Moving Earth

by Dean C. Moore

  So he continued walking.

  He had no idea where to, or if it even mattered anymore.

  For Ajax was right. A winning strategy in a game that took millions of years to win, or more, was not exactly the out he was looking for either.

  And Leon might well be lying to himself about the timeline just to keep from suiciding on the spot and reincarnating in a far more accommodating sector of the cosmos.

  ACT FIVE

  THE COLLECTORS’ MENAGERIE

  SIXTY-ONE

  ABOARD THE NAUTILUS

  LEON’S PRIVATE QUARTERS

  Even lying in bed, unable to move, and sweating profusely, with Cassandra seated on the bed at his waist, sponging him, Leon told himself that nothing fundamentally had changed. The game remained the same. Explore the other galaxies in The Collectors’ Menagerie. Find out what these other galactic civilizations were capable of, and how Leon could use them to further their collective purposes—namely getting them all the hell out of the grip of The Collectors.

  He’d decided lying there that even the Kang deserved to be free, to be what they were. And the multiverse could damn well check their power, as need be, in a far more humane manner. They were just a Galactic civilization, for Techa’s sake, not even a very advanced one.

  If anything, only the stakes had risen. Leon had once hoped to solicit the cooperation of the TGCs and TGEs, once he had enough to offer them, even as a lowly galactic civilization. In command of the Gypsy Galaxy, a go-anywhere militarized quadrant of space-time that could quickly deploy a formidable battle force wherever it was needed in the universe…

  Now it seemed like a naïve dream.

  Think about it, Leon. A single universe couldn’t possibly offer you the work needed for a gypsy galaxy armada. You needed access to the multiverse all along; you were just too dumb to know it.

  Now, as to access to any and all multiverses…

  Well, by the time he escaped the grip of The Collectors, he might have more than the Gypsy Galaxy to play with. He might have a loose confederation of galaxies, each of which could be recruited as needed—even if his allies were testy, even if their cooperation was short-lived, solicited from the likes of civilizations like the Kang Dynasty.

  How like the US policing a planet with the feeble cooperation of its national allies would this fledgling intergalactic federation be that he was pondering.

  If only on a much larger scale.

  But he could make a loose TGO—a Transgalactic Order: a composite of Galactic Empires and Galactic Civilizations—do the work he intended.

  Such a consortium could tackle problems at the multiverse of multiverses level.

  Problems like The Collectors and their sick affiliation with TGCs and TGEs every bit as corrupt.

  His Gypsy Galaxy would still do the bulk of the fighting, but it would have even more far reaching resources it could draw on as needed.

  Why are you lying flat on your back, you twit! Feeling oppressed by all this? The Collectors did you the best favor they possibly could. They put you in the fast lane to your goal. Now the only thing slowing you down is you. Get moving, soldier!

  He sat up in bed.

  Cassandra put down the sponge. “Pity I didn’t have to beat some sense into you. I could use the workout.”

  He smiled at her. “I love you too. You must be getting damn soft to be giving me sponge baths.”

  “The water is laced with nanites designed to make it impossible to simply lie there and not feel even more tortured.”

  He smiled. “Very considerate of you. You were reading my mind the whole time?”

  “Of course. I had to be ready to strangle the life out of you if any more stupid ideas started coursing through your head.”

  He stood up. “Good. Saves me a lot of arm-twisting. I presume you can still tunnel us into another galaxy within the Menagerie.”

  “Of course, but…”

  “You want to know how we can minimize the number of excursions to save time, draw ourselves only to the civilizations that can do us the most good now, save the rest for later. That is a conundrum. Because we need to scan beyond just this galaxy.”

  “Didn’t you say Sonny had chanced on the necessary technology…?”

  Leon nodded, as he finished dressing. “Good old, Sonny. With a nose for the netherworlds, and just what’s most worth getting to know about them. No region of space-time so dark that he doesn’t feel entirely at home there.”

  “We’ll need more than his nose and his multiverse scanner.”

  “Perhaps Solo can come up with another supersentience to do the filtering for us?” Leon said leadingly.

  “He’s already working on it, having anticipated this request.”

  “And…?”

  “Solo coming through for us is never the problem,” Cassandra replied. “The bigger problem is Sonny. He and his clones negotiate better on his behalf than on yours. And the original is now protected by one of the Blues.”

  “Of Solo’s species?”

  Cassandra nodded. “It will be difficult even for me to get past her. The man took the brief amount of time you’ve been on your back to place himself in a very strategic position to rip your galactic empire out from under you.”

  Leon actually smiled. “Think of converting negatives into positives, Cassandra. Where we’re headed, the Nautilus’s diplomats won’t be of any use. We’ll need clones of Sonny, and his people, and the original protected by his Blue to fan far and wide through the Collectors’ Menagerie. Going where others fear to tread, and to spots even supersentiences might be inclined to overlook without fully milking their value.”

  “You’re mad. He’s already gotten a stranglehold on the Gypsy Galaxy. Now you want to give him a stranglehold on your negotiations with every galactic federation imprisoned within The Collectors’ Menagerie?”

  “We’re on a time clock, Cassandra. We can’t do this without him. One thing about Sonny, just promise him more than the other guy can promise him, and he’ll be only too happy to cooperate. He’s fanatically loyal to the true alpha in any pack—and that includes a pack of galactic federations.” Leon strapped on the latest weapon. “Besides, you don’t think those galactic leaders are going to tell me the truth, do you? We’ll need him and his people to see past their lies and subterfuge—it is what Sonny and his people excel at. Let him clone his spies to infiltrate every galaxy in The Collectors’ Menagerie. Now, combine that with the AI Solo is building for us for sorting through worthwhile allies and adversaries best avoided—Techa knows it might well take an AI to figure friend from foe amid the complex tapestries of lies—and we might just get somewhere in our timeframe.”

  She nodded. “I love that about you. You always find the most dangerous way to solve a problem. Keeps me in shape.”

  “The boldest path is the safest.” He sheathed the pop-out knife under his shirt sleeve as the final added touch.

  “Now, let’s go talk to Sonny, make him an offer he can’t refuse.” He was already walking toward the sliding doors leading out of his suite.

  “If you can’t, I certainly can.”

  Leon had to admit, there were times when he found Cassandra’s viciousness positively endearing.

  SIXTY-TWO

  THE LUCKY STREAK

  Leon and Cassandra materialized on the Lucky Streak, Sonny’s bell of the ball casino/way station, one of many he’d commandeered from the Dead Zone. Leon was only too happy to let him occupy himself with his casinos, figuring it would at least minimize the trouble he could get into when off the leash.

  The second he was of solid enough form to do so, Leon did a full 360.

  The joint was jumping.

  The casino was packed to the gills with gamblers engaged in games of every variety, some of which Leon was familiar with, most of which he wasn’t.

  Sonny found him with that nose of his long before Leon could set eyes on him in this melee. “What the hell, Sonny?” Leon said. “I can’t have you declare a
holiday for Theta Team. It’s all hands on deck until further notice.”

  Sonny smiled and shook his head slowly. “Guess again.”

  The other shoe dropped for Leon. “These are Gypsy Galaxy lifeforms?” Leon’s jaw dropped.

  “That’s what I thought at first. My people are still looking into it. But early reports are that most of these lifeforms don’t belong to our galaxy, or the Kang’s. They’ve burrowed their way into here from elsewhere in The Collectors’ Menagerie.”

  “Sonny, you have no idea how dangerous these humanoids are.”

  “Hardly an issue,” the Blue by Sonny’s side hissed.

  Leon recognized one of the females of Solo’s species. He was about to ask her name when…

  The sounds of wood splintering.

  It was an outburst at one of the gaming tables.

  Sonny and Leon turned to more closely examine what was going on. The entire Sic bo table had been shattered. A warrior-class being with arms bigger than both Leon’s legs put together, magenta-colored skin, and horns growing out of his cheeks where whiskers might otherwise be, looked up from the floor at his attacker. It was another one of his species—slightly bigger, and even more annoyed.

  Before Sonny, or anyone else could react, the Blue flicked her tongue—longer and more maneuverable than a rawhide whip—at the one getting ready to stomp his friend on the floor. The whip sliced off Stomper’s head as if it were made of papier-mâché instead of a more flexible tusk-like material.

  “Leon, meet Gerlari,” Sonny said regarding his Blue bodyguard with a snicker.

  The fellow gamblers at the table looked up from the head rolling on the floor at the Blue, still recoiling her tongue, and nodded approvingly. Some even clapped.

  Sonny’s robo-restitution crew was already reassembling the table. The robo-spiders’ progeny—each generation dropped reproducing at smaller and smaller scales down to nanoscale—had the table and the game back in action again in no time.

  Tusk Whiskers picked himself off the floor, dusting himself off. He put his hands in the air placatingly in Gerlari’s direction, bowed, and returned to his gaming.

  Leon and Sonny returned to their conversation. Cassandra restrained a smile. She was probably just delighted to find someone even more short-tempered than she was, must have made her feel like she was making real progress.

  She and Gerlari eyed one another testily, sizing each other up.

  “Can you guess what favor I’m going to ask next?” Leon asked Sonny.

  Sonny smiled. “I’m really just a humble casino operator. What can I do for someone who operates on such a big canvas as you?”

  “Cute. I gather your Shadow Warriors are already making inroads into The Collectors’ Menagerie.”

  “Shadow Warriors? Truly, Leon, you think too highly of me.”

  “Not possible.”

  Sonny smiled at the compliment and bowed to him. Leon was growing impatient playing this game with him, but Sonny enjoyed making his lion jump up on the chair and do tricks for him. His people would take notice, and that would reaffirm their loyalty. Leon figured he had no reason not to humor him.

  “I have Solo working on a supersentience to help me filter through those countless imprisoned galactic civilizations looking for clues that can help get us out of here,” Leon informed him, “including why they were imprisoned in the first place, what could possibly be so threatening about them, what tech they have that we can make use of breaking free of The Collectors.”

  “Who wants to break free?” Sonny said, puffing on his cigar. “Business is booming like never before. This isn’t the only joint I run, you know.”

  “Yes, I remember giving you an entire fleet of Dead Zone space stations to use for your entertainment empire that could double as a space armada in a pinch with the onboard technology each of these things possesses.”

  Sonny bowed his thank you. “All of which are packed to the gills like this one. All thanks to The Collectors making life so ugly for people they need some kind of outlet. Hell, The Collectors are better for business than you are.”

  Leon took a deep breath and resisted the urge to strangle Sonny with his bare hands.

  Regrouping quickly, Leon took Sonny by the shoulder and walked him off, away from Cassandra and the Blue both.

  Before he could dial up his charm, another fight broke out on this floor of the casino.

  ***

  One of the players at a Black Jack table, evidently not pleased with his busted hand, fired his laser-shooting eyes at the dealer. When Sonny’s dealer changed colors like the chameleon he was before the lasers even got to him, his now mirrored surfaces deflected the lasers, taking out two of the other players at the poker table.

  Laser Eyes, more miffed than ever, unfolded his wings and clapped them together. The metallic wings acted like a car crusher, squishing the blood and guts out of the remaining players, which now spilled out on the floor. Sonny’s dealer had jumped back, in time, and was the only one that had survived.

  Raising one of his heavily taloned hands, Laser Eyes tried to jettison one of his talons at the dealer next. But the nail—as long as a dagger—flew off course. That was because the Blue had caught him up at the edge of her fingernail that had elongated from where she was standing, big enough now to make a medieval knight wielding a lance blush. Laser Eyes dangled off the ground high in the air, twitching, lanced through the head. His wings fluttered helplessly before the light went out of his eyes and the Blue retracted her nail.

  Laser Eyes’ body, like the other from the last fight that broke out, dropped to the floor, where it remained. Apparently the dead bodies lying around assuaged the guests, informing them that security was doing their job.

  As before, the Blue received cat calls from the crowd, who were simply eager to get back to the game. The robo-spiders restored the Black Jack table even more quickly than the last, and the dealer was already back dealing cards for the latest customers.

  “Why are you so slow to respond?” Cassandra asked Gerlari.

  The Blue didn’t take offense. “The customers seem to appreciate the show. If I shut down the aggressor before anyone has any idea what’s going on, they feel cheated. Many have bets riding on someone getting past me. They want to see the confrontations unfold to know how much money to add to the pile on whatever character they’re betting on.”

  Cassandra nodded. “How will you stay sharp with such a lax response?”

  “We Blues do not need to train continually as you do. This is so we can produce progeny while continuing to protect the tribe.”

  “And when pregnant?”

  “We’re even more deadly. The hormones from the child…”

  Cassandra smiled. “I may have to use you for a workout partner.”

  Gerlari actually smiled at her. “The audience would love that. Likely to generate more income for Sonny in one night than he makes in a week.”

  “And it doesn’t look like repairing a trashed casino is the setback it used to be.”

  The Blue smiled but otherwise didn’t respond, her sensitive hearing already attuning to some brewing conflict elsewhere.

  Cassandra continued to study her. She decided the Blue and her would be pretty evenly matched come time for a brawl, but she couldn’t feel threatened by that. The Blue’s genetics made her fanatically loyal to Solo—their pack alpha—and since protecting Sonny was the assignment Solo had given her, she would be happy fulfilling it until the end of time.

  Cassandra had a dedication only to her cause. Her psychopathy and sociopathy was only justifiable so long as it was in service to the greater good. It was how she had been trained and conditioned. And serving the greater good meant being in service to the greatest amount of people on the side of good. That was once the Western Alliance on Earth. Then it was the global alliance on Earth. Recently it had grown to protection detail for the entire Gypsy Galaxy. And soon…

  Cassandra supposed, in her own way, she was every bit as mated
to Leon as the Blue was to Solo, but for different reasons. Leon was the best means to the best ends for Cassandra.

  Without him she would lose her center. Her self-hate would continue to grow no matter how many people she killed, how many battles she won. Her anger, instead of being properly vented, would consume her.

  She knew Leon was merely buying her time, time to override her own genetics. She wondered if she could, any more than the Blue.

  Failing that, he’d already initiated therapy sessions with her to see if he could get her to channel more than just blind rage at the enemy, if she could fight from a place of calm instead of a place of anger, with her emotions dialed down. So far she had softened only slightly and only toward him. As to the rest of creation…

  Time would tell if there was really any saving her.

  ***

  “Sonny, you’re not seeing the big picture,” Leon whispered in his ear, still walking with him through the Lucky Streak, keeping him in a tight hug, with his arm slung over his shoulder. “Why do you suppose a prison exists as big as a multiverse?”

  “Because every universe has to have somewhere to send their incorrigibles.”

  “Yes, Sonny, every universe—each one full of much more potential customers than you could reach inside here.”

  “But it will take me lifetimes to feel like the walls are closing in on me in my very own multiverse, Leon.”

  “Your very own multiverse? Don’t you mean The Collectors, who will always have the power to pull the plug on you whenever they want?”

  “I doubt they will. They tend to have a very hands-off approach to these things.”

  Leon sighed. “You may well be right. As to the walls not pressing in on you… Already your clones saturate the Gypsy Galaxy, aboard every one of the Dead Zone habitats that can possibly be dual-purposed as entertainment centers/way stations. I know my world starts to close in on me every time I run into another version of you.”

  “That’s not very nice, Leon.”