Star Spring

by David Bischoff

  Earnest Evers Hurt had shown her how to combine her penchant for optics and chemistry with a certain flair for visualization into a stunning talent. Earnest Evers Hurt had made sure she was apprised of the right avenues to traverse in the tricky maze of Art. Earnest Evers Hurt had always been a gentle and amusing, if strange, lover whose amorous attentions were few, far between, and ultimately undemanding. He allowed her other lovers—in fact, occasionally supplied them when her spirit (or his ancient libido) were low. Sometimes, it turned out, her favors were lavished upon select men whom Hurt could not sway with money. All diplomatically engineered: he knew her preferences.

  Still, when she did find this out, it galled her no end. However, she kept mum. Her intention had been to leave Hurt after the Star Fall’s year-long cruise, after her work had become known all over the galaxy and she had a measure of fame and financial independence. No longer would Hurt be able to slyly manipulate her, use her to lure unsuspecting types like Charley Haversham or whatever his name was.

  Now this—

  Earnest had changed after he’d bought the Star Fall. Subtly, but definitely, he seemed different.

  Another sprawl of bodies. A shiver of dread.

  She hurried the last few paces to her destination, fit the mag-key Hurt had given her, danced her fingers in the necessary code-mode. The door gave way and she found herself eye-to-photoelectric-sensor with Hurt’s biobot bodyguard.

  A claw caught her wrist, tugged her close to where purplish, vein-mottled flesh contracted and expanded with the thing’s imitation of breathing. Its red-rimmed mouth opened, revealing stainless steel teeth.

  “Ah ha. The mistress of the manor! Gliding through the dim corridors, a distressed maiden.”

  “Let me go, you multi-legged turd!” she said with gritted teeth. She had always abhorred the sight of Hurt’s biobot. In the year since it had developed this loathsome personality, she had come to hate it furiously. The horror was that the perverse thing seemed to sense her deep revulsion and took pains to play upon it like some demented maestro of mischief. Touching her. Volunteering replacement for Hurt’s amorous duties. Drooling spittle and oil.

  “The master is in his study,” the thing said, pointing upward at the sphere nestled in its antigrav nest, far above in the huge, cold chamber. Like a ball bearing of some invisible wheel, it gleamed amid its tapestry of wires.

  Veronica tugged away from the creature. “Call him down, then. I want to talk to him.”

  “Mr. Hurt instructed me not to disturb him except for a matter of the greatest urgency.” It scuttled back to its webbing strung across the face of the monstrous socketed computer facets. Lights cavorted beneath as he clambered up. “And you, my dear,” it said with a disinterested voice, “are hardly urgent.”

  Veronica stepped toward the computer, stared into one of the holes that pocked the computer facade like cells of a beehive. The inside glittered, tungsten strands at its core pulsing a faerie glow.

  “Why didn’t I get treated to this one-way trip to nowhere?”

  The Arachnid peeked thoughtfully at a keyboard, then cocked its head to regard the results on a screen.

  “My question precisely, dear heart. I urged Mr. Hurt to include you. You would have made an excellent Joan of Arc for Scenario 34 C.” The thing sighed affectedly. “But no. Mr. Hurt wants you to remain topside.”

  “Just who are you anyway, biobot? Just what do you plan on getting out of this ... this insane real-fic charade? You’ve got something up your sleeve ...”

  “Sleeve? Madam, as you may or may not observe, I have no sleeves. As to my plans—well, they dovetail right into Mr. Hurt’s—which is why we make such simpatico partners.” The Arachnid glanced up. Light twinkled on the descending sphere. “Well, it’s your lucky day, Miss March. Your pal is checking in on Reality Prime.”

  Veronica stalked to the dock. Hurt was not surprised to see her. “Ah, Veronica. I’ve been thinking about you,” he said mildly as the neuroattachments released their holds. His robes rustled as he emerged. He kissed her gently on the cheek.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  Hurt gave her a mildly consternated look. “I was just going to suggest, my dear, that you retrieve your belongings from your cabin and move into my quarters. I suspect that most of the ship must be troublesome to your sensibilities.”

  “It’s hellish, that’s what it is, Earnest. In the name of decency, I demand that you stop whatever you are doing now.”

  “Your chirping conscience,” the Arachnid called from his wobbling perch. “How enchanting!”

  “Shut up!” Hurt snapped. He turned a frown toward his mistress. “Veronica—you’ve never spoken like this to me before.”

  “You’ve never imprisoned a spaceliner full of humans before. Have you seen them, waddling about in the halls like lost souls?”

  “Veronica, they must eat and attend to their bodily functions. I assure you, when this experiment is over, each individual will enjoy far better health—indeed, a superior existence. Who’s to say they are not enjoying their present state, journeying about in my Land of Dreams? You are in no position to criticize. You lack the necessary ... perspective. Now, I’m going to take one of my chemical baths. Bring your luggage back up here, and then I would appreciate one of your excellent massages. The neurowires have become troubling of late.”

  “Let Mr. Legs over there massage you. I’m afraid I might try to throttle you.” Fury and indignation sang in her tone. She turned away, shaking.

  “Veronica—has not everything I have done turned out well for you in the course of our relationship? Do you not think I do not have wonderful plans for you, most precious female, darling of my affections?”

  “What are you talking about?” she said, curiosity in her voice.

  “You will be a queen. All humanity will worship you, my love.”

  “Huh? You’ve been cooped up in your metal marble too long, Earnest. I just thought you were a little weird before. Now I know you’re off your bloody rocker!”

  “Your star will shine bright in the heaven of human history, Veronica. Together we will rule wisely and well, charting the course of human evolution. Don’t you see why I’ve selected you, my heart?” He stepped forward and stroked the fine dark slope of her hair. “We match. We are spiritually compatible. You are the yang to my yin, dear heart. You shall sit on my right hand in glory”—his words became whispers of awe—“forever.”

  “Queen? What are you talking about, Earnest? I don’t want to be a queen.”

  “A goddess. You will see, Veronica. You will thank me. And you will worship me in my perfect wisdom, as will all mankind throughout creation!”

  “So that’s why you want her,” the Arachnid said, clicking nimbly onto the floor. “She’s to be your Balance.”

  “Yes. Source of my necessary Harmony. I am all too aware of the dangers of Universal Solipsism.”

  “You know, whatever you’re talking about, it might have been nice to let me in on this earlier. Get my thoughts on the subject.”

  “Your opinions would have been irrelevant.”

  “That’s right. I would have told you to take your whole crazy idea and shove it! I’d not have set foot on the Star Fall. And I would have given a good fruity Bronx cheer to your patronage.” Her firm chin was thrust up in defiance.

  “Consider your words carefully, my love. Everything you are you owe to me.” A carefully enunciated whisper: “Everything!”

  “I bet you think I was just some easy pushover. Well, you’re wrong. I let you sleep with me because ... well, because I liked you ... then. I let you be my patron because I figured it was faster than going it on my own. Which I could have done, if I chose, I’ll have you know. Now ... now, Earnest, I feel unclean. I feel dirtied by my association with you. I can see why you make all the fuss about maintenance. Your brain cells are rotting, and the putre
scence you exude makes me want to throw up.”

  “Shall I get the Joan of Arc crystal out, boss?” The Arachnid asked eagerly.

  Hurt ignored the thing.

  “You cannot say these things, Veronica,” he said, clearly shaken. “You were made for me.”

  “Don’t come on with that cosmic fate crap, Earnest. We just bumped into one another. Literally.”

  Hurt’s eyes burned with intensity.

  “How wrong you are, Veronica. I had hoped that your natural tendencies, your loyalty toward me, your love would have led you to support every action I take with complete trust. Alas, I was wrong, it seems.”

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded, hands on the hips of her plaid jump suit.

  “I am responsible for your existence, Veronica March.”

  She found the words hard to push from her mouth. “You mean that figuratively, surely. Responsible for my career, my existence here and now, the air I breathe, the food I eat—” But something like understanding began to show on her face.

  “You are not the only one, my dear. Be assured of that. I am a very rich man, but one whose investments are not merely monetary. You have many genetic sisters, I assure you.”

  A paralyzing horror swept through Veronica, biting deep into areas of feeling she did not know she owned. “Oh my God—you’re my father!”

  “Not precisely. A genetic variation on a potential clone, fashioned with the help of a most attractive woman I fancied at one time. I have hundreds of such sons and daughters whom I have nothing personally to do with, but nonetheless monitor. Godchildren, you might call them. And you, my love, are a godchild who somehow became just the right individual to suit my wants, my needs—” He smiled softly, stepped to her, caressed her cheek with a smooth hand. “To minister to my affections.”

  Anger and revulsion. Something snapped inside Veronica. The world became blank for an instant; the next, she was attacking Hurt, raking her nails across his face, drawing blood.

  Hurt’s health machines screeched. Red lights blazed.

  The mania of her attack propelled Hurt to the floor with a bone-crunching jar. Veronica grabbed his hair and began pounding his head against the hard floor.

  Metal hands wrapped hard around her body. She was ripped off him, holding bloody hanks of long black hair. The air smelled of oil and blood; the Arachnid held her steady.

  “You bastard!” she wailed. “You perverse scummy old worm!” She strained at the biobot’s arms. A slew of imprecations flew from her mouth. A sense of violation seemed to rip her inside out.

  A brigade of maintenance units swarmed about their crumpled patient. Hiss of hypodermics. An emergency atmosphere tent was constructed. Plasma bottles clanked.

  “Spirited young wench!” the biobot said into her ear. “You’ve got a lot to answer for now.”

  Amid the clatter and gleam of his attendants, a strong voice awakened: “Leave me. I’m all right.” Earnest Evers Hurt stood, took a few breaths of his special air, then removed the flimsy plastic covering. Plastiheal marks swathed his wounds and he held his head as though it pained him.

  “You have more of your mother in you than I realized,” Hurt said mildly. “My misfortune. I suspect, however, you can be tamed—like she was.”

  She spat at him.

  “Please, calm the pyrotechnics,” Hurt said. “Now. You will return to your cabin. You will pack your bags. And you will return here, where we will install you in our compartments. Then we will have a reasonable discussion of the situation. Are you amenable to that?”

  Veronica stopped her fierce struggling, rationality dawning again. “I haven’t much choice, do I?”

  “No. You haven’t. Have you calmed somewhat?”

  “Yes,” she said, not looking at him.

  “You will do as I say?”

  “For now.”

  “Excellent.” He strode to the computer banks and looked down at the screen shifting with veils of numbers. “I will see you within the hour then. Let her go, Arachnid.”

  The biobot released her reluctantly. It immediately assumed a position between Hurt and her to make sure that the attack was not repeated.

  She heaved a shaking breath, wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand and sniffed. “I used to dream of finding my father,” she said in a haunted voice. “But never in my bed.”

  She turned and stalked from the chamber, her footsteps echoing eerily up into the cathedral-like spaciousness.

  * * *

  When the door had whispered shut behind her, the biobot ambled up to Earnest Evers Hurt.

  “It seems I make a bad bodyguard. The previous personality of this mechanism would not have allowed such a show of violence. Sorry.”

  “I too did not expect the attack,” Hurt said, eyes emotional. “They say, Arachnid, that human love is just on the other side of human hate. I truly loved the woman. But she would have killed me.” His hand shook as it adjusted a vernier. “Killed me, when I am so close to immortality. She has flipped the coin, Arachnid. I no longer love her.”

  “Shall I dispatch one of the mobile Disbelief Suspenders? I believe we’ve a few in reserve.”

  “I fear there is no other choice. But deliver it personally, Arachnid. She is now a potential danger. I want to be sure that that danger is canceled. After you are through, return immediately. The destination is close. I regret having to dispose of Veronica in this manner, but nothing must come between me and my goal.” A fist clenched. “Nothing.”

  Eagerly, the biobot scampered away on its mission.

  Earnest Evers Hurt ran a cursory check of operations. All ran smoothly. He tapped up a display of the Underspace surroundings in the vu-tank. Three-dimensional swirling static, flowing past the force-field. No sign of any pattern change ... and yet he sensed something imminent, like the psychic glimpse of a ghost in his peripheral vision.

  His headache began to wane as the drugs took hold, as did lava anger from his eruption. Hatred slowly mutated to a kind of neutrality and he remembered, fondly, his moments of quiet shared joy with Veronica March, his creation and his love. Immediately, he regretted his hasty dispatching of the biobot. A quiver of horror passed through him as he realized what he had done. God! What was he becoming? Her reaction, after all, had been natural enough. Learning of her true background must have rocked her self-image. A temporary hatred of him was understandable. Her expression of her anger was, of course, intolerable; but then, so was any idea of retribution. Still, it was something he could rescind, later. Perhaps even now ...

  Hurt walked quickly to the nearest communication control. There was yet time. The biobot would be stopped, ordered back. Veronica could be dealt with in some other fashion.

  Hurt was punching in the biobot’s comm-code when the lights dimmed, then surged back on with the resupply of power. Air chutes coughed, sputtered, then continued expulsing his atmosphere mix.

  What was—

  A flicker in the vu-tank attracted his attention. A snapshot flash rushed, pulsed, glowed.

  Wonder flooded all other thought from Hurt. Totally absorbed in the events portrayed by the vu-tank, he ceased manipulating the comm-controls and ran breathless to the edge of the large visual instrument.

  A shifting, iridescent wave of prismatic color was just moving past the edge of the vu-tank. Like part of some multicolored amoeba it fluttered and streamed through the featureless static of Underspace. Overwhelmed by fascination and a sensation of numinosity, Hurt stared at the thing for minutes as it slowly grew larger.

  Pseudopods streamered forth toward the ship. Then he realized it wasn’t supposed to be this way.

  It was as though he were staring down a microscope tube at a sample of swamp water through which some specimen of life, some one-celled creature, slowly moved in its hunt for food. The Collective Unconscious was supposed to be
an amorphous mist of energy—a cosmic force—

  Not this.

  Vacuoles stared at him like pupilless eyes. Looking into the thing, whole worlds, whole stars and suns seemed to shimmer like so much stardust, circulating through what he could glimpse of its body.

  This couldn’t be what he had sought for so many years. Feverishly he checked the state of the Fabrication. The figures indicated that this ... this thing was indeed what his creation was straining toward.

  Observation at a discreet distance for a time was necessary. There was no reason to rush in immediately, especially considering the unforeseen nature of the—

  Hurt glanced back at the vu-tank.

  A pseudopod of some glittering substance slowly blotted out all other vision.

  Too late.

  The vu-tank seemed to explode with light, blinding Hurt. The floor beneath him tremored, then rocked violently. Shielding his eyes, he staggered toward the control panels. Suddenly all gravity seemed to go awry.

  Some force picked up Earnest Evers Hurt and slammed him against a wall and into unconsciousness.

  THE THUNDER split Todd’s dreamless sleep in twain.

  He came to awareness immediately and realized that the ground was shaking violently. Above, the stars began to drop one by one from the ceiling of the heavens. One dropped just a hundred yards away, sizzling and fiery, spuming up sulfurous sprays.

  Electricity jagged from one mountain to another as though they were Van der Graaf generators. Ribbons of purple slammed through the horizon, vibrated suddenly blood red, then shimmered like cracking crystal. The night itself seemed to splinter, coursing streaks of day across the sky.

  “What the hell!” Amber cried.

  Galahad was kneeling, eyes upward, hands folded in prayer. “It is the Day of Judgment!” he cried jubilantly.