“It’s all right,” said Mariel after a moment. The look on her face practically mesmerized him with its calm and majesty and . . . something else. Something he couldn’t quite name. But it was familiar to him. He used to see it in his father’s face sometimes. Faith. That’s what it was. She had a look of faith. “Rick will come back,” she said to Favian. “He won’t desert us. He’s a hero, Favian. You only have to look at him to see it. He’s the hero we’ve been waiting for.”
“Whoa,” said Rick. “Whoa. Not so fast. I’m no hero, believe me. Back in the real world, I can barely . . .”
But before he could finish his sentence, Mariel had melted away, drifting down to the lake like rain, becoming one again with the still and silver surface of the water.
Rick turned to Favian. He saw the hope in Favian’s big, anxious eyes, and it pierced him. Why did Mariel have to say that about his being a hero? How could he ever live up to it? “Listen,” he said to Favian, “when you see her—when you see Mariel again, tell her . . . Tell her not to get her hopes up too much, all right? I’ll do my best for you, I swear I will, but . . . I’m not the guy she thinks I am. I barely know what I’m doing here myself.”
The sparkling Favian smiled his worried smile. “If you say so. But I don’t know, man. Mariel—she’s awfully smart, like wicked smart. She knows things. If she says you’re a hero, you probably are. Maybe you just don’t know it yet.”
Rick rolled his eyes. Just what he needed. More pressure. He had been a sports hero once, sure, but that was before the accident. And a sports hero—well, that’s not like a real hero, not like a soldier or a cop or a fireman or something. In fact, when he was facing that spider-snake, he had been so terrified, he felt like his arms and legs were made of cooked spaghetti. If the Realm held anything more dangerous than that, he didn’t know how he was going to handle it at all. It made him sick to think about it: even though he’d only just met her, he hated the idea of failing in front of Mariel.
“Well, like I said . . . ,” he muttered. “Don’t get your hopes up too much.”
But Favian held up one sparkling hand. “If you’re going to have a chance to do anything, you better get started. The portal should be ready for you now.”
It was. Back in the clearing, the purple diamond was fully bright again, floating in the air. Rick and Favian stood before it.
“Well . . . ,” said Rick. “Thanks—thanks for your help.”
“Don’t forget us,” said Favian. “Please. Don’t just leave us here. What happens to you when you die in this place, it’s . . . Well, it’s not good.”
Rick nodded and said, “I won’t forget.”
He turned and faced the glowing portal point. He took a deep breath. The purple diamond pulsed and throbbed as if it were a living thing. Rick gazed into the light of it and the light seemed to surround him.
He willed himself through the light and left the Realm.
LEVEL THREE:
INTRUDERS
14. A GOD OF WAR
IN THE REALM, Reza had wings. Kurodar had given them to him: webbed wings sprouting from his shoulder blades so that he could fly. Reza loved this. He loved to fly. He loved the Realm. He loved Kurodar. More than that. It was just as his friend Ibrahim had told him it would be: he worshipped Kurodar. Why not? He used to worship the God, and what had the God ever done for him? Kurodar, it turned out, had more actual power—here in the Realm, anyway.
Here in the Realm, Kurodar had made Reza a fearful creature altogether—more than a man. His bared upper body was now uncannily muscular and strong. His skin was a kind of pink leather. His eyes were enormous and sharper than human eyes. And the savagely sharp talons of his hands could suddenly extend into sword-like weapons. His tail—well, he wasn’t sure what his tail was for, but he thought it was dashingly satanic.
He was inspecting the fortress Generator Room now. He did this obsessively, every chance he got. It was the living heart of the fortress and he always wanted to reassure himself that it was still beating.
Today, he took a few extra moments at it, because he wasn’t relishing the idea of breaking the bad news to his master. He flapped his wings slowly, hovering just above the floor of one of the iron galleries that ringed the flagstone walls.
The Generator Room was three stories high, and nearly as broad as it was tall. An enormous Disperser Wheel rose out of the cellar toward the ceiling. The lines of purple energy from various nearby portal points poured into it in lightning blasts from the center of the room to its base. The wheel absorbed this energy from around the Realm and dispersed it throughout the fortress, giving Kurodar the power he needed to finish his work here, to complete the Sky Room and create more of the guardian bots who were to form Reza’s army. With that army, Reza would be able to protect the fortress in the unlikely event of some sort of attack by the Americans.
Everything here seemed to be working well. The fortress should be fully supplied with power for now.
So there was no putting his duty off any longer. Reza flapped his webbed wings harder and glided out the iron door into the fortress’s Great Hall.
The strange guard-bots at each door saluted him as he flitted across the central room of soaring stone and gorgeous stained glass. When he came to the entrance of the Sky Room, the guard-bots stepped aside. The big double doors swung open.
The Sky Room! What a place this was! The control center of the fortress—the launchpad of what would be their first real attack on the Americans. Reza looked up at the dome with a feeling of almost child-like wonder. It was as if the great Kurodar had created a sky of his own. Seemingly infinite black space. Starry lights so white they seemed beacons of purity and perfection. Multicolored lines of energy streaking across the vault. And thousands of minuscule rainbow-colored bots swarming like beetles around the edges, the servants of Kurodar’s imagination, ceaselessly laboring to bring the master’s vision to life.
The dome was held in place by fluted golden columns soaring up from the marble floor. Gigantic classical statues stood in the alcoves between them: Hitler, Stalin, Mao, bin Laden—all the heroes who had labored and sacrificed to bring humanity to perfection. As Kurodar himself was laboring now.
There he was. Reza hovered beneath him, staring up at him with a sense of awe and joy. The sight of his master gave Reza the same powerful feeling he used to have when he was worshipping the God. It was the ecstasy of submission and obedience.
In RL—Real Life—Kurodar was just an ugly little man with spindly legs, slumped shoulders, and a frog-like face. But that was in RL. Here in the Realm, he appeared in his true form: a hazy pink presence, liberated from the flesh. Pure mind. Pure genius. The god of the MindWar.
“My master,” said Reza, his words full of feeling.
The hazy form pulsed, and the hollow voice answered him, “Why are you interrupting me? I have to finish the dome. There’s not much time. The Traveler is already on the move.”
“I know, Master,” said the assassin. He took a breath. Braced himself. “I thought you should be told: there’s been a disturbance in the Blue Woods. The guardian of the Scarlet Plain was activated—and the security feedback shows it was destroyed.”
The hazy form of Kurodar shifted. It was hard to tell, but it seemed a note of surprise entered the master’s voice as he said, “Destroyed? You’re certain? Not just disabled?”
Flapping his wings to stay aloft, Reza shook his head. “According to my information, the bot was completely destroyed.”
“We have an intruder then.”
“Yes, my master. Possibly more than one. Should I send more guardian bots to hunt them down?”
There was a pause as Kurodar’s great mind considered. Then he said, “No. They’ll have left by now. The fortress guard isn’t finished. If we spread them out to search, it will weaken our defenses. I’m almost done here. Keep watch—and if anyone tries to approach the fortress itself, kill them.”
Reza lowered his chin in a gesture of submission
. His webbed wings gave another muscular flap and he glided from the room.
When Reza was gone, Kurodar turned his attention to the dome of the sky again. It was strange, he thought. This place—this Realm—it was purely the product of his imagination. It sprang from his mind day by day, as RL had sprung from the mind of God. Here, he was the god. This was his creation.
And yet, as powerful as he was, he was afraid.
He had tried not to show it while the assassin was present, but the report from the Blue Woods frightened him. They were coming for him again. The Americans. He had known they would. He had known they would not give up. They were going to try to destroy his life’s work, just as they’d destroyed the lifework of his father. He had to finish the Sky Room. Quickly. He was running out of time.
He hated this. Building the Sky Room. Building this fortress to protect it. Staging this raid when what he wanted was to launch a full-fledged attack that would leave the United States in flames. He needed to get back to his main work, the work of completing the Golden City. That was the real weapon of the Realm. That was the structure that would give him the power to bring the U.S.—Europe—all his enemies—to their knees.
But the fortress and the Sky Room were necessary. This was an emergency. The Assembly was losing faith. If he didn’t show them something soon, they would cut off his funds and the Realm would go unfinished. The Canadian train wreck had caught their attention, but it wasn’t enough. It had no real point or purpose.
Now he had the chance to show them something real and effective. The Traveler was on the move. The entire U.S. security apparatus was geared up to protect him. If Kurodar could defeat that apparatus, it would show the Assembly the real potential of the MindWar Realm.
On the other hand, if the Traveler should escape . . .
That was why Kurodar was afraid. The Traveler was the one man on earth who might just be as brilliant as he was, who might just be brilliant enough to destroy his creation. The prospect of that, the prospect of defeat at the hands of the Americans, frightened him more than anything. It haunted his nightmares. Defeat. Humiliation. The idea that the same horrible fate that had overtaken his father might now overtake him . . .
He had to stop the Traveler. He had to—and he would.
He turned his attention to the dome again, and continued creating the sky.
15. RAGE
“WHAT DID YOU think you were doing? Answer me!”
The words were full of fury, but Miss Ferris’s voice never altered. She spoke in that same robotic monotone as always, as if she felt nothing at all, not even her own anger. Her face was expressionless, her eyes were cool. Only the way she paced back and forth in front of him—the taut, cat-like play of her compact body under the black suit—gave Rick any indication of just how angry at him she was.
Rick opened his mouth to answer her—“I saw—” but before he could finish, she stormed on.
“Really,” she said, “I’m curious. What part of my instructions didn’t you understand?”
“I saw—” Rick started again, and again, she cut him off.
“ ‘Don’t stray too far from the portal point,’ I said. ‘Look around,’ I said. ‘Find the outpost. Come back.’ How difficult to comprehend was that, Rick? Were the words too long for you? Too many syllables? Answer me!”
They were sitting in some kind of conference room in the MindWar Project’s underground compound. It was a long, narrow room with one wall made completely of television screens, all of them blank, all black. A long glass table took up most of the floor space. Swivel recliners were arrayed around it. Rick sat slumped and weary in one of the chairs, his crutches leaning against the table beside him, as Miss Ferris paced back and forth between him and the blank TVs. The enormous security guard, Juliet Seven, stood in one corner watching the two of them, his massive arms crossed over his chest again. His block of a face was serious, but there was laughter sparkling in his eyes. He was clearly enjoying watching little Miss Ferris rip into the huge, muscular ex-quarterback.
Rick felt gutted, emptied of all energy. His hour in the Realm had exhausted him. Coming back had been even worse. When Juliet Seven had lifted him out of the glass coffin, the crippling pain and weakness of his legs had struck him like a mallet blow. For all the dangers of the Realm, it had felt incredibly good to have his legs whole and healthy again. Just one hour in that computerized environment and he’d almost forgotten what a weak and broken man he really was. Now, already, the Realm—the scarlet plain—the blue woods—the spider-snake—the sparkling Favian—the beautiful silver Mariel—and his healthy legs—seemed like a dream to him. He could hardly believe any of it had actually happened. Already, he felt his old depression settling over him like a shroud.
But still, he tried again to answer her. He opened his mouth and . . .
“Well?” said Miss Ferris coldly. “I really want to know, Rick. What did you think you were doing?”
“I saw a man,” Rick finally managed to say.
Miss Ferris stopped pacing.
“What?”
“I saw a man. In the Realm. Across this scarlet plain, just outside this blue wood.”
“You saw a man?”
“He was calling to me. Trying to warn me to get into the forest. I think he saved my life. Otherwise, the gigantic spider-snake would have devoured me on the spot.”
Miss Ferris blinked. Rick took this to indicate surprise. Hard to tell—it was the only change in her expression.
“The gigantic spider . . . ?” she began to say. And then she interrupted herself and said, “You’re telling me there was a man?”
“Sort of a man,” said Rick. “Favian, his name was. He was sort of a . . . well, a sprite or something. He was transparent and he sparkled and, like, flitted around. There was a woman, too.”
Miss Ferris cocked her head, like a dog who’s heard a whistle.
Didn’t she have any regular facial expressions? he wondered. Smiles? Frowns? Anything? Didn’t she have any emotions at all? “Only she was more like a spirit. Mariel. She came up out of the water as if she were made of it. She was very . . .” Beautiful, he wanted to say, but it embarrassed him. He didn’t want Miss Ferris—or that mocking blockhead Juliet Seven—to see how much the sight of Mariel had moved him.
“And did they say anything? These sprites and spirits?” Miss Ferris asked. “Did they tell you how they got there? Did they give you any usable intelligence?”
“Oh, now you’re interested,” said Rick sarcastically. “Now it’s not such a bad thing that I strayed away from the portal point.”
“Don’t be a smart-mouth,” snapped Miss Ferris without any intonation whatsoever. “Do you think this is some sort of joke?”
Rick rolled his eyes and shook his head. He didn’t think anything. He just wanted to go home and get some sleep. He was too tired to sit here being scolded like a three-year-old by the Ice Queen of Robotland. His experiences in the Realm may have begun to seem like a dream, but the injuries he’d suffered there were real enough. He’d awakened with scratches on his hands and arms, aches in his muscles, vivid purple bruises all over him from when the spider-snake had dragged him over the forest turf. There was one bruise on his lower leg that was nearly black. That was from when the creature’s web had wrapped around him, tied him tight. He smelled bad, too. He needed a bath. He needed some rest.
“They didn’t know how they got there,” he said. “They didn’t remember.”
Miss Ferris blinked again—and who knew what that meant? Maybe she just had a bit of dust in her eyes or something. She crossed her arms on her chest and stared at him. “What did they tell you about the Realm?” she said coldly.
“They said there was a Golden City in the distance, out of sight. They said that that was the heart of the place, where the real attacks, the big attacks, would come from. But they said that right now, Kurodar was building a fortress. I could see it, out on the edge of the scarlet plain. They thought he was planning to launch
some kind of smaller attack from there.”
Miss Ferris nodded. It was some sort of reaction, at least.
“There’s something else,” said Rick.
The woman lifted her chin in a question: What?
Rick continued: “They’re dying. Favian and Mariel. They have a certain amount of energy and it’s running out, bit by bit. They asked me if I could help them.” With a pang, he remembered the look of anxiety on Favian’s face. You don’t know what it’s like here. And—what was almost worse—he remembered the look of faith from Mariel. He won’t desert us. He’s a hero. You only have to look at him to see it. He’s the hero we’ve been waiting for. “I said I would try,” he told Miss Ferris. Then he added, “I promised them I would try.”
Miss Ferris did something odd then. She turned away—actually swung completely around so that her back was to him. Before he lost sight of her, Rick could almost have sworn he saw an expression of actual emotion cross her face. What was it? Sorrow? Anger? Fear? No, he must have imagined it, because when she turned around again, her countenance was as stony as ever. “I’ll look into it,” she said brusquely. “We’ll see what we can do to help them. But right now, we have other problems. Juliet Seven will take you home. You need rest before re-immersion. Twelve hours is essential. Forty-eight hours is preferable.”
“You are going to send me back in, then?” Rick asked her. He had been worried that she was so angry with him for disobeying her orders that she would end the mission right here and now. He realized: He wanted to go back in. He wanted to feel the strength in his legs again. He wanted to complete his mission. He wanted, more than anything, to help Favian and Mariel.
But he needn’t have worried about Miss Ferris’s anger. She seemed to have forgotten all about it, if she had ever really felt it at all. She even seemed to have forgotten she’d been in the middle of scolding him. She now simply marched away, marched right across the floor to the conference room door, with barely a glance in his direction.
Mindwar Page 8