Castle War c-4 Page 13

  “I am not sure,” Osmirik said, “that the spell will be effective until after we have subjected it to extensive evaluation and analysis. Casting a computer-aided spell is a science, a very new and untried one, whereas casting spells in the ancient manner is a very highly developed art. Art can compensate for much uncertainty.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t do diddly-squat the old-fashioned way,” Jeremy said. “What magic I can do, I gotta do with computers. Crazy, but there it is.”

  “I did not mean to imply that there was not an element of artistry in what you do, Jeremy. You are obviously an adept in your own right.”

  “Yeah. But it’s still crazy.”

  “There you go again,” Isis said.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t do that. Yeah, I’m pretty good, pretty good. Thank God my life’s not a total waste.”

  Isis hugged his neck. “You’re doing a terrific job, Jeremy.”

  “Thanks,” he said, blushing a bit. “Hey, you had a lot to do with all this.”

  “I’m only doing my job.”

  “And Ozzie here, he really did all the —”

  A sharp rapping came from the laboratory door. The three froze.

  Voices outside, then loud knocking.

  “That may be —” Osmirik began.

  Someone began pounding.

  Osmirik rose and hurried to the door.

  “Who is it?” he called.

  “Guard!” came a voice from the other side. “Open up!”

  “By whose authority are you acting?” Osmirik asked.

  “Lord Incarnadine’s, you fool, who else’s? Now, open this door or we’ll break it down.”

  “I am His Excellency the Royal Librarian. We are engaged in a task commissioned by His Majesty himself. We are not to be disturbed. Do you hear?”

  “We hear. To the devil with your commission. Lord Incarnadine has ordered all castle personnel to report to the Guest Residence immediately.”

  “On the contrary,” Osmirik stated. “Lord Incarnadine has ordered no such thing. We have been in direct communication with His Majesty, and he is nowhere in the castle at the moment. Your orders come from an impostor.”

  There came cursing and general mumbling.

  Osmirik turned toward the workstation. “Is the compilation process completed?”

  Jeremy checked the screen. “Yeah.”

  “Then we had best run the program and cast the spell.”

  “I thought you said —?”

  A sharp thwack came against the door. Another, then a flurry of them. The door shook under their impact.

  “Axes,” Osmirik said. “The door is heart-of-oak, but they will make short work of it. Run the protective spell program.”

  “But the bugs …?”

  “Vermin or none, you must run it now.”

  “Right. Okay, here goes nothing.”

  Jeremy tapped out a few characters and slapped RETURN.

  The arrangement of strange components that was the mainframe computer began to whir softly. The sound increased in pitch until it faded out of audible range. Lights flashed on panels, glass tubes pulsed, and sparks arced between electrodes.

  Jeremy studied the screen. “Going pretty good, it looks like.”

  The sound of the axes suddenly ceased.

  Head cocked forward, Osmirik listened. There was silence on the other side. Then he put his ear against the door.

  “Anything?” Jeremy asked.

  Osmirik turned. “The spell has been efficacious. Unfortunately it seems the effects were rather more harsh than circumstances warranted.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe the men on the other side of this door are dead. There was no need of lethality. The spell’s potency could have been finely tuned to compensate. But …” Osmirik gave a mournful shrug.

  “Forget it, Ozzie. You couldn’t help it.”

  “Perhaps if I had modified a few of the component forces.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I mean, hey, it’s too bad they got aced, but … you know, screw ’em.”

  “Your connotation is clear. But I am not a soldier. I will never lightly regard the taking of a human life.”

  “Sorry, Ozzie. I meant —”

  “There is no time for this, Jeremy.”

  “You’re right. We’ll do the Monday-morning quarterbacking later. What we gotta do now is get those readings on the interuniversal medium.”

  Isis said, “But Lord Incarnadine said we should wait till he gets here.”

  “That was before those guys outside got here. We might have whacked a few of them, but there are more where they came from. And pretty soon this impostor guy has got to come around. What’ll we do then?”

  Osmirik said gravely, “I’m afraid he is right, Isis.”

  “We have to take the Voyager out into the medium,” Jeremy said. “We gotta run that big universe-fixing spell, or it won’t make any difference whether Incarnadine gets here or not.”

  Isis nodded. “We’ll both go. I can modify myself to fit into the Toshiba.”

  “Forget it. I’m going alone. One of us has to stay behind. We’ll keep in touch by modem.”

  “Silly Jeremy.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you know that I can copy myself and be loaded into two pieces of hardware at once?”

  Jeremy sat up. “Hey, I guess so. Never thought of it. Boy, am I dumb.”

  She kissed him on the forehead. “You and me, Jeremy. Let’s do it now.”

  “Right. Ozzie, you’ll have to hold the fort while we’re gone.”

  “Again, the metaphor is unambiguous. I will of course do my best.”

  Isis asked, “What about the boomerang effect you wanted to work up for launching the traveler?”

  “No time. I’m gonna have to pilot by the seat of my pants.”

  “It’s going to be dangerous, Jeremy.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jeremy swallowed hard. “I think my pants are going to be wet.”

  “We’ll be together.” Isis gathered his head into her ample bosom.

  “Yeah.” His voice was muffled.

  “’Twere best done quickly,” Osmirik said.

  Isis released Jeremy and sat at the terminal. “Go fire up the traveler,” she said. “I’ll do my cloning thing and be with you in a minute.”

  Jeremy ran to the platform, jumped up the steps, and climbed through the vehicle’s hatch. Taking his place in the pilot’s seat, he quickly set up the Toshiba, letting it power up all the vehicle’s systems, including the main drive.

  “All systems go, Jerry-baby,” the Toshiba said. “Course heading?”

  “We’re not going anywhere, exactly. We’re going to take the craft out into the universal medium and fly around for a while.”

  “Well, that’s innovative. Exactly how are we supposed to do that?”

  “Don’t resolve your coordinate fix for a while. Let the vehicle sort of … float.”

  “Oh, you mean, like, just hang out?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sort of.”

  “Interesting. You know, this ‘interuniversal medium’ you’re talking about is mostly a mathematical abstraction. Sorry if this conversation is getting too polysyllabic for you, but you might want to think about the implications of ‘floating’ around in a metrical frame that won’t support your three-dimensionality too well.”

  “I know it’s not the greatest of ideas, but we have to do it.”

  “Well, listen, you’re the user, I’m just a piece of silicon. You ought to know what you’re doing, however harebrained and ill conceived and just plain dumb it sounds.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate the vote of confidence. Now, how about shutting the hell up.”

  “Listen to him. Hey … who —?”

  Jeremy felt warm breath on his neck. He turned his head to find Isis sitting in the copilot’s chair. She kissed him on the cheek.

  “All ready, Jeremy.”

  The computer asked, “Who’s the babe?”

  “S
hut up. Stand by for acceleration.”

  “You with the long legs. Listen, honey. There’s room in RAM for one crewperson aboard this craft, so why don’t you —?”

  “Obey orders!” Jeremy barked.

  “Yes,sir. But tell her to keep her big boobs out of my way.”

  “Bring thrusters to launch frequency!”

  “Frequency tuned.”

  “Engage!”

  “Thrusters engaged!”

  The view of the lab through the viewport disappeared, replaced by an indeterminate blankness. Nothingness.

  “Sure is scary out there,” Jeremy said.

  “I’m so glad we’re together,” Isis said.

  “You may be interested to know,” the Toshiba said, “that pressure on the hull is over one hundred pounds per square inch and rising.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Well, it’s not good. The hull is made of very strong stuff, but it has its limits. If the pressure doesn’t stop increasing, we may be in for trouble.”

  Jeremy said, “How can there be pressure on the hull if there’s nothing out there?”

  “Got me. It might have something to do with quantum uncertainty. ‘Quantum uncertainty’ is good for explaining just about anything that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, I don’t know what that stuff is all about. I flunked physics.”

  “Look at it this way. This vehicle, which normally takes up space, is now occupying what is essentially a nonspace. There’s a certain tension in the basic situation. The medium that we’re in is going to be naturally resistant to the intrusion of bulky objects.”

  “Okay. So, you’re saying what, exactly?”

  “We can’t stay here for very long before we get … well, sort of squeezed.”

  “Squeezed, huh?”

  “Yeah. Compressed. Reduced. Squashed flatter than a tortilla.”

  “Don’t mention food. Tortillas. Jeez, I could go for a burrito right about now.”

  “Food, he wants. Listen, I’m talking about getting turned into a spacetime enchilada. I’m talking Taco Jeremito here. Comprende? ”

  Jeremy nodded. “Got it. But we gotta stay here long enough to get a good reading on the energy state and a few other variables.”

  “Oh, by all means. But let’s not stay a second over that, okay?”

  “You don’t have to convince me. Isis, how long do you think it will take?”

  “Data coming in now,” Isis said. “I estimate we need another two point oh niner minutes.”

  “Hell,” Jeremy said, “is that all? We’ll be outta here in no time. Computer, set course back to base and stand by to apply reverse thrust.”

  “Hull pressure is over a thousand pounds per square inch,” the Toshiba said. “And rising.”

  “What’s the safety load rating of the hull?”

  “Have no idea. That information wasn’t in the vehicle’s data base.”

  “We can hold out for a while longer. The stuff the hull’s made out of is superhard.”

  “Hard, maybe. But not deformable? There’s a difference.”

  “It’ll hold up.”

  “I hope that’s true for your sake. I say again, I’m only made of silicon. I wouldn’t notice a change in volume as much as you would.”

  “More data coming in,” Isis reported. “Ninety-six seconds to cutoff.”

  “We just sit tight,” Jeremy said, “and sweat it out.”

  “Fifty-four hundred psi.”

  “Isis, maybe we could cut it off a little early?”

  “The data is coming as fast as possible, Jeremy,” Isis said. “We need all we can get for an effective spell.”

  “Right.” Jeremy peered out into the nothingness. It was not black, not gray, not any color. There was a random shifting quality to it. Jeremy thought of being trapped inside the screen of a TV that was tuned to a blank channel, only it wasn’t that bright. It was just murk out there, formless and void.

  A nervous half-minute went by.

  “Computer, is the hull pressure still rising?”

  “Not as fast, but it’s still going up.”

  “Good. Maybe it’ll level out.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  The craft lurched violently, then was still again.

  Jeremy had clutched the arms of his seat. “Whoa, what was that?”

  “Don’t quite know,” the Toshiba said. “We’ve run into some kind of turbulence.”

  “Turbulence? What could it be? I mean, there’s nothing out there to get all riled up.”

  “It could be the pressure of bending space at the boundaries of the nonspace.”

  “I don’t understand that, but I don’t like the sound of it.”

  “In another few seconds, we’ll either be mashed into atoms or …”

  “Or what?”

  “Thirty seconds to cutoff,” Isis said, her eyes on the Toshiba’s readout screen.

  “I don’t know what,” the Toshiba said. “Something’s happening out there. There are stresses coming into play that I can’t even measure.”

  Another convulsive shudder went through the traveler, this one more violent. Jeremy wound up wedged between the seat and the control panel.

  “Should put seat belts in these things,” he said as Isis gave him a hand up.

  “There are seat belts,” Isis said. “Right here.” She pulled out the buckled end of a belt from a feed mounted on the underside of Jeremy’s chair. Jeremy inserted the buckle into a slot on the other side and it locked with a click.

  “How did you find that? I never knew it was there.”

  “That info is in the data base,” Isis said.

  “Good. How’s the data acquisition coming along?”

  “We’re almost through. We can —”

  The craft turned upside down, then began to tumble end over end. There was something outside the view port now, a jumble of fleeting images: rapidly changing landscapes backgrounding a flickering blur of random images.

  “What’s happening?” Jeremy screamed.

  “We got squeezed out of nonspace,” the Toshiba said. “Squirted out like a seed from a squashed melon. Now we’re careening through the universes.”

  “Stop us!”

  “No can do, sweetheart. We’re not staying in one continuum long enough to grab on to anything. We have about as much control as a runaway Mack truck.”

  The scene outside the view port was changing like card faces in a riffled deck. Flurries of random colors and shapes, flashing landscapes, starscapes, patterns, and crazy quilts, all spinning dizzily.

  “There must be something we can do,” Jeremy pleaded. “Engage stabilizers!”

  “Stabilizers already engaged, Captain. Zero effectiveness.”

  “Try thrusting!”

  “Also zero effectiveness.”

  “Reverse polarity on the graviton beam modulators.”

  “Reversing. Negative function.”

  “I’m out of ideas!” Jeremy wailed.

  “We’re out of luck,” the Toshiba laptop said.

  Twenty-one

  Mizzer

  Incarnadine dismounted and climbed the base of a fallen obelisk to survey the temple complex. There were three main structures and many subsidiary ones. All were in ruins, but one of the larger buildings had most of its columns upright. Two colossal statues, seated kingly figures in fancy headdress, flanked the entrance.

  Pointing, he asked, “That one?”

  Basrim, his guide, nodded. “That is it, Honorable One. The place you seek.”

  “You’re sure it’s the Temple of the Universes?”

  “Very sure, Honorable One.”

  Incarnadine scowled. “Looks like an ordinary funerary temple to me.”

  “But it is also a place of great power.”

  “There are many such places around here. The Mizzerites knew what they were doing when it came to magic. When they cast a spell, it lasted for millennia.”

  Basrim dismounted, came to t
he edge of the base, and looked up at him. “Will we be staying here, Honorable One?”

  “Don’t unpack anything. I want to take a look around first.”

  Basrim bowed. “Yes, Honorable One.”

  “You stay here.” Incarnadine jumped down and went to his mount. Unhooking his scabbard, he thought better of it and put it back. Going armed into a temple might trip an old anti-sacrilege spell. He didn’t want any trouble.

  “The Honorable One is wise,” Basrim said, smiling.

  Incarnadine took off his dagger and stashed it in his bundle.

  “I shouldn’t be long,” he said, walking past Basrim. “If this is the place, we’ll make camp.”

  Basrim’s bow was deep. “Very good, Honorable One.”

  The temple was extraordinarily big, and did he indeed get a sense of the unusual. Danger? Perhaps. If only he knew more about the Mizzerites. There were thousands of worlds, and there were ancient and defunct civilizations in practically all of them, many of which were fascinating. He simply had never got around to this one.

  A walled walkway led to the main temple and he followed it, treading in the ancient footsteps of the temple priests and pallbearers as they processed from the river with the casket of the king. The cortege of relatives, courtiers, and worshippers would follow.

  A needle of stone, inscribed head to foot with arcane glyphs, stood to the right of the walkway, and he looked at it as he passed. He wished he had time to decipher the inscription. He wondered what the glyphs spoke of, what glorious and triumphant events the monument commemorated.

  At the entrance to the temple he paused to look at the statues. They appeared to be likenesses of the same king wearing different ceremonial headdresses, one religious, he guessed, the other secular. Whoever he was, the ruins of his temple lay behind him.

  He chuckled to himself. “‘Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’”

  He mounted the temple steps and crossed the threshold. The interior was a forest of columns, all carved and inscribed. Despite the glaring sun and the absence of a roof, deep shadows lay within. Silence. He stopped and turned slowly. There was the smell of dust. Looking down, he watched a beetle crawl across the stone floor.

  He attuned his senses and took the measure of the place. Yes, there was power here, but not nearly enough for his purposes. Basrim probably had not lied, but merely reported the local folklore. Now what? There was nothing to do but search blindly, temple after temple, ruin after ruin. There were hundreds of temples in this area alone, thousands along the river. If only he could have access to books, records, ancient documents. If only they existed! He had asked around, sought out various dealers in antiquities, but they had nothing that went back more than a few centuries. All that was known about the Mizzerites had been carved in stone by the Mizzerites themselves, millennia ago, and little of it had been deciphered. He could effect a translation spell easily enough, but how long would it take to find a reference to the location of the Temple of the Universes, if there was any reference at all? He did not even know what dynasty the temple dated from, let alone the specific king at whose behest it was constructed. Research would take years, and he didn’t have days.