For some reason that didn’t comfort Laura much. Even though she had a lot of high-tech paraphernalia buried in her, for all intents and purposes she was quite human, and she meant to keep it that way.
For Dr. Mish the difference between flesh and metaplast was minuscule; he found dealing surgically with Laura a fairly simple task once he studied details of her scanned holographic anatomy. Her bioengineering doctors had sewn her back up in such a way that servicing her devices was child’s play. Indeed, Laura had accessibility to many of them herself—and her blip-ship was equipped and programmed to perform the occasional fine tuning necessary. Her skull implants, however, needed outside expert service, even though they had the equivalent of a sealed doorway, easily unlatched by the proper surgical procedure.
Laura chose to remain conscious during the proceedings. Her head had to be shaved and she regretted this silently because Tars Northern had not found her appealing in short hair. It was a factor she instantly dismissed, railing at herself for thinking such silly thoughts.
About an hour into the operation, Laura almost regretted that she asked to remain awake. Sleep would have relieved the boredom. Dr. Mish was too involved with his work to provide small talk, and it was truly a drag to simply sit there in a sterile field with your head hanging open. Still, she wanted to remain awake. She certainly didn’t want Dr. Mish to go exploring in places she preferred to keep secret. He hadn’t noticed the drug dispenser the first time because he hadn’t been looking for it. Though it was placed far away from her head, she didn’t want him to find it now.
“Now, Laura,” Dr. Mish said, “you may lose your sight for just a few moments, but there’s no way around that. It’s quite a tiny device, but there are all kinds of wires leading hither and thither and I may cut a few of the wrong ones.”
“Swell,” said Laura. She felt like a lab rat who knew too much. On the wall were all manner of readout screens and blinking lights. Nearby was a replica of her head: a holograph rendering her flesh-and-bone parts transparent, so as to show the intricate array of the cyborg mechanisms. “I don’t suppose you have any music you can play,” she said. “This is getting dull.”
“Oh, you should have said something earlier,” replied the doctor. Light contemporary classical music filtered from speakers somewhere, like tinkling gushes of waterfalls.
“You haven’t got any clangor, huh?” said Laura, slightly disappointed.
“Clangor?” Dr. Mish stood back, blinking his eyes, cyborg surgery tools before him like praying mantis legs.
“New music, guy! I load up on the stuff every time I can, though I haven’t explored the XT-9’s music archive yet.”
“No. I do have some ancient roll and rock which might please your ears.”
“No. This stuff sounds about the same to me,” she said, settling back and trying to relax.
“Laura,” said Dr. Mish. “This small device, here. Have you got any idea of its purpose?”
Laura shifted her eyes to the holograph. Dr. Mish had outlined the object in a red light.
“Extra memory? I got them tucked away all over. Quantum storage. Talk about angels on the head of a pin!”
“Ah yes,” he said, studying its signals closer. “I should have realized. Mind if I check it for content? This could store additional elements of the program that interfered with your natural motor functions and made you shoot your brother’s clone.”
“You can do that?” Laura said skeptically.
“Oh yes, I can tap these bytes and make a copy in my own storage area, then put it up on a screen. If it’s the kind of program I think it is, then we can erase it. If it’s something else that’s harmless, we can just leave it be.”
Laura found it impossible to shrug, but she tried. “Sure. Go ahead.”
Dr. Mish brought down a hanging bit of apparatus, slipped it into her head, and connected it to the item in question. A touch of a button, a hum of energy, and the screen began to jiggle and dance with numbers and figures.
“My goodness,” said Dr. Mish, taken aback. “Quite a slew of stuff!”
“Told you about the memory storage,” she said as database items occasionally froze on the screen, giving her an opportunity to scrutinize some of the material. “Wait a moment. That’s strange-looking stuff. Lees get a closer look at it, Mish!”
“First things first, Laura,” said Dr. Mish. “Let’s get this implant off.”
Mish bent over, lights reflecting bizarrely from his machines, and worked for some moments. Laura felt a pressure on the back of her left eye, then it was gone.
“I can still see!” she announced, a little bit relieved.
“A very simple job, actually. They must have put this in hurriedly.”
“Yes they did, as a matter of fact.”
“Funny, it seems to be complete, with its own central processing array tapping into your energy nodes … and its own programming,” said Dr. Mish, after a detailed analysis scan of the device. “A program in your auxiliary memory would be redundant, and perhaps even intrusive. Let me get you back together here and we’ll see what we’ve tapped out of it. I’m surprised you don’t have personal access.”
“Maybe with the blip, Doctor, but frankly there’s stuff in me that even I don’t know how it works!”
“Hmm,” said Dr. Mish. “Could be involved with piloting your ship, you think?” His thin and delicate hands made quick work of placing things back in order inside her skull.
“Haven’t the faintest, but I’m damned curious!” Laura returned impatiently.
As quickly as he could, Dr. Mish resealed her bald head.
“Now we can either slap on some growth encouragement or get you some kind of wig.”
“Wigs are out,” Laura said. “Try that other stuff … seems to do wonders for the captain’s beard.”
During the operation she had attempted to pump the doctor for information on Tars Northern, to no avail. Mish pleaded the necessity for concentration and had thus avoided telling anything he knew.
There was no mistaking it—Dr. Mish had to know it all. There was definitely some kind of bond between the two of them that could not be penetrated by mere outsider inquiries.
But then that was part of the game, Laura thought: find out just what was really going on in this odd starship filled with efficient pi-mercs who claimed to be rebels but had no army to back them up. A motley bunch of galactic warriors!
Still, she knew there were ways to find things out other than asking.
After getting a sprinkle and rub of the hair-growth encourager, Laura turned her attention to the strange data that had been stored inside her.
“I’m working up translations,” said Dr. Mish. “It seems to be in a number of languages and codes, but nothing impenetrable. Hmm, let’s see.”
He diddled with controls, glancing up occasionally at the screen.
“I don’t remember being fed any of this,” Laura said, bemused. “Doesn’t look like blip-ship stuff. Looks like raw data from some kind of coordinating computer to me.”
Dr. Mish seemed a little more aware of just what this material seemed to be. A very human look of total astonishment crossed his face.
“Oh, my,” he said, blinking at a section of readout. “Oh, dear me.” He turned to Laura. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, no longer the mild-spoken scientist but a very agitated and excited person. “This … this could change everything!”
Laura looked at the indecipherable data streaming in front of her, then turned back to Mish. “Huh?” she said.
Chapter Ten
“At least I’m not bored,” said Cal Shemzak to his manservant.
“Sir?”
“I said, Wilkins, that I have to be grateful to the Jaxdron that they are keeping me entertained.”
Absently, he lifted a knight above the chessboard. A hiss of stati
c sounded in the earpiece of his headset, as though the monotone that barked response moves were eager with anticipation.
Lazily, Cal put the knight back in its position in front of his queen’s bishop and smiled to himself, hoping his procrastination annoyed whatever Jaxdron machine was assigned to him.
Or perhaps it was a Jaxdron in the flesh—or chitin, or whatever they wore—amusing itself.
“Yes, sir. I’ve placed clean clothing in your room,” the tall slender-nosed man said in a clipped accent. “And I’ve taken the liberty of pressing your suit for the meeting later this week.”
“Meeting?” said Cal. “What meeting?”
They sat in what Cal now called the Dream Room. This was where the Jaxdron made him dance to their illusions, which Cal had gotten used to and in fact rather enjoyed now, seeing them as a challenge. He’d been in several of them after the desert and robot scenario. Wars. Jungle chases. Space shootouts. All involved survival … and puzzles.
Now the Dream Room featured a pleasant beach. Hidden speakers provided the tranquil sound of rolling breakers to accompany the sparkling sand, the cheery sky, the lazy warmth.
Cal sat in a beach chair beside a table equipped with the chessboard. He wasn’t forced to play chess but he found it like doodling with his mind and enjoyed it.
“Yes, sir. Did you not read the formal invitation?”
“I wasn’t aware that I had mail call here, Wilkins.” Cal sat up and gazed around him. “Hell, I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is.”
His wanderings were, after all, limited to a corridor and a small sequence of rooms. He had not even been allowed to view the surface of the planet … if he was on a planet. For all he knew, he was on some mammoth starship still in transit.
“Yes, sir,” replied Wilkins. “I left it on your desk this morning.”
Cal ripped his headset off, throwing it across the chessboard, scattering pieces. “Awesome, dude!” he cried, jumping up and running for the door. “This sounds interesting!”
He tore down the hallway and into the small cubicle which was his room in this comfortable prison. Sure enough, there on his dresser was a gilt-edged envelope embossed with a seal.
He turned it over. It was addressed to Mr. Calspar Shemzak in expert calligraphy.
Eagerly, he ripped the envelope and tore out the enclosed invitation.
It read:
YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED IN ROOM 27 FOUR DAYS HENCE AT 12 NOON BY YOUR HOSTS FOR A PERSONAL AUDIENCE CONCERNING YOUR ACTIVITIES HERE.
Room 27? Where the hell was that? Wilkins would know.
Maybe he was going to get a new room added to his little prison world. Perhaps even a room with a window, so that he could get some idea of where he was.
Cal sat down on his bed and sighed. A man with a less sound psychological makeup would never have stayed sane this long. Fortunately, Cal knew who he was. Cal knew to follow the wo wei, to go with the flow, to accept the reality that was the next moment, to approach it with no prejudice ….
Even as he lay on the bed relaxing, feeling the exciting promise of knowledge, he experienced another attack.
As usual, it began as a fading away of immediate sensation, like the gentle moments of disassociative logic before falling asleep. Then came the buzzing, the hum of some sort of contact. But with whom? He was much too involved with the experience to analyze.
… whisper … whisper …
… glimmer … glow …
A tumble of images, like a rainfall of pictures, soundless swirling in the wind ….
He felt snippets of calculation, bits of computed formulas, solving of problems, as though he were some capacitor in a system observing logic flow. And again, as always, he flashed on that image with the mirrors, then it was gone.
He knew he was in a room somewhere and the room was dark, knew there were others in the room …
… and by the emerging glow of candlelight, he could see that the others were …
… himself.
And they talked to him.
But their voices were soft and low, and he could not quite make out what they were saying, although he heard snatches of words and phrases which seemed to deal with some scientific problem. He felt hot, sweating, and he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ear, growing unbearably loud.
His own faces approached him and they said, What is the Answer, Father? We live for the Answer, and only you are the—
Someone was shaking his arm.
“Sir? Sir, are you all right?”
His eyelids opened away from the land of reflection and refraction and he saw Wilkins staring down at him with a worried expression.
“The … reverie … again,” Cal muttered. He’d had these things before, and each time they were more intense.
He sat up and Wilkins poured him a glass of water.
“They’re not like the tests, Wilkins,” Cal said, water dribbling down his chin. “They’re not puzzles, dammit, they don’t make any sense!” He grabbed the manservant’s lapels. “Why do your masters do this, friend? Why?”
“I shall report the matter immediately, sir,” Wilkins said, gently removing his charge’s fingers. “Now, can I get you a pill?”
“No,” Cal replied, recovering his aplomb. He kept forgetting to withhold his thoughts and emotions from this character. Wilkins, whoever or whatever he was, worked for the enemy, not him. “No, I’m fine. I think it must just be a side effect of all this testing. Wilkins. I’m fine. You needn’t report anything.”
“Very good, sir.” The manservant’s eyes flicked about the room, caught the sight of the torn-apart envelope and letter.
“Ah. I see you found your invitation.”
“Yes. But Wilkins, where the hell is room 27? Am I going to get expanded access to other rooms in this place?”
“I should think so, sir,” Wilkins replied coolly and noncommittally. “I have taken the liberty of reassembling your chess game. Would you care to return to a beach scene or shall I adjust the climate to something else?”
Cal Shemzak opened his mouth, and if he had let out what was on his tongue, he would have released a torrent of pent-up anger and frustration. But he held his tongue and bided his time.
He could wait a few more days until he actually confronted the Jaxdron, and they could respond directly.
“No, Wilkins, the beach scene was quite restful. Let me take a shower and I’ll be right out. Oh, and could I have some sandwiches, please?”
“Very good, sir.”
A suspicion had dawned upon Cal Shemzak … a suspicion that would explain a great deal.
Chapter Eleven
The two identical cyborgs sat in their cabin playing chess.
Though they looked exactly like Cal Shemzak, they were not. In fact, interviews and tests and scans of their systems revealed that though they each owned small fragments of Cal Shemzak, at least in personality and memory, neither were complete replicas in any way.
To be sure, the crew of the Starbow had thoroughly checked them for any possibility of threat to the ship or the crew and found the pair extremely weak physically, with no sign of weapons or malicious intent. Their general docility reflected Cal’s accepting nature, at least on the surface. Yet there was more to these constructs than met the eye, be it human or electronic.
Cal One, as he was called, dressed mostly in blue for identification purposes, captured one of his opponent’s knights. Cal Two, in red, countered with a move of his bishop which placed his opponent’s queen in jeopardy.
At the top of the room, to either side, spy eyes tracked their every movement and electronic bugs in the wall recorded every spoken interchange. Thus far the twins had simply played games—not merely chess, but backgammon, shogi, go, mahjong, dominos, carrom, mancala—an endless list of strategic board- and card-based games. For security reasons
a computer terminal could not be given to them—though the “Shemzak twins” seemed harmless and were certainly nothing less than totally cooperative. To place access into the Starbow’s computers might tempt fate. So, actual physical facsimiles of the games, usually played via computer, were constructed in Dr. Mish’s shop and given to the pair to while away the time they were not being interrogated or analyzed.
As Cal One’s hand reached out for the next move to protect his queen, his forefinger gently brushed his twin’s knuckles. In this briefest of physical contacts an entire dialogue was exchanged:
»Brother, the time approaches«
»Yes, I sense the Communication imminent«
»We must prepare ourselves for the Roles«
»Aye, our Great Playing shall be glorious«
»Our Masters have selected their Targets cleverly«
»Much glory shall be derived from the interchange of Points«
»But will Victory belong to the Jaxdron«
»That, brother, is the Continued Mystery that underlines and defines all experience«
»We can only wait for the Calling«
»The Calling shall surely come soon«
»Praise the Mighty and Manipulative Jaxdron, and let their Conquering Might hang long on the mandibles of their Eternal Ancestors«
»In the meantime, brother, I shall soundly thrash you in these simple games«
»The Challenge is heard, brother, and I shall renew the onslaught. The very air is bloody with our conflict, and the cries of death and vexation are foreshadows to the reality to occur upon this vessel, when the Partnership occurs«
»Hail to the Jaxdron, and watch me chew up these pieces in my fangs of intellect«
… and the hand broke contact, and fell upon a pawn, which it moved forward one space.
Captain Tars Northern tossed back his last bit of brandy and looked up from the long list of results that holographically scrolled before him. The text shimmered neon blue and glittered off the ice in his drink, creating a pattern that he found amusing for some reason.
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