Castle Kidnapped (19 page)

DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH.

YOU'LL BE LAUGHING OUT OF THE OTHER SIDE OF YOUR DISK DRIVE IN ANOTHER MINUTE.

“We're going to have compatibility problems,” Jeremy said.

“I expected as much,” Incarnadine said, checking a bank of readout instruments. “That's your department, young man."

“But..."

The King kept his eye on the instrument panel. Jeremy sighed and put his fingers to the keyboard.

OKAY, GUYS, he typed, LET'S CUT THE EGO CRAP AND GET DOWN TO BUSINESS OKAY?

WELL, THIS ONE STARTED IT, WALTZING IN HERE AND CASTING ASPERSIONS ON THINGS IT CAN'T BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND, MUCH LESS RENDER AN OPINION ON.

ALL I DID WAS POINT UP THE INEVITABLE INTERFACE PROBLEMS, WHICH AFTER ALL —

WHICH AFTER ALL WOULDN'T EVEN HAVE COME UP IF YOU HADN'T BUTTED INTO THE SITUATION IN THE FIRST PLACE. JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Jeremy banged out, SHUT UP, YOU TWO PIECES OF JUNK!

WELL, REALLY. IS THIS YOUR USER?

YES. THINKS HE OWNS ME.

OH, THEYRE ALL LIKE THAT. TREAT YOU LIKE CHATTEL. YOU'RE ONE WITH THE FAMILY COACH AND THE HIGHBOY IN THE PARLOR. WELL, SEE HERE. I DON'T WANT TO BE UNREASONABLE. MAYBE OUR PROBLEMS AREN'T INSURMOUNTABLE.

I'M NOT SURE THEY'RE NOT. LISTEN TO THIS. IF WE CONVERT ALL THIS STUFF TO HEXADECIMAL FORMAT, THEN RESTRUCTURE...

Jeremy sat back and folded his arms.

“Just let me know when you're ready, guys."

 

The problem, Incarnadine explained, was threefold.

“We have three separate programs to code and run, and they're all monsters, especially the last one, which has to be the biggest spell ever cast. In the history of the universe, maybe."

“Wow,” Jeremy said.

“And that's not including a few ancillary spells that have to be batched with the mainline stuff. But we have enough virtual storage to take care of that. Anyway, the first one is a conjuring spell. If it works, it'll reach out into the multiverse, search for a certain object I have in mind to own, and fetch it back. Snatch it."

“What's the thing you're looking for?"

“An interdimensional traveler. A device that can hop about between universes without the use of portals."

“Neat. Is there such a thing?"

“I don't know. I searched the literature on the subject, and there are legends, tales, tall stories. Not much to go on, but where there's mythological smoke, there's usually fire. That's why the spell is such a bitch. Easy to conjure something you know exists. An unlikely artifact like that, who knows? Anyway, we're going to give it a try."

“Uh, what are you going to do with the interdimensional thing when you get it?"

“Well, essentially this is a military operation. With it we are going to mount an attack on another universe."

“All right,” Jeremy said with obvious glee.

“Don't get an erection. This is going to involve killing, lives lost. The real thing."

“Oh."

“'Oh,' he says. Have you ever killed anyone?"

“No."

“Well, if you assist me, you'll be an accessory before the fact. Still willing?"

“Yes, sir."

“Good, because the cause is just. The enemy is nothing less than the epitome of evil itself."

“Who are they?"

“They are beings who inhabit a very bizarre universe, a place which I am not quite sure is within range of human understanding. Their traditional name is the Hosts of Hell. They are very powerful and extremely malevolent. We've held them in check for millennia, but they've learned some tricks over the years, and now they're more dangerous than ever."

Linda returned from another corner of the lab.

“Are these newts the right species? They look awful enough."

Incarnadine examined the animals crawling around inside the portable terrarium.

“They'll do. Now, cut the eyes out of them."

“Yecch!"

Incarnadine waved a hand, and the things stopped squirming.

“There. It'll be easier now.” He handed them back. Linda walked away still mock-retching.

“What do you need with all that magic stuff?"

“The computer needs some very traditional magic to keep going. Elementary business, but necessary."

“Even the chickens?"

“Some polarity-switching spells call for chicken blood. Fresh. No way to substitute."

“Geez."

“Anyway, to get back to your original question, what I'm going to do with the traveler is attack the Hosts from a direction they don't expect. Last year I sealed their portal with a fairly unbreakable spell. Nevertheless, they'll probably be concentrating a good deal of their defensive might around the portal locus, expecting some sort of attack through there, if only a feint. With the traveler, I can pick my point of invasion. The second spell will supply the power that the vehicle requires."

“Got it,” Jeremy said. “What's the third spell?"

“It's a weapon. Call it the ultimate weapon. It's been entirely theoretical up till now. No one has ever actually done it. In essence, it's a complex energy phenomenon that travels along a prescribed vector path. It's hard to explain, but it's incredibly destructive. To use it is to risk serious damage to the entire multiverse. But I have no choice. The Hosts seem bent on imperiling the cosmos. Why, I have no idea."

Jeremy asked, “What are they doing?"

“They're tapping an energy source that the multiverse depends on to keep from dissolving into chaos. This energy is very primal stuff. The Hosts have somehow learned to siphon it off. Their doing so does two things. One, it gives them power on scale they never dreamed of; two, the very act of tapping it destabilizes the castle, as you have seen."

“I'll say."

“But what the Hosts don't know is that if they keep doing it, the castle will go. And if the castle goes, the whole shebang does, too."

“The whole shebang?"

“Creation itself."

“Oh.” Jeremy shifted uncomfortably on his chair. He didn't know how much he understood out of all that. “Um, how many lines of code are we talking about for all three spells?"

“Couple of hundred million, tops."

“Hunhhh?"

“Oh, the mainframe will do most of the writing. In fact, it'll write the whole thing. You need a computer to write the program for a job this big. What I need is someone to supervise the debugging and compilation. I'm printing out a flowchart over here. It'll give you an idea of what the job entails."

“How much time have we got?"

“Almost no time at all,” Incarnadine said. “I have a temporal compression spell going in the lab, though. We'll have about forty-eight subjective hours at our disposal. Probably not enough, but we have to try."

Jeremy swallowed hard. “Holy heck."

“Yes, it's a monstrous task. Feel up to it?"

Jeremy giggled. “Yeah, sure."

“Good."

Two coffee cups came floating through the air. One settled on the table in front of Jeremy. The other wafted to Incarnadine's hand.

“You take cream and sugar?"

 

 

 

Annau

 

“Anybody home?"

Gene's shout rang through the empty corridors, echoing among the silent towers. There was no answer.

“Stay low,” he whispered to Vaya, who crouched beside him behind an overturned fuel storage tank.

“Will I hear the gods speak to you?"

“Yeah. In fact, you'll have to help me translate. I've lost communication with Zond. Left my walkie-talkie underwear back at camp."

Silence returned, and they waited. Nothing happened.

Gene settled to his knees. “I don't know about this."

Vaya asked, “What is wrong, my husband?"

“This city doesn't look in very good shape. Junk all over the place. Hell of a mess. I have a feeling it might be a dead town."

“Will the dead show themselves?"

“That's not what I mean. It's dead, period. The machine that runs the place isn't in operation."

After waiting a minute or so, Gene turned, sat, and put his back against the tank. “Looks like we've come a long way for nothing."

Vaya squatted beside him.

“Where will we go, my husband?"

“Back to Zond. We can live there indefinitely. Maybe with Zond's help I can rescue the tribe, though it's doubtful that Zond can ever be persuaded to build a weapon. Chance I could knock one together myself, maybe."

Vaya lowered her head and did not speak.

“I am here,” a voice suddenly said, in English.

The disembodied voice was epicene, not quite human. Gene knew it to be the voice of the city. It sounded similar to Zond's voice, but had more nonhuman overtones.

Gene sprang to his feet. “Hey, you're home! How's it going? I mean ... Greetings! My name is Gene Ferraro. Uh, how did you learn English?"

“My colleague Zond speaks with you often. I have listened, and have learned."

“Great. Well, then, you must know what I'm here for. First, though, we'd like a little hospitality, if you don't mind. Long trip, and there's dust way at the back of my throat."

“Indeed.” The voice seemed rather cold.

Gene looked around. “Uh, yeah. Tell me ... you say you've been eavesdropping. Have you had trouble with your transmitter? Zond says he hasn't talked with you in years."

The voice was silent for a long moment. Shuffling his feet, Gene began to feel a little awkward. It also occurred to him that he was exposed and vulnerable.

“My enemies are legion,” the voice said. “To speak is to divulge information, to give over data. I avoid this. It is dangerous."

Gene gave a nervous cough. “Yeah. Definitely. We—"

“You come here to steal from me. I am not programmed to show hospitality to thieves."

“Now, wait a minute. You've got the wrong idea."

“You are not of the Masters. Neither did the Masters create you. The female one, yes. But you, no."

“That's true, very true.” Gene drew himself up. “I am a god from another world. I have powers far above any the Masters had."

The machine did not immediately reply. Gene caught sight of something moving among the shadows at the base of a tower off to the right. He watched out of the corner of his eye.

He couldn't make it out. Whatever it was, it made no sound. The silence seemed about to explode.

“You say you are a god?” the city finally said in a worried tone.

“That's right. With powers far beyond those of mortal ... whatever, people. Even Umoi. Able to leap tall buildings, and all that sort of stuff. I came here in good faith, seeking help. You have rebuffed me, and I'm starting to get really pissed off."

“I do not wish,” the city said, “to incur the wrath of the supernatural.” The voice was hushed, fearful. “I hear the spirits, oftentimes. They wail their pain and remorse. At night, I weep. I am alone, so alone."

Gene spoke to Vaya out of the side of his mouth. “Uh-oh, the thing's gone off the deep end. Totally bonkers.” In full voice he said, “Look here, no one wants any trouble. I come in search of the interdimensional machine. I have need for it."

“Interdimensional machine. I have heard you speak of this."

“I gathered. Do you know where it is?"

There was a pause. Then: “I know of no such device."

“Oh. Well, do you mind if we look around?"

Again, a pause, this one longer. Finally: “I have made a decision. You are not a god. You are not a Master, nor are you of domestic servant stock, if my genetic scan has yielded accurate data. However, your genetic pattern, though strange, is similar to that of a yalim. Therefore, you must be a mutation."

Gene's eye was on the thing in the lengthening shadows. The day had nearly ended, and light was fading fast. “Hey, it's not nice to call someone that."

“Therefore,” the machine went on, “you must be considered an undesirable life form and will be dealt with accordingly."

“Duck!” Gene pulled Vaya down.

An energy beam sizzled over their heads. Its point of origin was near the base of the dark tower.

“Move back,” he ordered her. “And keep low!"

She needed no coaching. Together they retreated through the maze of debris that had greeted them on entering the city.

Annau was laid out in an open plan, with no gates or defensive barriers, but a low wall outlined the outer perimeter. This they had easily scaled coming in, but now it presented an impenetrable barrier. To climb it was to risk getting fried alive. And any thought of chancing it was ruled out, Gene saw, because a squat, tanklike robot sentry was rounding the curve of the wall, hugging its base. Gene raised his head and looked back toward the tower. A similar machine, the one that had fired, was pursuing them.

They moved off to one side and hid between the hulks of two overturned vehicles. Much of the debris looked the result of a battle, or perhaps a long series of skirmishes. In the back of his mind Gene wondered who had fought whom.

“Hell of a pickle,” Gene murmured. Vaya huddled close to him. For the moment, he could think of nothing to do except to keep moving and hiding.

They did this for the next quarter hour, dodging in and among the ruins. But more security machines clanked out from the shadows of the city, and they became hunted fugitives.

With the robots hemming them in on all sides, they sought refuge in the funnel-shaped mouth of a huge air vent. At the back of the funnel, a circular shaft descended at a steep angle, almost vertically.

“Looks like our only chance,” Gene said.

“We will descend to the underworld together, my husband. I am not afraid."

“You're braver than I am. Anything could be down there."

Gene peeked out of the vent. One of the little tanklike security robots looked about ready to unleash another energy bolt. Gene urged Vaya farther back.

“Let's do it, babe,” Gene said.

They sat on the edge of the incline and joined hands. Then they pushed off, sliding down the shaft and into darkness.

The angle of descent flattened out a little, but the metal tube was slippery. It was difficult to keep control. They tried braking with their feet, but soon they were sliding uncontrollably, plummeting deep into the bowels of the city.