The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  "Ask away," said Ik. "Now is the time."

  Bandicut drew a deep breath, and began asking. And Ik answered, and Li-Jared, and they talked about Atrium City and Shipworld until Bandicut could not hold his eyes open any longer, and finally they each chose a room and went straight to sleep.

  *

  Bandicut rolled over, yawning, and sat up on the bed. Bed! He rubbed his eyes, as it all seeped back into his consciousness. It was the first comfortable night's sleep he'd had in a long time. But not a quiet night. His dreams had been full of words and images of Shipworld . . .

  (How large was the place? Billions of kilometers? Or larger?)

  (Hard to say; it was discontinuous, not all of its parts connected in normal space, but joined by "n-space connectors," with intermittent but near-instantaneous movement among them.)

  (But all of it outside the galaxy?)

  (More or less. Except that there were those "star-spanners," linking thousands of worlds in the galaxy to this one. Not continuously, of course; they opened unpredictably, and only for brief periods, no doubt at a staggering expenditure of energy.)

  (To transport people here?)

  (Or there.)

  (Or whole cultures.)

  (But who ran it? Who maintained it? Who worked at city hall?)

  (Different in every sector. Some places the shadow-people. Some places others. Different economies, societies, redundancies in infrastructure—as though someone had wanted to ensure that the failure of one would not mean the failure of all. And yet, there was a common thread . . .)

  (The Tree of Ice?)

  (Yes.)

  (And that was what appeared to be threatened, by the growing contamination in the control system . . .)

  Bandicut grunted, shrugging off the swirl of memory-voices. He stood up, rubbing his eyes. It would take a long time to assimilate the whole picture, with its myriad details. He'd probably forgotten half of it already, while he slept. He turned his thoughts inward. /What do you suppose they use for a shower around here?/

  And then he remembered that, too.

  Damn.

  It was likely, he knew, that the quarx would reappear eventually—in a new incarnation, which might or might not remember him, and would certainly not remember much of what had gone before. Hell of a note to start the day on, with the death of a friend. He felt a sudden upwelling of grief, and the pangs of loneliness that came with it, and he thought, I can't go through this again. I can't. Charlie, why did you have to die again?

  He felt a disconcerting shiver, as though a dog were waking up and shaking itself inside his skin.

  /// Die? Who died? ///

  Bandicut stiffened.

  /// Don't mourn me till I'm gone. Please. ///

  "Charlie!" he cried, and squeezed his eyes shut. /Where have you been? Where were you? You didn't answer!/

  /// I think I just . . . woke up.

  I don't know where I was, John.

  I remember your being hooked into the iceline.

  And something came at us— ///

  /Yeah, it came at us, all right./ Bandicut involuntarily touched his throat.

  /// It was the boojum? ///

  He didn't answer, didn't have to. He felt the quarx shuddering in his mind, and realized that the boojum's attack had been as traumatic to the quarx as to him. /Charlie, the only reason I survived was silence-fugue. Were you knocked out by the attack?/

  He could sense the quarx's thoughts rolling and turning, trying to reconstruct what had happened.

  /// Knocked out.

  Yes, I think that describes it exactly.

  John, are you laughing or crying? ///

  Bandicut tried to control the silent eruptions in his chest. He wiped away a tear. /I dunno. Jesus, Charlie, I'm so glad you're alive, I feel like doing backflips!/

  /// I'm glad I'm alive, too. ///

  Bandicut hopped a little and walked around the small bedroom, decorated in shades of charcoal-grey and purple. He wondered for whom, or what species, it was designed. He shook his head, not caring. However, he did need to shower and use a bathroom, and his clothing stank—and all of his spare clothes were in his backpack. With Copernicus. Hell. Copernicus.

  /// We'll find him, John.

  You've got to trust. ///

  /Okay. I'll trust./ He paced, suddenly full of agitation. /Do you know where I can find a shower around here?/

  /// How would I . . . oh, wait a minute.

  Put your wrist up to the mirror there. ///

  /Ah, right. Of course./ He raised his forearm.

  The mirror shimmered and vanished, and a cubicle opened in front of him. He peered inside, then walked in. There were no visible fixtures. But a moment later, a warm, sparkling mist began to surround him. He felt his bladder go empty. He sighed with relief and began peeling off his clothes.

  He stayed in the shower for a long time.

  *

  When he finally stepped out of the mist, he found his clothes hanging on the cubicle wall, cleaned and pressed, and restored to new-looking condition. He fingered the light blue cloth in amazement, trying to decide if his jumpsuit had been destroyed and replaced with a brand-new one. But the stitching looked the same, and it felt just like his own jumpsuit, minus the threadbaring effects of age.

  /// Nice.

  As long as we stay in the hotel,

  you won't need your bag. ///

  /Mmph,/ Bandicut muttered. /If I stay, you mean. I wonder how much credit I have, anyway./ Ik had described the monetary credit system used in Atrium City. As new arrivals, they were given starter-accounts to see them through the settling-in period. But eventually they would have to perform some sort of service to maintain their balances.

  /// Perhaps you could check on a terminal. ///

  /Right. With the iceline./ Bandicut zipped up his jumpsuit and ran his fingers through his hair. /What if it tries to suck out my brains again?/

  Charlie twinged.

  /Well, never mind. I'm stuck here, so I guess I'd better get back up on the horse./

  /// ??? ///

  /I mean, I can't go around avoiding contact with their datanet forever. I'll just have to be careful, and watch out for the damn boojum, that's all./ Peering into the mirror, he parted his hair roughly with his fingers, and strode out into the sitting room.

  Napoleon rose to greet him, from beside the terminal.

  "Nappy! Have you been logging onto the system, while I was sleeping?" he asked, meaning it as a joke.

  "Yes, Captain," Napoleon said, without a trace of irony. "I've just received a message from Copernicus."

  "You what?"

  "It came in on the terminal." Napoleon pointed to the translucent-topped pedestal. "It was idented for me. I took it, believing that at level-one connection, text only, I would be able to screen out any dangerous soft-attributes. I thought it better not to wake you unless it was absolutely necessary."

  Bandicut stared at the robot, astounded.

  /// Extraordinary.

  Napoleon seems to be growing in initiative

  by the hour. ///

  Bandicut blinked, and sank slowly into a chair. "What was the message, Nappy?"

  The robot's red-lighted eyes seemed to shift focus. "The text was as follows: I am safe, I have vital information, and I urgently need your help. Are you with John Bandicut? Are you uncontaminated? Can you prove it? End of message." Napoleon's eyes focused again, on Bandicut. "How do you think I should answer?"

  Bandicut stared at him, with a tight knot in his chest. He felt as if he had just heard from a missing child. Urgently need your help . . . "What do you make of it?" he whispered.

  Napoleon clicked. "Since he did not identify the information, I speculate that it might be in reference to the boojum. That is the last subject we discussed."

  Discussed? Bandicut wouldn't have called the confrontation between the two robots, just before Copernicus hightailed it away from them, a discussion.

  "I have been trying to devise a w
ay to prove to Copernicus that I am uncontaminated. So far, I am at a loss."

  "Well, considering that when we last saw him, you accused him of being contaminated—"

  "Yes," said Napoleon. "That is true. I was frightened at the time."

  "Frightened?"

  "And disoriented, yes." The robot hesitated. "I was frightened by the boojum attacks. I felt vulnerable. I had only just been repaired by the shadow-net—"

  "Shadow-net?"

  "Iceline subset used by the shadow-people. They were very thorough, but unfamiliar with my structures. There was concern about possible boojum contamination, and I may have picked up some of their concerns. Fears, really."

  Bandicut squinted at the robot, his neck hairs prickling at the notion of the robot feeling fear.

  Napoleon continued, as though in confession. "When we were fleeing through the power tube, I became alarmed about the possibility of more subtle attack—and the possibility that the contamination might have reached me, or Copernicus, through the shadow-net. Soon I observed Copernicus flying erratically, or so I believed. I did not know why. I may have . . . panicked." With a rasp, Napoleon fell silent.

  "I see," Bandicut said slowly. "And do you still think, now, that Copernicus was contaminated by the boojum?"

  Napoleon was silent for a few moments. "Probably not," he said at last. "But I cannot be certain."

  Bandicut got up and paced. "And what about you?" he said, turning to squint at the robot. "Are you certain that you are not infected?"

  Napoleon whirred, but did not move. "How can I be certain? I believe I have not been infected. But how can I be certain, John Bandicut? How?"

  To that, Bandicut had no answer. Instead he asked, "Did Copernicus say where he was?"

  "I have given you the complete text of the message."

  "But what about the system? Didn't the iceline give you any clues?"

  "John Bandicut, I made only level-one contact with the iceline. I felt, in view of your recent experience, that deeper involvement might be unwise. Was I wrong?"

  "Hell." He didn't know what he thought. He wanted more information, but not at the cost of Napoleon being hit by the boojum.

  /// Permission to speak freely? ///

  /Sure./

  /// It's a difficult problem.

  But which is worse—

  to risk Napoleon in an iceline contact,

  or yourself? ///

  Bandicut blinked, staring at Napoleon. /I'm not sure,/ he said softly. /He's practically alive./

  /// True. But not quite.

  Not yet. ///

  Not yet. Charlie was probably right. And Copernicus had said he needed help—urgently. "Nappy, can you send Coppy a reply?"

  "Of course, Captain."

  "All right." Bandicut pinched his lower lip. "Tell him this: 'YOUR MESSAGE RECEIVED. WE ARE UNCONTAMINATED. PLEASE CONTACT US AT ONCE FOR FACE-TO-FACE COMMUNICATION! SIGNED, JOHN BANDICUT.' That ought to do it."

  "At once, Captain." Napoleon strode to the terminal. He pressed a probe to it, it flickered for a moment, and he turned to face Bandicut. "Message away. Shall we wait for a reply?"

  "Yeah," Bandicut said. "Let's wait for a reply." He sat back, massaging his forehead.

  Five minutes later, Napoleon whirred into motion again, returning to the terminal. His contact lasted only a moment. "Text only," he reported.

  "Damn. Let's hear it."

  "Quote: Unable to risk direct contact via iceline. MUST have confirmation of your free state. If you are willing, please show yourself in public shopping area, Level 146, block 1012-1070, within one hour. Hroom and rest of shadow-people need your help! Shipworld needs your help! Copernicus." Napoleon paused. "What do you think, Captain?"

  "Hell's bells," was all he could think to say.

  Chapter 18

  In the Atrium

  /// John, are you certain that this is wise? ///

  /Of course I'm not certain./ Bandicut shrugged and turned away from the closed doors to Ik's and Li-Jared's rooms. Knocking had produced no results. Maybe they were just sleeping; maybe they couldn't hear him knock. But he was reluctant to barge in on either of them.

  He couldn't not go to Copernicus, not after that urgent plea. And he didn't think it was the boojum impersonating Copernicus; he didn't think the boojum would have invoked the shadow-foreman's name. Hroom needs your help. That did not sound like the boojum's voice to him. Anyway, with luck, the boojum thought he was dead.

  "Napoleon, you're sure we can find our way around out there?" he asked the robot.

  "Captain, as long as the maps I downloaded are accurate, there should be no problem."

  Bandicut was not wholly reassured, but he could not avoid taking some risk. For Copernicus's sake. And Hroom's.

  /// I've no quarrel with your intentions.

  But shouldn't you at least leave a message

  for Ik and Li-Jared. ///

  /I would, but there's nothing here to write on. And anyway, could their translators make any sense of my handwriting?/

  /// Why not use the terminal? ///

  /Wouldn't that tell the boojum where I'm going?/

  /// If it's reading your mail, it already knows.

  But as you say, it probably thinks you're dead. ///

  /Mm./ Bandicut cleared his throat. "Nappy, can we leave a local message for Ik and Li-Jared on this terminal?"

  Click click. The robot stepped to the terminal and placed a sensor probe against a shiny plate on its side. "I believe so, yes. You can leave voice if you like. Simply speak what you want to say."

  Bandicut thought a moment. "Begin message. 'Ik and Li-Jared, we have received a message from Copernicus and gone to answer it. I was unable to wake you. We will be at—' " He glanced at Napoleon. "What was the address?" Napoleon repeated the block numbers. " 'Right. Nappy says he can find it. Coppy's message sounded urgent; we'll leave it so you can read it for yourselves. We should be back soon—with Copernicus, we hope.' " He let out a long breath. "End message." He turned to Napoleon. "Can you leave Coppy's message for them?"

  Napoleon retracted his probe. "Done. Are we ready?"

  Bandicut waved him toward the door. "Let's go. And remember your origins."

  "Captain?"

  "You're a recon robot. So remember everything you see out there. And don't call me Captain."

  "Aye aye, John Bandicut." The robot hummed with seeming excitement, and led the way out.

  *

  The sitting room, which he vaguely remembered as being on a little spur off a long hallway, let him out into a twisting corridor that gave a feeling of being in an ant's nest. It looked not at all familiar. As they walked, he realized that they had not passed a single other door, or even a corridor intersection. Perhaps the hotel allowed one to go only to one's own room. Did it reroute the hallway each time someone came and went?

  Whatever the explanation, the hallway let them out into a lobby ornamented with shallow pools and streams, and plants that were rooted in rock, in water, in air, and even a few in soil. Sunlight streamed in through angled skylights. He glanced, in passing, at the other hotel patrons—a wide assortment of bipeds, quadrupeds, crawlers, and rotiforms. The sight stirred an odd mixture of feelings: wonder at the alienness and variety, a deep longing for some sense of connection with them, and a terrible loneliness for Earth. He wondered what Julie was doing, or would have been doing right now, if their lives were not separated by an impossible gulf of time and distance.

  /// Coppy. Focus on Coppy. ///

  "Yeah. Lead on, Napoleon." He followed the robot outside to a fastlift that whisked them up some unknown number of floors. They emerged on a balcony and walked to the edge of the vast atrium. Bandicut fingered the handrail and peered over, shivering at a sudden memory of standing at one of these railings while half out of his mind with silence-fugue. The people on the bottom floor looked like microbes now. He swallowed and stepped back. Overhead, the sun—or whatever it was—cast a dazzling blanket of light, not from
a point source, but more like an unfocused band in the sky. He could not tell whether it came from miles up, or just a few stories above the top floor.

  "John Bandicut," Napoleon urged, "we need to go this way."

  Bandicut gestured him onward. "You know where we came out, right? And the hotel?"

  "Yes, Captain," Napoleon said patiently.

  They walked until they reached one of those terrifying, spindly arches spanning the atrium. Several tall, green bipeds were crossing the arch toward them, half-walking, half-floating. They stepped off close to Bandicut, seeming untroubled by the height. The opposite side of the atrium, where the arch ended, looked colorful and full of activity. "You're about to tell me we have to cross this thing, aren't you?" he asked.

  "Yes, Captain. That's our destination, over there. That's where we hope to find Copernicus."

  Bandicut peered across, and remembered to breathe. What was over there? Stores, maybe? He studied the arch. The thought had scared him before; now they were, if anything, even higher in the air.

  /// I seem to see a memory of

  your crossing several of those,

  while fleeing from the boojum. ///

  He shivered as Charlie flashed the memory to him. /Yeah, but I was insane at the time./ Running from aliens with swords. He pressed his lips together, thinking, I can't just give in to the fear, though, can I? And we do have to find Copernicus. /Theoretically I should be able to cross this, right?/

  /// You mean without plunging to your death? ///

  /Yes. And thank you for the word choice./

  /// Sorry.

  Let me ask the translator-stones. ///

  "It is a narrow passageway," Napoleon observed, springing up and down a little on his metal legs. "But we have crossed these before."

  Bandicut said nothing.

  /// The stones say you won't fall. ///

  /Good./ He moved toward the beginning of the arch. "Let's go find Coppy."