VOICES INTRUDED ON his barely wakeful consciousness.
"John Bandicut! John Bandicut—do you have any awareness? Are you—" rasp "—injured? John Bandicut?"
Bwang bwang . . .
Click, rasp. "I register breath and pulse. John Bandicut, please respond. I am certain you are alive, Captain! Please respond!" A metal hand poked at him urgently.
The poking hurt.
Bandicut jerked and blinked his eyes open. He was in a dim place, staring up at a ceiling; at least, he thought it was a ceiling. A small light was shining in his eyes, and it seemed connected to the metal probe that was plucking at him. "Would you for Chrissake stop that?" he barked.
"Captain?" A strained metal voice.
He squinted. Several shapes were moving over him, and he couldn't quite make out any of them. But he knew one of them was Napoleon. He remembered a beast following him into the forest, and lying down nearby.
"What the hell?" he grunted. He waved Napoleon's light away irritably, and pushed himself up to a sitting position. His head throbbed.
"We hoped you would tell us what happened," said another voice. Li-Jared. He felt something else—Ik's hand on his shoulder, steadying him. He looked up at Ik and managed a wan smile.
He hadn't been abandoned, then. Of course not; that was the silence-fugue talking. And the fugue was gone, thank God. He still had a ringing in his ears, but he no longer feared pursuit by tall aliens.
He also no longer felt the presence of a quarx in his head. /Charlie? Are you there? Charlie?/ An icy chill ran up his spine. Had the boojum killed the quarx, then? He remembered at the end, when the boojum's grip had been throttling him, and the quarx had fallen abruptly silent. /Charlie!/
"John Bandicut, what happened? Were you . . . attacked?"
He nodded with difficulty. "Yes," he whispered. "It tried to strangle me."
"Hraah! Napoleon?"
"No! It was—" He swallowed, remembering the sensation of that angry and violent force within his own mind. "The boojum. In here," he croaked, tapping the side of his head. "Took control of my muscles." He put a hand to his throat.
Napoleon clicked in distress. "We were fearful for your safety, John Bandicut. Can you move?"
Bandicut grunted and staggered to his feet, with all three of the others trying to help him. He peered around the dismal place. "Dear God, how did I get here? Never mind. It was the damn silence-fugue."
"The what?" asked Li-Jared.
"Silence-fugue. I'll explain later." His mouth was dry, as he swallowed. "It kept the boojum from killing me. But it got Charlie." He pointed to his temple again.
Li-Jared was staring at him with those blazing, electric-blue eyes. Ik muttered softly; it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Bandicut sighed. "Can we go someplace else?" he asked hoarsely.
"Hraah, good idea."
*
Where Ik took them was to a hotel. He seemed to know what he was doing, and soon they were following a small, floating robot—an inorg, Ik had called it—down a corridor to the suite that the Hraachee'an had rented.
"It is satisfactory," Ik said to the inorg, dismissing it. "Well, my friends?" He gestured around the spacious sitting room. Though decorated in livid reds and oranges, it looked fairly comfortable, with the assortment of rigid and padded seating surfaces that Bandicut was coming to expect. Ik had declined to pay extra from their limited credit for a custom-decorated suite.
Bandicut sank into something like a sofa, with a sigh of relief. He looked around. There were three doorways leading to private rooms. Li-Jared was peering into the rooms, and made a bonging sound that seemed to indicate approval.
"I must say that I am looking forward to some rest," Ik said. "But perhaps we should first talk."
Bandicut realized that his head was far from clear. Nonetheless, he agreed and sat forward to explain what had happened between him and the boojum. Ik and Li-Jared were deeply troubled by his story, though Ik pointed out one possible silver lining. If the iceline had cancelled Bandicut's registration, the boojum might think that it had succeeded in killing him—and would now leave him alone. Bandicut shrugged, thinking that he would rather have the quarx back and take his chances with the boojum. He turned the conversation to what Ik and Li-Jared had been doing. "What did you find out from the—" he searched his memory "—Maksu? And have you learned anything at all about Copernicus?" He glanced at Napoleon, who was hunkered down almost mournfully beside him.
"To the last, sadly no," Ik said. "But as for the Maksu . . ." He explained to Bandicut what had happened in the meeting—the exchange of Ik's and Li-Jared's knowledge of the boojum for the promise of a conducted trip to the ice caverns. "We hope," Ik concluded, "that you will wish to accompany us. But I would be—" rasp "—dishonest if I did not admit that there could be risk."
Bandicut stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words.
Li-Jared cocked his head, saying nothing.
"You need not decide now," Ik reassured him. "We are going to rest awhile before we contact the Maksu again." He snapped his rigid mouth shut in what looked like a frown. "But I must say that I would miss you if you did not join us."
Bandicut nodded. He certainly had no desire to give up the only friends he had in Shipworld. But neither did he want to rush off headlong into some new adventure that he didn't understand. He'd done enough of that for a lifetime.
He desperately missed the voice and counsel of the quarx.
Finally he said, "Thanks, Ik. I would . . . certainly miss you guys, too, if I didn't go with you." He glanced at Li-Jared; the Karellian's eyes pulsed. Bandicut cleared his throat, suddenly remembering Antares: Thespi third female, and closest thing to a human he'd seen on this crazy world. "Uh, look, though. I'd still like to try to make contact with that . . . person . . . before I think about leaving. At least find out who or what she is. And hell, I don't even know anything about this place. The hotel, the city. The continent, the whole damn world. Would you mind explaining some things to me?"
"Ask away," said Ik. "Now is the time."
Bandicut drew a deep breath, and began asking. And Ik answered, and Li-Jared, and they talked about Atrium City and Shipworld until Bandicut could not hold his eyes open any longer, and finally they each chose a room and went straight to sleep.
*
Bandicut rolled over, yawning, and sat up on the bed. Bed! He rubbed his eyes, as it all seeped back into his consciousness. It was the first comfortable night's sleep he'd had in a long time. But not a quiet night. His dreams had been full of words and images of Shipworld . . .
(How large was the place? Billions of kilometers? Or larger?)
(Hard to say; it was discontinuous, not all of its parts connected in normal space, but joined by "n-space connectors," with intermittent but near-instantaneous movement among them.)
(But all of it outside the galaxy?)
(More or less. Except that there were those "star-spanners," linking thousands of worlds in the galaxy to this one. Not continuously, of course; they opened unpredictably, and only for brief periods, no doubt at a staggering expenditure of energy.)
(To transport people here?)
(Or there.)
(Or whole cultures.)
(But who ran it? Who maintained it? Who worked at city hall?)
(Different in every sector. Some places the shadow-people. Some places others. Different economies, societies, redundancies in infrastructure—as though someone had wanted to ensure that the failure of one would not mean the failure of all. And yet, there was a common thread . . .)
(The Tree of Ice?)
(Yes.)
(And that was what appeared to be threatened, by the growing contamination in the control system . . .)
Bandicut grunted, shrugging off the swirl of memory-voices. He stood up, rubbing his eyes. It would take a long time to assimilate the whole picture, with its myriad details. He'd probably forgotten half of it already, while he slept. He turned his thoughts inward. /What do you suppose they use for a shower around here?/
And then he remembered that, too.
Damn.
It was likely, he knew, that the quarx would reappear eventually—in a new incarnation, which might or might not remember him, and would certainly not remember much of what had gone before. Hell of a note to start the day on, with the death of a friend. He felt a sudden upwelling of grief, and the pangs of loneliness that came with it, and he thought, I can't go through this again. I can't. Charlie, why did you have to die again?
He felt a disconcerting shiver, as though a dog were waking up and shaking itself inside his skin.
/// Die? Who died? ///
Bandicut stiffened.
/// Don't mourn me till I'm gone. Please. ///
"Charlie!" he cried, and squeezed his eyes shut. /Where have you been? Where were you? You didn't answer!/
/// I think I just . . . woke up.
I don't know where I was, John.
I remember your being hooked into the iceline.
And something came at us— ///
/Yeah, it came at us, all right./ Bandicut involuntarily touched his throat.
/// It was the boojum? ///
He didn't answer, didn't have to. He felt the quarx shuddering in his mind, and realized that the boojum's attack had been as traumatic to the quarx as to him. /Charlie, the only reason I survived was silence-fugue. Were you knocked out by the attack?/
He could sense the quarx's thoughts rolling and turning, trying to reconstruct what had happened.
/// Knocked out.
Yes, I think that describes it exactly.
John, are you laughing or crying? ///
Bandicut tried to control the silent eruptions in his chest. He wiped away a tear. /I dunno. Jesus, Charlie, I'm so glad you're alive, I feel like doing backflips!/
/// I'm glad I'm alive, too. ///
Bandicut hopped a little and walked around the small bedroom, decorated in shades of charcoal-grey and purple. He wondered for whom, or what species, it was designed. He shook his head, not caring. However, he did need to shower and use a bathroom, and his clothing stank—and all of his spare clothes were in his backpack. With Copernicus. Hell. Copernicus.
/// We'll find him, John.
You've got to trust. ///
/Okay. I'll trust./ He paced, suddenly full of agitation. /Do you know where I can find a shower around here?/
/// How would I . . . oh, wait a minute.
Put your wrist up to the mirror there. ///
/Ah, right. Of course./ He raised his forearm.
The mirror shimmered and vanished, and a cubicle opened in front of him. He peered inside, then walked in. There were no visible fixtures. But a moment later, a warm, sparkling mist began to surround him. He felt his bladder go empty. He sighed with relief and began peeling off his clothes.
He stayed in the shower for a long time.
*
When he finally stepped out of the mist, he found his clothes hanging on the cubicle wall, cleaned and pressed, and restored to new-looking condition. He fingered the light blue cloth in amazement, trying to decide if his jumpsuit had been destroyed and replaced with a brand-new one. But the stitching looked the same, and it felt just like his own jumpsuit, minus the threadbaring effects of age.
/// Nice.
As long as we stay in the hotel,
you won't need your bag. ///
/Mmph,/ Bandicut muttered. /If I stay, you mean. I wonder how much credit I have, anyway./ Ik had described the monetary credit system used in Atrium City. As new arrivals, they were given starter-accounts to see them through the settling-in period. But eventually they would have to perform some sort of service to maintain their balances.
/// Perhaps you could check on a terminal. ///
/Right. With the iceline./ Bandicut zipped up his jumpsuit and ran his fingers through his hair. /What if it tries to suck out my brains again?/
Charlie twinged.
/Well, never mind. I'm stuck here, so I guess I'd better get back up on the horse./
/// ??? ///
/I mean, I can't go around avoiding contact with their datanet forever. I'll just have to be careful, and watch out for the damn boojum, that's all./ Peering into the mirror, he parted his hair roughly with his fingers, and strode out into the sitting room.
Napoleon rose to greet him, from beside the terminal.
"Nappy! Have you been logging onto the system, while I was sleeping?" he asked, meaning it as a joke.
"Yes, Captain," Napoleon said, without a trace of irony. "I've just received a message from Copernicus."
"You what?"
"It came in on the terminal." Napoleon pointed to the translucent-topped pedestal. "It was idented for me. I took it, believing that at level-one connection, text only, I would be able to screen out any dangerous soft-attributes. I thought it better not to wake you unless it was absolutely necessary."
Bandicut stared at the robot, astounded.
/// Extraordinary.
Napoleon seems to be growing in initiative
by the hour. ///
Bandicut blinked, and sank slowly into a chair. "What was the message, Nappy?"
The robot's red-lighted eyes seemed to shift focus. "The text was as follows: I am safe, I have vital information, and I urgently need your help. Are you with John Bandicut? Are you uncontaminated? Can you prove it? End of message." Napoleon's eyes focused again, on Bandicut. "How do you think I should answer?"
Bandicut stared at him, with a tight knot in his chest. He felt as if he had just heard from a missing child. Urgently need your help . . . "What do you make of it?" he whispered.
Napoleon clicked. "Since he did not identify the information, I speculate that it might be in reference to the boojum. That is the last subject we discussed."
Discussed? Bandicut wouldn't have called the confrontation between the two robots, just before Copernicus hightailed it away from them, a discussion.
"I have been trying to devise a way to prove to Copernicus that I am uncontaminated. So far, I am at a loss."
"Well, considering that when we last saw him, you accused him of being contaminated—"
"Yes," said Napoleon. "That is true. I was frightened at the time."
"Frightened?"
"And disoriented, yes." The robot hesitated. "I was frightened by the boojum attacks. I felt vulnerable. I had only just been repaired by the shadow-net—"
"Shadow-net?"
"Iceline subset used by the shadow-people. They were very thorough, but unfamiliar with my structures. There was concern about possible boojum contamination, and I may have picked up some of their concerns. Fears, really."
Bandicut squinted at the robot, his neck hairs prickling at the notion of the robot feeling fear.
Napoleon continued, as though in confession. "When we were fleeing through the power tube, I became alarmed about the possibility of more subtle attack—and the possibility that the contamination might have reached me, or Copernicus, through the shadow-net. Soon I observed Copernicus flying erratically, or so I believed. I did not know why. I may have . . . panicked." With a rasp, Napoleon fell silent.
"I see," Bandicut said slowly. "And do you still think, now, that Copernicus was contaminated by the boojum?"
Napoleon was silent for a few moments. "Probably not," he said at last. "But I cannot be certain."
Bandicut got up and paced. "And what about you?" he said, turning to squint at the robot. "Are you certain that you are not infected?"
Napoleon whirred, but did not move. "How can I be certain? I believe I have not been infected. But how can I be certain, John Bandicut? How?"
To that, Bandicut had no answer. Instead he asked, "Did Copernicus say where he was?"
"I have given you the complete text of the message."
"But what about the system? Didn't the iceline give you any clues?"
"John Bandicut, I made only level-one contact with the iceline. I felt, in view of your recent experience, that deeper involvement might be unwise. Was I wrong?"
"Hell." He didn't know what he thought. He wanted more information, but not at the cost of Napoleon being hit by the boojum.
/// Permission to speak freely? ///
/Sure./
/// It's a difficult problem.
But which is worse—
to risk Napoleon in an iceline contact,
or yourself? ///
Bandicut blinked, staring at Napoleon. /I'm not sure,/ he said softly. /He's practically alive./
/// True. But not quite.
Not yet. ///
Not yet. Charlie was probably right. And Copernicus had said he needed help—urgently. "Nappy, can you send Coppy a reply?"
"Of course, Captain."
"All right." Bandicut pinched his lower lip. "Tell him this: 'YOUR MESSAGE RECEIVED. WE ARE UNCONTAMINATED. PLEASE CONTACT US AT ONCE FOR FACE-TO-FACE COMMUNICATION! SIGNED, JOHN BANDICUT.' That ought to do it."
"At once, Captain." Napoleon strode to the terminal. He pressed a probe to it, it flickered for a moment, and he turned to face Bandicut. "Message away. Shall we wait for a reply?"
"Yeah," Bandicut said. "Let's wait for a reply." He sat back, massaging his forehead.
Five minutes later, Napoleon whirred into motion again, returning to the terminal. His contact lasted only a moment. "Text only," he reported.
"Damn. Let's hear it."
"Quote: Unable to risk direct contact via iceline. MUST have confirmation of your free state. If you are willing, please show yourself in public shopping area, Level 146, block 1012-1070, within one hour. Hroom and rest of shadow-people need your help! Shipworld needs your help! Copernicus." Napoleon paused. "What do you think, Captain?"
"Hell's bells," was all he could think to say.