Salvage Merc One: The Daedalus System (19 page)

And she was actually a real person, which she wasn’t.

Now, despite it being a trial and the fact I was in the labyrinth, there was a certain truth I knew couldn’t be messed with. I reached under the pillow, my whole body nothing but pain, and found what I was looking for.

A KL09 heavy pistol.

No version of Hopsheer would have been without it. That’s an immutable law in the universe.

I spun around. Well, no, no I didn’t. I slowly turned around, biting my cheek until it poured blood, and tried to take aim at the charging Hopsheer. I fired twice before the pistol was knocked from my hand. My head rocked to the side from the hardest slap I’d ever felt in my life. Then it rocked the other way as slap number two trumped slap number one.

The sound of a tooth clattering against the wall barely registered in my mind as I was pulled from the bed and dragged across the floor to the door.

My sword lay only half a meter from me, and I tried to reach out for it, but my spine decided that sending signals to my arms was no longer on the agenda, so my hand sort of flopped a bit as I was dragged past the weapon.

“Oh, you are going to the cage, mister!” Hopsheer yelled. “You are going to the cage FOREVER!”

I heard the door open and turned my head enough to see a pair of boots standing just outside. Then I heard the plasma bolts firing, firing, firing until the carbine clicked empty. I guess in this part of my quest, H16s do have a power limit.

Hopsheer staggered back. She’d let go, but I was so beat up that I couldn’t even take advantage of that. I heard a huge crash and was only slightly aware of the smell of something burning when Alya grabbed me under the armpits and lifted me up.

“Come on, we’ve got to go,” she said. “This place is going to go up fast.”

She was right. I caught a glimpse of a dead Hopsheer sprawled across the iron stove, her peasant dress bursting into flames that quickly spread to every flammable item in the kitchen area. Which was pretty much everything. Homesteaders weren’t known for their fire safety.

Alya carried me outside, and we were at least a hundred meters away before she slowed and eased me down onto the ground. The little house in the nightmare was nothing but flames. Huge, green and red flames that reached high up into the pure black sky.

Twenty

We sat there together and watched it burn, neither of us saying a word until the flames died down and only coals and rising cinders were left. It probably took an hour, maybe less.

“You think you can walk?” Alya asked.

“No,” I said.

I was being honest. Fake Hopsheer had done a number on my spine, and I wasn’t sure I could do anything below the waist ever again.

“Try,” Alya said. She stood and offered me her hand. “Come on. You have to try. You can’t stop here. There’s still a lot left to tackle.”

“Can we have a time out, maybe?” I asked, making a T with my hands. “Get some sleep and revisit the quest in the morning?”

“There is no morning here, Joe,” Alya said. “No day, no night, no evening. It is what it is when it is. This scene you’re looking at will remain this way until the end of time.”

“Aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” I said.

I took her hand, and she hauled me to my feet. My battle legs took the brunt of the work, but it looked like I wasn’t as badly hurt as I thought. I could feel my thighs, and I was able to take a couple cautious steps before having to sit back down and take deep breaths.

“No,” Alya said. “Get your ass up. We’re moving on to the next trial.”

I whined and protested and acted like a little brat, but in the end, she got me back up on my feet. We walked for fifteen minute stretches, rested the same amount of time, then kept walking. The valley seemed to go on forever and ever. It took us I don’t know how long to get to the far end. When we did, I collapsed onto the ground and stared at what sat before us.

“A door,” I said. “Another damn door. I’m sick of doors.”

“We’ve only had the one,” Alya said. “Getting out of the poker room.”

“Nope,” I said. “I had to go through a door into that hell cabin.”

“I guess that counts,” she replied.

“Guess? You didn’t have to go through it,” I said. “It totally counts. Trust me. That was a whole other world in there.”

“Uh, yeah, I did have to go through it,” she argued. “You didn’t rescue yourself.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” I said.

“It’s good,” she replied. “We got to burn that door down, so maybe we can—”

“You’d be wasting your time,” the door said in a very clipped and gentrified accent. It sounded like it had practiced the accent for decades, but the reality was it had been born on some backwater planet and dropped its Gs when no one was listening. “I do not burn.”

I clapped slowly and looked all around. “Bravo, labyrinth,” I said. “Bravo! A talking door. A snooty talking door, at that.”

“Excuse me?” the door responded. “I am not snooty.”

“Snotty?” I asked.

“Not that either, thank you very much!” the door snapped.

“Joe, stop antagonizing the door,” Alya said.

“If I had a chit every time someone said that to me…” I let the rest trail off.

“You are here for the next portion of your quest,” the door said. “Your fifth trial, I believe.”

“You nailed it, door,” I said.

“Peter,” the door responded.

“Excuse me?” I asked, trying to sound like the door, but ending up sounding like a bad actor in a local production of “Who’s Tied To The Wormhole Today?” I love that play. Just hilarious.

“My name is Peter,” the door said.

“I wasn’t aware doors had names,” I said.

“Have you ever asked one?” it replied.

“Well…no,” I admitted. “Hasn’t ever occurred to me. Do all doors have names?”

“All doors have names,” Peter said.

“Huh, you learn something new every day,” I said. “So, Peter, my door, can you give me a hint as to what my fifth trial is? Maybe a quick peek behind the door, or, uh, you, to see what lies ahead?”

“I am the fifth trial,” Peter said. “I will pose a series of six questions wherein you will—”

“Hold the fo on,” I said, raising a hand. “What do you mean you are my fifth trial? My fifth trial is a door? Just a door.”

“Joe, don’t insult the door either,” Alya warned. “Doors are more than just a way to get from one space to another. In the labyrinth, they are sacred and holy. They mark the passage from, well…”

“One space to another?” I smirked.

“I should warn you that part of your trial is attitude,” Peter said. “If I feel you are not taking this seriously then you will not pass.”

“What if I burn you down?” I asked. “I’m good at burning stuff down. Just ask the last door, and the cabin attached to it. Poof. Up in smoke.”

“I do not burn, I already said that,” Peter said. “I am not some cheap piece of wood that was picked up at a local hardware store. I was hand forged in the fires of Caga.”

“Hey, I’ve been to Caga,” I said. “Or to one of the orbiting stations. Had lunch there once. Nearly got killed there, too, but that’s a long story.”

“Which we do not have time for,” Alya said. “Peter, can you explain the rules of the trial, please? I promise Joe will be quiet.”

“Lips be zipped,” I said.

“Very well,” Peter said and cleared his…throat? Do doors have throats? Maybe talking ones do. “I will pose a series of six questions, one by one. You may ask me one clarifying question, which I will answer honestly, then you must give me the answer to my question to move on to the next. No topic is off limits, so no question is off limits. But I must warn you that I will be extremely literal during this trial. Sarcasm will not be taken into account.”

“I’m foed,” I said.

“Quite,” Peter said.

“Okay, Peter, let’s have the first question,” I said. “Lay it on me.”

“How old are you?” Peter asked.

“Seriously?” I laughed.

“That was your clarifying question,” Peter replied.

“What? No way!” I exclaimed.

“Warning, you just asked a second question,” Peter said. “I will ignore it, but any subsequent questions will be counted against you for future questions. If you go beyond your allotted questions then you will fail this trial and have to start at the beginning.”

“Time out!” I yelled and got to my feet.

“There is no time out,” Peter said.

“Well, everything I’m about to say and ask is directed at Alya, not you,” I said. “I get to talk to her all I want.”

“No, you do not,” Peter said. “Your trial has begun, and you will address me only. Any questions directed at her will be considered official questions.”

“Son of a gump!” I yelled and closed on Peter.

I was gonna rip the knocker right off his smug grained face. Not that he had a face. Or a mouth. I wondered how he even spoke. I would have asked him, but…

“How old am I,” I stated. “Not a question!”

“I know,” Peter said. “I can hear the difference. I am a professional, you know.”

So many retorts, so many that needed to be formed as a question.

I was about to state my actual age, but stopped when I realized I wasn’t sure if he meant me, Joe Laribeau, or me, Salvage Merc One. There was a difference. Too bad my smart mouth wasted the question that would have clarified that.

Sheezus, I had to deal with five more questions after that one? Ugh.

“Older than my battle legs,” I responded.

Peter started to reply then clammed up. He mumbled a few words, almost like he was conferring with someone, then cleared his nonexistent door throat and said, “That was not the answer I was looking for, but it is technically correct.”

“Bam!” I shouted and pumped a fist into the air. Alya shook her head. “Oh, I found a loophole, bitches!”

“Yes, how good for you,” Peter said. “Now, for the second question. Where are you exactly?”

“Right the fo here,” I answered.

“No, what I meant was…” he stopped speaking, started mumbling, began arguing with himself, then let out the longest, most disgusted sigh I have ever heard any being make in my entire life. Which says a lot considering Mgurn was my assistant. “Yes. That is correct. Technically, you are exactly there.”

“Yeah I am,” I said. “Question three. Bring it.”

“What is the meaning of life?” Peter asked.

“Ooo, good one,” I said. “Stinks of cheating, but I know you’re ticked because I gamed your system and now you’re looking for a little payback.”

I rubbed my chin. It didn’t help me think, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

What the fo was the meaning of life? I could have gone with the obvious Adamsian answer, but it was too on the nose. I could have said love or learning or nothing at all.

“Depends,” I said.

“On what?” Peter asked.

“Nice fourth question,” I said. “Let me think on it.”

“What? No, that wasn’t the fourth question!” Peter exclaimed.

“Your what was the fifth question,” I said. “I assume that since you did not wait for my answer to the fourth that it has become null and void, and we instantly skip to the fifth. So, in answer to your question of what, I reply ‘nice fourth question. Let me think on it’. That’s what I said.”

Peter was literally shaking with anger in his frame. If doors had ears, he would have had steam pouring from them.

“Time for the sixth question,” I said.

“Oh, to hell with it,” Peter said. “You’ll just make a mockery of the last question. Just go away.”

Peter opened up, and we could see a vast field of poppies beyond. The day was bright and looked warm and inviting. I was instantly suspicious.

“That’s it? I’m done?” I asked.

“I certainly am, I could care less whether you are or not,” Peter said. “Go through me and never come this way again.”

“Okey dokey,” I said and nodded to Alya. “Time to go.”

“I gathered that,” she said and followed me through the door.

It slammed closed so fast I felt a whoosh of wind on my ass.

“I can’t believe you harassed a door into letting you pass a trial,” Alya said. “No wonder the artifact is putting you through this.”

“Is that a compliment?” I asked as we stood in the poppy field.

“I don’t know yet,” she said.

“Fair enough,” I replied. I took a deep breath. “Damn, this air smells nice.”

“It does,” Alya agreed. “I miss fresh air.”

“You’re smelling some right now,” I said.

“No, Joe, I am not,” Alya insisted. “Again, except for the iron door’s entryway, none of this is real. This air is purely a construct within your brain, placed there by the labyrinth.”

“You really take the magic out of things,” I said.

“Let’s just walk,” Alya said. “The trial has started, we just have to figure out what it is.”

“Maybe roll some poppy leaves and smoke them?” I said as we moved deeper into the field.

“That’s not how it works, Joe,” Alya replied.

“I know, I was kidding,” I said. “You chew poppy leaves.”

“Sheezus,” she muttered.

We’d gone half a kilometer when my legs got all wobbly.

“Hold up, hold up,” I gasped, finding it hard to breathe. “Whoa, slow down.”

“What is it?” Alya asked. She looked around in alarm. “Do you see something? I don’t. Do you hear something? What is it?”

“I’m just exhausted,” I said. “I have to sit down.”

“You can’t sit down,” Alya protested as I sat down. “Joe! We have to keep moving!”

“Yeah, yeah, we will, we will,” I said, waving a floppy hand at her. How’d my hand get so floppy? Floppy, floppy, floppy.

“Joe, get up,” Alya barked. “Get up, Joe.”

“Saying the words in a different order won’t make me get up,” I said. “Resting long enough to have the energy to get up will get me up.”

I yawned. It went on for a long, long while.

“Whoo boy,” I said. “I am bushed. How about I take a quick nap and then we’ll get going?”

“No!” Alya shouted. “Joe! Get up!”

She was still shouting, pretty loudly too, when the old brainpan decide it was time to check out and go night night.

Falling asleep in a poppy field. Huh, I think I saw that holo vid once…