“Yeah!” Limper chimed in. “I shattered my leg ’cause of the Red Mast, but I survived. I proved myself. This little fish’s gotta do the same.”
“Yup,” agreed Big Toma. He turned and padded back around the sterncastle, dragging me behind him like a piece of luggage. Trying to breathe with his fingers still clutched around my neck made me wheeze. He only squeezed harder when I tried to pry them loose.
People around the ship looked up as Big Toma pulled me into view. I was like a doll to him, and I worried he was about to try to pull out my stuffing.
“Hey!” I gasped, or tried to. It came out as a croak, “Get Siraja! Or Mehvish! Or the captain – Toma isn’t acting on orders!”
A cackle of laughter went up. A dozen eager, grinning faces congregated as I was hauled across the deck. Amid the gabble of their voices, one phrase was repeated often in eager tones: “Red Mast of Valor!” Fuck. I had no idea what that was, but any sort of hazing that left an able-bodied man with a limp for the rest of his life was not something I wanted to face.
Big Toma finally stopped amidships, beneath the mainmast. The mast was a rusty-sort of red color, which until that moment, I’d failed to realize.
When my captor let go of my neck, it was only so he could jerk me up by my ankle. He lifted me entirely off the deck, upside down. I could only cough and gag. With his free hand, he wrapped the end of rope hanging from the mast around my leg several times, then pulled the cord tight. The world went topsy as blood rushed into my head.
Big Toma tied the line off with an elaborate sailor’s knot to the cheers of the onlookers. The wrapping dug painfully into my calf.
No sense of decorum, dignity, or the barest idea of a plan remained in my head. I was near to blubbering. “What’re you doing?” I gurgled.
“Making sure you don’t fall, little birdie,” said my tormenter. “You’re going to dangle from the spar where the sails hang for a while. Time to show us your valor, birdie!”
The phrase “hang him from the yardarm” whispered through my brain. I’d always thought it was something they did for executions… Oh.
“No, don’t!” I screamed. But I was already being hauled skyward, head down and feet to the sky.
The deck fell away in a series of jerks, each one tightening the rope’s grip around my leg. More blood pooled in my head, making me feel even more thick and ineffectual. Paradoxically, the sense of fullness and loss of agency also calmed my panic. I clamped my mouth shut and stopped begging. It wasn’t doing any good.
I tried pulling my knees up toward my chest as I bent at the waist. The bumping and jerking made it almost impossible, but I managed to bend and strain upward, getting a hand on the massive knot Big Toma had tied. My leg was already growing numb. The mass of rope around my leg wasn’t so much a knot, I saw, as it was a tourniquet. If this was what had happened to Limper, I was surprised he hadn’t lost his entire limb.
Having reached a height nearly equal to the topmost spar, Toma tied off his end of the rope around a deck stanchion. He yelled up, “Get comfortable. There you hang till sunrise, birdie!”
Apparently, calling me “birdie” was considered the height of wit, based on the roar of delight the lout got each time he said it.
Tuning out the laughter and crude suggestions below, I tried to figure out how to undo the knot. Hanging upside down, leg going numb, and blood pooling in my brain were factors working against me. Not to mention that it was dark. My fingers fumbled over tight coils and loops of rope I could hardly see.
My heart was pounding and I could hardly breathe. Was I dying?
And yet through my panic, new knowledge trickled into me. Just as I’d somehow known the names of nearly everyone I’d interacted with so far in Ardeyn, I knew this rope. More than merely the rope, in fact. Unless my blood-flooded brain was feeding me hallucinations, I knew the mast, the air I was breathing, even the gravity that pulled me downward. The laws of Ardeyn momentarily shuddered into view before my awestruck eyes like illustrations of moving gears within gears within gears… I gasped.
The vision was like another key in the lock of my memory. Or at least, the memory of someone I might have once been:
The Maker handed out Rings to those who became newly embodied Incarnations of Death, War, Lore, and Desire. To them was given a chance to be gods of a fresh reality merely by accepting simple bands of metal. It was that, or face annihilation. When Ardeyn first formed to buffer Earth from the Strange, planetovores were already half-way through the rift. We’d had to stop them. And together, we did. But the details were faded to begin with, and grew hazier the more I strained after them.
“Holy shit,” I croaked. I’d been something amazing. Something unimaginable… well, actually something straight out of a comic book. The memory of the experience was overwhelming. The vision crashed. Tears welled in my eyes, but rolled up my forehead.
Maybe a version of me had once been something amazing here in Ardeyn.
But I was just a guy hanging from the yardarm for the amusement of a boatload of jeering pirates.
Except a little something remained after my unexpected recollection like a tickle on the back of my brain. I focused on the rope. When I did, I suddenly understood a bit more of its underlying essence, and the simple geometries of the knot Big Toma had tied. It wasn’t as impossible to decipher as it first seemed. I pulled the tangle of cords there, pushed here, and prodded there.
The knot fell open like a solved puzzle box under my fingers.
The rope loosened. My leg came free and gravity jerked downward. I grabbed for the mast, and found a tangle of line to hold as I flipped end for end. Maybe a little bit of the élan I’d used to untie the knot was still in my hands, because I can’t otherwise imagine how the flip and pull didn’t rip me free of my purchase and dash me onto the deck. I did sprain my wrist for my trouble, and the pins and needles of the blood returning to my leg was quickly becoming fiery. If Jushur hadn’t been safely stored with Siraja, the sphere would’ve shaken loose and probably shattered planking on the deck.
“Better stay up there, birdie!” someone bellowed from below. “Your time isn’t up!”
Twilight approached, but I could still see a dozen faces looking up at me. One of them, standing on top of the sterncastle, was that bastard Captain Taimin. It was too dark and far for me to see his expression – not that I could read a qephilim’s face – but his body language was plain. He was amused. He’d watched the whole thing go down, and hadn’t done a thing to stop it.
Did I mention Captain Taimin wasn’t my favorite?
The qephilim saw my regard. He whistled to get his crew’s attention and said, “You’ve had your fun! The new meat faced the Red Mast of Valor, better than most of you. Now let him down without harm. Or you’ll be the next one sent aloft. And it won’t be your leg the rope is tied to!”
General grumbling followed this command. I waited for some outburst from the huge man who’d run me up, but even he kept his tongue. I peered down the mast. His glare transmitted undisguised hatred. Crap. I was going to have more trouble with Big Toma before all was said and done. But not right then, because he ducked his head, and walked away.
I climbed down under my own power, but only after my leg woke enough for me to feel the stubby rungs on the side of the mast. By the time I was back safely on deck, it was almost completely dark. Several lanterns and a few torches provided warm light. Most of the crew had dispersed. Taimin hadn’t moved, and when I looked at him, he said, “You’re more competent than you look.”
I replied, “Or luckier.”
“Maybe. Either way, I wonder if my ship is the right place for you.” His ears swiveled on his head.
My heart sped up. Was he offering me a chance to leave, or threatening to take my life? With Taimin, it could go either way. He remained quiet and watched me, and I realized he was waiting for some kind of answer.
“Well,” I temporized, “I admit the incident with the hanging from the mast has sour
ed me a bit on Nightstar. Most of your crew dislikes me; they blame me for Kadir being sent away.”
“Kadir,” he said in a musing tone. Then, “Come to my cabin. I have a job for you and a couple of others. If you manage it, I’ll let you leave Nightstar alive, not in slaves’ chains, at the next port we put in.”
He turned and went into the forecastle structure where he kept his cabin.
I stumbled up the steps, favoring my tingling leg, and followed him inside.
The captain’s cabin was lushly appointed with gold, silks, and leather. Surprisingly large, too, making me wonder if it was larger on the inside than outside. Such magic was certainly possible in Ardeyn.
Besides Captain Taimin, the palatial chamber held Siraja, my benefactor, and Mehvish, she of the twining hair and deep secrets. I couldn’t read Siraja’s qephilim features, but Mehvish’s eyes held as least as much disdain for me as Big Toma’s had. I wondered if I’d fallen out of the pan and into the fire.
“Carter,” said the captain. “Interesting choice of name. Did your mother choose to name you after that ancient myth, Carter Strange, or did you take it because you thought to make yourself seem more than you are?”
I sputtered.
Taimin didn’t notice my response. He didn’t really want to know, he’d just been offering niceties, such as they were.
The captain continued, “I’ve got a special task for you three. You can think of it as an opportunity if you like, because if you succeed, all of you will get something you want. Carter will go free. Siraja will become my First Mate in truth. And to Mehvish, well, that’d be telling.”
“Opportunities aboard Nightstar are always welcome, Captain,” said Siraja, ears attentive.
“I’m sure. But I want you to know that the assignment is also punitive; if you fail, you’ll certainly die.”
“Why punitive?” I said.
“Because you three cost me my last first mate, and that has repercussions. I never thought Siraja had it in her to defeat Kadir. My mistake. Which makes me look weak, and I can’t have that. I should have killed all of you the moment you came back aboard.”
Mehvish hissed, “But here we are still alive…”
“Don’t interrupt. But yes. Resources are scarce on the Glass Desert. I’d be a fool to waste your lives, especially if I can put them to use.”
The direction this was going worried me.
Siraja lifted her lip lift to reveal canines.
“You mean to send us into the Singing Crater!” yelled Mehvish suddenly.
In response, the captain smiled like the cat who ate the canary.
“Singing Crater?” I said.
“You’ll see,” said the captain. “Tomorrow.”
22: Computation
Katherine Manners
The orange taxi pulled up outside the sprawling Federal University of Parana, Brazil. The main structure reminded Kate of the White House back in the USA. Lots of white columns, windows, pomp and circumstance.
“Obrigado,” Raul told the taxi driver, handing over several colorful bills. The car sped off, leaving Katherine wondering which door they should enter by. Various signs seemed promising, but she couldn’t read them. Before she applied for a visa to visit Brazil, she hadn’t even known that Portuguese was the country’s official language. She was embarrassed to remember she’d assumed it was Spanish.
A man with black-rimmed glasses and neatly trimmed gray hair noticed them from the steps. He yelled, “Olá!” and waved them over.
“Is that Claudio?” said Raul.
“Must be,” she said. They waded through the sea of students to the steps.
Liza Banks had provided their contact, one Claudio Rodrigues, who worked in the Federal University computing lab, spoke English, and was amenable to showing an “American silicon valley investor” around the newly founded, next-generation computer research facility the university was building.
“You must be Ms Manners!” said Claudio, beaming.
“And you’re Senhor Rodrigues?”
The man’s smile widened with delight. “Yes, indeed I am. I am so glad to make your acquaintance. But please call me Claudio.” His command of English was so perfect that his accent was hardly noticeable, but when he said Claudio, the name sounded to her ears more like clowd-joe.
Claudio looked at Raul. “And this is?”
Raul smiled, turning up the amperage to match their host. He extended his hand and said, “Glad to meet you. Vick Tanzler. I’m hoping what you’ve got here is as exciting as what we’ve been led to believe. Because I’ve got angel investment cash gathering dust in an index fund. An index fund, dude! Boring. I can’t tell you how awesome it would be to put those greenbacks to work on something exciting. Something like I hear you’ve got cooking down here in Brazil!”
Kate’s mouth fell open. Raul’s Mexican accent was gone, replaced by an over-cooked LA surfer accent. Awesome?
Claudio blinked a few times, apparently as taken aback at “Vick’s” enthusiasm as Kate.
Kate jumped into the breach and said, “Didn’t Liza tell you? Things were moving so fast I guess our wires got crossed. Mr Tanzler has joined our group. You can probably see why. So yes, if we like what we see, then we’re ready to move with investment papers immediately. Maybe even today?”
“Oh.” Comprehension dawned. “Oh! Well that would be wonderful! Though the formal tour of the facility isn’t scheduled until tomorrow–”
Raul clapped Claudio on the shoulder and said, “I didn’t get where I am by wasting time while the sun’s up, dude. All of us only have so much time on this Earth. And I only want to spend part of the days left for me on business, know what I mean?”
“I guess. Well, maybe not–”
“Dude – listen.” Raul squeezed Claudio’s shoulder for emphasis. “Is there any way you could let us take a peek early? Like, right now? I’d really appreciate it.”
Kate suppressed a flinch at hearing yet another “dude” emerge from Raul’s lips. She even gave Claudio a conspiratorial wink. Claudio’s earlier enthusiasm snuck back onto his face. Their combined effort to sway him seemed to be working. Claudio said, “Well, sure, why not? I have a key card. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give you a preliminary tour.”
“You’re a prince, dude.”
Claudio gave a nervous laugh, then said, “Follow me.”
Kate and Raul fell into step behind their new guide. Kate elbowed Raul in the ribs and whispered, “Lay off the surfer persona.”
“Why?” Raul whispered back. “He’s buying it.”
“Because otherwise, I’m gonna punch you in the face, dude.”
Raul grinned.
Claudio led them through a series of hallways flooded with students and teachers. Kate smelled books, fried food, and that indefinable scent of aged leather and dust that fill so many places of learning.
Her cell phone rang. She plucked it from her purse and saw Liza Banks’ name. Kate answered, “Hello? Make it quick; we’re heading toward the facility right now.”
Banks voice came over the line, “You work fast. Well, I wanted to let you know that things are moving forward back here, too. We might even have a new asset for the initiative!”
“Um, remind me. Which initiative are you talking about?” Banks had cooked up several. Ahead of her, Claudio paused before a heavy metal door and started going through his pockets, presumably looking for keycard to fit the reader.
“The Estate initiative,” Liza said, exasperation clear in her tone.
“Oh, right.” Liza, Paldridge, Raul, and Kate had discussed dozens of scenarios for scrubbing the quantum code from the “internets.” Kate had also revealed – with Raul’s reluctant blessing – Raul’s claim to be from an alternate dimension. Or, a “recursion” as Raul insisted on calling it.
Instead of being shocked and feeling betrayed like Kate, or even being even the least bit incredulous of his claim, Liza Banks got excited. She’d been specially taken with the idea that
Raul was part of a secret organization that dealt with cross-recursion difficulties. Banks suggested Earth needed a similar sort of body, a group with more structure and resources than the ragtag team that she, Paldridge, Raul, and Manners represented. Kate had agreed in principle, but said that it was something to worry about later, after she and Raul dealt with the active research project in Curitiba.
Apparently, Banks hadn’t listened.
Raul leaned his head close and whispered, “Everything all right?”
Kate shrugged, and shushed Raul with a finger to her lips. Meanwhile, Claudio found the card he was looking for, and swiped it through the reader. The red light on the reader turned from red to green.
Banks said something, but screeching hinges from the opening metal door was too loud for Kate to understand.
“Repeat that?” Kate asked, following Raul into a narrow hallway beyond the door. “And make it quick.”
“Hertzfeld, I said. No last name, like Cher,” said Banks.
“I missed something. What’re you talking about? Listen, this isn’t the best–”
“I put up a webpage, like we talked about. Seeded with code words only someone familiar with the Strange and recursions could’ve possibly have interpreted correctly. A guy named Hertzfeld saw the website, and our secret message. He’s a science-geek type. Maybe a touch autistic. Anyway, I’ve got Paldridge checking him out now, to see if he’s legit, or just a crackpot who got lucky.”
Kate whispered fiercely into the phone, cupping her hand over the mouth and receiver so Claudio wouldn’t hear, “You put up a webpage describing… all this?” Kate was appalled. “And we didn’t talk about doing any such thing!”
“Well, maybe it was Raul and me who discussed it. If you’ve got internet, point your browser to the Estate Foundation dot org and tell me what you think!”
Kate put her hand over the receiver and shot Raul a poisonous look. Raul looked confused and mouthed, “What?” She wanted to tell him this was all his fault, but Banks continued, possibly a bit defensive, “So, let me know, OK? We’re not standing still up here while you guys are cleaning up code outbreaks in Brazil.”
The Myth of the Maker Page 18