Paradox Alley s-3

by John Dechancie

  24

  Within an hour, Sam's wound had reduced itself to a long, thin white crease. A little later, you could barely see it.

  "Damned efficient body you got there," I said.

  "Isn't it, though?" Sam concurred.

  It took some time to get the computer back into shape. We had to load all the software back in, using the master pipettes, then run checks and so forth. We called up the real Wang A. I. and set it to work. It takes a fully sapient and very versatile computer to monitor and control a vehicle such as the one we drove. I didn't give the A.I. a name this time. Didn't much feel like it. "Computer" was good enough:

  Arthur told us that the spacetime ship still wasn't functioning. "Oh, it's repairing itself, but the job is going very slowly," he said. "It really got messed up. Don't worry. You can take the train to within three-hundred kilometers of the master portal."

  "Mat's not close enough," I said. "We have at least three enemies left on this planet-Moore, the Reticulan, and the Goddess, if she's still bent on our destruction. Pretty formidable alliance, there. I think I'd like to wait for the spacetime ship to get itself squared away."

  "Perhaps you're right. Okay, we'll wait."

  "Anything the factory can do?"

  Arthur shook his head. "I doubt it. This is a manufacturing facility, not a fix-it shop."

  Even though we'd completely erased all data in auxiliary storage, we hadn't lost the Roadmap. I still had the pipette the Goddess had given me. I hadn't even bothered to put it in the safe; it had been in a storage box all the time. It was a job loading it back in, but we did have some time to kill.

  A day passed. Then we got a report that a "life unit" had entered the plant.

  "Does Security have any idea who?" I asked Arthur.

  "They say that this life unit is one of the same sort that left yesterday-beyond that they don't say. I don't think they're really equipped to tell the difference between life forms. The plant is very light on security. After all, it's a showcase operation, not a top-secret project sort of thing."

  "It's probably Moore," I said, feeling my stomach tighten. "I'm going after him."

  "No, you won't," Sam declared, "even if I have to hog-tie you."

  "There's no other way," I said. "He has an all-powerful ally, along with an armored van and who knows what else. He'll harass us all the way to the portal. I've got to deal with him now."

  "Why do you have to deal with him? I'll go." He put up a hand. "Okay, okay, we'll both go."

  "Are you insane? No way I'll leave the truck with only John to defend it."

  "Then stay here," Sam suggested.

  "No. I have to go and settle this once and for all."

  John said mildly. "There's no dilemma if I were to go with you, is there? That way the lorry will be in good hands and you'll have at least some backup."

  I winced. "Sorry, John. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

  John smiled, his light-brown face looking tired and drawn. "I understand. You're quite right, too. Sam can handle it. And you're doubly right on our going out to meet him. I don't relish sitting and waiting for the next lightning bolt to strike. No telling what Moore's doing, skulking about the place. We must take the offensive."

  "Then it's settled," I said.

  Sam nodded, shrugging. "I'll have to admit, John has a point or two." He crossed his beefy arms and sighed. "Oh God. Right, go ahead. And for my sake, at least, be careful. I'm an old man. This constant excitement is bad for my constitution."

  "What, is your atomic-powered heart beating too fast?" I scoffed. "Look at him. He's twenty-five if he's a day. Has more hair than I do."

  We devised a foolproof plan. Arthur would keep a line open to Security and relay the intruder's position to Sam, with whom I'd stay in radio contact. I took the last of our supply of button transponders along; a few of those placed strategically at various points along our planned route of attack would satisfy our signal-bouncing needs.

  John and harmed ourselves and set out into the plant. We had the intruder pinpointed. He had entered the building housing the Monomagnetic Mirror Array and had stayed there. John and I planned to surprise him, chase him into a blind alley, and get him in a cross fire. When we got as far as the Submicron Fractionating Assembly, we split up.

  The place was quiet once again. It had buzzed and howled for us, but now there was no one to work for, no new designs to think through, no prototypes to test and evaluate. Had the plant ever operated on a regular basis, or had it always been, as Arthur had said, a showcase, a world fair (universe fair?) exhibit? No matter; it was silent now, and would be, possibly, for the rest of its existence. Or until more candidates arived on Microcosmos. If any. I wondered about that. Were we indeed the first? Nobody had said for sure. When were more intrepid explorers expected? Week after next… or in two million years? But time wasn't an element on Microcosmos. It didn't matter. They would come, surely.

  I walked through the quiet and the shadows. There was a dry, clean, industrial smell in the air. A shaft of light from a lone high window speared the gloom, and where its end touched the shiny green floor, an array of monoliths sat in a pool of sunlight. On banks of control instruments, a few lights glowed-all this equipment on standby, ready at a moment's notice to come to life, to work, to get out the product, fill the quota, produce.

  I stopped and put what used to be Sam's key close to my lips. It was now just a computer terminal, but it could be used as a walkie-talkie as well.

  "Intruder still stationary;" Sam said.

  "Where are you?"

  "I'm just about to cut through the machine shop that abuts on the north wing of the Mirror Array. Once I get through there, I'll be practically on top of him. John should be coming through the Diffusion Ring complex now."

  "Check. Be careful."

  "Will do. Over and out."

  I walked on. Robot arms, poised to do someone's bidding, reached out of shadow at me. They would work at blinding speed to make anybody's dream a reality, if they were given the right instructions. I passed a mobile worker-robot-a subsystem engineering supervisor, probably-dormant, standing by, waiting silently at its station. Farther on, a tall shadow in an alcove startled me-but it was only a maintenance robot. The key's call light blinked. I answered.

  "Jake, intruder is moving. Repeat, intruder is moving."

  "Acknowledged," I said. "Which way?"

  "Toward you."

  "Great. I'm keeping the channel open."

  I proceeded slowly, staying in shadow and moving as silently as possible. I stopped, listened. Nothing. I moved on, pausing every few meters, ears cocked.

  Suddenly, a beeping tone. Somewhere behind me. Then another. A faint whirring sound. I froze. No. Just some machine clearing its circuits, draining off a buildup of static charge. Besides, wrong direction. He should be coming from the north. I wondered where John was.

  The key again. "Still moving toward the machine shop," Sam informed me. "Where are you?"

  "I ducked into the little workshop or whatever it is adjacent to it."

  "Wait a minute… here it is on the map. Okay. Hell, looks like the intruder is vectoring there."

  "Then that's where I'll get him," I whispered.

  "Stay put until you see him. He'll have to pass by the door if he wants to get to the showroom."

  I waited, watching, listening.

  A few minutes later, Sam called again. "Anything?"

  "No," I said whispering. "No sign."

  "He should be on top of you:"

  I waited a few more minutes, then got impatient. "Are you sure about intruder's position?" I asked.

  "Yes."

  I looked around. Silence formed a wall around me. "I'm moving to get a better angle on the doorway."

  I crawled down a narrow aisle between two gigantic machines. There was only one door to the place, the one I'd come in. Poking my head into the clear, I brought the machine pistol up and aimed. I wouldn't fire when I saw him, but when he passed,
I'd move out and follow him. He wouldn't get away. If he got anywhere near the truck, Sam would burn him down. Good. We had all the angles covered. We'd thought of everything.

  Wrong. I hadn't thought that there might be an another entrance to the workshop. And there was one, high up in the wall, through which a suspended ramp passed. The ramp continued its way into the shop, winding amongst the rafters, overhead beams, and the clutter of suspended machine tools. I craned my neck. A ladder. There was a ladder connecting it to a lower ramp, this one passing directly overhead.

  I sprang to my feet, tried to run… too late. Something slammed into my back and sent me sprawling. The pistol skittered across the floor and disappeared under a workbench.

  I rolled, sat up. I was cornered, nowhere to run. Twmll stood blocking the way. He wielded his ceremonial dagger, with its black curving blade and jade-green hilt.

  "Jake-frrriend," he trilled. "Sacrrred Quarrry. I bid you grrreeting."

  I got up slowly. I had no weapon, but I would have to fight him. This would be the second time I would be forced to fight a largely ceremonial battle with a Reticulan hunter. I had won the first round, defeating two opponents, Twrrrll's companions, in hand-to-hand combat. I didn't think I would be so lucky this time. He could just shoot me, of course. His gun was hanging from the leather harness he wore over his thorax. But that wouldn't be honorable. He had to do me in with the dagger for it to be an honorable kill. Rather, the usual technique was to hamstring the quarry, then gut it while it still lived. Vivisect it. Flay it alive. The more the victim screamed, the prettier the sacrifice.

  "Long have I stalked you, Jake-frrriend," Twrrrll said. "The trrrail was long and arrrduous. Many times the spoorrr was lost, then found again."

  I looked past him, hoping to see John at the door. No such luck. Where the hell was that tall skinny black guy?

  "Okay, Twr-" I spat. "Twer… Twrrrll." It was hard to say his name under any circumstances, let alone when I was scared witless. Never could trill the R just right. But then, I was always terrible at languages. "Okay. I just want you to tell me one thing."

  "Yes?"

  "Why do you do this?"

  "Hunt? Because the… you would say, the blood. The blood tells one."

  "But you're civilized. Intelligent. Very intelligent. You speak our languages well, while we can barely manage yours. You have a technological civilization, advanced science, the whole bit: Why can't you overcome the need to kill in this manner?"

  The big alien took a step forward, moving his huge bare feet slowly. "Humans have no need?"

  "Well…" It was hard to concentrate on winning debating points.

  "Do not humans kill theirrr own kind? This is something we almost neverrr do."

  "Bullshit."

  "A denial? No, it is not usually necessary."

  Maybe he was right. Reticulan societies were very rigidly stratified and very stable, though top-heavy with useless nobility, of which Twrrrll was probably a sterling example.

  "Your race is very unpopular. You spread ill will, resentment toward your people."

  "That is the way it has been, and must be."

  He took another step forward. The smell of his pheromones-turpentine and almonds-filled my nostrils. I gagged. There was nothing to do but rush him, try to duck through those thin legs of his. No possibility of tangling with him; his strength was phenomenal.

  He stepped forward.

  "You have become the most Sacmed Quarry of all, Jakefrrriend. Thrree times the nets caught you, thrree times you fought and escaped. The hunted has vanquished the hunterrr. So be it."

  I stood there with my mouth open. The alien was offering the dagger to me, presenting it to me.

  "Take this weapon. It now belongs to you. You have surrvived, and I have failed. I ask only that you turrrn it against me, hunted against the huntem. It is the only honorrr of which I may still be worrrthy."

  I overcame my shock and took the dagger.

  "Does this mean I won't have to fight you?" I asked.

  "The time for combat is past. Time now to end the hunt, and the hunterrr." He crossed his forelimbs; it was a sign of submission. "Do honorrr to me."

  I stared at him.

  His eyes-cylindrical camera-lens affairs-rotated back and forth. Presently he said, "You will not do me the honorrr?"

  "Yes, I will." I said.

  I approached the alien, knife in hand, looking for an appropriate spot on the shiny chitin of his abdomen. I had no doubt as to his sincerity. Stabbing underhanded; I plunged the blade of the knife into his body and yanked upward. The exoskeleton was tough, but capable of being cut; however, I was in a bad position for leverage.

  "Difficult?" the alien asked. "May I assist?"

  I nodded. Twrrrll took the hilt in both hands and jerked the knife upward. The carapace split like thin plastic. He ran the knife up to the middle of the chest, pink froth oozing from the wound.

  Suddenly his head exploded in flame. An energy bolt had come from the direction of the door. I looked.

  It was John. He got off another shot, this one missing, just as the alien fell. Then he came running over.

  "You got him," he said breathlessly. "Thank God. And with his own knife, too. Dreadfully sorry, but I looked all over for you. How did you manage to corner him in here?"

  I told him of Twrrrll's surrender. He could scarcely believe it.

  "Incomprehensible," he said, gazing at the alien's prostrate form. "We'll never fathom the alien mind. Never."

  "I'm not so sure it'd be a good idea if we did," I said.

  25

  It felt good to be back on the road again.

  We'd decided to take our chances at ground level. The spacetime ship was still on the mend, and there was no telling when it would heal itself. (Strange how easy it was to think of the process in these terms). Besides, there was no guarantee that we'd be safe in the ship. There were other reasons. I didn't like being a passenger, being chauffeured about. It made me feel vulnerable; I hate being helpless and not in control. Moreover, as we were now down to two enemies — Moore and his puppet-mistress-I decided that keeping to the ground was a calculated risk we could afford to take. It might even be the best way to go…

  … I thought, grinding my teeth.

  Of course, we all knew very well that it wasn't over. It was only a matter of time before our enemies would move against us once again.

  The train let us off in an unusual region of Microcosmos — unusual in the sense that we'd not seen terrain like this before. It was mostly flat grassland, relieved here and there by sharp low ridges proliferating in networks like wrinkles in a bed sheet. Visibility was unlimited, and the master portal was a vast gray smear on the "horizon."

  "Well, we'll be able to see 'em coming for kilometers," Sam said.

  "Miles and miles," I said.

  Sam looked at me askance. "How much time did you say you spent back in 1964?"

  "About a month and a half, maybe less."

  "Sure rubbed off. `Miles' indeed."

  This wasn't exactly sparkling conversation, but it filled in the lulls. We were nervous and trying to make the best of it. It is profoundly disquieting to know that somewhere out there is an all-powerful deity who wants to cancel your season ticket. We talked about this. It was a way of relieving the psychological discomfort.

  "But if she's that powerful," Sam argued, "why can't she just swoop down any time and pound us into hash?"

  I said, "You should have been a theologian. John, this is right up your alley, isn't it?"

  John said, "My suspicion is that Prime is somehow inhibiting the Goddess from making an overt move. I think that's why she finds it necessary to work through human agents."

  "Makes sense," I said, "until you try to speculate as to why the Goddess has it in for us in the first place. And what is it she wants to do, exactly? Wipe us out, or just prevent us from going back? Or both?"

  "That's a good one," Sam said. "You say she originally asked you for the
Black Cube?"

  "Yeah. But now she has it. Or one of them, anyway."

  "Maybe it was the wrong cube."

  "There's only one cube, Sam. You've got to understand that basic fact."

  "Oh, I understand that basic fact, all right. I just don't want to deal with the sucker."

  I thumbed the intercom switch. "Arthur, old buddy! How's it going back there?"

  "Please, I'm nauseated."

  "Now, just hold on a minute. Tell me how a robot can get motion sickness. You're really not a robot, are you?" I had suspected as much all along.

  "Of course I'm a robot. Why can't a robot get motion sickness?"

  I grunted out a derisive laugh. "It just doesn't make sense." "Nonsense. I feel pain, discomfort, the whole thing. In a somewhat subdued form, though. Don't ask me to explain."

  "For pity's sake, why? Why would your makers go to the trouble of wiring you with pain circuits?"

  "For the same reason you got wired with 'em. Excellent mechanism for automatically protecting the organism. You instinctively avoid pain, ergo anything that would tend to damage you. Quod erat whatever. Wake me when we get there."

  It was Arthur who had insisted on coming along. He maintained that he was responsible for us and wouldn't feel as though his obligation had been properly discharged until he'd seen us safely through the correct portal. Besides, the spacetime ship might come in handy at some point, if and when it cured itself of its ailments.

  We were about two hours from the portal. I wasn't rushing, just maintaining a steady speed. There was no use in hurrying. They were out there, and would make an appearance at some point. Count on it. For now, it was simply a matter of watching the road and waiting, keeping one or two extra eyes on the sweep scanners, wondering when some innocuous gray dot swimming in the murky stuff at the extreme range of vision would suddenly turn into something wickedly sharp and welldefined, move in at you and strike. No telling what it would be: an armored car, perhaps, or a shimmering cube or other shape, or maybe something you could barely comprehend, some monstrous mind-denying unreality. It didn't matter. We were dead no matter what. Because I had the feeling that we had long ago scraped bottom, run out of tricks. We had dodged one too many bullets. I was very worried.