Donnerjack

by Roger Zelazny

  “Sure I’ll go with you, Jay. It beats hiding under your bed and looking for the moire.”

  “Good.” Jay turned and began to walk up the hillside. “I’ll let Dack know that I’m off on a virt jaunt and make the crossover from the Great Stage. I’d prefer not to draw this site to Death’s attention.”

  They walked up the hillside and through the cluster of standing stones. Although the solstice was nowhere near, the stones trembled, responding to a force as powerful as that of nature or of myth.

  * * *

  High upon Meru, Skyga hummed. Listening to the sound, it seemed to the anxious Seaga that the hum had developed a lilt, a tremolo triumphant. He glanced over at Earthma, but she was withdrawn in meditation and he was reluctant to give anything away to the hummer by petitioning for her attention.

  Biting into his lower lip with ill-concealed petulance, he let himself flow out into his various avatars:

  A clerk organizing data in a virt stock market branch (where the stocks and bonds were represented as apples and pears of varying colors) blinked as for a moment the data all made perfect sense. He saw the trends involved in various shifts in the world economy and, had he been able to recall that insight, he could have made his fortune with a few small purchases. The insight vanished, however, and he continued sorting improbably colored fruit into various bins.

  Reese Jordan, sitting soaking his feet in Caltrice’s favorite pool, felt a minnow nibbling at his toes. For a moment, he was a boy again— young and carefree. Then the feeling vanished, reminding him that once again his mortal form in the Center for latropathic Diseases in Verite was about to undergo some esoteric procedure. Even though the assistance of the Donnerjack Institute had added almost twenty years to his already extended life, he felt an ache of fury and frustration that this time he might finally shuffle off this mortal coil. The thought entered his mind that he would do anything, anything at all, for the promise of extending his life.

  Ben Kwinan slouched against a wall within a chambered nautilus, reporting the latest developments in the Elishite situation. Deep within his mind was hidden the thought that perhaps he had chosen his ally unwisely. Seaga seemed nervous and contentious.

  The white picket fence around a cottage on a cold, rocky shore bore the sign: “Do Not Disturb.” A pigeon, glancing in the window, saw a man with a scar running from the top of his head to the sole of his left foot busily making adjustments on a machine of platinum and crystal.

  In the morgue for the New York Times and its affiliates a wind, damp and smelling of the sea, swept through the files, nagging certain stories and arranging them in a peculiar order. A ragged vibration, rather like a sigh, shook the virt chamber, then the wind withdrew, taking with it knowledge and leaving behind only a faint tang of salt to announce its visit.

  Ancestral voices proclaiming war.

  SEVEN

  In a special grove within Markon’s realm, Virginia Tallent spoke into the air about what she had seen during that day’s wanderings and the air spoke to her, giving her answers.

  “I passed through the jungle—you know the one…”

  “Yes, Nazrat’s site.”

  “And I passed a band of the apelike rogue proges who reside there.”

  “Dangerous types. Did you keep to cover?”

  “Yes, and observed them from there. Markon, I could have sworn that they were drilling!”

  “Drilling? As for oil?”

  “No, marching and practicing with weapons—machetes mostly, but there were some armed with firearms. Their leader was a great brute with greying fur and what I could have sworn was a shriveled human head hung around his neck.”

  “That would be Sayjak. He is the Boss of Bosses of their people. His influence and legend have spread outside of Nazrat’s site.”

  “He did not seem like a boss of anything. Several times he passed quite close to me and his eyes were dull and unfocused, yet his tribe members were clearly terrified of him. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

  “Long ago.”

  “In those times you told me about—the times of the Master, the Engineer, and the Guide? The times when the genü loci warred among each other and the gods were made?”

  “That is so, Virginia. Apparently, Sayjak has become the minion of some deity, of a being more powerful than a genius loci. No wonder his people are terrified of him.”

  Virginia looked shyly at the ground, traced a figure in the dirt with the tip of her finger.

  “I have never asked before, Markon, but are genü loci gods?”

  “Within our realms, we are something like that, Virginia. Some of us are more powerful than others, have a greater understanding of our sites and their limitations.”

  “Like you are more powerful than Kordalis.”

  “Precisely.” Markon sighed and the leaves of the trees rippled. “But we cannot depart our sites, while those who are termed deities can travel throughout Virtu. Yet, only the greatest of the deities are more powerful than a genius loci within its own territory. Thus, in the battles of yore, the deities treated with us as with sovereign nations, negotiating for passage, supplies, and sometimes for troops.”

  “And sometimes you warred with your neighbors.”

  “That is so.”

  “Markon, have you made any treaties with those who have petitioned you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “And if your neighbors make such treaties, might one or more of them attack you?”

  “Yes, the ancient boundaries have held partly because we grew weary of conflict and partly because each of us held what we could control. The deities, however, can grant power to those who serve them—enhance their programming. A neighbor so enhanced might endeavor to defeat me. An alliance between two or more—especially if I had no allies of my own—most certainly would do so.”

  “Markon, you must make some alliances!”

  “Virginia, I plan to do so, but I must choose carefully if I am to keep the war from here and thus keep you safe. My greatest desire is to protect you, my fragile love.”

  She smiled. “I appreciate your offer, but I don’t wish to endanger you by having you consider my safety. I know the isolated places in Virtu. I will go to one and hide. Then I will return to you when the battles are over.”

  “The wars may take years. They may not begin for years. When will you hide? Even the wildest sites have their genius loci. Where will you hide that you cannot be taken hostage against me? I love you, woman, and would do anything to gain your safety.”

  Virginia wept. Where her tears struck the ground, tiny white flowers with hearts of gold sprung forth. Their perfume was sweet.

  * * *

  Jay Donnerjack bid his ghostly mother farewell, notified Dack that he planned to take an extended trip into Virtu, and departed his father’s castle. When he crossed the Great Stage, he carried with him Dubhe, the dark simian creature who had betrayed the orders of the Lord of Deep Fields. Whistling, he summoned to him Death’s dog, Mizar, who knew nothing of his origin, but who loved the boy. Feeling well accompanied, Jay shook his black hair from his shoulders and breathed the crisp morning air.

  “Any idea where we should start looking for this train, Jay?” Dubhe asked.

  “Not really. I want to go visit with Reese first, tell him what we’re doing. He had surgery again, recently. The report I got from the Institute says that he made it through, but I bet he could use visitors.”

  “I… can find… the way,” wheezed Mizar.

  “Good,” Jay said. “I won’t be able to stay with Reese long—not since I’m in my real self—but it’s a place to start.”

  They traveled then, walking across cracked beds of dry lava, swimming beneath the waters of an aquamarine ocean, skiing down a mountain of perfect powder. The route they took was far from the easiest, but Mizar tended to be rather direct and Jay was not concerned about his own comfort. What Dubhe thought, he kept to himself.

  When they neared Caltrice’s site, Jay
wrote a message on a leaf and set it on a raft made from twigs. This he set into a stream that he knew would enter Caltrice’s site. The message, like so many he had sent in the past, said simply: “I am coming to visit and would like to see Reese if I can. J.”

  Arriving, they found Reese seated on his favorite rock, working out a series of formulas on a datapad manifested as a chunk of raw slate. He set down his chalk when he heard them enter the grove and grinned.

  “It seems like forever, Jay. Where have you been?”

  “Getting into trouble,” Jay answered. “How are you feeling?”

  “In virt, just fine. In RT, the operation was fairly successful, but apparently they had to remove my right leg from the knee down. I know it’s silly to mourn an appendage that I haven’t used for years, but I find myself in a rather bleak state of mind. Distract me. Tell me about your adventures.”

  Jay did so, beginning with his encounter with the caoineag and ending with his resolution to seek out Death. Finishing, he braced himself, waiting for the inevitable argument. Reese merely cleared his throat and studied him.

  “You’ve grown up.”

  “I guess so.”

  “And you feel this is something you need to do.”

  “I don’t see that there is any other reasonable choice, Reese. Both Mother and Father tried fighting the Lord of Deep Fields. Their battles gave me time to grow up. Now I can go and confront him on more equal terms.”

  Reese nodded. “Apparently, he still wants you, so your education and maturity have not ruined you. Has it occurred to you that he might want you merely as a source of spare parts? I know of no other successful mating between Virtu and Verite.”

  Jay swallowed hard. “I hadn’t, but I’ll take that risk.”

  “And you mean to find your father’s peculiar train.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “I have never seen it, but I did learn something about it from John. Before you begin your run into Deep Fields have it carry you to the grove where strange attractors grow. These may arm you as they armed your father. Of course, the lord of that place may have learned new defenses since your father challenged him.”

  “Do you know where I might find the Brass Babboon?”

  Reese sighed. “No, it is long since I cared to venture more than briefly from Caltrice’s site. That reminds me. If you are in the flesh, you should not remain here long. Go, son. Send me a message when you succeed.”

  Jay hugged him. “I will, sir.”

  “Where will you begin your search?”

  “I first heard about the Brass Babboon from a pliant who claimed to have met my father. He was the first one to mention Dad’s journeys into Deep Fields to me. I’ll seek him out and learn what I can from him.”

  “Good thought. Fortune walk with you.”

  “Thanks.”

  The old man watched Jay depart, the dog before him, the monkey moving through the boughs overhead. Reese had hidden from Jay the fact that if he did not concentrate his virt persona had a tendency to fade out, beginning with the amputated leg. Caltrice could find no reason for it, but Reese suspected that his hold on life was almost ended.

  He wondered if he died in Virtu would he see the moire first.

  * * *

  When Desmond Drum arrived at his office, Link Crain was waiting. He considered it a courtesy that the girl waited in the hallway, since she was quite capable of picking the lock. When he opened the door and ushered her inside, he wondered that anyone could take her for a boy— there was a sway to her walk, a roundness to her hips that marked her as female to his admiring gaze. And those green eyes! Such lashes. She’d never be a beauty, but if her mother was any indication she would continue to improve with age.

  Pouring them both shots from his favorite bottle, he toasted her, silently mocked himself. He suspected that Link did not bother to watch her body language when they were alone since, after all, he knew her secret and—anyhow—he was far too senior to her for her to see as a man.

  “Do you have any news for me?” Link asked eagerly, setting down the glass barely touched.

  “I do.” He paused, teasing her with his silence then relenting. “It may not be what you want to hear, kid.”

  “Go on!”

  “Very well. First, I checked and there is indeed no one named Jason or Jay MacDougal residing in Scotland who could be our young knight. Moreover, I checked birth certificates and did not find anyone by that name who could be our friend.”

  “Yes?”

  “Without a photo record, I could not do more on that front so I started working on the names you gave me. There were two: Milburn and Dack.”

  “Right.”

  “Since Milburn was the person Jason contacted when he was in New York, I started with him. There were a number of dead ends, but eventually I found someone who may answer.”

  “And?”

  “There is an AP named Milburn who resides in New York. He is in the employ of the Donnerjack Institute and part of his job description includes chauffeur and pilot.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “Even more promising is that the listed owner of the Donnerjack Institute is one John D’Arcy Donnerjack. His place of residence is listed as a castle on an island off of the coast of Scotland.”

  Link’s naturally active mind had been honed by her choice of profession. “The initials are similar—if one omits the ‘mac’—and Scotland is where Jay said he was from. Why does the name John D’Arcy Donnerjack ring a bell?”

  “He is one of the great engineers of virtual reality design. You’ve probably visited his Inferno at some point.”

  “I think I did. Didn’t like it much. Did you call the Donnerjack Institute?”

  “Better, I called the castle directly. The robot who took the call said that the master was traveling. I asked him to identify himself and he said that his name was Dack.”

  “That’s the place! But Jay couldn’t be this John D’Arcy Donnerjack, could he?”

  “No, Donnerjack would be far older—older even than your mother— maybe even as old as me.”

  Link missed the joke. “So, who is Jay?”

  “I have a thought on that,” Drum said. He flipped a holo-album across his desk. “I got some pictures of Donnerjack—found some from when he was younger. See anything?”

  “There certainly is a similarity, isn’t there? Not identical, but enough to make fairly clear that they’re related.”

  “That was my thought as well. Not all fathers and sons look as much alike as you and your mother do, Alice. I would guess that if Jay isn’t Donnerjack’s son, he’s a nephew—maybe a young cousin.”

  Link nodded, still studying the holograms. “Did you find a record of a wife?”

  Drum shrugged. “None, but that’s hardly telling. I didn’t find any register of children, either, which puzzled me. I would have bet—given the address, the fact that Jay was being driven by someone from the Institute—that Jay was Donnerjack’s son. I didn’t find any record of Donnerjack having siblings either, so the nephew line is a bit tenuous.

  Still, I think I’ve found your Jay. He’s a relation of the Donnerjack family and, at least part of the time, resides in a castle in Scotland.”

  “Let’s call him!”

  “I tried—used a different virt domino so Dack wouldn’t know the same person was calling. Not only didn’t I get Jay, Dack refused to acknowledge that there was such a person.”

  “Huh?”

  “And when I contacted Milburn, I got the same response. He was polite but said that I must have him confused with someone else. Thing is, I checked flight permits filed by the Donnerjack Institute for a couple of days before the Elshie celebration and I found that one had been taken out for Milburn. The destination wasn’t listed, but the turn-around time would have been just about right for a quick jaunt to Scotland.”

  “Weird.”

  “Very. If it wasn’t for the fact that he bled all over the front seat of my
Spinner, I’d say that in Jay MacDougal you and I had suffered a consensual hallucination.”

  “Don’t tease!”

  “I’m not. I’m merely expressing a point, kid.”

  “Yeah.”

  Link looked so depressed that Drum reached across and patted her hand.

  “This isn’t an end, kid, just a delay. In the meantime, I’ve heard from you-know-who. He wants to see us tonight.”

  Link shook off her depression, squared her shoulders, shifted her posture and, somehow, indefinably, seemed more male than before. Drum was impressed.

  “I could use the distraction,” Link said. “Want to get dinner before?”

  “The Chinese place again?”

  “Yeah, I want to try their garlic eggplant.”

  “Yuck.”

  * * *

  Jay walked beneath the spreading green of the forest giants. Thick vines, flowered red and orange and yellow, interwove the boughs so that overhead Dubhe hardly need employ any energy in his progress from tree to tree. Mizar snapped at a flying beetle, its wings polished copper and aged bronze. Birds called from hidden roosts or screeched when Jay’s progress brought him too close to an egg-filled nest. All around them was life in form fantastical and impossible, yet to Jay the jungle felt strange and somehow empty.

  “Mizar, have we come to the correct site?”

  “It smells so…” A creaking as the hound raised its fearsome head. “Yes… this is… Nazrat’s locus.”

  Jay glanced from side to side. “It seems wrong. Too quiet? That’s not quite right, but something is missing.”

  Dubhe dropped to his shoulder. “I spotted the plains through a gap in the canopy, Jay.”

  “Good,” Jay said, still distracted. “Mizar, when we reach the plain would you find the trail of the phants?”

  “Which… phants?”

  “Tranto’s herd, if you can. Any will do. They keep tabs on each other. Even a lone bull should be able to give us directions.”

  Mizar wagged his cable tail in acknowledgment. When they left the green coolness for the sunlit grasslands, he dropped his nose to the ground and began casting about. Jay, seated on a hummock in the shade, watched, still trying to place the source of the strangeness he sensed. He was no closer when Mizar gave a low bay.