THE MEMORIES AND folded and unfolded with blinding speed, sorting and resorting and never quite coming into focus. What was it that had led him to flee? Fear? Danger? Real? Imagined? Surely real: his last sight of his companions had been of them fleeing from the same whippets of energy that Copernicus himself had evaded. But they had not followed him into the metaship, at least not at the same location. He had watched as long as he'd dared, and then set out to reconnoiter.
Copernicus sat, paralyzed with thought, atop a low rise overlooking a small settlement of unfamiliar beings. They were not humans, nor Hraachee'ans; he did not know what they were. They were four-legged, and appeared to spend significant portions of their time—when not engaged in heated verbal communications— working at or around the soil, paying particular attention to low-growing foliage. They did not appear to be mining; he did not know what they were doing. He had already decided that he would not risk approaching them, if he could avoid it.
But he had seen something in their settlement that interested him. Terminals. Data-connect points. Access of the sort that he badly needed. Perhaps, if he kept looking, he would find other terminals, away from unpredictable aliens. He needed to make contact: not just with the datanet, but with his companions.
And he had to make sense of the voices he'd begun hearing in his head. >> . . . can you hear us . . . vital that you answer . . . Napoleon not responding . . . must respond . . . >>
They were not human voices, and not Napoleon's. Was it the voice of the boojum? Should he obey? No way to tell; couldn't be sure.
He searched his memory for clues. What was he supposed to do now, cut off from his partners? What was he to make of Napoleon? He was to assist and protect John Bandicut, wasn't he? Or were these voices his new masters? He remembered being afraid, and Bandicut reaching out to protect Napoleon, who was behaving irrationally. But why? Had they all fallen prey to the boojum?
Copernicus needed time to think, but more than that, he needed information. Wherever he was, it was time to move on.
Turning, Copernicus drove down the hill away from the village. He had seen a long, flat path that seemed to resemble a road. If he followed the road, perhaps he would find more terminals.
And perhaps then he would also find the answers he needed.
*
Ik sighed through his ears, as the Maksu fireflies buzzed and flickered about the table. They reminded him of the sparkles he often saw before his eyes when he came out of certain sleep-meditations. Ik was due for some sleep-meditation right now. He had been in a state of alertness for too long. He glanced at Li-Jared, who was stirring restlessly, and Li-Jared's eyes flashed, conveying his thoughts: These creatures make me nervous.
Ik was not about to disagree.
The Maksu-swarm flew together in close, orbiting whirls, making a sound like a low, structural metallic groan. "Your information is valuable, though alarming," Ik heard through the voice-stones in his head. "We would seek any further information you may acquire about the boojum."
Ik rubbed his chest with his fingertips. "Of course. And your exchange?"
The Maksu moaned, "A group will conduct you to the Tree of Ice nexus, 'ice caverns,' and there will attempt to assist you in making contact with the metavoices. We cannot guarantee contact, nor can we guarantee any information you might receive in the caverns."
"We understand that," Ik said, catching Li-Jared's eye. The Karellian flicked his fingers casually.
The Maksu continued, "We do not expect physical difficulties. However, interference from the boojum or other influences may occur at any time. In such cases, we cannot be responsible for your personal safety, or for the completion of your journey."
Li-Jared bwanged indecipherably. He undoubtedly found the disclaimer irritating, even while expecting no more nor less.
Ik touched his stones thoughtfully. During the entire discussion of the boojum and their own recent experiences, the Maksu had buzzed with fear. They seemed terrified of the boojum, though whether out of concern for the integrity of the iceline, or concern for its danger to them personally, he couldn't tell. The iceline network provided considerable information exchange through this sector of Shipworld—not just Atrium City, but a wide region spanning several continents. As nearly as he could gather, the Maksu did not use the iceline as a medium for their distributed colony consciousness. But as dealers in information, they were keenly aware of its role in keeping data flowing.
"We always take responsibility for our own safety," Ik said. "However, in the interests of taking the longer view on the question, we would prefer a certain readiness to provide mutual assistance, if necessary."
The Maksu buzzed for a few moments, but in the end simply left the question hanging. What he heard in translation was: "We are agreed, then?"
Ik and Li-Jared exchanged glances, and agreed.
The Maksu swarmed higher above the table, to depart. "Inform us when you have rested, and we will complete the arrangements. If you have further business to conduct, do not hesitate to contact us."
Ik bowed, and as the privacy curtain dissolved from around them, the Maksu streamed away into the gloom. Ik looked at Li-Jared with relief; his friend's eyes were dim with fatigue. "I am glad to be done with that. I too find the Maksu tiring. And now I am sure that John Bandicut anxiously awaits our return."
Li-Jared muttered his assent. Ik led the way, letting his thoughts touch the local control system for help in finding their table. He felt a nudge that sent them floating through the air toward a partially shrouded table.
"John Bandicut!"
There was no answer. Ik hurried, and passed through the hazy screen around the table.
It was empty.
Ik called to Li-Jared in alarm. "John Bandicut is gone!" Neither man nor robot sat at the table. But there was a puddle of liquid spilled from a glass that was now lying on its side, and a quantity of large, puffed grain kernels strewn across the tabletop. For a moment, Ik thought he had come to the wrong table. But no, John Bandicut had been drinking from that tall glass. Had he gone for a walk—perhaps to find a relief area? It seemed unlikely that he would have left the table in such a state.
"I fear something is wrong," Ik said as Li-Jared joined him. He touched the table globe, rolling his tongue in dismay. The globe was still lit, but there was no response from it when he reached out with his thought.
Click click.
Ik looked up. Behind Li-Jared's hunched form, an inorganic maintenance unit floated into the privacy zone. Li-Jared's eyes flared, but he dipped a shoulder to let it pass. It floated forward and hovered over the table like a game ball, bristling with probes and attachments.
"Is there difficulty with the unit?" the inorg buzzed.
"It would seem so. Our companion disappeared while we were away," Ik rumbled. "I want to track him, but the globe does not respond."
Click click. "Malfunction was detected at the local iceline control node. I was dispatched to investigate."
Ik felt the muscles behind his ears twinge. He watched as the inorg drifted, humming, close to the globe light. He glanced at Li-Jared. "Do you think it could be the boojum?" he murmured.
"The robot, you mean? Perhaps it was contaminated, after all, and overpowered him?" Li-Jared circled the table warily, peering for clues.
Ik considered the suggestion, as the inorg did something that caused the globe light to wink out. "It is possible. But if there was a malfunction in the globe light or the iceline, what I fear is . . ." He hesitated. "I do not truly know what to fear."
Li-Jared circled back to him, eyes blazing. "I fear the robot." His gaze swept the darkened room outside the privacy zone. "It is a pity. I was almost starting to like your new friend."
"That is remarkable in itself," Ik murmured. "I wish John Bandicut were here to appreciate it."
"He does, after all, have stones," Li-Jared said.
Ik hrrm'd. "I think more than that, my friend, that John Bandicut has skills and perspectives that you and I lack. We are a good team, Li-Jared, but I have often felt that we are incomplete. John Bandicut may be the missing component."
The globe light blinked back on. Click click. "System contact is reestablished. Do you wish to try again?"
Ik felt a steely chill. Did he wish to try? Of course. How else could he hope to find John Bandicut? But what if the iceline malfunction was connected to the boojum? "Do you know what caused the problem?"
"System disruption, cause unknown."
"Gaah," Ik muttered, and leaned forward over the globe. This time the light sparkled and danced at the edge of his thoughts. /Request tracking tag on companion John Bandicut, human of Earth,/ he thought silently.
The iceline's response was immediate: <<<That registration is closed.>>>
Ik's eyebrows hardened. /Please elaborate./
<<<No elaboration available.>>>
He hesitated. /Can you provide tracking tag on companion Napoleon, robot of Earth?/
<<<One moment. Present location of that individual is Atrium, level one-zero-four north, vicinity of address number one six-seven-six.>>>
Ik rumbled softly to himself. What could the robot possibly be doing? And why would it have left—unless it was under the boojum's control, or out of control? He and Li-Jared would have to proceed with great caution. /Is there,/ he asked the globe, /anyone organic or inorganic with the robot?/
<<<There is one unidentified, organic living being in close proximity. No further information available.>>>
Hraah. /Thank you./ Ik straightened from the globe. The inorg was still hovering over the table, and he informed it that the globelink appeared to be working.
Click click. "Very good. We apologize for any inconvenience caused by the malfunction." The unit buzzed again, then floated away into the darkness.
Ik told Li-Jared what he had learned, and they did likewise.
*
As she sat in silent repose in her hotel suite, Autumn Aurora (Red Sun) Alexandrovens, iceline signature Antares, wrestled with newfound confusion. It was a disconcerting state for the Thespi third female. But lately she had been feeling this way far too often.
Twice tonight she'd been taken by surprise. First the glimpse of that being in the lounge, whose racial features so strikingly resembled her own. He was not a Thespi male, but he was astoundingly close in appearance, compared to anyone else she'd encountered on Shipworld. She'd sensed his interest at once, his startlement, his hesitation. And his . . . alienness, even in his similarity. She'd been so unsettled, when he'd just stared at her without making any greeting, that she'd practically fled in her confusion. And then in the midst of her transport back to her hotel had come the iceline contact: a query from that very same one, through the iceline mediator.
John Bandicut was his name. Human was his race. Earth was his homeworld.
She'd given him a signature for making contact, but he'd made no attempt to do so.
She was torn by conflicting desires. She found it excruciating to simply wait for his call. How long had she been seeking others of her kind? A year, at least. And now: not her wish, exactly—but something tantalizing, and yet alarming. The iceline gave her a name trace, and the answer was a shock. A John Bandicut had been present in the southern continent, where a star-spanner factory and much of the surrounding population had nearly been destroyed by a control system demon. That information set her pacing, until she forced herself to sit and focus.
She knew the incident all too well. She'd been there herself—in the vicinity, that is, though she'd had nothing to do with it. It came during a tour of the area, part of her ongoing, futile search for leads to any possible fellow Thespi exiles. Her search was interrupted by evacuation alarms sending hundreds or thousands of citizens into shelters. When she learned how close she'd come to disaster, she abandoned her fruitless search there and took the first transport north, to Atrium City, the closest thing she had to a home. And tried to put the whole thing out of her mind. Control demons scared her. She'd heard too many reports of their mischief lately. But now, it seemed, that event was following her, in the person of John Bandicut, almost-Thespi.
Keep a safe distance.
Good advice, she thought. But the truth was, she wanted to know more about this, this human. She rose again and began walking through the grottolike spaces of her quarters, in and out through the curved formations, past the small pool, pacing more like a first female in the height of courtship than a coolly reserved third female whose role was facilitation, not passion. It wasn't that she felt an attraction, but she certainly felt an intense curiosity.
And that, she knew, was dangerous. It was curiosity, of course, that had begun the chain of events that had almost cost her life, back on the Thespi homeworld. Curiosity about passions, about relationships forbidden to those of her caste. And yet . . . now, as then, her curiosity could not be denied.
She touched the knowing-stones in her throat, wondering what the risks might be. She closed her eyes, reaching out to brush the cool stone walls with her fingertips as she paced; and she thought, if this human John Bandicut tried to contact her, she ought to have made up her mind how to answer.
*
There was an annoying buzz in his ears as he ran, gasping for breath, lost. It was persistent, that buzz, but erratic in tone and volume. Bandicut finally realized what it sounded like: a mosquito-thing that had bitten him, a long time ago. It had taken something from him—information, or quantum stability, someone had said. It scared him to remember it.
He didn't remember much else. A fog shrouded his mind, one layer of obscurity folding into another, a maze with intangible walls, dissolving and reforming in incomprehensible patterns. He knew there had been an attack.
Someone trying to kill him.
And that was why he was running. There were aliens in pursuit—terrible, screeching beings brandishing long, thin, sparkling blades. Panting, he sprinted down one last stretch, then gasped, slowing to peer over his shoulder through blurred eyes. They were gone now; he'd outrun them.
It didn't mean he was safe, though. His comrades had all abandoned him, Charlie had abandoned him, his robots had abandoned him. All alone, he'd been making his way through a forest, dodging ogres and braving treacherous crossings over a bottomless valley. He didn't know where he was, but perhaps he could find shelter in a cave somewhere.
He felt a low barrier before him, smooth against his hands. He was standing near the edge of the precipice again. Dangerous; but better to know where the precipice was than to risk stumbling into it! He leaned over, peering into the shadowy depths of the canyon. He heard a distant cry, felt a rush of vertigo, and tottered back again to regain his balance.
Careful, careful. There could yet be aliens about, and some of them could control your mind, make you go over the edge without even knowing what you're doing.
Careful.
He took a deep breath and turned away from the canyon's edge. He limped into a gloomy opening and returned to the foreboding woods.
After some prowling, he came to a series of smaller openings in the dense growth, a sort of maze of shelters. Perhaps he could rest awhile in one of those. He squinted, trying to peer into the gloom. Yes, it was secluded in here, and empty. He went three steps further, then collapsed in a heap. Alive, but exhausted. And alone.
Or maybe not. He raised his head abruptly; he thought he saw a beast now, shambling about among the shadows. He swallowed back a rush of fear. But the beast, too, was settling down to rest, rasping to itself. He didn't know what kind of creature it was. It seemed interested in him, but appeared to intend him no harm. He decided to let it stay.
Yes, he'd let it stay . . . for a while . . .
And then his consciousness slipped away.
*
As he hurried with Li-Jared, Ik found his fears for their friend warring with his anxieties about the plans they had made with the Maksu. He worried that the boojum might attempt to interfere with their quest for the ice caverns. Why it would care, he wasn't sure; but he suspected it didn't want anyone acquiring knowledge about the metasystem, knowledge that might threaten its own plans. And if the boojum interfered, they could forget about help from the Maksu. Already terrified of the boojum, the Maksu seemed paralyzed by the thought of what it might do if aroused.
Not that Ik was eager to take it on himself. But if it came to that, how could he not do his part in the struggle, in the interests of the long view? And now, this—Bandicut's disappearance. What a pity if he were taken by the boojum, or dead! Bandicut not only seemed like the partner they had not known they were missing; he seemed someone who at least had the potential for taking the long view.
"This is a quicker way," Li-Jared said, grabbing Ik's arm and pointing toward a cluster of fastlifts.
Ik exhaled through his ears, bringing his thoughts back to the task at hand. "Should we? If the boojum is tracking us, it might not be wise to take a lift that is under iceline control."
"And if it is doing something to your friend, then every delay counts," the Karellian pointed out.
"Hrahh." Ik gestured and followed Li-Jared into the fastlift. Standing together in a bubble of light in a shaft, they streaked upward.
Ik blinked in the changing light, remembering the light of the hot blue sun of Hraachee'a. He missed it terribly. Blue stars, while achingly beautiful, did not live nearly as long as the slower-burning yellow stars that the majority of inhabited worlds circled. Ik's people had grown to maturity knowing that life, even on a planetary scale, was frightfully short. They had, of course, died when their sun blew—an experience that drove home to Ik the ephemerality of life, and reinforced in him a lifelong habit of taking the long view.
He wished he had more company in that respect.
The great open space of the atrium sprang into view as they rocketed out of the shaft. When the bubble let them out on level 104, Ik grunted in satisfaction.
"No boojum yet," Li-Jared noted.
"If we are fortunate, it has gone back into hiding. This way to one-six-seven-six." Ik pointed along the atrium balcony. They had to pass a crowd of serpentine beings coming the other way along the balcony. The serpents sprawled across most of the walkway, and they hissed and muttered, giving way with ill grace to the Hraachee'an and the Karellian. Ik was fuming by the time they were past the crowd.
"Easy, my friend," said Li-Jared. "I may have been hasty before. The Bandie has survived a great deal already. Let us trust him to survive this, too."
"The boojum becomes bolder, ever bolder," muttered Ik, lengthening his stride. "I wonder if there is anything in the iceline that can stop it anymore."
"Perhaps, perhaps not," said Li-Jared. "But let's not count our companion out just yet."
Ik glanced at Li-Jared, startled. Our companion? Perhaps being left alone to share a drink with Bandicut had done the moody Li-Jared some good. Until this, of course.
Ik glanced at the numbers on the passing openings and doorways. Their destination was a long way down.
*
The buzzing was what brought him back, not to full consciousness, but to a dreamy, eyes-closed half-awareness. After a moment, Bandicut realized that he was, after all, only remembering the buzz rather than hearing it; but the memory was powerful enough to make his mind reel. Buzzing. Silence-fugue. Boojum.
It had attacked him, tried to kill him. Only the eruption of silence-fugue had saved his life, by jamming the boojum's deadly inputs in his brain.
He shivered, as the memory replayed in his mind.
Whatever else, he knew the touch of the boojum now. He didn't think he'd ever forget it, or fail to recognize it, no matter how it might try to disguise itself. He still didn't understand its nature, but he understood more than he had before.
But still, his mind was filled with questions, with thoughts of chaos.
Turbulence.
Nonlinearity.
He remembered Charlie-One and Charlie-Two deluging him with incomprehensible images of chaos calculations. Phase-space, attractors, strange attractors, meta-attractors: the medium in which chaos and order were drawn, one out of the other, like handkerchiefs from a magician's hat. The quarx's translator had treated such things as the stuff of ordinary life. Bandicut hadn't understood much of the imagery, just enough to know that the translator's knowledge of it had saved the lives of billions on Earth.
And then had caromed him like a pinball out of the galaxy—and landed him in Shipworld, a place that seemed awash in turbulence and chaos. And it seemed to want him to do something here. You are needed. But for what?
Chaos.
The boojum.
Li-Jared had implied that the boojum might have emerged from chaotic processes. Perhaps it had ridden in on the winds of space, an unwanted byproduct of the sifting of living beings into this world from elsewhere. Or perhaps it had arisen right here, spawned by turbulence in the very place where it lived now: the control system, the datanet, the iceline, perhaps even the Tree of Ice. Perhaps it was a once-benign entity that had mutated, turned destructive and cunning.
Whatever its origins, he knew it now to be a living contamination in the system, like a computer virus, maybe, but far more dangerous and pernicious. It was alive in every sense he could imagine. It thought. (He had felt it think.) It feared. It hated. It lusted. (For what? Chaos?) Did it reproduce?
Bandicut shuddered at the thought. He heard a clicking nearby, but it was receding into the distance. He tried to focus on it, but couldn't quite, though it was familiar.
He'd lost the thread of his thought. He groaned softly, and did not resist drifting back into the murk of unconsciousness.
*
The address turned out to be a dusty, disused-looking doorway. Ik peered in, found a wooden door ajar. He pushed it open cautiously. There was no sign of life inside.
Dust stirred and floated into view.
"Ik, use care." Li-Jared's voice was soft, penetrating, behind him.
"Hrrrm." Ik stepped through the doorway, keeping close to the wall, and willed his eyes to adjust quickly to the low light level. It was an empty room, apparently the front room of a cluster, perhaps an apartment space. There was nothing here but dustballs.
"This does not look promising," Li-Jared murmured.
Ik silently approached the next doorway. It appeared to lead to a back room or to a hallway. Ik was accustomed to exploring new places in Shipworld—it was practically a way of life now—but he wasn't used to sneaking. His hearing sharpened in the silence.
He found himself in a dim hallway, with four rooms on the left side. The electronic doors were turned off. He peered carefully into the first two rooms. Empty. The only light in each was the soft glow of a safety light. He heard a faint clicking. He turned quickly, saw Li-Jared's eyes narrow to bright slits. The clicking sound was familiar. "Who is there?" Ik rumbled.
He was answered by a faster clicking. It was coming from down the hall.
"Hwahh!" said Li-Jared, pointing.
A metal probe stuck out of the last doorway. A tiny camera eye glowed. Whirring, a metal robot stepped into the hallway. "Ik, sir! I am overjoyed to see you! Please hurry!"
"Napoleon! What has happened? Where is John Bandicut?"
"In here! In here!" the robot cried. "I am unable to help him, and there is no response to my emergency signal! I believe we are out of range of Triton control. Can you assist?"
"Rakh!" Ik cried, and hurried past the robot into the dusty room.
John Bandicut was crumpled motionless on the floor.