The Last Protector

by Daniel C. Starr

  Scrornuck shook his head. “I have found many riddles and few answers. I still know nothing of the Great Riddle's answer—for that matter, I still know nothing of what the Great Riddle is. I am starting to doubt it exists."

  The Knight stood in thoughtful silence, and Scrornuck wondered if he'd stumbled upon the solution. “A clever answer,” the Knight finally said, “but there is a Riddle, and you have not answered it. You remember our bargain."

  "I do."

  "Then let us get on with it."

  Scrornuck knelt, his hands still clasped tightly behind his back, gripping the end of his long ponytail.

  "Do you need to make peace with your deities?” the Knight inquired.

  "Whenever you're ready."

  "Very well. I shall make this as painless as possible.” With that, the Knight gripped the sword with both hands and brought it down. Scrornuck's head hit the dirt with a thud—but it was still attached to his neck. And with a most satisfying clink-clank, the silver sword landed on the floor in two pieces.

  "Well done, Mister Saughblade,” the Knight said, “but do I smell a trick?"

  "A trick? I'll show you a trick!” Scrornuck jumped to his feet. Ol’ Red's blade instantly appeared, slicing through the Knight's chain mail armor as if it were paper. The onlookers gasped, for in the middle of the Knight's chest, surrounded by wires and cables, was a face. An ordinary face, framed by ordinary blond hair, set off only by a pair of bottomless blue eyes. Scrornuck felt a sudden shock of recognition. He saw in this face the Master Swordsman, the Great Sage, the Stranger who'd enlisted him to defeat the unkillable monster, the Hitchhiker who'd taken him to fight a battle in space, the Blue Man who'd taken him to the moon, the Doctor who'd put him into this new body, and the last Stranger, the one who'd brought him from the bar in Dublin to his old village. And the face beamed with pride. “Congratulations, Mister Saughblade,” the blue-eyed stranger said. “You've passed the audition."

  Ol’ Red's blade flicked out again, slicing away the remaining armor and the linkages that operated the false head. If the blue-eyed man had any fear of the glassy blade's shimmering edges, he did not show it. When the false head and the last of the armor had been removed, a man of just under average height and relentlessly unassuming appearance stood in place of the imposing Knight. He extended a hand. “Ranger James Peter Phelps at your service,” he said. “Call me Jape."

  Scrornuck stared. “I should kill you for what you've done to me..."

  "What have I done? When I arrived here, you were a farm boy looking at a life of digging vegetables and felling trees. You said you wanted to have grand adventures. Well, you have slain the beast that couldn't die, repulsed an attack from beyond the moon, entered the place of the dead and returned, and overcome an army of giants. Have you not received your wish? And in the process you have more than once saved the world.” A murmur passed through the spectators, and Scrornuck realized that Jape had delivered the final sentence in the villagers’ tongue.

  "Didn't know the world needed saving."

  "There's much you don't know.” The former Knight returned to his own language. “The world balances on a knife-edge. Long ago, proud men made terrible mistakes, mistakes that would lead to deaths beyond number. For the last fourteen years I have been working to undo them. You can help. Or you can go back to the fields. It is for you to choose.” He again held out his hand.

  Slowly, Scrornuck took it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father smiling.

  Jape shook Scrornuck's hand warmly. Then he turned to the Elder, waved, and called in the local language, “Farewell! Perhaps we shall return someday.” He took two steps toward the door and called, in his own speech, “Follow me, Mister Saughblade. There's a world to be saved."

  Scrornuck followed.

  Nalia looked at Jape. “All those people were you?"

  Jape nodded. “Master of disguise."

  She thought for a moment. “The Knight's head—some kind of puppet?"

  "A very fancy puppet. There were all sorts of gadgets to make it follow my moves and facial expressions. It was built by an entertainment company—UniFlag, I believe."

  "And if you haven't already guessed,” Scrornuck said, “Ol’ Red and the stiffening spray saved my neck. I hid Ol’ Red in my hands and worked the fibers up through my ponytail, then my dad soaked my hair with the spray. By the time the stuff dried, it was strong as my jacket. The Knight's sword never had a chance."

  "I rigged the execution, too,” Jape said. “I brought the blade down almost on its side—the last thing I wanted to do was behead my new Protector."

  "That was on purpose? I just figured it was because you were a lousy swordsman."

  "Yeah, what about that?” Nalia asked. “You've said you're not much of a swordsman. You don't even own a sword. How could you have been the Master?"

  "Allow me to demonstrate.” Jape took Nalia's sword and, in a series of quick moves, whirled the blade over his head, behind his back, spun it on his fingertips, grazed it within an inch of her nose, and brought it to a perfect halt, in exactly the position he'd started, all the time shouting out the names of the moves.

  "And you say you're not a swordsman—"

  "Want to see it again?” Jape shot Scrornuck a small wink.

  Nalia nodded and Jape repeated the routine. Halfway through, Scrornuck deftly plucked the sword from Jape's grip, flipped it over his head and caught it behind his back. “I believe you dropped something?” he said.

  Nalia gasped. “He almost cut your hand off!"

  "Nah, not even close. There's this spot, right after the move he calls the ‘lotus blossom of death,’ when he stops the sword completely for a quarter of a second."

  "This little show is all I can do with a sword,” Jape said. “I practiced for months to get it right. I understand the theory of combat, I can teach swordplay, I can give a good demonstration—but my reactions are slow, and I have to think things through before I act. In a real fight, I'd be dead in seconds."

  "Had me fooled,” she said.

  Scrornuck shrugged. “Heck, he had our whole village fooled."

  She had one more question for Jape. “Why all the disguises—why not just tell him who you were?"

  "I thought it'd be better for his training if he didn't know who I was."

  "Hmm.” She looked at Scrornuck. “And why didn't you tell me it was Jape all along?"

  He shrugged. “A surprise ending makes a better story."

  * * * *

  Scrornuck danced along the narrow dune, waving his sword in a frenzy, leaping, dropping, rolling. Lacking practice rounds to hone his skill, he tried to pick individual grains of sand as they blew by on the wind.

  "Hey, cut that out,” Jape shouted. “You're going to tire yourself out. Take it easy; tomorrow's going to be a big day."

  Scrornuck trotted over and grabbed a bottle of Batatat's Stout from the pack. “Not tired,” he said. “I'm all full of energy tonight."

  "All full of beer, more likely. What is that, your third?"

  Scrornuck paused to count. “Fourth, I think.” He lifted the bottle and stared at the black liquid. “Must be a weak batch—I don't feel a thing."

  "Don't bullshit a serving girl,” Nalia warned. “All the guys say that when they've had one too many."

  "I mean it.” Scrornuck balanced his sword-grip on one finger. “I couldn't do this if I was drunk."

  "All right, let's find out.” Jape held one of his rings in front of Scrornuck's mouth. “Breathe on this."

  Scrornuck did as instructed. Jape watched the ring flash, his look becoming puzzled. He wiped the gem very, very thoroughly and again held it up in front of Scrornuck's mouth. “One more time."

  Again, Scrornuck exhaled, adding a belch for good measure. Again the jewel flickered, and again Jape stared, bewildered. He dipped a finger in Scrornuck's beer and let one drop fall on the jewel. It flashed a much different message. “Well, the instrument's working,” he said, “and the beer'
s full strength. But you're right, there's no alcohol on your breath, none at all. Let's—"

  "Yeah.” Scrornuck knew what Jape would want next. He formed Ol’ Red's blade into a short, sharp needle, pricked his finger and let a drop of blood fall on the ring.

  "Too little alcohol to detect,” Jape said, wiping the ring on Scrornuck's shirt. “It's in the beer, but not your blood.” He shrugged. “Well, I can't figure out where the food you shove down your throat goes—I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the alcohol's disappearing, too."

  Scrornuck grinned and jumped to his feet. “Maybe I just burn it up. Like I said, I'm full of energy tonight."

  "Well, I guess we'll have to tire you out, so we can get some sleep tonight.” Jape reached into the pack and came up with the golden throwing-disc. “Fetch, Rover!"

  "Yahoo!” Scrornuck pulled off his shirt, kicked off his boots, and ran barefoot along the dune, chasing the flying disc. He caught it, threw it back to Jape, chased and retrieved it again, and again.

  After a few minutes, Jape handed the disc and the controller to Nalia. She tossed it, almost directly to him. He caught effortlessly. “Come on, make me jump for it!” he called as he tossed it back.

  "All right.” She threw the disc nearly straight up and grabbed the controller. The disc soared, swooped and twisted as Scrornuck struggled to get in position to catch it. Finally, as it passed near him, he jumped, rising a good ten feet above the dune, and hauled the disc down. Grinning ear-to-ear after making the difficult catch, he trotted back to deliver it personally.

  "Wow,” she said, “I didn't know you could jump that high without your boots."

  "Neither did I,” he replied, reaching for another beer. “I'm just feeling really strong tonight."

  An insistent chiming from the softscroll interrupted them. “Good news!” Jape said. “They cracked the Technolepathy files."

  Scrornuck put the disc away and knelt to look at the scroll. “Anything good?"

  "Hmm.” Jape scanned the report. "Technolepathy: UniFlag's trademarked name for a system of artificial mind reading and writing, in which people could experience each other's thoughts through an Observational Reality Buffer, or ORB. Four devices were built at UniFlag's corporate R&D facility between 2118 and 2119 C.E. ORB I was a proof-of-concept model, connected to eleven test subjects. ORBs II, III and IV were pre-deployment prototypes, each linked to fifty subjects. In 2118 C.E., ORB II was installed on the Olympus Experience themeworld (STC2108), where it was to be used in a Greek-mythology-themed simulation." He stroked his chin as he read further. “Wow, talk about a ride—they were going to let Guests experience dangerous adventures like dog-fighting on dragon-back or fighting the Hydra, by linking their minds to a stunt-man through a master connection in the Orb. It's a ride simulator that would actually work. Brilliant!"

  Scrornuck's mind moved in a different direction. “A master connection? Would it allow one man to control an army with his thoughts?"

  Jape read a little more and nodded. “It looks like it could."

  "So that's why our friend Draggott wants it."

  Nalia frowned. “Something must have gone wrong—in that meeting, the big boss said McGinn got in trouble over Technolepathy."

  "Uh-huh.” Jape continued reading. “Here it is: ORB I suffered powering and stability problems and was shut down during testing in 2119 C.E., causing permanent brain damage to the test subjects. UniFlag settled out-of-court with the victims, accepting severe financial penalties." He looked up from the scroll. “Eleven people suffering brain damage? I'll bet the penalties were severe—and I'll bet that's when McGinn had to start going by his middle name."

  "They had people connected to the other ones,” Scrornuck said. “Fifty each, right? What happened to them?"

  Jape read further. "UniFlag abandoned Technolepathy development in 2120 C.E. The remaining ORBs were put into storage, as the company believed it would be too dangerous to destroy them while the test subjects were still alive. ORB II was stored on the Olympus Experience world, and remained there when that world was abandoned following the Safari World disaster in 2133 C.E. There is a 70% probability that Ranger Abe Matthews destroyed ORB II in 2242 C.E." He summoned a report. “Uh-huh, there's Abe's report: device imploded, mission accomplished. ORB II must be the ‘device’ he was talking about.

  "As for the others—ORBs III and IV were stored at UniFlag's R&D facility until the company collapsed in 2137 C.E. By this time, nearly all the test subjects had died, some as young as 35 years. However, autopsies found no conclusive connection between their premature deaths and the ORBs. Following the company's liquidation, we find no further mention of the devices or the surviving subjects. However, we estimate a 70 percent probability that the telepathic interrogation-and-punishment device destroyed by Ranger Jape Phelps in 2244 C.E. was in fact ORB III, installed on the moon by a neo-Maoist cult possessing space travel."

  "So that thing was a grown-up ORB,” Scrornuck said.

  "Looks like it,” Jape said. “And then there was one left: Dr. Franz Niedemeyer, UniFlag's former ethics officer, headed a syndicate that acquired many of UniFlag's assets. He became attached to a neo-Nazi cult and fled to STC274 in 2145 C.E. From the fragmentary records, we estimate a 55 percent chance that he took ORB IV with him to that time stream. If so, the device was destroyed in the crossing of 2244 C.E., although it is not mentioned in the report filed by Ranger Jape Phelps."

  Jape raised an eyebrow as he set down the scroll. “Dolph had an Orb? Well, that explains how he controlled his Storm Troopers. And it explains why the crossing was so destructive. It wasn't just the conflict between the two political systems; it was the presence of large-scale artificial telepathy. I wonder if Abe knew."

  Nalia looked at the flickering light atop Darklord Castle. “What about that one?"

  "It's not mentioned. After the lawsuits, I suspect McGinn did his final work in secret.” Jape looked at his ring. It was a deep, dark red, almost black. “These things are even more dangerous than I thought."

  "So how do we whack it?” Scrornuck asked.

  Jape shrugged. “I don't know, yet. Abe didn't explain how he imploded Orb II."

  Scrornuck's hand moved toward his sword. “Well, I blew up Number Three—and I just punched it hard with Ol’ Red—"

  "I suspect that won't work this time. When you destroyed Orb III, you were on the inside—somehow, you'd been absorbed into it. I suspect slapping the thing with your sword won't have much effect. Hell, I don't know if it's physical at all. We may need to attack it in some totally different manner.” He returned his attention to the scroll. “What else is out there? Additional documents: 724 pages of memos, design documents, meeting records, etc. were discovered and decoded to produce this summary." He tapped a few buttons, frowned at the response and rolled up the scroll. “Transmission quality's not so good tonight. We probably won't see the rest of the stuff for a while."

  "Seven hundred pages?” Nalia asked. “Who's going to read all that?"

  Jape sighed. “I am."

  * * * *

  "Something's wrong."

  "Huh?” Scrornuck sat up and looked around. The view was unchanged: the dunes, the black castle topped by the flickering violet-white light, the Army milling about in its camp.

  "Something feels wrong,” Nalia said. “I hear the soldiers’ thoughts, and they're afraid."

  "Well, they should be. They're attacking that castle tomorrow."

  "That's not what's scaring them—it feels deeper than that."

  He stood up to get a better look. The Army wandered about its camp, and he realized they were looking at the sky, not the castle. He pointed, and Nalia nodded. “Blood on the moon,” she said.

  "They think it's a sign?"

  She nodded again. “Their thoughts are getting louder. I'm starting to feel scared myself."

  "Don't,” he said. “Jape told me it's just a natural thing, something about the moon getting into the shadow of the world. Nothing to wo
rry about."

  "Tell that to the Army.” She rubbed her forehead.

  Scrornuck picked up the Setron and ran his fingers along its fretboard, making the instrument's lights flicker in response. “Maybe I can settle them down.” Standing on the top of the dune, where the whole Army could hear him, he played a series of loud, aggressive chords layered over a screaming fiddle and a ground-shaking bass line. The few members of the Army who weren't already up came out of their tents to see what was going on.

  Got their attention, he thought. Good. He dragged his left hand down the fretboard, pulling the whole song—the fiddle, the chords, the rhythm—down into a swirling, slowing sound, until all that remained was a single organ chord, which he held until even he could feel the Army's tension. Then, making a slight shift in his grip, he restarted the song. He played the same themes, but now they were slow, soothing, almost a lullaby. As he played, the soldiers relaxed, took their eyes off the moon, and one by one, they returned to their tents. He let the song slowly fade away as the last few soldiers retired. “Well,” he asked, “how's that? Feel any better?"

  "A lot,” she said. “They all calmed down when you started the slow stuff. How'd you do that?"

  "I don't know. I just did."

  "They say music soothes the savage beast,” Jape said. Awakened by the first part of Scrornuck's concert, he'd watched the tune calm the Army. “But this thing's so powerful it almost worries me.” He took out the softscroll. “I should have looked it up a while ago.” His query received an almost instantaneous response. "STC1689 Stream Crossing Report," he read, "2233C.E. It's a report by Abe Matthews: Successfully removed anachronistic group of Re-Creators. Crossing disturbances resolved. Complications: physical, physiological, psychological effects of ‘Setron’ sonic weapon. By Abe's standards, that's a long report—and look at this, there's a picture.” The scroll displayed an image that was unmistakably Scrornuck's instrument. “A sonic weapon, he called it. Mister Saughblade, let's have a look at this toy of yours."