Donnerjack

by Roger Zelazny

  “You have manifested your virt power strongly, reliably. Training has granted you steady improvement. You can recite litanies as well as priests with years of seniority and you conduct yourself with appropriate enthusiasm during all ritual events. Yet… yet…”

  “Sir?”

  “I still suspect that you remain something of a skeptic despite all of this.”

  Wisely, Eden remained silent. Kelsey fixed him with his pale blue gaze.

  “At a recent meeting of Church Elders, your name came up as a possible candidate for a singular honor. As your supervisor, I was asked if I could second that recommendation.”

  “Honor, sir?”

  “See? That questioning again! Most of our acolytes when presented with such an opportunity would fling themselves to the carpet to praise the gods that they were even considered. A few would ask if they were truly worthy. You—you and a small group of others—question. Yet, if I nominate you for this honor, you will be elevated to a position that few others in the Church will ever hold.”

  “Sir?”

  Kelsey grinned, his usual relaxed humor restored by the grin on Eden/Davis’s dark face.

  “The position is religious not administrative. It involves becoming an intimate of one of the deities—becoming that being’s most personal servant.”

  “God!”

  “Precisely. I’m not certain that a skeptic—no matter how well-meaning—should be considered for such a position. Some of the deities are rather short-tempered. They might find a lack of faith unforgivable. Terminal.”

  “I understand.”

  “We can die in Virtu, Davis. It is something that is often played down, but we can die in Virtu, especially when we venture away from the modern design settings and into the primal areas. Needless to say, our deities belong to that primal force. As the teachings of the Church uphold, they merely use Virtu as a means of manifesting truths that predate human history.”

  Kelsey frowned. “That is why I am speaking with you—perhaps imprudently. I do not wish to nominate a candidate who will bring shame to himself or to my department. Nor do I wish you to be ruined for further service. Your abilities have been valuable. Do you have an answer for me?”

  “May I pray on it, sir?”

  “Yes. That would be wise. You are excused from your immediate duties until this time tomorrow. Then report to me here with the results of your meditation. The decision is still mine to make—not yours—but I will accept your input.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Kelsey.”

  “If you wish, you may be excused.”

  “Thank you. I believe I will go and shut down my work and then head to a temple to pray.”

  “Very good. May the gods speak to you clearly.”

  “I hope they will, sir.”

  Arthur Eden left Kelsey’s office, aware of the man’s critical gaze on his retreating back. In the elevator, he let his hands run through a prayer mudra that the Church had adapted from Buddhism. He walked to his office, did things with the computers there, and then left the building. In case anyone was watching, he went to one of the Church’s transfer facilities and found a private virt chapel in which he could pray—and collect his thoughts.

  He stayed there several hours. When he departed, he mentioned something to the attendant about needing dinner. When he finished his meal at his favorite Afghanistan! restaurant, he returned to Davis’s home, set a few contained incendiaries that would make it appear that the house had been destroyed by a freak electrical fire. (The wiring, when the arson investigators checked, would be found to have been below code for the amount of computer equipment and related electronic hardware he had kept there.) If all went well, the Church would believe that he had been killed.

  Then he walked out via a service alley and descended into a subway tunnel. Davis’s usefulness had ended, for his deception could not survive more intimate contact with the entities the Church served. While Eden was still not convinced of their divinity, his years in the Elishites’ service had convinced him of their power and resources.

  Now he would return to being Arthur Eden and work on a tertian’ identity to serve him once the book came out. He would publish it under Arthur Eden’s name, but he already knew that after it appeared he would never live publicly as Eden again, for when the book came out, Eden would be under a sentence of death.

  * * *

  A few years passed. John D’Arcy Donnerjack, Junior grew well and his health remained sound. Dack taught him to read and tamed his childish scrawls into printing and script. He also taught him basic mathematics. All of this before he let him know computers more than socially. He wanted the son of John D’Arcy Donnerjack to possess the sometimes

  “M

  forgotten basic basics before he introduced him to the commonplace basics. Although he had not been ordered or requested to do it this way, he had noticed that Donnerjack, Senior had known these things, and he considered him a great man. In that he hoped Donnerjack, Junior might one day be a great man, also, Dack attempted to emulate what he had known of the father’s earliest education. So the boy studied German, French. Japanese, cartography, and calligraphy as had his father before him.

  There were no other children at Castle Donnerjack. The boy occasionally glimpsed Duncan or Angus from window or balcony, but Dack managed to keep him apart from them, wishing to protect the very idea of his existence. So the only individuals he met besides the household robots were the inhabitants of Virtu—human and otherwise—whom he encountered on his daily rambles on and off Stage.

  One day he and Mizar ran far afield—so far that there was a shifting or two before they could return. They came to a small rocky valley with a stream running through it. Following this, they came to a bright, burbling waterfall. Young Donnerjack, clad in tan shorts, seated himself on a rock at the water’s edge and tossed pebbles into the stream. A watery, humanoid figure burst from the flow then and regarded him. Donnerjack started to his feet and took a step backward. Mizar interposed his body between the boy and the dripping figure. He opened his mouth to show the spikes with which it was furnished.

  “Hello, child,” said the green-haired figure, wading ashore, form becoming vaguely feminine. “Tell your guardian that I mean you no harm, for I do not.”

  The boy placed his hand on Mizar’s neck and stroked it. “It’s all right,” he said. “Don’t bite her. My name is John Donnerjack. Who are you, ma’am?”

  “Are you related to John D’Arcy Donnerjack, the scientist?” asked the other, removing snails from her hair and casting them back into the stream.

  “He was my father.”

  “Was? You say ‘was’?”

  “Well, he’s dead now. It happened when I was a baby.”

  “Oh, dear. I shall miss him. He and Reese Jordan used to come to my valley for its relaxing beauty, and they would discuss mathematics— two great men.”

  “You knew my father?”

  “Yes, but he didn’t really know me. I was pleased to eavesdrop on their conversations and keep the environment within maximum comfort ranges for them.”

  “Who are you, ma’am?”

  “I am the genius loci of this place. In school you may have learned of us as artificial intelligences. I am the one who is dedicated to maintaining this area. People in general make me nervous. But I discovered on the few occasions when the opportunity arose that I get along well with you youngsters. This is why I am happy you came by. You may swim in my stream if you wish. I will make it warmer or cooler to suit your fancy.”

  The boy smiled. “All right,” he said then.

  He ran forward and waded in.

  The genius loci turned to Mizar.

  “You are no ordinary construct,” she said. “Did Donnerjack make you?”

  “No. I think not,” Mizar rasped. “But I… do not… remember… how I… came to be. There was a great… flash of light… and I was falling. I have wandered… long and far. I do not know… where I come from. But the boy is k
ind… to me… and I play… with him. It is better… to have a friend… than to wander.”

  “I am glad that you are happy together.”

  “Sometimes… a black butterfly… comes by to talk. I feel… I should know it. But it will not… talk of such… matters. It is… friendly, though.”

  “What is its name?”

  “Alioth.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “You… know it?”

  “Not really. For a moment I thought you had said another name.”

  “Black butterflies… are not… that common.”

  “True.” The genius loci turned and regarded the swimming boy. “Do you have a certain time by which you must be back?”

  “I don’t… know.”

  “Child, where do you live?”

  “Castle Donnerjack.”

  “When must you be back?”

  “I don’t know. I’m probably late, though. Thanks for reminding me.”

  He climbed out, shook himself, and stood in the sun.

  “Thanks for the swim.”

  “Any time, John Donnerjack. Are you sure you can find your way back?”

  Young Donnerjack glanced at Mizar. “Can you sniff out the trail?” The beast lowered his head. “It is… still there,” he said. “Good. We’ll go then. Now.”

  “Come back,” said the genius loci. “We will. Thank you.”

  They rushed through the woods, and after a time Mizar slowed.

  “What’s the matter?” asked young Donnerjack.

  “Scent’s getting… weak. I’m not sure… what’s going on.”

  “This place looks a little strange, too.”

  Mizar looked in all directions.

  “You’re… right. We didn’t… come this way,” he said. “Oh.”

  “What?”

  “Your father’s machine… keeps the locales… shifting. We must be… somewhere else… than where we… started.”

  “Of course. What should we do?”

  “I don’t know. It seems… that I once… could track through domains. But I don’t… remember how. Given time… I’ll find it.”

  “Dack will be worrying. I have an idea. Can you get us back to where we were?”

  “Come on. Let’s hurry.”

  He wheeled and trotted. Donnerjack followed.

  “Genius loci! Genius loci!” Donnerjack called. “Could we talk to you again?”

  A green head appeared amid nearby foliage. “Yes, child?” it asked.

  “Dad’s machine has phased away from us. Could you call that friend of his—Dr. Jordan—and ask whether he could help us to find our way back?”

  “Of course. I am already— Ah, there he is now.”

  A diminutive holoform of the scientist appeared before them.

  “Yes, Caltrice,” he said. “What— Who are these?”

  “The son of your friend Donnerjack and his dog, Mizar. They’re lost. Do you know the way to show them back to Castle Donnerjack?”

  “I can figure it quickly. Give me a moment. What is your name, boy?”

  “John D’Arcy Donnerjack, Junior.”

  “I do see the resemblance.”

  Reese’s figure adjusted itself to normal size and solidity. “I remember the phase periods he’d installed,” he began.

  “Yes. I’d guess there’ve been maybe three of them since we left.”

  “Just what I wanted to know. How much time did you spend here in Caltrice’s locus?”

  “An hour maybe. We talked. I went swimming.”

  “Very good—I can adjust for that. You haven’t been gone as long as you might think. Time passes strangely in Caltrice’s locus. Thank you for contacting me, Caltrice.”

  “My pleasure, Reese. Don’t be gone too long.”

  “I won’t.” Reese turned to face the boy and his battered dog. “Which direction did you come from?”

  With a creaking of joints, Mizar pointed.

  “That… way,” he said.

  “Come with me now. I’ll get you back.”

  They followed the tall, lean figure through the wood.

  “Didn’t know Donnerjack had a son,” Jordan said after a time.

  “Yes.”

  “How is he these days?”

  “He died when I was quite young.”

  Reese fell silent, something in the line of his shoulders changing, but his steps as he led them remained steady.

  “I had been working with him on a project, then all calls ceased. I worried… Why didn’t he have me told?”

  “I don’t think he wanted anyone to know.” the boy said.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I never thought about it. It’s always been this way.”

  “The castle’s answering service just tells people he’s traveling.”

  “That’s what it’s supposed to do, I think.”

  “So who takes care of you? I wasn’t real clear on your mother’s status.”

  “She’s dead, too. They’re buried next to each other in the family graveyard. Robots take care of me—Dack and Voit and Cookie. And my friends, like Mizar.”

  “That sounds terrible. John must have had a good reason for setting things up that way, though. But time has passed. Most likely, the authorities—”

  A small voice suddenly came from the bracelet:

  “I was not going to activate this function till he achieved majority, save in the case of an emergency—which this is. I’m asking you not to notify the authorities of this peculiar living arrangement, old friend. It would put my son into more danger than it would protect him from. You must trust my judgment in this. I will arrange for you to be a welcome visitor at Castle Donnerjack whenever you wish. But do not attempt to remove my son from the premises.”

  “John!”

  Young Donnerjack just stared at the bracelet, his eyes round but unafraid.

  “John?”

  “Not in the flesh, Reese, but believe that I speak the will of John D’Arcy Donnerjack—the father of this boy. If you remove him into Verite proper, the odds are very good that you will place him in considerable danger.”

  “But a visit like this to Virtu… ?”

  “That’s all right. He has been venturing so since he was an infant and no harm has come to him.”

  “I shall trust your judgment, John. May we continue this conversation if I come to call?”

  “Of course, providing that you do not attempt to remove this bracelet from my boy’s wrist.”

  “Even dead you manage to intrigue me. I’ll do as you say.”

  “Are you really in my bracelet, Father?” the boy asked at last.

  “Not really,” came Donnerjack Senior’s voice. “But my personality overlays an AI which knows much that I did.”

  “I don’t understand. Is it you or isn’t it?”

  “I’m not so sure that I do either. I feel like me, but then this thing I put together is supposed to be that way. Let’s say that I am a very clever computer construct and act on that assumption. It would make me feel better and avoid a lot of metaphysics.”

  “What are metaphysics?”

  “Something I wish to avoid.”

  The boy laughed. Both men’s voices joined him.

  “I don’t know a lot about what’s funny and what isn’t,” the boy said plaintively.

  “Basically, if it makes you laugh it’s funny,” Reese said, squeezing his shoulder. “Should make you feel sort of good inside, too.”

  “—And if you don’t understand a joke, tell us and we’ll explain,” said the bracelet.

  They rounded a bend and Reese said, “That’s the Stage up ahead, isn’t it?”

  “Sure looks like it.”

  “I’ll be wanting to talk to both of you again.”

  “I’ll tell Dack to start receiving your calls,” said the bracelet, “and, as I said, you’ll always be welcome at the castle. I take it your health continues to hold?”

  “Better than before.”

  “Wond
erful. Yes, we’ll talk again. Thanks for being a guide.”

  They parted and young Donnerjack entered the Stage.

  “I will hibernate again,” said the bracelet. “Go and eat.”

  Mizar made a sound halfway between a growl and a faulty engine, curled up at stage center, and closed his eyes. Young Donnerjack departed the Stage.

  “Dack, I’m back,” he called out.

  * * *

  During the next few months, young Donnerjack cajoled the bracelet into teaching him a method for finding his way home through phase shifts. Then, somewhere, during that year, he learned to slip through and touch the things of Virtu. The bracelet had little to say about it, and Reese did not know what to make of it.

  “It’s not even theoretically possible,” he said. “Your dad did do some very strange things with space and time within Virtu, but even he was never able to pull these random crossovers. I’m going to have to revise some of my theories, I fear.”

  “Will you tell me about your theories?”

  “When you’re older and know more math I’ll try.”

  “Would you say something to Dack, so he might start me a little early on the math?”

  “Surely.”

  “Could I ask you a question about yourself?”

  “Yes. Ask away.”

  “Did you ever have any kids of your own?”

  Reese was silent for a little longer than usual following a question. Then he said, “Yes.” He paused for a moment again, and continued, “It’s a terrible thing to outlive your children. I had two sons and a daughter. They’re all dead. Two grandchildren. Ditto. One great-grandchild—a girl, Megan. She’s in grad school in math and physics. She’s been a great comfort. She does come to see me, and we like each other a lot. I do miss all the others, though.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I should be grateful for what I’ve had and what I’ve got, shouldn’t I? I do miss one little boy’s smile, though, and another’s laugh, and— Oh hell! I’ve lived long, you see, and done a lot. I should be happier than most. Probably am. Why’d you ask me a question like that, anyhow?”