/// John, are you certain that this is wise? ///
/Of course I'm not certain./ Bandicut shrugged and turned away from the closed doors to Ik's and Li-Jared's rooms. Knocking had produced no results. Maybe they were just sleeping; maybe they couldn't hear him knock. But he was reluctant to barge in on either of them.
He couldn't not go to Copernicus, not after that urgent plea. And he didn't think it was the boojum impersonating Copernicus; he didn't think the boojum would have invoked the shadow-foreman's name. Hroom needs your help. That did not sound like the boojum's voice to him. Anyway, with luck, the boojum thought he was dead.
"Napoleon, you're sure we can find our way around out there?" he asked the robot.
"Captain, as long as the maps I downloaded are accurate, there should be no problem."
Bandicut was not wholly reassured, but he could not avoid taking some risk. For Copernicus's sake. And Hroom's.
/// I've no quarrel with your intentions.
But shouldn't you at least leave a message
for Ik and Li-Jared. ///
/I would, but there's nothing here to write on. And anyway, could their translators make any sense of my handwriting?/
/// Why not use the terminal? ///
/Wouldn't that tell the boojum where I'm going?/
/// If it's reading your mail, it already knows.
But as you say, it probably thinks you're dead. ///
/Mm./ Bandicut cleared his throat. "Nappy, can we leave a local message for Ik and Li-Jared on this terminal?"
Click click. The robot stepped to the terminal and placed a sensor probe against a shiny plate on its side. "I believe so, yes. You can leave voice if you like. Simply speak what you want to say."
Bandicut thought a moment. "Begin message. 'Ik and Li-Jared, we have received a message from Copernicus and gone to answer it. I was unable to wake you. We will be at—' " He glanced at Napoleon. "What was the address?" Napoleon repeated the block numbers. " 'Right. Nappy says he can find it. Coppy's message sounded urgent; we'll leave it so you can read it for yourselves. We should be back soon—with Copernicus, we hope.' " He let out a long breath. "End message." He turned to Napoleon. "Can you leave Coppy's message for them?"
Napoleon retracted his probe. "Done. Are we ready?"
Bandicut waved him toward the door. "Let's go. And remember your origins."
"Captain?"
"You're a recon robot. So remember everything you see out there. And don't call me Captain."
"Aye aye, John Bandicut." The robot hummed with seeming excitement, and led the way out.
*
The sitting room, which he vaguely remembered as being on a little spur off a long hallway, let him out into a twisting corridor that gave a feeling of being in an ant's nest. It looked not at all familiar. As they walked, he realized that they had not passed a single other door, or even a corridor intersection. Perhaps the hotel allowed one to go only to one's own room. Did it reroute the hallway each time someone came and went?
Whatever the explanation, the hallway let them out into a lobby ornamented with shallow pools and streams, and plants that were rooted in rock, in water, in air, and even a few in soil. Sunlight streamed in through angled skylights. He glanced, in passing, at the other hotel patrons—a wide assortment of bipeds, quadrupeds, crawlers, and rotiforms. The sight stirred an odd mixture of feelings: wonder at the alienness and variety, a deep longing for some sense of connection with them, and a terrible loneliness for Earth. He wondered what Julie was doing, or would have been doing right now, if their lives were not separated by an impossible gulf of time and distance.
/// Coppy. Focus on Coppy. ///
"Yeah. Lead on, Napoleon." He followed the robot outside to a fastlift that whisked them up some unknown number of floors. They emerged on a balcony and walked to the edge of the vast atrium. Bandicut fingered the handrail and peered over, shivering at a sudden memory of standing at one of these railings while half out of his mind with silence-fugue. The people on the bottom floor looked like microbes now. He swallowed and stepped back. Overhead, the sun—or whatever it was—cast a dazzling blanket of light, not from a point source, but more like an unfocused band in the sky. He could not tell whether it came from miles up, or just a few stories above the top floor.
"John Bandicut," Napoleon urged, "we need to go this way."
Bandicut gestured him onward. "You know where we came out, right? And the hotel?"
"Yes, Captain," Napoleon said patiently.
They walked until they reached one of those terrifying, spindly arches spanning the atrium. Several tall, green bipeds were crossing the arch toward them, half-walking, half-floating. They stepped off close to Bandicut, seeming untroubled by the height. The opposite side of the atrium, where the arch ended, looked colorful and full of activity. "You're about to tell me we have to cross this thing, aren't you?" he asked.
"Yes, Captain. That's our destination, over there. That's where we hope to find Copernicus."
Bandicut peered across, and remembered to breathe. What was over there? Stores, maybe? He studied the arch. The thought had scared him before; now they were, if anything, even higher in the air.
/// I seem to see a memory of
your crossing several of those,
while fleeing from the boojum. ///
He shivered as Charlie flashed the memory to him. /Yeah, but I was insane at the time./ Running from aliens with swords. He pressed his lips together, thinking, I can't just give in to the fear, though, can I? And we do have to find Copernicus. /Theoretically I should be able to cross this, right?/
/// You mean without plunging to your death? ///
/Yes. And thank you for the word choice./
/// Sorry.
Let me ask the translator-stones. ///
"It is a narrow passageway," Napoleon observed, springing up and down a little on his metal legs. "But we have crossed these before."
Bandicut said nothing.
/// The stones say you won't fall. ///
/Good./ He moved toward the beginning of the arch. "Let's go find Coppy."
/// Unless, of course,
the safety systems are compromised. ///
/You just had to say it, didn't you?/ Bandicut took a deep breath and stepped out over the abyss.
*
It was at once exhilarating and terrifying. He tried not to look down. His heart was pounding; he felt as if he were walking a tightrope. The robot whirred behind him, distracting him for an instant. He stubbed his right toe, and stumbled, and felt a sickening lurch as his weight shifted. You're dead. But he wasn't; the transport-field caught him and floated him up, a few millimeters above the slender arch. Dear God! He was shaking now, but he stared resolutely straight across, taking deep breaths, and tried not to think about what the boojum could do to the transport-field.
The boojum was apparently occupied elsewhere. The arch landed him gently on the far side. He gasped, staggering for the first few steps—and suddenly felt himself reliving, vividly, the first time he had stepped off a moving slidestair as a child. The terror this time was not much different.
Napoleon landed right behind him. "Interesting, isn't it, Captain. Exciting."
"Is that what you thought? I'm glad one of us liked it," he answered. "Now, do you know where we are? Where we're supposed to go?"
"I believe we are there," Napoleon replied, striding toward what looked like an open maze of gardens and shops and terminals and fast-food establishments. It was a well populated little mall which wouldn't have seemed too far out of place back in L5 City. The population mix was as varied as in the hotel lobby. Bandicut saw a number of low, squat beings who looked like stumps with pincers, and he was not disappointed when Napoleon suggested they move away toward another group of shops. There he saw two apparent brethren of the officious treelike being who had met them upon their landing in the park. They kept walking.
"Do you know what we're looking for?" he asked.
"We presume Copernicus will be waiting, or perhaps observing us first," Napoleon answered unconcernedly.
"We presume."
They continued through a glittering shop full of holo images and rumbling music. It was a dizzying experience; every time Bandicut turned, there were images of faces and places and abstract patterns erupting in the air before him, then imploding back in startling cascades. It seemed to be a form of entertainment, though for all he knew it was a classroom. He blinked away from the holos and realized that he'd been unconsciously swaying to a thrum of dissonant music. "Captain," said Napoleon, "can you explain the purpose of this place?"
Bandicut squinted at several slender tree-beings and something that looked like a young alligator standing at large, metallic boards with flickering lights. The alligator touched a lighted bar, and the music changed to something Bandicut imagined a shadow-person might like—high-pitched shrieks with no discernible rhythm or melody. The alligator switched a fernlike tail back and forth, and appeared to dance back from the board. "Actually, I think I can," he said.
The robot clicked. "Yes?"
"It's a damn recording shop."
/// Recording shop? ///
/A music store. I'll be b'joogered./ Bandicut laughed, despite his nervousness, as the alligator-alien danced back to the board and touched another lighted bar. The music changed to something with a recurring bass thrum. /Charlie, they've got teenagers on Shipworld. I'll be damned./
/// John—am I missing something? ///
/If you don't know, I couldn't possibly explain it to you. If you ever start remembering those TV shows that Charlie-One loved so much, maybe you'll understand./
Charlie was silent for a moment.
/// I guess I'll try to remember those things, ///
he said at last.
Oddly lifted, Bandicut walked on, out of the recording shop. He surveyed a semi-open area that looked rather like a fast-food palace—gaudily decorated, with colored lights and potted plants and small design panels inset into ceramic walls. Various patrons were gathered near a chrome counter, where they took turns pressing fingers or limbtips into small, lighted recesses. Bandicut watched in puzzlement. He saw no trays or food emerging. Come to think of it, no one appeared to be eating, although more than a few beings were gathered around tables in little alcoves. He moved for a closer look, and suddenly the air was filled with chiming sounds. He stepped back, and the chiming faded. /What do you suppose this is?/
The quarx was silent, apparently idealess. Napoleon stood beside him, scanning. Bandicut grunted and focused on a serpent-being with turquoise skin, hunched over a table. He had assumed, before, that the creature was eating; but now he realized that it was staring into a flickering display in the tabletop. As he watched, the serpent suddenly reared up, eyes bright, and roared, "HH'ZAAAAAHHHHH!" It reached out with two big webbed hands and made excited clenching motions in Bandicut's direction.
Bandicut edged backward, and bumped into one of the stump-creatures he'd seen earlier. "Excuse me," he muttered, in response to a twittered protest. He moved away from both beings, but the serpent was now waving its hands in another direction anyway.
"Captain John, are you in danger? I see no sign of Copernicus." Napoleon had his sensors spinning, in an undoubtedly futile attempt to comprehend what he was seeing, or perhaps to locate his fellow robot.
"No, it's all right, Nappy. Keep looking. Maybe Coppy isn't here yet. Let's see what we can learn." Bandicut watched the stump-creature waddle up to the counter and stroke a series of lights with its brown pincers. It was impossible to tell what it was doing. There was a willowy biped moving about the area who seemed to be working there. "Excuse me," Bandicut called.
The creature approached. "Squeeee?"
"Ahh, can you help me?"
"Varooooo!" It pointed with a delicate tentacle toward a glowing panel on one of the partitions. It placed its tentacle on the panel, and seemed to want Bandicut to do likewise.
"Uh—"
/// Why not? ///
Bandicut shrugged and reached out to touch the warm surface. He felt an immediate tingle in his wrist.
/// Ah. The stones are responding. ///
Bandicut spoke again. "Can you help me?"
"Certainly," said the creature, drawing its limb away with a graceful bow. "What may we offer you?"
"Well, I was wondering—what are those people doing? Do you serve food here?"
The being chuckled melodically and pointed over Bandicut's shoulder, toward the back of the marketplace. "Eat—over there," it warbled. "Not here, sir."
"Ah."
"But we would be most pleased to serve you here, sir."
"Aha. And—what is it that you do here? If I may ask. I'm afraid I'm new here."
"Of course you are new. We offer you something special, a welcome for our newly arrived guests." The creature fluttered several of its limbs. "Would you prefer table or counter? We have some very fine positions open."
Bandicut turned his hands up. "Table for what—if I may ask."
"Very fine tables," the creature continued. "For—" spleee "—long term betting, lottery investment, and various—" spleee "—forms of life insurance. And at the counters—games of chance, with instant winnings day and night."
Bandicut opened his mouth. "You mean this is a casino?"
"The finest in the atrium," said the being, with a flourish of a tentacle.
"Good lord."
"May I seat you and your inorg?"
Bandicut took a deep breath. "No, I'm . . . sure it is very fine . . . as you say," he stammered. The creature placed a tentacle gently upon his forearm, and he felt ever so slight a tug toward the games. "I'm afraid, though—" he jerked his arm back "—that I prefer to dine first."
"Of course," said the being, and with another bow, turned away.
At the nearby table, the serpent was bent back over its game, in what appeared to be ferocious concentration. Bandicut had the feeling that its win had been short lived.
"Let's go, Nappy. I don't think we're going to find Copernicus in here," Bandicut muttered under his breath.
"Indeed, where do you think we should look next?" asked the robot, whirring alongside.
"I don't know. But I'm hungry. Maybe he'll expect me to be looking for someplace to eat."
*
The eating establishment in the back turned out to be a colorless place, decorated in oxidized-aluminum grey, with a few bits of trim in a darker charcoal. Perhaps neutrality was the intent. There was no serving counter, but a series of small, cramped tables—half of which were occupied by customers seemingly ingesting food. The tables had centerpieces that looked like terminals. /Iceline connection?/ he asked Charlie, sliding cautiously into a corner table.
/// I'm not sure. Wait.
The daughter-stones say, based on past experience,
that these are probably local terminals,
not connected to the main iceline. ///
Bandicut nodded, relieved not to have to worry about meeting the boojum in the course of ordering a grilled-cheese sandwich. He touched the terminal and silently ordered. There was a pause while the terminal tried to sort out, through the translator, his inner impressions of what, exactly, a grilled-cheese sandwich and coffee might be. Then, after another pause, it informed him that he had no registration, and therefore no credit. Hell, he thought—and asked the terminal if Napoleon could pay for him. After a bit of negotiation, Napoleon extended a probe and the order was completed.
"Thanks, buddy," he told Napoleon, with sincerity.
A minute later, a small napkin appeared, bearing a flat, grey, three-inch-square object, and beside it a small cup of steaming black liquid. From the amount of steam rising from the cup, he guessed that it must be near the boiling point. The aroma was familiar. Used motor oil, he thought. He frowned and nudged the cup away, and picked up the sandwich. It was firm, not hard, and looked as though it could at least physically be chewed. He hesitated, and nibbled off a bite. It was slightly greasy, slightly salty, and otherwise tasteless.
/// I guess not all establishments
in this city are of the same quality. ///
He remembered wistfully how good the popcorn and beer had tasted in the bar last night. He had no idea how one earned spendable credit around here, but had a sudden intuition that if he were to remain in this city, he would likely wind up eating this kind of food more often than the other. He was still debating whether to swallow.
/// I'd say, judging by your physiologic signs,
that it's safe. ///
/Safe. But not necessarily pleasant, right?/ He finally swallowed, gagging just a little. He decided that it wasn't actually bad, it was just flavorless, colorless, and textureless. He put the sandwich down.
"John Bandicut," Napoleon said suddenly, rising. "I believe we have a call."
"Copernicus?"
"Can't say, but I felt a tingle. I must find an iceline terminal. There, I believe." He crossed to a nearby partition and halted before a mirror-surfaced panel. He placed a probe on it and turned his primary eyes toward Bandicut. "It is not active."
Bandicut looked around. There were a dozen similar patches around the eatery. "I think it's a decoration, Nappy."
Clicking, Napoleon rose to maximum height. "Do you see—"
"Let's look outside."
As they left the eatery, Bandicut reminded Napoleon that if it was Copernicus calling, he wanted to talk. "I understand," said Napoleon. He located a terminal and made the connection. After a moment, he said, "Captain, it was Copernicus—but another text message."
Bandicut swore. "What did it say?"
"It begins, Thank you for allowing me to observe you. I am not physically present in your area, but am reassured by the sight of you both. Do not, repeat, DO NOT speak the rest of this message aloud in public. It then continues with additional, and I must say, alarming, information."
Bandicut stared at Napoleon. "What do you mean?"
"If the message is correct, I understand why Copernicus did not wish others to hear it. Is there someplace private where we can talk?"
Bandicut took a deep breath. "Let's get back to the hotel. Fast."