The Heisenberg Corollary

by C H Duryea

  “But a third,” Augie asked. “Consecutively?”

  “The likelihood of it happening accidentally?”

  “Let me guess,” Harbinger said. “Not enough atoms on our universe to calculate the odds?”

  “No,” Narissa answered. “Not enough in our universe and this one combined.”

  “Infinity cubed,” Vibeke said.

  “I get it,” Zeke said. “It’s the Tozzk, and they’re not here by accident. Given their fixation on blasting us to atoms, I think it’s safe to assume that they’re here to enact the same agenda. It doesn’t explain how they know we’re here—or how they’re following us.”

  “That’s simple,” Vibeke said. “It’s old man Occam again. They got their own Frogger and they want to corner the market.”

  Zeke shook his head. “If that were the case, they would have found us in open space and blasted us to photons before we arrived here. No, there are too many unsolved variables here.”

  “One less than we had an hour ago,” Narissa said.

  “Maybe fewer,” Zeke responded. “That diagram. You don’t think it’s—”

  “I do. It’s my math that completed their attempted model. And you saw how they reacted. There’s no other explanation.”

  Zeke let the night’s second unwelcome revelation sink in.

  “Explanation for what?” Vibeke asked.

  “If what the Inverkethis have seen through this Gate of theirs,” Zeke said, “can only be explained by Narissa’s math, then it can only be a non-Euclidian six-dimensional hyperstack.”

  “A six-pack,” Harbinger said.

  “Carter and Burroughs were basing their work along these lines,” Augie said. “You think they were on to something?”

  “What the hell is it?” Vibeke pressed.

  “A hyperspatial anomaly,” Narissa said. “A compression of parallel universes crowding six dimensions of convergence into three.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “If it’s really a hyperstack,” Zeke said, “then we have a planet-sized disco-ball out there, made of pure, protospatial energy.”

  “The stuff from which the stuff from which stuff is made is made,” Harbinger elaborated.

  “It’s supposed to be a multi-nodal phenomenon,” Zeke said, “with each node an opening into a different universe. Any space connecting to it would be connected to all the rest on a random rotating basis. It was purely theoretical. It was also part of the mathematical base for the Frogger.”

  “So it’s a validation of your theory,” Vibeke said. “That’s good, right?”

  Zeke didn’t answer. He sat down on the path and sank his forehead into his hands.

  “It’s not that simple,” Narissa explained. “The workings of the hyperstack was what got Zeke to see that putting humans into the loop was the only safe way for this type of travel.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s a huge ball of quantum entanglement,” Narissa answered, “with nobody at the helm. Without a conscious agency to invoke the Heisenberg corollary, those cross-spatial junctions could open into some very, very nasty continua.”

  “Making it,” Augie said, “one extremely dangerous son of a mother.”

  “And that’s how they’re doing it,” Zeke said. “How they’re following us. The Tozzk are using the six-pack like some kind of interdimensional revolving door.”

  “Kind of stupid on their part,” Harbinger said. “Any one of their jumps could throw them into a universe of hot plasma, or antimatter—“

  “The Tozzk,” Qaant Yke said, “are not known for heeding such concerns.”

  “It goes both ways,” Narissa replied. “Any of those junctions open onto the wrong universe, it could mean devastation to anyone on the receiving side.”

  Zeke rubbed at his temples. “I, for one,” he said as he stood, “need to come back to this when I’m more rested and slightly soberer.”

  “Right,” Harbinger said. “Where are our tents?”

  “Over there,” Narissa pointed. “They gave us two. I think they assumed that Lady Brand and Lady Hell Storm were going to have some private slumber party.” She chucked the stick and grabbed Augie by the sleeve.

  “Good night, all,” he said as Narissa led him to the first tent.

  Zeke and Vibeke looked at the second tent, then at each other. Then at Harbinger.

  “Hey,” Harbinger said, “I think I saw a group of metalsmiths getting drunk back there and playing with swords.”

  He flung a good-natured wave at them and disappeared into the darkness.

  Zeke turned to Vibeke. She looked back at him and the look in her eye reminded him of the moment before she pushed him into the sack tube. Only this time her vibe felt less urgent, less compulsory.

  “I will remain here,” Qaant Yke said, “while you two engage in your earthling bonding ritual.”

  “Thanks, Qaant Yke,” Zeke said. “That’s right neighborly of you.”

  The next morning, Zeke awoke to the sounds of activity and voices outside the tent that made his slightly hungover head pound with an annoying pressure behind his eyes. Feldspar’s camp was apparently a busy place before breakfast.

  He pulled himself slowly out from under a pile of blankets so as to not disturb Vibeke, who lay sprawled and snoring on the pallet. He put on his shirt and trousers, threw back the tent flap, and blinked in the bright sunlight. Looking around, he saw that tents were getting dismantled, and carts and wains were getting loaded with supplies. They were striking camp—they would be heading out soon.

  Through the bustle of activity, he saw Harbinger approaching along the makeshift path that traced its way through the campground. The programmer waved and picked up his pace. He was carrying a large bundle, strapped over his shoulder. When he came nearer, Zeke recognized what he had.

  “What the hell have you been doing, Chuck?” he asked under his breath.

  Harbinger’s eyes were dark-circled, but he wore a wide grin as he stepped up to the tent and dropped his bundle. It contained a variety of metal-worked items and a not inconsiderable quantity of edged weapons.

  “Been having fun, I see,” Zeke said.

  “Those smithies know how to party,” he said, a bit out of breath. “We drank and exchanged notes on metallurgy till right before sunup.”

  “They gave you all this?”

  “They gave me more than that,” Harbinger said with excitement.

  “What do you mean?”

  Harbinger took a quick look around then led Zeke around the tent.

  “Check this out,” he said, pulling up his sleeve and holding up his forearm. A wide metal wristband circled about half his forearm.

  “You got a gauntlet,” Zeke said.

  “A gauntlet is a glove,” Harbinger corrected. “This is a vambrace.”

  “You got a vambrace. I hope you didn’t trade too much with the locals.”

  “Not much barter involved this time. Our hosts are actually quite accommodating when you get them drunk enough.”

  “They made this for you?”

  “Out of some of the moolite we brought from the station.” Harbinger held up his other hand, revealing another vambrace, this one of a duller, grayer and more porous metal. “And this they made from that hunk of cyex we took with us.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Harbinger said, swinging his arm around. “We were all pretty drunk, and they seemed interested in it. Strange thing—the cyex and the moolite have some opposing properties.”

  Harbinger pulled both vambraces off and offered them over. “Put them on.”

  “Are you kidding?” Zeke asked. “Do you remember the properties this material exhibited yesterday?”

  “Humor me,” Harbinger pressed. “Put them on.”

  “Fine.” Zeke took them and slid one over each hand. “Not exactly my style.”

  “That’s not the—here.” Harbinger indicated a large rock on the ground a few meters away. “Point
the moolite vambrace—your right—at that rock.”

  Zeke pointed.

  “Now wish it into the cornfield.”

  “What?”

  “Wish it gone. Imagine it flying off into the ravine. Like you really wanted it away from you.”

  “Chuck, I think you need to get some sleep.”

  “I’m telling you there’s something here,” Harbinger said. “Call it what you want. A different calibration of the laws of physics than what we’re used to, Clarke’s sufficiently advanced technology, voodoo. Whatever it is, it’s here and it works. They have a system that draws on some kind of planetary energy field, connected across the surface in a huge web—a bit like what they used to call ley lines back on Earth. The intersections of these lines apparently amplify the energetic field in the region. The valley we saw when we were flying in is one of these power spots—which makes it sacred to the Inverkethi culture.”

  “So you’re telling me,” Zeke said, holding up the vambraces on his wrists, “that the emergent properties of these materials can turn us into wizards?”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” the coder said. “But we can’t afford to scoff at something that might help us get out of here. This material we brought from the outside—if what Narissa was able to do with it is any indication—”

  He was interrupted when Vibeke came around the corner of the tent, blinking at the sunlight and massaging the knots out her hair.

  “G’morning,” she said. "Did I miss anything?” She took Zeke’s hand and noticed the vambrace. “Nifty. I got one just like it at the Renaissance Fair last year.”

  “Probably not exactly like this one,” Zeke said. “At least not from a materials standpoint.” He turned back to Harbinger. “We don’t know what happened with Narissa.”

  “Yes we do,” Vibeke said. “You just don’t have a theory that matches the observational data.”

  “Chuck here has a theory.”

  “And I’ll bet it’s a humdinger.”

  “It might hold some answers. We need to find out more. Chuck, keep looking into this. I’d like to see if this strange behavior on energy’s part here has anything to do with why the Friendly Card bricked on us. Work with Augie on it.”

  “Where are Augie and Narissa?” Vibeke asked.

  “Narissa’s out in the pasture doing her taekwondo practice,” Harbinger said. “She’s got a bit of an audience. Augie’s at breakfast. Which I advise you to get in on sooner rather than later. These Inverkethi soldiers can really pound it down.”

  “And Qaant Yke?” Zeke asked.

  “He went to find a body of water he could immerse himself in. The air on the Card is pretty dry for him—being a crustacean and all. He said he needed to make his connective tissues bind his casings like the sturdiest of space vessels.”

  “I’m sure it sounds more elegant in the language of his forehatchers,” Zeke commented.

  “Indeed,” Harbinger said. He picked up his pack of edged weapons. “I’m off. There’s a guy who’s gonna show me some basic swordsmanship before we head out.”

  Vibeke brightened. “Swordsmanship? Hell, yes. I’m in.”

  “I’m going to see if there’s coffee in this universe,” Zeke said, “or at least a reasonable analogue. You two have fun. But, Chuck—we’re not on vacation. We need to figure out what we’re dealing with.”

  “Already on it, boss,” he said and they started down the path back toward the center of camp.

  “And Chuck?”

  Harbinger looked back.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t let her beat up too many of them. We need these Inverkethis to actually like us.”

  “I heard that,” Vibeke said without turning.

  “I don’t think any efforts on my part,” Harbinger said, “would have a substantive impact.”

  “Don’t worry, Zeke,” Vibeke called as they vanished into the crowd. “I’ll be at my diplomatic best!”

  “That’s what scares me!”

  Zeke watched them go, then looked back down at the band of metal around his wrist. He held up his hand and pointed again at the rock by the ravine. He tried to imagine it flying end over end into the brush at the bottom of the washout. He squeezed his brows together in concentration, focusing on the thought.

  Nothing. Not that he expected anything.

  “Magic,” he said to himself. “Yeah. Right.”

  He tugged his sleeves down to cover the vambraces and went off in search of caffeine.

  Seventeen

  Feldspar’s forces, along with their horses, pack animals, supplies and supporting personnel, spent most of the morning on a long march that took the company through green and sun-washed rolling hills and led into the pass back to the valley.

  Zeke and Vibeke rode horseback side by side. Vibeke was wearing a new Inverkethi sword sheathed across her back. She hadn’t stopped smirking since the sword lesson. A few meters behind them, Harbinger rode by Qaant Yke, who walked, and beyond them, Augie and Narissa rode atop a horse-drawn carriage.

  Zeke drew his mount up next to Scar’s.

  “Have you encountered these Tozzk warriors yourself?” he asked.

  The soldier grinned in a way that caused his scar to twist on his face like a snake. “How do you think I got this?”

  “But you have fought them,” Zeke said, “and survived.”

  Scar’s smirk switched to a sneer. “The prince was right. Not much gets by you.”

  “How hard are they to fight?”

  Scar’s gaze shifted to the distance. “The hardest I’ve ever encountered. The Wandering Gate is a doorway straight out of hell.”

  “Still, you patrol this region, looking to take them on.”

  “I do my duty by the regent.”

  “Why then are we heading back towards the valley, to this place called Lankshale?”

  “We were with our defensive lines several moons past. While we were returning, a messenger intercepted us on the southern road. Rumors were spreading of the enemy penetrating the mountains and fortifying positions in the high climbs beyond the eastern valley wall. The enemy had never been sighted there before—only in the south and west. After conferring with the regent, the prince sent a small fighting force up the mountain to investigate the region in doubt.”

  “What did they find?”

  “We don’t know,” Scar replied. “They never returned. My men wanted to follow—to give aid or learn their fate. But the prince’s deeper concern was for the valley—and home. If the enemy was indeed taking positions in the climbs, it could only be in preparation for an attack that our people would be unable to defend against. It was his judgment that we return home to help protect our people. Then we chanced into you—and his determination to return to Lankshale doubled.”

  “You don’t sound like you agreed with him,” Zeke said.

  Scar’s perma-scowl twisted, warping the line down his face. “I do my duty by the regent,” he repeated. “But, abandoning my men does not sit well with me.”

  “Is this the entirety of this Western Vigil?”

  “The Vigil of the Gate. No. More than ten score fighting units just like this one patrol the Western territory, their mages always on the watch for the Gate’s telltale signs.”

  “That blue energy discharge,” Zeke said.

  “Sometimes it is as orange as a sunset. That is when the real horrors of the Gate emerge. The mages are charged with holding the enemy at bay, holding them beyond the portal if at all possible. When they fail, our forces take over.”

  “What’s their track record?”

  Scar twisted his mouth and peered at him. “Track record?”

  “Sorry,” Zeke said. “How often do they succeed?”

  “Not often enough—and our numbers are dwindling. The enemy is powerful. The Inverkethi army may as well try to stop the sun in its path across the sky.”

  “They’re strong,” Zeke conceded, “but they’re not the brightest bulbs on the tree.”

>   “Bulbs?”

  “Sorry—they’re not as smart as they are strong.”

  “When you are as mighty as they are,” Scar said, “intelligence is not necessarily an asset.”

  Zeke nodded and let his ride slow down until he again matched pace with Vibeke and the others. He didn’t speak for a while.

  “If I didn’t know better, Zeke,” Augie said finally, “I’d say you were deep inside your head.”

  “Uh oh,” Vibeke said. “That spells trouble.”

  “I’m just processing implications,” Zeke said.

  “Implications of what, boss?” Harbinger asked.

  “Back on the ship, Qaant Yke mentioned that the Tozzk are powerful—and there’s more evidence of their formidable nature here.”

  “And your point?” Narissa asked.

  "They’re not that smart.”

  “From an evolutionary standpoint,” Augie said, “they don’t have to be.”

  “And that’s exactly what Scar just said, and now it’s got me wondering. If all they were interested in was pillaging the local star systems, maybe they wouldn’t need a surplus of intelligence. But how do apparent lunkheads like the Tozzk manage to contain a six-dimensional hyperstack—let alone harness it for interdimensional travel?”

  “Or target us from universes away?” Harbinger added.

  “Does it matter?” Vibeke asked. “They can. They did. They must have something on the ball that we don’t know about.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Zeke answered. “Or someone.”

  As the shadows thrown by the afternoon sun began to stretch, the caravan came through the final set of passes and the valley opened up before them. The last time Zeke saw it, the Friendly Card was about to become dragon food. He scanned the rocky crags overhead, looking for any clue to the location of the dragons’ nest. He rode back over to Scar and asked him if he knew where it was.

  “Which one?” the soldier asked. “The ridges are littered with those pests.”

  Zeke scanned the climbs in all directions.

  “Pests,” he repeated, “was not the word I would have used.”

  “When they’re not torchin’ and eatin’ the livestock, they’re crapping all over the city. It’s all our mages can do to keep them up there.”