Paradox Alley s-3

by John Dechancie

  "Uh… um." Nobody seemed to want to take the lead. "Look, can we sit here for a little longer, then go to our quarters?"

  "Certainly. I will send the guide to conduct you in, say, half an hour?"

  "Uh, make it twenty minutes. Then how will we get in touch with you?"

  "I will contact you again as soon as I can," Prime said. "You can then apprise me of your decision. If you choose, you may then leave."

  "Well, that sounds okay. How long do you think you'll be? If you don't mind my asking."

  "Certainly not. I don't think I will be occupied more than three hours:"

  "Oh. Fine with us, I guess."

  "Very good. Again, I want say that I have enjoyed our luncheon. Your company has given me great pleasure."

  "Well… thank you. I think I can speak for all of us-it's been… interesting. To say the very least."

  "'Thank you. A very good afternoon to you."

  We all got up as he turned and strode away from the table. He passed through an archway and entered one of a number of corridors branching away from the dining hall. Nobody said a word. He receded from us, striding purposefully, gracefully, soft-soled boots padding over the polished onyx floor, green cape billowing in his wake. Without looking back, he turned a corner and went out of sight.

  We sat.

  "Anybody know what that joker was talking about?" Carl asked.

  John cocked a sardonic eyebrow at him, then turned his head to me "We have a decision to reach, Jake."

  I poured myself more brandy. These weighty matters call for inspired thinking. "I'm for getting the hell out of here, like, mucho fasto."

  "I wish he could have stayed to answer more of our questions. So many of them still hanging." John shook his head slowly. "Absolutely astounding. Incredible."

  "If he's telling the truth," I said.

  "Well, I suppose he could be leading us on. I'm incapable of imagining why, though."

  "Maybe he's got plans for us. The last survivor of a dead race. Alone, desperate. Or maybe he's just crazy, We don't know."

  "I think we are all very weary," Yuri said.

  "I'm sleepy as hell," Carl said. "I ate too much."

  I realized that I was feeling pretty logy, too, what with the brandy and all. I set down my glass, resolved to drink no more. For now at least.

  "Any other votes?" I asked. "Lori?"

  "I think we should stay and find out if Prime needs us. I think we should help him."

  "Why should we help him?" John asked.

  Lori thought about it, then said, "I don't know if he's God or not. But he did build the Skyway."

  "Remember what he said," Yuri reminded, "about the Culmination not possessing any technology."

  John rubbed his chin. "Yes, he did say that, didn't he? Strange."

  "Actually, he said that they didn't originate any," I put in. "Doesn't mean they don't use existing technology."

  Yuri shook his head skeptically. "I don't know. Difficult to imagine all that miraculous Skyway technology just lying about, waiting to be used."

  "Maybe the Culmination merely developed it, adapted it for the purpose," Roland speculated.

  "Well, that makes them consummate engineers, at least."

  I yawned. Recovering, I said, "I guess we really don't know yet who built the Skyway."

  "If the Culmination didn't do it, who did?" Darla asked.

  "I suppose we have to stick around to find out."

  "Then we should stick around," she said firmly.

  I turned to Carl. "What about it, kid?"

  "I say let's get the hell out of here. I want to go home." John said, "Well, `home' is a separate problem for you."

  Carl cocked his head toward the hallway down which Prime had made his exit. "He kidnapped me, he can take me back."

  "You're still convinced Prime's responsible?"

  "I sure am."

  "Okay, that's one no vote so far. Any others? Ragna?"

  "I am thinking-and so also is Oni-that we should be staying perhaps for the night, at least. Perhaps some further questions can be put to our host that he might be answering. Maybe?"

  John glanced around the dining hall. "What about all this? And what we saw outside and in the basement?"

  "Maybe the story about Microcosmos is true. It's a museum, a junkyard, a disneyworld, whatever. And he's the robot caretaker."

  Yuri asked, "You think he's a machine?"

  "Sure," I said, "or an android, something like that. He admitted as much himself."

  Zoya said, "He's not human. I'm very sure of that."

  "He sure puts on a good show," I said.

  "Yes, he does."

  Darla asked, "What about his saying that he was part human?"

  "Don't know quite what to make of that," John said. "What could he possibly mean?"

  "What do you make of this Culmination business?" Yuri said. "Any idea, Jake?"

  "Nope. Sounded like a lot of bullshit to me. Actually, it sounded a little like what your Teleological Pantheism is all about." I took a sip and added, "No offense."

  "Yeah, bullshit," Carl seconded. The Teelies looked at each other.

  "Remind me to kill you later, Jake," Susan scowled. "But he's right, John. It does strike very close to home."

  "Don't think I didn't notice," John said. "He sounded like a Teelie himself."

  "I think he's telling the truth," Roland said. "And I think we should stay."

  "Okay, that's one vote," I said. "Anybody else want to exercise his franchise. Or hers?"

  "Well," Yuri said. "We…" He looked at Zoya, who returned a cool stare. "I think at least that it's my duty to stay. The opportunities for learning here… I can't begin to guess what secrets this place holds. The issue is clear. I must stay."

  After a short silence, Zoya said, "I… think we should stay for a while at least. I…" She ran a hand through the tangles of her chestnut-brown hair, then heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes. "I just have a bad feeling about him." She lowered her head. "I'm so very tired."

  "You should be," I said, "after running around the universe, lost for two years."

  "Maybe. Anybody else? How 'bout you, Susan?"

  "I'm intrigued, to say the least. I want to go home, but…"

  "Should we stay the night, do you think?"

  She nodded. "At least."

  "John?"

  John brooded for a long moment. Then: "I would… I would not think very highly of myself if I walked away from the chance to discover the answer to some very basic questions. If Prime is a man… or a being from ten billion years in the future, he could tell us things… Lord, what things he could tell us!" He looked around the table. "It seems as if my no vote would be in a distinct minority, wouldn't it? Therefore, I say we stay. I don't think we're in any danger."

  "I wonder what became of our friend Mr. Moore and his lads," Sean said.

  "No one thought to ask," I said.

  "Maybe Prime doesn't know they're here," Liam said.

  "He must. But he doesn't have to worry about them. We do. They could show up here. Anyone forget to bring his weapon?"

  Shaking heads around the table. Everybody was armed except Lori, and that was because we were short a gun for her. "Well, we'll take turns on watch. We should be okay. What about you guys-Sean? Liam? Think we should stay?"

  "Ah, it was high adventure we were wanting," Sean said, grinning. "I think we've got it."

  "That we have," Liam seconded.

  "Jake," Sean asked, "are you really voting no?"

  "If I had any sense, I would. But…"

  In my mind, the long string of events that had led to all of this played back like a recording on fast-forward. The universe and everything in it had conspired to get me here, it seemed. The Paradox Machine was still frantically spinning its wheels. I knew-I had known all along-that I would have to keep wrenching levers and pulling toggles until the damn thing either stopped or did what it was supposed to do, whatever that was. Th
ere was no avoiding it.

  "I say we stay and get some answers." I looked at George and Winnie. "Those two look like they're at home here."

  "Home!" Winnie said.

  "Home!" George said.

  "Home," I said, nodding.

  "Here's the butler," Carl said, looking behind me.

  The sphere was back, ghosting toward the table. It stopped a few meters away. Any time you're ready.

  "Well," Liam said, "I could use a lie-down."

  "So could I," I said, and yawned again. It had been a long trip here. A very, very long trip. Some ten or twelve billion light-years. "But," I went on, "somebody has to take first watch. I will."

  We left the dining hall.

  6

  The dreams came that night.

  Our rooms seemed to be a full kilometer from the dining hall, or maybe our "butler" didn't use any of those spatiotemporal shortcuts Prime had talked about. It turned out that the distance wasn't quite that much; it seemed like a long way, though, what with all the twisting and turning. We saw nothing new en route, just more gizmos and gadgets lying about.

  The rooms were something. There were six of them-six main ones, anyway. They were spacious, with alcoves and walk-in closets adjoining each. The major spaces communicated by means of wide L-shaped passageways. There were no doors except those to the six bathrooms. The fixtures in these were strange but usable. What was remarkable was how the place was furnished.

  "Look at this bed!" Susan squealed.

  It was circular and big enough to park the rig on. Mounds of fancy cushions covered it. Overhead hung a tent-like canopy, and a translucent fabric screen ran around it.

  "You could have an orgy in here," Susan said. "What do you say, gang?"

  "You go first," Darla told her.

  There were other beds, most not as large, but big enough, three to each room, along with smaller daybeds, couches, recliners, and other things you could rack out in. More than enough for everybody. There were tables, chairs, settees, ottomans, and other pieces, everything executed with exquisite craftsmanship. The place was lavish. There were imaginative lamps, painted screens, inlaid tables, tapestries, intricately woven rugs, and shelves of objets d'art. Nothing in any of the rooms was done in a recognizable style. Some things were faintly oriental, others functionally modern. A few looked positively antique. All were tasteful and seemed to complement one another. The shiny black floor and the lucent green glass walls made the place absolutely striking. A showcase.

  "Nice," Lori said after touring the suite.

  "I wonder if all this was here," Liam said, "or Prime had his lads bring it up from the cellar."

  "Had it manufactured special," Sean ventured. Then he yawned, scratching his unruly red beard. "Mother of God! I could sleep for a week. After all that time in the truck…" He lowered himself onto a purple velvet chaise longue and plumped a pillow. He sighed and smiled, then keeled over.

  He was right. Those beds looked inviting. Too inviting, maybe. But what else was there to do? We had some time to kill.

  "Okay, children," I said. "Nap time. I'll stay up, then. Carl? How about you taking second watch?"

  "Yeah," he said through a yawn. "Sure."

  I caught it, and yawned, too. "Jeez, everybody stop doing that. I'll never stay up."

  Ten minutes later, after everyone had had a chance to go to the head, they were all conked out and I was left stalking the suite like a ghost. I considered the possibility that the food had been drugged. But I had probably eaten more than anyone, and though I was tired as hell, I wasn't on the verge of passing out. I felt capable of staying up as long as I needed to. As long as I didn't lie down.

  There wasn't much to do: Hanging in one of the rooms was a landscape painting, done with watery colors in an impressionistic style. I spent a few minutes examining it. It had been done on a hard oval board with no frame. The scene was of a pleasant, semi-arid planet, stunted trees fringing on a low hill to the right, jagged rocks up on a high ridge on the other side, a rock-strewn dry streambed meandering through the middle. A heavily cratered half-moon, far bigger than most I'd seen, looked over the hill in a hazy, dark-pink sky. I speculated as to where and when this planet existed or had existed. Inhabitants? No signs.

  I don't know at what point I realized that this wasn't a painting. The more I looked at it, the more real it became. Edges got gradually sharper, detail came into focus. This was

  a photograph of some kind. Perhaps. Something different, maybe.

  The scene reminded me of a place I knew, certain areas of a planet called Osiris, I forget the catalogue number. The moon was a little too big, though. But Osiris has a pink sky. I remember eating lunch one day on Osiris. I'd pulled off the Skyway and had opened the hatches, letting in warm, dry air. Pleasant smells, quiet. I'd come by way of an ice world, and the sudden shift in climate was soothing. I've always liked that aspect of the road. Radical contrasts, abrupt changes. Yes, the place did look a lot like Osiris. Those rocks should be a little more on the beige side, though. Yeah, like that. And the trees were a little different. Make them a little taller and color the foliage russet-there we go. Come to think of it, Osiris's moon is pretty big at that, but smoother. Not as many craters-make it look more like a baked potato with acne scars, that's it. And

  I jumped when I realized what was happening. There was the surface of Osiris-beige rocks, russet trees, potato moon. I had changed the painting.

  I walked away. Or the painting had been reading my mind. Yuck. I don't like things that hang on walls and read my mind. Don't like it at all. Call me stodgy and conventional.

  I meandered on. There were other things to look at, other pictures on the wall, but I was spooked a little. I did stop to examine some pottery. The stuff could have come from anywhere. From Earth even. It had a vaguely American Indian feel to it-but I'm no expert, and really couldn't tell for sure.

  The gang had all zonked out in one of the big rooms. George and Winnie were rolled up into a ball; Carl and Lori, too. Susan and Darla had stretched out side by side on the circus-tent bed, with long, skinny John prone and perpendicular to them, the three of them forming the Greek letter pi. Roland had curled up on a divan. Yuri and Zoya occupied separate day beds. Those two were not a pair. I wondered how long they'd been married. Must've been sheer hell. But then, their long, desperate journey must- have put a considerable strain on things. Even so, I half regretted having picked them up. Sometimes their bickering got to me.

  I checked them all, looking for signs of drugged sleep, and didn't suspect anything. I found out how to douse some of the lamps. Each was different, none seemed to work by electricity. I left one glowing-it was a goose-necked thing with a bright painted-paper shade-and walked out of the room, nearly tripping over Liam's leg sticking out over the edge of a low couch.

  There wasn't much else to do. There wasn't any reading matter about, or none that I recognized as such. I hadn't thought to bring a deck of cards.

  Somehow I found myself in a room I hadn't seen before, and this one had a terrace and a view.

  And what a view.

  Here was Microcosmos at sunset spread out magnificently to world-rim, kilometer after kilometer of it in swatches of varying color and texture. The sky was blue ink to the "east," an explosion of orange and fleshy red in the "west," sun-disk just now slipping below the infinite horizon, moving very quickly. I watched as night fell faster than it could on any other world. It was like a door slamming shut. The sun slid under the flat plane of the world, and bang, it was night. The stars came on like beacons, wheeling in their crystal spheres. The land was dark. No. Here and there a stray light. Inhabitants? Automated lighting? No telling. I watched the heavens turn for a while, thinking.

  I yawned. This was going to be rough. I really needed to stretch out and get eight hours.

  A night chill began to seep into my joints, and I walked back inside, noticing a slight but abrupt temperature shift as I did so. The room was still warm. Must be some so
rt of barrier to keep out the cold. There was no apparent way to seal the room from the outside.

  Ten minutes later I realized that I was lost, and I couldn't figure out for the life of me how that had happened. I couldn't find our suite. I ran through a series of sparsely and oddly furnished rooms, then came to an area occupied by more artifacts. I called out. No answer. I hadn't gone up or down stairs, I still had to be on the same floor. I ran around, and all I did was get more disoriented.

  I found a room with a lone bed in it. It was little more than a spongy mattress raised a few centimeters off the floor. I sat on it and crossed my legs. How had I gotten so lost so quickly? Well, Prime had warned us. What was I going to do?

  Prime had said he would call on us in three hours. How much time had passed? He'd be around sooner or later. Maybe.

  I was a little worried. But there was nothing to be done. We were at Prime's mercy, if he wished us ill. Remote possibility that Moore and his men were about. But they'd probably be as lost as I was if they were stumbling around the castle. If they were here, Prime had them quartered somewhere. They'd probably stay put.

  No. There was nothing to do but lie down. The room was bare and dark, stray light leaking from the hallway. Silence. An alien, whispering silence. I could hear my heart beat, feel blood pounding through me. A sense of being unimaginably fat away from home overcame me. How long had I been away? A few months, actually. It felt like eons.

  God, I was tired. Yes, we've established that. Go to sleep.

  The dreaming began… It was like this:

  There were dark suns and burnt-out suns, suns that had collapsed, exhausted, after eons of fierce life. The universe was old, dying. It was cold between the cinders and cold between the still-burning stars. The warm dust clouds that had once given birth to new suns had long ago spawned the last of their progeny. The galaxies were far apart now, still flying outward from the ancient burst of energy that had sent them on their way. Still gradually slowing down from that initial impetus, they would never completely stop. Time would never really have a stop. Time would go on until it simply didn't matter any longer.