Juggler of Worlds (43 page)

The Hindmost’s oration continued without interruption.

Bone-jarring dissonance opened a space near Baedeker, growing as the noise swelled, a cluster of stepping discs marking its center. An emergency override! The vacated discs could now be accessed by the Department of Public Safety.

Three Citizens materialized in the plaza—only not from Public Safety. All were burly. All wore the gray-and-black sashes of foreign ministry security and the slightly crazed look of bodyguards and thugs. A new buzz broke out, this time the sound of confusion.

One of the strangers spotted Baedeker. “Come with me,” he said.

Could
Nessus
have saved me? Had he conspired with Beowulf? Sigmund never finished working through the possibilities.

“Step back,” a stern voice commanded. Another man—no, two men—emerged from the woods. They wore camouflage jumpsuits similar in cut to Eric’s.

Sigmund froze. Why wasn’t he hearing people approach? It might be the distraction of his roiling thoughts, but he did not believe that.

“We mean you no harm,” one of the newcomers said. “Now move away from Eric.” The man who spoke was tall and wiry, with sloped shoulders. He had pinched features under a thick mop of unruly brown hair, and he spoke with quiet assurance.

The second newcomer might have stood as tall had he not stooped; he appeared soft and professorial. His hair was colorfully dyed and braided, almost like a Puppeteer. Neither carried any obvious weapon.

ARMs received extensive training in martial arts. If they were unarmed, Sigmund guessed he could take both men. Then what? Fight everyone on this world one by one? In truth, he had tackled Eric in a panic. Sigmund withdrew three paces and sat on a boulder, resting his hands, palms up, on his thighs. Grass tickled his bare feet.

The academic-seeming one shuffled over to free Eric. He peered at the knotted bathrobe belt, his expression dubious, wringing his hands.

His companion smiled. “Thank you, Sigmund. Your cooperation makes things easier. I’m Omar Tanaka-Singh. Call me Omar. My knot-challenged friend is Sven Hebert-Draskovics. Sven, just
cut
the thing off.”

Sigmund flapped a lapel of his robe. “Or let me untie it. I’d like my sash back.”

Omar chuckled. “You’ll get real clothes soon enough. Nessus said the robe on the ’doc would be a familiar touch.”

Eric was now unbound, stomping his feet and massaging his wrists to stimulate the circulation. He paused long enough to bend over and flip his belt to Sigmund. “Use this.”

Sigmund suddenly noticed that he did not cast a shadow. Neither did Omar. Eric and Sven, nearer the trees and thus out of sight of one line of suns, each had several shadows. Sigmund’s chest tightened; he dare not look up at the fireballs hurtling overhead. “I want to know how I came to be here. I want to speak with Nessus.”

“As he wants to talk with you. As for how you came here …” Omar shrugged. “Only Nessus knows.

“He meant to be present when the ’doc finished with you. He thought seeing familiar faces would be helpful. Something urgent came up elsewhere.” Omar peeled the bark from a fallen twig.

Why was
Omar
nervous?

Omar threw down the denuded twig. “If it matters, Sigmund, I apologize for the shock of this. We had to awaken you somewhere. By night, at least, we hoped the woods might seem … normal. Nessus said our buildings wouldn’t.”

Sigmund cinched his robe closed with Eric’s belt. “Normal. You mean, Earth-like.”

“Tell us about Earth,” Sven said eagerly. “There’s so
much
we want to know.”

“All in good time.” Omar clapped his hands. “First, let’s get our guest clothes and a meal.”

They were Nessus’ henchmen. Sigmund wondered why they expected him to tell them anything. Perhaps it was best not to dwell on that. He
followed Omar into the woods, Eric and Sven falling in behind. As Omar walked, he removed something from a pocket of his jumpsuit. It looked like a controller or computer of some kind.

They stopped after a few paces. “Step after me,” Omar said. He tapped at the device from his pocket, stepped onto a thin, polished disc resting on the ground—and vanished.

The disc, scarcely a meter across, worked like an open transfer booth! No wonder Sigmund had not heard anyone approach. “Where are we going?” he demanded.

Eric sighed. “For clothes and food. Sigmund, you’ll get answers much faster if you can suspend your distrust. Just go through the stepping disc after Omar.”

Ander had betrayed and shot him. Someone had kidnapped his dying body. Trust was a lot to ask. “And the autodoc?” Ander’s greed for the ’doc had almost gotten Sigmund killed. Just as surely, that apparatus must have saved Sigmund. He would not abandon it lightly.

“I’ll arrange for its storage,” Eric said. “You and Sven should move along.”

Sigmund stared at the disc. He couldn’t remember when he had last used a transfer booth. And yet—if Eric spoke the truth—that caution hadn’t kept him from the mouths of the Puppeteers.

Sigmund flicked into a dimly lit space. It was an ordinary warehouse … almost. The under-eave windows were oddly shaped. In shadowy corners, unfamiliar mechanisms droned with an unpleasant pitch. The colors—everything—seemed subtly wrong. He scarcely noticed Omar take hold of his elbow and guide him off the stepping disc. The floor felt strangely warm and resilient. Moments later, Sven flicked through.

A wall-mounted mirror showed Sigmund looking even younger than he felt. He could pass for twenty! Nanotech, Carlos had said. That meant Carlo’s autodoc could have repaired Sigmund down to the cellular level, could have undone a lifetime’s transcription errors in every strand of DNA. His sudden rejuvenation was a miracle Sigmund was too numb to take in.

In a fog, Sigmund put on a jumpsuit and boots like those worn by his escorts. The material felt eerily slick. Somehow, pinching the fabric, he set off a kaleidoscope of colors. Dynamically programmable nanocloth! Sven did something to configure the garment to a sedate and static pattern.

A bowl of fruit, mundane as could be, sat on an oval table. Sigmund extracted a random piece from the middle of the heap. It was, unambiguously,
a green apple. Suddenly he was ravenous. He devoured the apple and two bananas, then chugged a tall glass of water. He wiped his mouth on the back of a hand. “That, at least, was normal. So what now?”

“Now we give you a tour.” Omar discarded the core of the pear he had been eating. “Before you’ll accept anything else, we have to convince you New Terra is a
human
world.”

WITH OMAR IN THE FORE, Sigmund flicked—

To a bustling town square, where men and women scurried about dressed in every color of the rainbow. Earth bowed to no world in its palette of clothing and skin dyes, but these buildings! Their colors clashed horribly, and the shapes and textures troubled the mind. Sigmund tore away his gaze, and followed Omar to another stepping disc—

To a park, where strolling families enjoyed the suns. (No! I can’t think about that.) He focused on the people. Men and women alike wore much more jewelry than flatlanders. Adults with children wore the most. And so
many
children…. Sigmund stepped after Sven this time—

To a farm, where workers piloted floating conveyances across a sea of corn that stretched as far as the eye could see. Where were the birds? Sigmund wondered, as Sven led the way—

To a schoolyard, where boys and girls ran around the playground, shrieking in glee. But that playground equipment! Everything was low and soft and rounded, the Puppeteer influence undeniable. Before Sigmund could comment, Omar stepped ahead—

To a shopping district ringed with storefronts, people (and a few Puppeteers) streaming in and out of the shops, and flicking in and out of sight from an array of stepping discs.

Sigmund surely saw thousands, more likely tens of thousands, of people, across many locations. Some places it was midday and the sky was rife with suns; other places were experiencing dawn or the approach of dusk. Sigmund had no idea where on this world he was, or how much time had passed since his revival.

Flick. On to yet someplace else. Another park, Sigmund guessed, as his eyes adjusted to the sudden dark. A brilliant object shone overhead, streaking across the sky.

“An orbital station?” Sigmund surmised.

“An orbiting ancient ramscoop.” Mixed notes of pride and anger rang in Sven’s voice. “It’s where our story begins—and how we obtained our freedom.”

“Of course we also have more modern starships,” Omar added.

These strangers controlled starships! Then he could go back to Earth! Andrea and
Hobo Kelly
had searched toward …

Toward what?

It was
so
simple,
so
on the tip of Sigmund’s tongue. The harder he tried to articulate it, the faster the answer skittered away. It was as though—

“Nessus erased my memories!” Unfamiliar stars sparkled overhead, mocking Sigmund. He smacked a fist into his other hand. “I can’t find Earth.”

Omar flinched. “Then we have
all
lost newly reawakened hopes.”

SIGMUND’S GUIDES (or captors?) stepped him to yet one more bustling public square. Here it was midday, and three strings of suns shone overhead. Passersby went about their business, ignoring Sigmund and his guides.

Whistling tunelessly, Sven shuffled up the broad front steps into a sprawling low-rise building. He led the way down a long corridor to a large office suite, where a discreet sign announced: New Terra Archives. Office of the Archivist. Inside, Sven was greeted warmly, and even deferentially.

It finally occurred to Sigmund to wonder who, other than minions of Nessus, his escorts were.

“This way,” Sven said. He palmed an ID pad at the end of a hallway, and a door fell open. He retreated behind a cluttered desk heaped with untidy stacks of printout. Odd images, low-quality holos and oil paintings and framed handicrafts Sigmund could not characterize, hung on the walls. Old artifacts lay jumbled on shelves. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

Sigmund took a chair. “Are you
the
archivist for this world?”

“Indeed.” Sven picked up a watering can and tended to a sickly potted plant sitting on the windowsill, not meeting Sigmund’s eyes. “You can imagine how eager I am to talk with you.”

The shy deference was too surreal.
Everything
was. “Tanj it, I want answers! Why was I kidnapped? When will Nessus explain himself?” Sigmund turned to glower at Omar and Eric. “How are you all involved with Nessus? Are you also in the government?”

Eric canted his head. “Tanj? Kidnapped? I’m not following. Sigmund, I’d like to reactivate the translator. Whatever you speak isn’t English, exactly.”

But
kidnapped
was English. The Lindbergh baby had been kidnapped
long before Spanglish or Interworld. “What happened here? Your version of English has been purged.”

“Our language?” Eric said. His eyes blazed. “Our language? That’s the least of our losses.” He turned to Sven. “Show him.”

THE MAN IN THE VID was dark: eyes, hair, and complexion. He was of indeterminate age, his face creased with worry lines. The tartan jumpsuit he wore only emphasized a pudgy body build. His expression was worldly wise and weary, and yet it somehow gave a hint of humor.

He spoke. “I am the navigator of starship
Long Pass
. I have a story to tell.

“My name is Diego MacMillan.

“I speak human to human, ancestor to descendant. Despite everything that has gone wrong, I retain hope humans will find this message. I had to hide the key in plain sight, trusting my ability to make the clues meaningful only to humans.

“And yet…”—Diego scowled—“I cannot depend on that. If our descendants are viewing this, I know how you must yearn for the location of your home, the planet Earth. To leave you
that
information would risk revealing it to the Citizens and leading these murderers to Earth itself. That I will not do.”

“How?” Sigmund interrupted. He was an ARM, tanj it, and this was a crime against Earth. A crime against humanity.

Sven tapped a control pad and the holo froze. “It’s a long and twisty tale, but a few years ago we recovered that recording. It had been hidden, disguised and encrypted, in the bridge computer of the old ramscoop.
Long Pass.”

“We?” Sigmund prompted.

Sven nodded. “Omar, Eric, and Eric’s spouse, Kirsten. They weren’t yet mated. And, in a small way, myself.”

“And it was all in plain sight, orbiting this world,” Sigmund said skeptically.

“We’re not such fools,” Omar snapped. “We were raised to believe Citizens had salvaged embryo banks and a few damaged computers from a derelict long adrift in the void. Our mere existence was a testament to their patience, skill, and generosity of spirit.”

“Only the ship had been seized. It was almost intact, hidden inside a General Products Number Four hull.” Eric bared his teeth. “Until I busted it apart.”

Sigmund twitched. “You destroyed a General Products hull?”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Sven interrupted. “Hear what happened after they reached the Fleet of Worlds.” He jumped the recording ahead.