dread in the pit of his stomach, but he said, "I've heard that before. And I will go back."
"We'll see. You needn't have come all this way simply to pass the Forever Gate. Because you see, it can be crossed by anyone, anywhere."
Hoodwink regarded the dwarf doubtfully. "Really? Enlighten me."
Seven extended his arms and smiled mockingly. "Take your blade, wedge it in the sand, and fall on it."
Hoodwink stared at the dwarf, feeling his anger rise.
"It's true," Seven said. "Dying is the only way to reach the Outside. It's in the programming. Those who sent you over the wall, these Users, they likely hoped you'd fall to your death during the climb."
Hoodwink considered this for a moment. Then a smile crept on his face.
"Smart gol," Hoodwink said. "Smart little gol. I don't think I've ever met one quite like you. Except, I'm not so gullible as you might think, I'm not. You may've tricked the others who came before me, but you won't take me so easily."
The dwarf spread his hands wider. "I have sold you the only real truth there is."
"You sell death!" Hoodwink said.
"But isn't death the final truth there is?" Seven turned around, and began walking in the opposite direction. He glanced over his shoulder. "The Forever Gate is death. Return to the city, change your name, and your face, and live out your life. And
get yourself collared again if you want that life to be long."
Hoodwink rushed at the dwarf's back, unleashing a guttural growl.
Before his sword struck, the dwarf turned around. His fingertips glowed with forks of lightning.
Hoodwink was sent flying into the glass barrier. The electricity pulsed away from his battered body in surges, and was absorbed into the glass as he slid to the ground.
"Impossible," Hoodwink said when he'd caught his breath. He cringed at the pain he felt in his side. Broken ribs, or worse. "Gols don't have that power. It's why you collar us."
"Return to the city and live out your life," the dwarf said. "I'll see you on the Outside when you're good and ready."
Hoodwink noticed a flicker from the corner of his eye. Seven's lightning had done something to the glass barrier. Where one of the bolts had struck, the glass intermittently faded in and out, going from a view of the desert beyond to a triangular shard of darkness, and back again.
Seven followed his gaze, but said nothing.
Hoodwink stood, and lifted his sword toward the defect in the glass. The tip of the weapon vanished. And though the view alternated from darkness to dunes and back again, the weapon appeared in neither. It was like he held only half a sword.
When he pulled the weapon out, the blade was whole.
"You have found your Forever Gate after all," Seven said. "Stepping beyond the outermost boundaries of the system is the same as death."
"As I said, I'm not so gullible." The sword had survived. He would too. He hoped.
He glanced at Seven. "Better hope I don't find you on the other side."
Before he could change his mind—and he was very close to changing it, believe me—Hoodwink stepped through the glass.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The world deflated like a child's balloon.
Hoodwink awoke in some kind of goo. He couldn't open his eyelids, because the substance burned his eyes. He couldn't breathe, because his lungs were filled with the stuff. He kicked and writhed, and in his panic he discovered a pliant membrane. He pressed on it with his hands, and it enveloped his arms up to the elbows. Abruptly the sheath yielded, and he sloshed into the open air.
