Castle Kidnapped (16 page)

“How're the women in Canada? I never been there."

Snowy shrugged. Darned if he knew. He said, “Fine. Same as everywhere, I guess."

“Hey, women are different different places. Know what I mean?"

“Nope."

“Like, New York women are real wise-ass. You can't pull anything on them. Try to hustle ‘em, and they'll put you down slicker than owl shit. But f'rinstance you take down South. Man, they'll look at you with big eyes and buy the whole store. Ever been to Miami?"

“No."

“In Miami—” The kid looked over and scowled. “Hey, you're not even listening."

“Huh? Sorry. They have so many lights around here."

The kid didn't know what to make of that. He turned his eyes back to the road.

They drove on into the night, galaxies of bright lights shooting by. Snowy had never realized until he got here how heavily populated this world was. Human dwellings blanketed the land, arrayed in rows on an endless crust of concrete. There was barely any dirt showing. Here and there, a stand of trees relieved the monotony. Things had looked the same outside since they left New York, two and a half hours ago.

“Christ, I'm hungry,” the kid complained. “I always get hungry on the road. You want to stop and get something to eat?"

“Um, maybe."

“I'm gonna get off the greenstamp and get something. Some burgers or maybe a hero sandwich. You gonna have something to eat, or what?"

“What's a hero sandwich?” Snowy asked.

“Don't they got ‘em in Canada? What do they call ‘em? Submarines, hoagies?"

“Uh ... I don't know. I'll have one of those hero sandwiches, though, if you don't mind."

 

“Christ awmighty. I never seen anything like it."

“What's wrong?” Snowy asked through a mouthful of Italian cold cuts and bread.

“I never seen anyone eat like that."

“Is this too much?"

“Too much?” The kid hooted. “Four goddamn whole hero sandwiches. Jesus, that's four goddamn whole loaves of bread you got there!"

Snowy finished off the first one and bit a huge chunk out of the second. “Sorry."

“Hey, it's nothing to be sorry about. I just never seen anybody eat like that. You gonna ...?"

Snowy chewed three times, swallowed, then bit off another astonishing hunk, leaving only a lettuce-draped nub of bread.

“Jesus Christ, y'makin' me sick."

The kid heaved his own sandwich and soft drink out the window, not bothering to watch them splat against the asphalt of the parking lot. He lit up another skinny cigarette.

“Let's boogie."

 

Endless night, frigid night. But not cold enough for Snowy. The cab of the truck was a roaring furnace, and Snowy tried to persuade the kid to feather back the heater, to no avail. So he cranked down his window halfway, letting in a soothing, icy blast.

“Whaddayou, a goddamn Eskimo?” the kid demanded.

Snowy was getting annoyed, but thought better of giving the kid the head-whacking he deserved.

“Come on, close the goddamn window!” the kid screamed. “Waddayou, crazy or what?"

Snowy said mildly, “Buddy, where I come from, it's not so wise to mouth off to a guy as big as me, especially for a little twerp as skinny—” Snowy blinked. “What's wrong?"

“Jesus Christ.” The kid was staring tearfully at Snowy, mouth hanging open.

“What—?” Snowy halted a motion to scratch his head and realized what the kid was seeing. His hand had turned furry, the fingers tipped with milk-white claws. It was his normal hand. He felt his face. Sheila's spell was fading.

The kid tore his eyes away to glance at the road, then looked back. “Hey..."

In the intervening instant, Snowy's hand had turned human again, the fur and claws gone. His face felt smooth.

“What the hell's going on?” the kid said. “Did you—did you just—?"

“What's that you say?"

The kid focused his stare on the road, his face set grimly.

“Nothin',” the kid said. “Forget it.” He opened his own window and threw out the butt of the joint he'd been sucking on. “Forget that shit, too."

Great White Stuff, Snowy thought. This is going to be a long trip.

 

 

 

Castle

 

Jeremy didn't know what he was crouching on—it could have been floor, wall, or ceiling. He couldn't tell. Things had gotten to the point where it didn't matter. Everything was crazy, everything was totally out to lunch.

He had lost sight of Linda, although he could still hear her. She was off somewhere to the left, as far as he could tell, lost in a nightmare of bulging walls and constricted passageways.

Linda called his name, and he answered.

“Are you all right?” she yelled back.

“Uh ... yeah! Well, not really."

“Hang on, I'm going to try getting to you."

After a minute or so she appeared, sticking her head out of a small tunnel about ten feet above Jeremy's head.

“There you are,” she said. “It seems to be quieting down a little."

“Yeah."

As if in defiance, things began to shift again, Linda's tunnel sliding off to the right somewhat.

“Whoa!"

The slab of stone under Jeremy began to tilt. He reached for the computer but it slipped away.

“Shit!” He lunged after it and slid to a level spot. Fishing the computer out of a trough in the “floor,” he checked it for damage.

“Your computer's beeping again,” Linda said.

“Yeah, I know.” Jeremy flipped up the readout screen.

REALITY PROCESSING? CAN DO.

“What the hell does that mean?” Jeremy asked of no one in particular.

“What does what mean?"

“Nothing. It's just that this thing has gone bat shit, too."

“How so?"

“Well, it's in WordStar—it gets it out of ROM—and it's telling me it can do ‘REALITY PROCESSING.' Whatever the hell that is."

“Sounds like we could use some of that."

“Yeah. I don't know, this is really—” Jeremy typed out a query.

WHO ARE YOU?

Came the answer: YOUR COMPUTER, DUMMY.

“Holy shit. This thing is alive."

“Great,” Linda said. “Ask it what we ought to do."

“Yeah. Right."

WHAT SHOULD WE DO? Jeremy keyed.

WELL, NOW, HAVEN'T I JUST MADE A SUGGESTION?

WHAT WAS THAT? Jeremy replied.

WE CAN REPROCESS THE IMMEDIATE ENVIRONMENT AND ACHIEVE TEMPORARY STABILITY.

Jeremy typed, OKAY. RUN THE PROGRAM.

PRESS RETURN, the computer directed.

Jeremy did.

Things got blurry, and Jeremy thought he might be passing out. But the computer wasn't blurry, and neither was he. He strained to see Linda, but couldn't make her out in the wavering nonreality that surrounded him.

Then the world refocused again, and he was squatting on a level, stationary floor. He looked up and saw Linda getting to her feet.

Linda brushed hair from her eyes. “Whew! Whatever you did, it worked."

“Yeah. I didn't do anything, though."

“Yes, you did. You brought that computer with you. If you hadn't, we'd be goners."

Jeremy grunted. “I guess. What now?"

They were becalmed in the eye of a strange, reality-changing hurricane. Down the hall in both directions lay chaos, the nightmare jumble that Jeremy's computer had just set aright locally.

“We have to get through a portal,” Linda said. “But I don't think that's going to be possible right now. If Sheila were here, she might be able to summon one, but maybe not, in this mess."

“So, what else?"

“So, what else have you got? Look, you have the ball, Jeremy. You're going to have to run with it."

“Me? What do I know about this place?"

“Use your magic. You obviously have the right stuff. Just learn to use it, and do it quick."

“But...” Jeremy lifted his shoulders. “All right, but this is—"

“Stop saying things are crazy,” Linda snapped. “Sure they're crazy, but no crazier than the nutty world we come from. It's just different, that's all. You have the power to deal with it. So do deal with it."

“Right.” He knelt at the computer and typed.

WHAT SHOULD I DO NOW?

WANT SUGGESTIONS, DO YOU?

YES, Jeremy answered.

VERY WELL. START WALKING. REALITY STABILIZATION FIELD WILL FOLLOW.

Linda was looking over his shoulder. “That sounds like a good idea. If we come across an area that's supposed to have a portal, maybe it'll be there."

They strolled a good distance down the hall, but no portals appeared. The jumble in both directions seemed to stay the same distance away.

“The trouble might be affecting things,” Linda said. “Blocking off the portals, or chasing them away, I don't know."

Jeremy set the computer down and queried again.

He typed: MORE SUGGESTIONS?

POSSIBLY FURTHER REPROCESSING NEEDED. NEED MORE RAM.

“Damn. It's asking for more memory space, but I don't have it to give."

NO CAN DO, Jeremy said.

CAN DUMP TO DISK. ERASE EXISTING TEXT AND BACKUP FILES?

SURE, GO AHEAD, Jeremy answered.

“It's just clearing off a little disk space. There's nothing there but junk, anyway."

“Wonderful. Will that help?"

“I don't know."

CONTINUE RUN? the computer asked.

GO AHEAD.

NEED I SAY THE OBVIOUS?

“What? Oh, yeah."

Jeremy pressed the Return key.

Nothing much happened, except that the floor, which had continued to vibrate slightly even with the stabilization spell operating, now settled down completely.

“Even better than before,” Linda said. “But still no portal."

“Now what?"

“Let's keep moving. There're probably people hurt. We might be able to do something."

The zones of instability, both forward and rear, receded as they walked.

“Things are looking up,” Linda said.

“It's not my computer,” Jeremy said.

“How do you know?"

“I just know, somehow. But let me check."

Jeremy typed, PROGRAM STILL RUNNING?

DISTURBANCE BEING AMELIORATED BY OUTSIDE INFLUENCE.

“Yeah, it's something else."

Linda emitted a little squeal. “Lord Incarnadine!"

Jeremy looked up from the readout screen to see His Majesty emerging from a shadowy alcove.

“Hi, Linda,” Incarnadine said.

“Oh, are we glad to see you!” Linda said, throwing her arms around him.

Incarnadine smiled at Jeremy over Linda's shoulder. “Mr. Hochstader! Just the man I wanted to see."

“Me, sir?” Jeremy said.

Incarnadine gave Linda a few more squeezes and let her go. “Yes, you. And you, too, Linda. I need your help."

“You need us?” Linda asked, astounded.

“Sure do, to straighten out this little problem we seem to be having. You
have
noticed that we're having a problem?” He glanced about. “Although things seem to be fine right here."

“That's Jeremy's doing. His magic computer."

“Of course! The very talent I wish to tap."

“I didn't do it all,” Jeremy said.

“No, you didn't,” Incarnadine agreed. “I have a stabilization spell of my own working. It'll buy us time, but not much. We have about ten hours. Then the quantum uncertainties will start arriving in huge waves, and the castle will cease to exist."

Linda blanched. “Is it that bad?"

“It's that bad. But we can still save the day, if we act now. Feel in a heroic mood?"

“Sure,” Linda said. “I guess."

“How're your magical muscles? Toned up, firm? No ectoplasmic cellulite?"

“Just feel that,” Linda told him, flexing her right biceps.

“Nice."

Jeremy shook his head, confused. “Sir, what exactly is it that you want us to do?"

“Jeremy, I need your skills as a computer programmer and operator. We're going to run one monster of a spell, using the castle's mainframe."

“A mainframe? Here? But I've never worked with a mainframe—"

“I'll train you. It will be a huge challenge, but I have every confidence in you, my boy. You have an enormous creative talent."

Jeremy's throat had gone dry. He swallowed hard, then said, “Thank you, sir. I'll ... I'll try."

Incarnadine laid a firm hand on Jeremy's shoulder. “I know you will."

Jeremy returned the King's warm smile.

“And I'll need your conjuring skills, Linda."

“You got ‘em."

“Good. Follow me, I know a shortcut."

Incarnadine led them into the alcove, where an elevator waited.

“I've never been able to magic one up that worked,” Linda said admiringly. “This is great."

“Well, as long as you leave out most of the mechanical parts, it's fine. This one works by levitation, no cables."

They boarded the elevator, and the doors closed. Magical artifact or not, the inside of the thing looked like the genuine article, panel of floor stops and all.

But the King pressed no buttons. “Eightieth floor,” he commanded into the air.

The elevator obeyed. It gave a slight jerk, then began to rise.

“Good thing you hung on to that laptop of yours,” Incarnadine said. “We can use it as a dumb terminal."

“Yeah, sure,” Jeremy said, looking down at the Toshiba, which he cradled in his left arm. He happened to glance at the readout screen.

It read, DUMB TERMINAL, EH? KISS MY PARALLEL PORT.

 

 

 

Hills

 

If only the Umoi had been a more belligerent race.

But the Umoi had given up war centuries before their demise. Consequently, when Gene had asked Zond about weapons, Zond had trouble grasping the concept. Gene remembered the conversation.

“Weapons,” Gene repeated. “Guns, bombs, nasty stuff like that?"

“Well, this may sound strange, Gene, but I think we've hit a subject that's in one of my interdicted files."