Fool’s Run

by Patricia A. Mckillip

  “That’s it. That’s it!” The Scholar’s fury cracked across the Magician’s concentration like a thunderclap, making him wince. “You tossed away our futures like last week’s garbage, you plugged up the Underworld like a hornet’s nest to rescue the lunatic of the century, and then, Lochinvar, you forgot the girl and came away with the goddamn buzzing hornet’s nest instead! You’re over the edge. You ever hear of Mutiny on the Bounty? Well, this is it, Captain Magic. Soon as you shut down, I’m taking over your ship.”

  “You can’t fly,” the Nebraskan said dourly.

  “I don’t care!”

  The Magician spun his chair, arms braced against the grinding pull. “You’re the one who told me,” he said with sudden passion, “don’t look back. You said that!”

  “That’s a story! A myth!”

  “That’s the point!”

  “What’s the point?”

  “Remember when we talked about symbols on the way to the Underworld?”

  “Symbols!”

  “Listen to me,” he pleaded. His voice was taut, strained so fine it held almost no timbre. “Listen. Remember the things we talked about. The wedding ring, the cross, the eye within the triangle…You look at them, you know what they are. They speak without words. They are a language. Words without sound. They mean. They’re symbols. Messages. Of what? Of hope, of fear, of faith, of love and hate…above all things, of change. Transformation. You know what a gold ring means. The meaning is old. Cultural. A circle of gold spoke of everything from daydreams to money, from ritual to politics. Now it’s a historical curiosity. A fashion you wear if you think it looks good on you. But the symbolism is still there. You recognize it. It speaks to you without words, of what it once was. To us: we’re human. But what would an alien see in a circle of gold? If you saw a bent oval on purple sand, what would that mean to you? Anything? Nothing. But it means, it speaks to someone, something, somewhere. And Terra sees it. I see it. And it speaks…What would a shower of crystals falling into light mean to you? Nothing. Nothing to me. But when they fell through my mind, they spoke. I felt the message in them, the force, the command to transform. I don’t understand them, I don’t know what they are. But I know what response they demand…

  “Once the symbols we used for business logos burned like fire with meaning. Once they were something to die for. We invented them, we put our need into them, and once we needed them as much as life. Sometimes more than life. What Terra has seen all these years, what I see now, are parts of a vision. Alien vision. A vision of transformation. And within the vision, there is no choice. The strange images she sees—we see—are a language of absolute necessity. They must be responded to. Or life will not continue. I think the response is physical. I’m not sure. I don’t understand the messages, I’m not the one responding, but I can see the images and I can feel the need…” His voice was shaking. He felt blood trickle out of the crust over his eye. “I don’t know why she and I both got caught up into this need. The vision of change. But there is no way out of it. We are compelled to witness the vision, the change. There is no choice. I must witness. I want to witness. I am caught up in all the alien force of need, necessity, and I want this more than music…

  “The transformation is beginning. It could take minutes, by our measure of time; it could take years…For now, it’s the only future I’ve got. I’m sorry I got you into this. I’ll do all I can in my power to get us out of it. But within the alien vision there is no Dark or Light Ring, no hornet’s nest, no human law. Only its own imperatives. The images that demand response. If you force me back to the Underworld, I’ll be babbling in a bubble just like Terra, for as long as it takes to complete the vision…”

  …A surface hard and clear as glass, rolled into a cylinder. A black line appeared around the cylinder at its center. A red line divided each half. A lavender line split the quarters. A green line…Threads of color stretched lengthwise along the cylinder, cut into it, became absorbed into it, veins of glass within glass. Gradually the colors began to diffuse through the cylinder like drops of ink in water, becoming opaque, misty…The light of the dying star mingled with the colors, rendering them imprecise, uncertain to human perception…

  His arms were trembling. He loosed his grip on the chair, felt the change in gravity and sagged back wearily. He turned his chair to glance at the instrument panel. Then he closed his eyes, grateful for the silence within the Flying Wail, and most deeply grateful for something else. As he had spoken, or as he had dreamed, the thrusters had shut down. Michele was tinkering under the control panel; the Nebraskan and the Scholar and the rest of the instrument cases were in the hold. The Flying Wail still pursued its swift, arbitrary course through the dark.

  No one had moved to stop him.

  TWO

  Klyos to Maindock,” Jase said, his eyes on the distant blur of red in the dark that was the Flying Wail’s exhaust. “Klyos to Main-dock.”

  Maindock, responding, sounded bewildered. “Maindock. Sir, we’re receiving you on UF. Where are you?”

  “I’m in the Hub-craft,” Jase said between his teeth, “in pursuit of the Flying Wail.”

  Maindock, hesitating, came up with the one comprehensible fate in the situation. “The Hub-craft is not a pursuit vehicle—”

  “I know it’s not a goddamn pursuit vehicle,” Jase shouted, “but it’s the only goddamn vehicle capable of getting out of the Underworld without a harpsichord on board!”

  “Sir,” Maindock said, shaken, “you authorized those challenges.”

  “I authorized them because Terra Viridian had a laser-rifle in my ear!”

  “Holy—”

  “I assume she’s on board the Flying Wail.” He heard Maindock begin to snap orders, then come to an abrupt halt.

  “We can’t—”

  “I know you can’t.”

  “We can’t get out to pursue them,” Maindock said, awed.

  “I—”

  “We let them go. They were right under our noses, we could have melted the Flying Wail to slag in the dock, and instead we let them go—”

  “You—”

  “We just stood there and let them—they’ve crippled the Underworld. A bunch of musicians. I even went to their—sir, there are two incoming cruisers from Earth, both carrying prisoners. Pursuit orders?”

  “Prisoner status?”

  “Both Dark.”

  “No,” Jase said reluctantly. “No. I can’t have Dark Ringers flying all over hell and gone.”

  “Sir, are you sure they’ve got Terra? Phillips says he was watching the Flying Wail pack, he saw the Magician go in, but not—”

  “Then you tell me why I’m in the Hub-craft with the Flying Wail’s tail in my face and you’re all sitting on your back thrusters with no—”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are there other incoming vessels?”

  “Three incoming from the moon, one from Helios. All routine patrols, end of shift. They’ll need refueling, but—” Maindock stopped.

  “They can’t get in to refuel.” He was silent. The Flying Wail’s exhaust flared and his eyes widened. But Aaron had seen it; his hands played the control panel lights, finding power in the Hub-craft Jase hadn’t known was there. The night seemed to intrude into the Hub-craft, exert its bulky body between Jase and the starscreen and shove. “That’s illegal,” Jase muttered, his ears aching. “A private citizen using pursuit thrusters.”

  “There’s not much he doesn’t know about the Flying Wail,” Aaron said, watching the scanner.

  “Order cruisers off the moon and Helios,” Jase said to Main-dock. “I’ll track the Flying Wail as long as I have fuel. Did it refuel in Maindock?”

  “First thing, sir. Are you armed?”

  “Couple of small arms. The Hub-craft itself isn’t armed. There’s no way I can threaten them.”

  There was a slight delay, while Jase listened to static and the garbled ends of sentences. Maindock said finally. “There are eight cruisers preparing t
o take off from the moon and Helios.”

  “Good.” He added to Aaron, “Start transmitting our coordinates to Maindock.” Aaron nodded.

  Maindock said, “You’re not alone?”

  “Aaron Fisher, Suncoast Sector patroller, is flying the Hub-craft. Maindock, I want the Underworld on full alert, emergency communications only, and I want those cruisers out fast, any way you can—”

  “We’re working on it already, sir. Trouble is the only record of the challenges we have access to is the Maindock Log-tape, and some of the notes are lost in background noise. There’s no way to reproduce the challenges in the cruisers when we haven’t got all the notes, and nobody up here can make heads or tails of the music. If we could find somebody who might recognize the music, maybe bring up a keyboard, we could link it to—”

  “Somebody with a keyboard got us into this mess!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sidney Halleck,” Aaron said. The solution was so apt that Jase took his eyes off the Flying Wail a moment to glance at Aaron.

  “Why didn’t I think of that? Does he know the Magician well?”

  “Yes.” Aaron’s face, glowing here and there with panel lights, looked calm, but his words, to Jase’s ear, had a brittle quality, as if a nutcracker were speaking. “They play poker every week.”

  “Poker.” He turned his attention back to the Flying Wail. “Maindock, locate Sidney Halleck, Suncoast Sector. He’s the musical genius who sent Nova up here. Get him working on this. If you can, get him to the Underworld on one of the Earth-based cruisers; if he can play the challenges on that, he can open the dock. Maybe he can talk some sense into the Magician.”

  “We’ve been trying to signal the Flying Wail; it’s not responding. We scrambled their UF.”

  “Maybe they’ll unscramble it. Keep trying. Klyos out.” He kept the com open, listening, but heard nothing out of the Flying Wail. He dragged his eyes from the red glow, and said explosively to Aaron, “Why? You know the Magician. Is he a lunatic?”

  Aaron’s mouth tightened. “Yesterday I would have said there was no one saner. Except Sidney. Was he coerced by Terra Viridian?”

  “Not that I noticed,” Jase said sourly. “He came in while you were up in the Hub-dock, came in when nobody else could get into the Hub, caught me just as I started the docking challenges, started glowing purple and said Terra had let him in. I shot him—” Aaron’s head turned; he made a startled noise. “With a stunner. Then the door-shield exploded—Terra demolished it—and the next thing I knew I had a mouthful of air-chair, a rifle in my ear and the Magician sitting on top of me, playing Bach on the Hub-computer.”

  “I saw him in a trance once,” Aaron said, sounding shaken. “Playing Bach. I guess Bach.”

  “He wasn’t in a trance, he was in a damn vision.” He spoke to the com again. “Klyos to Underworld. Security.”

  “Security here, sir. Ramos speaking.”

  “Where’s Nilson?”

  “In the Hub, sir; the Hub-com’s still not responding.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t after that. Have there been any further incidents since the Flying Wail got out?”

  “No, sir.” He hesitated. “No more incidents. But we can’t find anyone who actually saw Terra board the Flying Wail, or who even saw her leave the Hub. The transport spoke has been under guard since the Magician left the Hub. No one has seen the prisoner.”

  Aaron whistled. Jase scowled at the com. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, sir.”

  “She’s got to be on the Flying Wail. But just in case, tell Nilson to clear the Hub and put it on defense. Tell him two-minute warning, and everyone out. Repeat: everyone. I don’t want anyone in there when it goes off. No telling what kind of mess she might have made of records.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And double the guard along the transport line. If she’s in there and she comes out, she’ll come out shooting.”

  “Sir.”

  “Out.” The drag on his body eased finally, and he drew breath, shifting in the cramped seat. He tried to raise the Flying Wail on different channels; no one responded. He sat back again, his mouth tight, swallowing expletives. He said abruptly to Aaron, “Why would he have any interest at all in Terra? Because of Michele? Did she talk him into it? Were they lovers?”

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  “No.”

  Jase eyed him. Aaron was staring ahead stiffly, not even blinking. “You asked,” Jase said. After a moment, Aaron cracked a couple more words.

  “I asked.”

  “Mr. Fisher,” Jase bellowed, “we have a full-scale emergency on our hands! I need every scrap of help I can get! Will you give me answers of more than one—”

  “I’m not used to—” He stopped, his back rigid, his mouth taut; Jase saw his hands tremble above the panel lights. “I’m not used to—” He had to stop again; Jase waited. “I’m not used to talking about personal things. That’s all. I’ll try. Just take—just take it easy on me. I won’t hide anything. It’s just…hard.” He drew breath, said rapidly, tonelessly, “I loved my wife. For seven years after she died, I cou—I couldn’t feel much. For anyone. I just kept searching for Terra Viridian’s sister. I thought if I found her, then somehow I would understand why my wife was killed. That’s all I cared about. Then—two weeks ago, I met the Magician’s new cuber. She—I—we were lovers. Yes. She made me—she made me feel something. For the first time in seven years.” He took in air again, through his mouth. Jase didn’t move. The straightedge of Aaron’s shoulders sagged a little; he added wearily, “You let one defense down and you find life’s just been waiting, all that time, to haul off and hit you again, in just the same place where it hurt so much before…She was just using me, I guess, to get information. To get at Terra. That’s all there was. I don’t know why I ever had to meet her.”

  “You were looking for her.”

  Aaron was silent. He angled the Hub-craft toward a shift in the Flying Wail’s direction and sent new coordinates back to Main-dock. “I know,” he said bleakly. “But why did it have to be her?”

  Jase sighed noiselessly. The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts…For a moment a tangle of coincidences intruded itself into his thoughts, with one gold strand drifting loose, luring him to grasp it…But in the center of the knot was Terra’s tangled brain, and he was only required to get her back into her cell; nothing in the books required him to understand her.

  He muttered, marveling in spite of himself, “This is the most convoluted mess I’ve ever seen. I should have left you on Earth, let your station head question you about the computer business. At least you wouldn’t be sitting here still pursuing Michele Viridian.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He said bitterly, “I had a hunch about you…” The Flying Wail changed direction again. Jase frowned. “What the hell are they doing waltzing all over the sky?”

  Aaron adjusted their position, transmitted the new coordinates. His hands stilled suddenly; he turned his attention from the scanner to the fleeing cruiser, now heading out of the Solar System. “He’s picking up the coordinates I’m transmitting for the pursuit fleet.”

  “On what?”

  “The UF. She got it working again.”

  Jase hit the com-light again. “You speak,” he said tersely, and Aaron’s face turned to him again. It was masked under the wash of panel lights, but Jase heard his dry swallow.

  “Sir—”

  “Talk to him. See if you can bring him in. At least he might answer you.”

  Aaron drew breath. His voice came finally, loose, detached. “Hub-craft to Flying Wail. Hub-craft to Flying Wail.” Silence bridged the infinite abyss between them. “Magician. This is Aaron Fisher. We’re the blip on your tail. Please respond.”

  A husky, shaken voice traveled across the void. “Aaron? This is Michele Viridian.”

  He opened his mouth, closed it. He shook his head, rigid again, the love, grief and fury in
him all demanding release at once, and all blocking each other, like giants jamming a doorway. Jase recognized futility, and said quickly while the Flying Wail was still listening, “Chief Klyos. Let me talk to the Magician.”

  “He’s—not here.”

  “What do you mean he’s not there?” Jase demanded. “Did you flush him into space?”

  “I mean, he’s here. But he’s not—”

  “God in Heaven.”

  “He’s in a vision.”

  Even Aaron turned his attention from the darkness to the com. Jase closed his eyes. “It’s a damn virus…Flying Wail, you are under arrest. You are ordered to turn immediately and proceed in slow and orderly fashion to the Underworld where all aboard will be formally charged with conspiracy, sabotage, destruction of FWG property, and that’s only the beginning. Failure to do so will render you liable to be scattered in minute fragments from here to Helios. Do you understand that?”

  “Chief Klyos, this is the Magician.”

  “Nice of you to join us, Mr. Restak. Are you finished with your vision? Did you catch the drift of my message?”

  “About blowing us up? Yes.”

  “Then will you turn the Flying Wail around, position it in front of the Hub-craft and return in a slow and orderly—”

  The Magician said simply, “That’s not possible.”

  Aaron found his voice. “Magic-Man.”

  There was dead silence from the Flying Wail. “Aaron?” He sounded stunned. “What in God’s name are you doing up here?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Are you with Chief Klyos?”

  “We’re on your tail, yes. We got out in the smallcraft in the Hub-dock. Magic-Man, what the hell are you all doing? Did you blow your circuits on silver sand, or what?”

  “Aaron—”

  “You know there’s a pursuit fleet behind you. I don’t want to see you die out here. Please. Turn back.”

  “It’s not that simple. Listen—”

  “I know. You might think you’d rather die than spend a few years in the Underworld, but Magic-Man, there must be a reason why you got yourself into this mess in the first place, and if that pursuit fleet catches up with you, I’ll never know why you did such a goddamn, dumb, idiotic, pointless, vapor-brained thing like stealing Terra Viridian out of the—” The Magician had said something; Jase’s hand clamped down on Aaron’s wrist.