STAR HOUNDS -- OMNIBUS

by David Bischoff

  When they found Shontill in a cul-de-sac, they didn’t even recognize him.

  The Turn, thought Laura.

  The Time of the Turn, the creature had said.

  They kept their pistols at the ready, but Laura didn’t think they would need them.

  The alien was lying in the corner, folded in upon himself like a disgusting pile of multicolored garbage. The mess was heaving with loud, wheezing breaths, exuding a strange chemical odor.

  “Shall we stun the creature unconscious?” asked Lord Wellington.

  “No, but keep weapons at ready.”

  “Damn,” said Laura. “It looks like the thing is trying to shed its skin!”

  “General Grant,” said Northern. “Go in there and use your sensors to ascertain the alien’s condition.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the robot. Without pause it walked toward Shontill and kneeled by its heaving side, hovering there for a moment.

  “Sensors detect a form of molting,” Grant said eventually.

  “It is changing,” said Northern. “But into what?”

  “I shall determine,” replied Grant.

  “No, don’t! We’ll get Mish out here.”

  But Grant had already placed his hand on the green-turning-purple hide. With a ripping sound, it began to slide off. A tear coursed up the side of the face. The creature’s features ripped off as though they were a plastic mask, exposing what lay underneath.

  “Oh, my God,” said Captain Tars Northern.

  Laura could say nothing, she was so stunned.

  For exposed now beneath the alien face was another face … a face, though outsized, contorted, and with hardly any nose and a very big mouth, that was remarkably human!

  Chapter Nine

  The energy coursed through him, and he knew computer joy.

  The joy of feeling the calculations and numbers expand bridgelike through flaring stars of knowledge, sparking an incredible pulsing network, coursing with his germ of genius made huge.

  And then, the final chasm. The stars in this macro-computer were linked into one throbbing conduit of thinking—but that thought must reach out now, not to other galaxies that sparkled in the night, but beyond … infinitely beyond.

  Past an invisible veil composed of harder material than any known, into an impossible place beyond reason.

  Cal Shemzak had to make that jump across the chasm; through that baffling barrier, into what the Jaxdron called Omega Space.

  One nanosecond all was mystery.

  The next, with a single flex of his new and augmented mind … he knew how to do it!

  Cal Shemzak was appalled.

  The solution did not make any sense. Examined with anything approaching scientific or antiscientific logic, it seemed ludicrous on the face of it. Examined under the light of his normal unaugmented intelligence, pulled away from the mind-matrix for objective study, it seemed much as a dream upon awakening: a vague shimmer of non sequiturs. But upon reimmersion into the dreamlogic of his linkup with his complex array of duplicates, it was crystal clear, immediately possible.

  Just the proper generation of energy in a circular field would cleave the curtain, make entry possible into the final dimension, the waiting room of oblivion …

  … Omega Space.

  He pulled back again, his matrix patiently awaiting further manipulation ….

  He thought, but he shielded his thinking in analogy and obscure metaphor, utilizing old nursery rhymes and ancient cinema for archetypal models ….

  After a time an impatient voice spoke in his mind.

  A Jaxdron voice ….

  “An intriguing digression, but hardly likely, Cal Shemzak. We appreciate the gamesmanship you exercise in your free association, but would strongly appreciate your use of our considerable work to more productive ends.”

  They were tapped in! The bloody Jaxdron were tapped in, but they didn’t see it. He had a chance! His plan might work!

  With a mighty effort of will, he managed to detach himself from the matrix. His mind seemed to fold in upon itself, ripping from adhesion to stars, deflating into a smaller focus.

  He had to struggle to maintain consciousness as the others fell away from him, their own structure stiffly in place but lacking a locus now, a center.

  Feeling dizzy, Cal Shemzak opened his eyes. He had to steady himself against the table, lest he tumble to the floor. In a moment, he was okay.

  He was back in his room now. The connector that sat on his back was warm, glistening with light filaments that tossed colors against the wall like reflections from a pool of water. Cal was sweating, but he felt good. He felt healthy and powerful and … not helpless anymore.

  He smiled.

  The Jaxdron voice buzzed stridently in his brain, like a trapped bee. “Why have you disengaged the connections?”

  “Hey, gimme a break, you nazi! The old lobes were overheating, okay? My mind was blowing. I need a rest.”

  “Psychological parameters record high stress, but nothing dangerous. Please reenter mental matrix immediately!”

  “Check Out some other readings, too, jerk. Low blood sugar, for instance. This here exercise is burning up the calories. I’m hungry! Could you send Wilkins in with a couple of sandwiches or something?”

  It took a while for that to register, but finally the Jaxdron speaker said, “Yes, you have been in the web for a sufficient time to merit a refueling of carbohydrates. We regret we did not attach intravenous feeding.”

  “I don’t know why you guys are in such a hurry. We’re dealing here with all time and all space and God knows what else, and you’re starving the guy who’s going to crack the safe!”

  “Now the impatience is yours, Cal Shemzak. Food will arrive presently.”

  “Okay, now just give me some room to cool off, huh? This is pretty heavy going, even for my nimble neurons.”

  The Jaxdron did not respond to that, but Cal sensed a lull in com activity. His hump even lowered in temperature.

  He stood and stretched, and his mind raced.

  Calculation: Was this room big enough?

  Would the eruption cause some kind of chain reaction that would blow this place to ashes?

  Would he have enough time?

  And the shifting equations and numbers told him: Yes. No. Maybe.

  Good enough.

  When Wilkins, his robot butler, entered the room carrying his lunch, Cal was ready.

  “Thanks old man,” he said, smiling.

  The tray was placed on the table and the lid lifted, revealing an attractive batch of sandwiches of various varieties, some baked kale chips, and a protein-enhanced shake.

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  Cal grabbed a sandwich and began to chew. Synthetic Bologna and cheese and olives, his favorite, but he didn’t notice—his mind was too busy turning, checking the angles, figuring when it was best to pounce. He felt his new energy, impatient to be used, crackling like newborn gods—

  But then Wilkins turned to go!

  “Wait a minute, pal!” Cal called.

  Wilkins about-faced calmly. “Sir?”

  “Uhm … yeah … Stay awhile. I need to talk to you.”

  “Oh? What about?” The thin, English-looking face—rosy cheeks, tapered nose—seemed bemused.

  “It’s really a trip being hooked up to this mind-matrix. I was hoping I could talk to you about that. You know, get it off my chest. That’s what you’re for, after all, to talk to me, keep me company, right?”

  “I believe that is included in my list of duties, sir.”

  “Good. Now, like I was telling the Jaxdron, this stuff is really brain-blowing.” He picked up his protein shake. “I mean, I’ve been working with concepts in physics for years, and this just tops them all. But what is really fascinating is what this little doohickey on
my back has been doing. I think it might be going out of whack. Could you come and take a look? I’m not sure if this is a burn on my back where my flesh meets the thing, or just my imagination.”

  “Oh? Perhaps I should report this,” suggested Wilkins.

  “Yeah, maybe, but take a look first.”

  Wilkins stepped forward to look.

  When he was close enough, Cal chucked the drink directly into the robot’s optical sensors. Wilkins was stunned into inaction.

  Several moments were all that Cal Shemzak needed. Without hesitation he jumped on the robot, making sure to hit him high. The impact drove the thing off its feet; it crashed hard onto the floor, viscous liquid splattering.

  Cal wasted no time. He ripped off Wilkins’s starched top shirt and immediately found the seam of its control panel.

  This was the hard part.

  He dug his fingernails down into the crack, and willed the energy he felt buzzing through his hands.

  “Sir,” said Wilkins. “What does this course of action mean?”

  And with a jagged gash of sparks and electricity, and a jolt that nearly blew Cal off the robot, he burned off the lock. Smoke plumed up into his eyes, and he coughed, but there was no time to pause. He pulled the panel off, exposing the robot’s electronic guts.

  As the smoke cleared, he examined it. But Wilkins was beginning to take defensive measures—his hands rose up to push his attacker away.

  Quickly, Cal spotted the circuitry he needed—a touch of his finger did it.

  Energy coursed. With a bright blue zap the circuit was shorted out.

  Wilkins went limp. Cal fervently hoped the Jaxdron didn’t monitor their robot servants. He examined the solid-state and standard circuitry, finding it surprisingly similar to human-style construction. Doubtless the Jaxdron had learned robotry from the capture of Federation ships.

  Cal’s fingers drifted over the robot’s interior.

  He allowed a partial linkup with the matrix and his hump sparkled with light again, growing warm. More power surged through him.

  Power and comprehension.

  With his new fingers of energy, he probed, he changed, he rearranged. Then he snapped Wilkins’s lid back on his chest.

  The robot’s eyes shot open.

  “Be a good butler and stand up, Wilkins.”

  The robot got to his feet. He looked steady as a rock.

  “You’re under my orders now, aren’t you? Stand on your head.”

  The robot executed an excellent headstand.

  “Good enough. Now get up and guard the door. Do not, I repeat do not let anyone through.”

  “Yes, sir. Will you be having your tea this afternoon, sir, or should I prepare coffee?”

  “Wilkins, when this is all over, you—and possibly I—are going to be molten slag.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The robot took its place by the door.

  With a deep breath, Cal Shemzak sat down and began to concentrate.

  He let his mind pass farther into the matrix, flowing, expanding like the arms of a river delta reaching for the sea. He felt himself grow, and the matrix accepted him immediately.

  They were him!

  Quickly, he began to once more assemble the structure of the bridge. A Jaxdron voice attempted to interrupt him. “What are you doing, human? Why have you done this to your companion?”

  “Oh, just a game,” said Cal. “Just a game.”

  He could feel them trying to disengage the matrix but they could not. It operated now from a power not in this dimension. It coursed through him like white-hot lightning. He could feel the Jaxdron mind retreating from its blaze.

  The mighty engine of fierce thought was constructed once more. Cal Shemzak now confronted the leap, the chasm, which his mind must span ….

  A trickle of fear touched him, but he ignored it. Distantly, he was vaguely aware of a commotion in the room in which his body was anchored. The clash of body against body, plastic against metal.

  They were trying to get in. The Jaxdron were trying to break the circuit by getting to him, but Wilkins was doing his job. Still, he must hurry ….

  Lingering no longer, he focused full attention back on the void he sensed. He focused his mind, shaping its energy into a strong pair of hands. He began to tear apart the very structure of space, time, and Underspace, holding the rip apart and widening it with a circuit of energy.

  A portal into Omega Space!

  The hole began to expand to the parameters Cal had calculated were necessary.

  He fixed the pattern of the matrix, stabilizing the portal. Withdrawing his consciousness sufficiently to return to his own body, Cal could again see from his own eyes, feel through his own skin.

  The first thing he became aware of was the sound of battle: Wilkins was holding off a pair of smaller servo-robots. No telling when the big guns would be moved into blow his servant away ….

  Then Cal became aware of the hissing, buzzing sound.

  The portal!

  There it was, its periphery a steady flash of pure, energy.

  Outside its circumference was the plain gray of the room’s wall. Within was darkness ….

  Darkness, with tracings of light and flecks of color, like the preliminary outline of a painter’s landscape. But what a landscape!

  No time to gawk, though. He had to move.

  Cal Shemzak stood up, stepped over to the portal. A breeze from otherwhere rustled his hair.

  “Good show, Wilkins!” he called to his fighting manservant. “And Jaxdron, farewell!”

  He leaped through the portal, into the darkness, and the hole closed up immediately, like a gigantic mouth clamping down on its prey.

  Chapter Ten

  “Amazing,” said Dr. Michael Mish, standing over the prone body of the alien called Shontill.

  “Is he going to be all right, Doctor?” asked Gemma Naquist.

  “What I want to know,” said Laura Shemzak, “is if you’ve got him doped up enough this time?”

  The small group huddled around the operating table holding the alien, hooked up now to life-support systems. The entire skin had almost entirely peeled away now, revealing new pink and hairless skin on a humanoid frame, though on a much larger scale.

  “I think that Shontill will be out for a while now, “Captain Northern said, regarding the sight below him placidly. “What do you make of it, Doctor? Any ideas?”

  “Yeah,” said Laura. “Is Shontill some sort of spy or something, and you all got set up?”

  Mish chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Hardly.”

  I should talk, Laura thought.

  “Seems to indicate to me,” said Gemma, “that maybe the Frin’ral and humans have got more in common than Shontill would like to admit.”

  “Common ancestry?” Northern asked. “Is that possible? Were humans planted on Earth, Mish?”

  “I don’t know, Captain,” said the doctor. “Call it a mystery now, with a great many possibilities … all of which could be wrong. What we’re seeing here, though, is proof that Shontill’s people developed from some humanoid life form, with emphasis on the oid. Parallel development? Hard to say. However, I shall make tests.”

  “What’s happened to the poor guy though?” asked Arkm Thur, which shocked Laura. Why should he be concerned? The blasted alien knocked him for a loop, and even now the first mate was speaking from another table, having recently been checked for injuries beyond heavy scrapes and bruises.

  “Apparently in his normal biological cycle,” said Mish, “Shontill goes through a period in which there is a change in appearance. For mating? For some other vital need in the species? Who knows? Most likely the biological support of other Frin’ral is needed, something that just wasn’t available to Shontill here on the Starbow.”

  “Which could expl
ain his great eagerness to find his people immediately,” Thur said.

  “Yes, it is quite likely that Shontill felt this coming on,” said Mish.

  “I wish he could have warned us!” said Northern. “This could have turned extremely nasty!”

  “Perhaps Shontill had no idea the Time of Turn, as he called it, would come so quickly, so violently. He just had a bad feeling about it.”

  “Well, at least we won’t be hearing that damn constant dirge, ‘Attilium, attilium, attilium!” said Laura.

  “Hopefully, by the time his lights are back on, we’ll have Cal back and this will all be sorted out.”

  “Let’s sincerely hope so,” said Captain Northern, relaxing, giving her a wink. “Let’s also hope that Shontill here will be all right.”

  “All life signs are good in his present condition,” said Dr. Mish. “He’ll just be unconscious for a long while.”

  Gemma Naquist shook her head. “Just to think, underneath all that monster getup there beats a semi-human heart. It’s a puzzle all right. But I wonder what it has to do with the other puzzles we’re working on.”

  “We’ll just have to wait until we can get through into Omega Space and contact the Frin’ral for that one, “said Northern. “But first we’ve got to take care of this Earth business,” he added, frowning. “Which I don’t like at all. Three more days till we enter Earth’s system … and I haven’t been there in years. Laura, you’ve been updating our files on what you know about defense-security measures for the Solar System, so maybe we can slip between the cracks?”

  “I’ll be finished tomorrow, boss.”

  “Excellent. And your blip-ship … how’s it doing?”

  “A technical robot crew has been going over it with a fine-tooth comb, checking for malfunctions,” she answered. “It’s going to be in better condition than when I got it on Shortchild.”

  “A memorable occasion,” Northern deadpanned. “Well, then, I suppose we should meet tomorrow at fourteen-hundred hours with Chivon Lasster for a thorough discussion of procedure.”

  “You bet. I’ll be there with bells on!” said Laura flippantly. Plus one killer implant, she thought.