A Game of Universe (11 page)

“Strap yourselves in,” she said.

I hopped into the copilot’s chair and let it wrap around me.

When we hit the upper atmosphere, the
Grail Angel
shuddered.

“Setebos, what was that vibration?” Virginia demanded. “Diagnostic running, madam captain.”

“It was just a little shake,” Quilp said. “Nothing to worry about.”

Virginia pored over the engine schematics. “Here,” she said, pointing to the mass-folding generator, “what’s this low reading?”

Setebos answered: “That is the primary vortex circuit. I’m afraid it is nonfunctional.”

Virginia said to herself, “It must have burned out with that maneuver we pulled tunneling through the planet.”

“Is it serious?” I asked.

“Yes.” Through her double-star insignia information flashed, then she told me, “I can keep us flying for about thirty seconds, then the backups burn out, too. Hang on.”

“Wait!” Quilp shouted. “I’m not—”

To the backside of the planet we arced, then dove with dizzying velocity. I heard Quilp go bouncing to the back of the bridge. Infrared images spilled from the displays: a film of clouds, then the earth rushed to merge with us. Virginia twisted into a barrel roll an instant before we crashed. The acceleration pushed me deep into the seat, made my face sag and my arms too heavy to lift.

The
Grail Angel
skimmed over treetops, then dropped to a lower altitude and shot out across a smooth lake, flying alongside a smeared orange moon reflected in its dark water. We slowed only when we entered the canyon. Its walls were strips of eroded stone, and a river twisted through it. A distressing whine came from the generator. The ship drifted over a sandy shoal, then, with a sudden drop, we landed.

Virginia frowned as she examined the display. The damaged circuits glowed red.

I asked Setebos, “Are we still being probed?”

“Yes, Master, although the energy being absorbed is substantially lower. Magic circle integrity can be maintained for seven hours at current power consumption.”

“How long to repair the ship?” I asked Virginia.

“It shouldn’t take me more than a few hours,” she said, “then we can get what you came here for.”

What’s this “we” stuff?
Fifty-five inquired.

“I need to go alone,” I told her. “You and Quilp stay here and ready the ship. I should be back before sunrise.” Quilp pulled himself off the floor, rubbed his head, and remarked, “Suits me fine. Hey, while you’re out there, grab me a bottle of that booze, too.”

Virginia however, did not look fine. Her brows bunched together, frustrated or concerned maybe. Usually, no one cared about the details of my missions—if I went alone or not—and I was unsure how to approach this.

“Don’t worry,” I assured her, “this is what I’m trained to do.”

This did not assure her. Her brows stayed bunched together. “Quilp or Setebos can fix this,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Let me go with you.”

I’d almost welcome her company; a stroll through the evening with a beautiful woman on my arm. It was impossible. Too dangerous. I shook my head. “I need you to stay here. If I am not back in six hours, I want you to come looking for me.” What I didn’t mention was that if I wasn’t back in six hours, I’d be dead.

“OK,” she replied and her brows relaxed. “I’ll get the generator fixed right away, in case we need to leave in a hurry.” She got up, gave me a kiss on the cheek, for luck I suppose, then keyed open the outer hatch and went to inspect the generators.

“Help her if you can, Quilp.”

“Sure,” he said, rubbing the bruises on his arm, “no problem. You want a smooch from me, too?”

I ignored him and went to my quarters.

Stretching, I found that the blue shield had done its usual thorough job on my burn and knitted the tissue together too tightly. On the red satin comforter, I laid out my accelerator pistol and my blade, then unpacked a case containing the parts of a rifle.

The leering skull and crossbones on the headboard watched as I assembled the weapon. Motion damping stock connected to a nonlinear accelerator, and on top of this, a fine Swiss imager—the whole thing no longer than my arm. I picked three wasplike darts out of a block of foam that were black iridescent wings, eight bulging eyes, and a hypodermic stinger. I had only to sight the target and the wasps programmed themselves with an uncanny accuracy. They would even circle around for a few minutes, if you desired, while you established an alibi. Within their sleek bodies were different cartridges for different occasions: poisons, high explosives—but tonight, a narcotic to freeze the voluntary muscles and dull the mind.

It was an old, simple technology, but Fifty-five liked it.

This would be easier if I didn’t need Necatane alive. But only a living man could have his mind stolen. I intended to rob his power of prophecy with my borrowing ritual, and use it to find the Grail. I had to be careful though to immobilize him first and from a distance. Necatane had many powers, telekinesis, pyrokinesis, telepathy, and others I couldn’t guess at.

Even if I managed to knock him out, there were still risks. There was no guarantee I would win the contest of wills in the borrowing ritual. I was counting on the drug to weaken his resolve. If I won, I’d have to be careful to take only the parts of his intellect associated with his prophetic visions. The idea of having
his
persona in my head filled me with apprehension. The psychologist was bad enough.

I knew Necatane. We had met before, once, after I murdered his pupil.

It was six years ago, and the psychologist in my mind was alive and influencing the senators of his government. He saw to it that laws were passed to stop pollution, reverse unfair trade agreements, and secure civil rights. It was the trade agreements that got him into trouble.

One of the conglomerates to lose in the new deal hired me to discover why. The rulers of a world government do not forget their greed overnight. A week of undercover work, and I found the connection. The therapist of forty senators was the same man. His business always picked up before a critical vote. Additionally, this psychologist was a member of the Free-Thinkers Society. What more proof did I need?

I found him and stole his mind.

The senators became greedy again. The conglomerate went back into business. I was paid a bonus. Everyone was happy.

It was then that Necatane tried to contact his student, not physically, but with his mind. He found me instead. First, he was curious, then shocked, then outraged that I had destroyed the intellect of his pupil. We had a colorful conversation, exchanged threats, and left it at that. I never had any intention of seeking the man out, until now.

I stepped out into the cool night; the only illumination was a band of stars that hugged the edge of the canyon walls. My fingers moved, mnemonics released, and the ocular enhancer uncoiled from my memory. I saw through the eyes of a magical cat. About me were layers of sedimentary rock, red and gray clays, and ribbons of gold dust—every grain of sand, every black pebble visible in the canyon. Mist rose from the river like cigarette smoke, wispy curls in the air, and a million more suns crowded the brilliant evening. It was all clear to me.

But something else I saw made the breath catch in my throat: me.

There were six other Germains that scrutinized the canyon, two already marched ahead on different paths, one had a limp, and one talked to Virginia while she worked on the mass-folding generator. She ignored the phantom.

These other Germains faded. Like the afterimage of a bright light, their color inverted, then bleached away entirely. Were they real or was I hallucinating?

Real,
the psychologist remarked.
I sensed from these images memories and intelligence. They are you, or rather were you, before they vanished.

When we tunneled through the planet our existence split. We cast thirty-three shadows in time. Were these other Germains distributed along other time lines? And if so, why did they appear as ghosts? Quilp claimed our degenerate wave functions could not exist. So what were they?

They’re gone, that’s what they are.
Fifty-five said.
Concentrate on our mission.

It frustrated me not knowing, but Fifty-five was correct. I had to do my job and get out quickly.
Which way?
I asked.

The path ahead,
the psychologist replied,
will take us out of this canyon and to Necatane’s temple.

I walked away from the
Grail Angel,
and forgot my duplicates for the time being. Later, I’d ask Quilp what they might be. My thoughts instead wandered to Virginia. I admired her cool head, and her honesty (somewhat), but what did I really think was going to happen? That after this, we’d settle down, raise a few kids, and live happily ever after? It wasn’t in the cards. Celeste would never stand for monogamy; Fifty-five would never allow me to leave Umbra Corp (even if that were possible); and the psychologist would never let me forget my guilt. Why did I feel so strongly for her? A few kisses didn’t mean anything.

When I reached the top of the canyon, I looked back. The ship was well-hidden from up here, which was good. I had no idea how many guards Necatane employed.

None
, answered the psychologist.
He has never had need of any.

That information did not comfort me. I’d rather he surrounded himself with bodyguards and force fields—things I knew how to counter. I pulled Quilp’s mental shield tighter on my head, and tried to think of nothing.

I trekked over hills of worn sandstone, wind- and water-carved fingers of rock, sharp and full of shadows in the amplified starlight. A bristlecone pine grew in the cracks. Its limbs and trunk twisted many times, channels and grooves of smooth white wood. I kept my eyes peeled for any more visions of myself, but I remained alone. Three more hills I marched over, then down into a valley.

Surrounding Necatane’s village were groves of olive trees and nurtured vines. Silver grapes glowed in the light of the moon, looking like ball bearings on the branches. The largest building in the village was an acropolis perched on a grassy hill. It had rows of scalloped Ionic columns, and above them, a relief of gods, a scene I recognized from the
Iliad
of mortals dying and immortals bickering outside the walls of Troy.

Inside, a glow of fire cast rectangular patches of darkness upon the marble pillars, their edges flickering. With the ocular enhancer upon my sight it was as bright as a sun. I turned on my shadow skin, carefully looked about, and when I saw no one, I entered.

You’re just going to sneak in there and shoot him?
Fifty- five asked.
Where’s the finesse in that?

No time for finesse,
I answered.
The last mental shield I had burned out. I cannot risk that occurring again. We must hazard being conspicuous.

Keeping in the shadows, I mounted the steps and entered his home. I felt eyes watching everywhere. The light was strongest to my left, so I followed it through wide corridors lined with heavy black curtains, until it brought me to a courtyard. A circle of rosebushes made an outer ring, broken in four places to allow passage; their blossoms were dark and wilted. Four statues stood to greet anyone bold enough to enter. The first was Mars, his spear and shield upraised in challenge; the second could only be Venus with a flawless body and a smile that knew the inner thoughts of men; the third was a great serpent, coiled and ready to strike; and the last was a blindfolded man, his back turned to me.

In the center of this was a circular pit with a wide basalt rim. A fire blazed in it, tended by an old man, Necatane. He was blind. His eyes had been torn out of his head, obviously, for no cloth covered them. A thick ribbon of scar tissue made his forehead sunken and disfigured.

I stepped back and held my breath.

He was here, alone and unprotected? He gave no indication that he detected my presence, but I couldn’t believe it. It was too easy. To be on the safe side, I whispered to the psychologist,
Quiet my thoughts.

I am uncertain of the moral correctness of this situation.

He must have remembered more of his past than I gave him credit for.
All our lives are at stake. I’m your client. Your inaction places me in jeopardy. Where is your professionalism?

I sensed his struggle, his inability to link his missing past together.
Very well,
he sighed.
Visualize a pond, rippling in a breeze. Smooth the ripples. Hold the water as quiet as your thoughts, placid, still, and like a mirror.

I did as he said. My thoughts turned silent, and I unshouldered the rifle.

Unthinking, I aimed—a clean shot. The optics gathered the required data and transferred it to the three wasps. A silent pulse from the grip signaled me it was ready. All I had to do was fire.

The master-psychologist sat beside his fire; the twisted wood crackled and popped. His bare feet rested close to the flames, toasting. In the firelight, his white beard was tinged red, making him seem more vital and alive than a man his age should be. He prodded the coals with a stick and sent a shower of sparks into the heavens.

I squeezed the trigger.

Three darts, whisper quiet, accelerated out of the barrel, only a slight “snik” as their wings snapped into place. The first curved between the legs of mighty Mars; the second took a hyperbolic route, arced up, stalled, then dove straight down; and the last flew in a straight line. They hit together, pierced his neck, stomach, and arm. The old man slumped over.

Too easy,
hissed Fifty-five.

Are you certain this was Necatane?
I asked.

Quite certain,
whispered the psychologist.

I listened, but no alarms rang. Even the crickets did not pause in their evening song. I inched forward, still wary, kept within the shadow of Mars, and when I was within six paces of him, I saw what was amiss. His breaths were regular, steady and strong, not slowed as a man who had just been injected with a triple dose of narcotics.

I grabbed my pistol, aimed it, and—

—from his body the three darts withdrew, turned, and flew toward me. I tracked one, shot it, the ions from the accelerator pistol left a gold trail in the air, but the other two struck me, one in the chest, the other in the thigh, and injected their contents.

I dropped.

“Kind of you to join me this evening,” Necatane said and strolled over. “It is exactly halfway through your life’s journey, and the end of mine. I find a pleasing symmetry in that, don’t you, killer?”

He found me, ripped the cap off my head, and dragged me closer to the fire. I couldn’t feel a thing. My eyes stared at the same spot in space, frozen open.