ff^wc-s

1

I DON'T KNOW if God wears a beard. I've never had the plea-
sure of meeting Him. Frankly, I hope to delay that happy
occasion for as long as possible.

The individual whose acquaintance I had just made didn't
quite look the part, but I could have been persuaded otherwise
right then. We had come a long way—all the way, it seemed,
to the end of the universe. And here to greet us had been a
surpassingly strange and beautiful creature possessed of a
Serenely transcendent, almost beatific aura. His foppish duds
worked against the God image, though; I couldn't imagine the
Supreme Being going around dressed like a Galactic Emperor
out of some video space opera. And Carl, who stood beside
me wearing a darkly subdued look, his fury temporarily spent,
had seemed mighty sure of the identity of the person whose
lights he had just punched out. I was fairly sure that Carl
didn't think the guy was the King of Creation.

Even so, we had a problem on our hands. Judging from his
patrician bearing and sartorial finery, the person Carl had as-
saulted looked very important. Extremely important. He quite
possibly was in charge of this place, this world to which we
had very recently been shanghaied. He had greeted us warmly,
welcomed us. He'd invited us to lunch. What do we do? Quite
without provocation, we smack the guy in the chops and
knock him out. We were very possibly in deep trouble. Very
possibly our ass was grass. I hoped that our host didn't own a
power mower.

I looked down at the still form of the being—and he ap-
peared for all the world to be a human being of the male
persuasion—who had called himself Prime. He was lying
prone, face in the grass, the back of his head partly hidden

2                   John DeChancie

beneath bunched folds of his expansive green cape. The rest
of the garment was spread out to his left over the ground.

I glanced around. No lightning bolts, no clap of doom. I
looked across the valley. No activity immediately apparent in
the vicinity of the immense green crystalline fortress that sur-
mounted the hill on the other side. Could Prime possibly be
alone here? The notion struck me as absurd, but anything was
possible on this strange artificial planet.

"Carl," I said, "I can't take you anywhere."

"It's him," he answered flatly. "The voice that talked to me
aboard the flying saucer. He's the one that nabbed me."

"Can you be sure? After all, you never actually saw him.
Did you?"

Carl frowned and stared at the ground, thought a moment,
then turned to me. "No, but it has to be him. I'll never forget
that voice."

"Did the voice call itself Prime?"

"No. I don't remember it ever calling itself anything."

"Then you really can't be sure, can you?"

Carl shrugged, then grudgingly acknowledged the point
with a tilt of his head. "I guess. Maybe." Then, quickly and
with finality: "Nah. It's him."

"That's hardly the issue," said John Sukuma-Tayler behind
us.

We turned. John stepped away from the rest of our com-
panions, who were standing in a tight little knot. They were
all shocked by what Carl had done, eyes edgy and expectant. I
probably looked the same way, but was trying to hide it. Lori
still stood with her hands cupped over her mouth. Susan was
aghast; she looked ill. Sean was shaking his head. The rest of
them gazed silently at Prime.

John, however, was angry. "Carl, that was an extremely
stupid thing to do." He stopped and threw up his arms in
exasperation. "As if we hadn't enough problems! No, you
have to hit him. How could you? Carl, how could you do
something so..." He groped for the appropriate superlative.
"... so monumentally imbecilic? So..." He cast about for
words, then brought up his hand and slapped his forehead.
"Carl, you incredible idiot!"

It was slowly dawning on Carl. "Yeah. I guess it was a
dumb thing to do."

PARADOX ALLEY               3

" 'A dumb thing to do,'" John repeated hollowly. He turned
and appealed to the group. "'A dumb thing to do,'" he said
again, nodding in mock approval. I had never seen John this
ironic. He snapped his head around to fix Carl with a look of
utter contempt. "You have a gift for understatement. Unfortu-
nately, it makes your stupidity all the more colossal."

Carl scowled. "Ah, come off it. I just punched him. If
he'd've done to you what he did to me—"

"That's hardly the point. Did you stop to consider what the
consequences might have been for us—the rest of us? Did
you stop a single instant and think? No. No, you—"

"Hold it, John," I said.

"Jake, you can't possibly think he was justified."

"No, it was dumb. But he's young. At his age, I might've
done the same thing."

"No excuse."

"Probably not. But the whole question's kind of moot, isn't
it?"

John's shoulders slumped. "Unfortunately, yes."

Liam detached himself from the group and walked toward
us. "Isn't anybody going to see if he's all right?"

I knelt beside Prime. Gingerly, I uncovered his head. I put
my hand on his copper-colored hair. It was as soft and silky as
a baby's. I moved his head to the right and looked at his face.
The eyes were closed, the face serene. With my thumb—gen-
tly, very gently—I pried the left eyelid open. The iris was coal
black with tiny flecks of purple. The pupil didn't respond to
light, and the eye wasn't moving. I reached for his wrist.
Rolling up the pleated cuff proved to be difficult, so I ran a
middle finger under his jaw, tracing a line along the left neck
muscle near the throat, trying to find the carotid artery. The
skin was smooth, sleek, and dry. He was warm, but his body
temperature was slightly lower than normal, or so I thought.
But who knew what was normal for him?

No carotid pulse. I looked at his left eye again, then swi-
veled his head to examine the right. Then I stood up.

"He might be dead," I said.

"Good God," John murmured.

"That's crazy," Carl said in almost a whisper.

"Oh, my." John came over to stand beside me. "Jake, are
you... are you quite sure?"




4                   John DeChancie

"No. But he doesn't have a heartbeat, leastways none that I
can detect. He's not breathing, I don't think. We should roll
him over and... hell." I slapped my forehead. The past sev-
eral minutes had been so disorienting that I had slipped into a
sort of semiparalysis. Here, ostensibly, was a human being in
need of help, and we were all standing around like dummies. I
came out of it. "Daria! Run and get the medikit—know where
it is?"

"Yes." She ran back to the truck.

I got out the key and called Sam.

"This has all been very interesting," Sam observed.

"Sam, set up to monitor this guy's life signs."

"If he has any. Is he human?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

Carl was slowly shaking his head in disbelief. "Crazy. I
just poked him one. It couldn't have been enough—"

"It was enough," John said acidly. Then he bent over
slightly and peered at Prime's face. "Of all the bloody, beastly
luck." He straightened and let out a long sigh. "Well, that's it,
isn't it? We're all dead."

"Not yet," I said. "And he might not be either. My guess is
he's not human. But human or not, Carl didn't hit him hard
enough to kill him."

"But if he's not human, how do you know what it would
take to kill him?"

"You have a point."

"I wish I didn't."

The others were edging forward now. Zoya and Yuri drew
up closer and stopped.

"I wonder who he is," Yuri said. "What he is."

Daria came running with the medikit. I tore it open and
took out two remote monitoring transponders.

"Help me roll him over, John."

We were about to do so when Lori screamed.

I whirled. Carl was lying on the ground. Sean evidently
had caught him, and was now cradling Carl's head in his
arms.

"What happened?" John said.

Scan gently cuffed Carl's cheeks a few times. "Fainted
.dead away, he did. Just keeled over."

I went over and crouched beside them, took Carl's wrist

PARADOX ALLEY                5

and felt for his pulse. It was slow and thin, dangerously so.

"Is he okay?" Susan asked.

"Hard to tell," I said noncommittally. "Funny that he'd
pass out like that. Let me get a transponder for him."

"Carl?" Lori took my place as I got up. "Carl? Oh, no."

"He'll be all right, girl. Run and fetch some water."

Lori ran off.

"He's out cold, though," Sean said with concern. "Dead
out."

"Jake," John said, indicating Prime. "What about... ?"

"If he doesn't have a pulse, there's not much I can do for
him. And if he doesn't have a heart, all bets are off anyway.
I'm more worried about Carl."

"Well, finding out you've just killed somebody has to be a
shock."

"Maybe. Carl's not the type to faint dead away, though."

"He's young—just a boy, really."

"Not that young. And I don't like the feel of his pulse."

I moved Lori aside and opened Carl's shirt. After removing
the protective backing from the transponder, I stuck the disc-
shaped device on his chest, positioning it over the left pectoral
muscle. I prepared another and affixed it to the right pectoral,
then went back and got two more transponders and put them
on either side of his abdomen, just below the rib cage. I took
the key out of my pocket.

"Sam? Are you getting any readings?"

"Yup. Pulse forty-four, with some irregularity in the atrial
and ventricular rhythms. Got some inverted P-waves, too, and
the QRS complex looks kind of wacky."

"What do you make of it?"

"Well, my medical program is telling me his heart is in
trouble. And... wait a minute. Yeah. It's getting worse."

"What does the program say to do?"

"It's recommending things we can't do."

"Is it an infarct or something?"

"Doesn't look like it. Actually, it's shaping up to look like
congestive heart failure. Whoops, you're getting really bad
irregularities now. If he goes into fibrillation we can zap him
—but that's not going to correct whatever the hell's wrong
with him."

I felt my own heart frost over. He was dying.




6                   John DeChancie

"Not possible," Sean said, shaking his head. "A healthy
lad like him?"

Susan knelt beside me and squeezed my upper arm. "Jake.
Do something."

"Sorry," was all I could say. Then into the key: "Sam,
congestive heart failure is a long-term process. How could it
happen this fast?"

"Good question. The med program doesn't know, and nei-
ther do I."

"But what the hell is it telling you?"

"Easy, son. It just keeps flagging things with Anomalous
Event. It's pretty clear somebody's doing this to him, isn't
it?"

"Very clear," John said. "Obviously, this world deals in
swift retribution."

Susan shot him a fierce look. "You don't have to say it
with such satisfaction."

"I have none, Susan, I assure you."

I said, "Sam, how is he?"

"Getting worse, I'm afraid. All kinds of arrhythmias,
atrial flutter. It's a failing heart, Jake. Too many things going
wrong at once—I really don't think we can do a thing for him,
but you ought to try CPR in any case. I'd recommend starting
it right now."

"Right. Scan, stretch him out."

"Right-o."

Before we got to it, a voice came from behind us: "I'm
really very sorry this happened."

Everyone whirled around before I got to my feet. Susan
choked off a scream, and Liam uttered an awed "Jay-sus
Christ!"

It was Prime, on his feet and looking fit and hale.

"Very, very sorry," Prime was saying. "I can't help but feel
that it was in some way my fault."

His concern seemed genuine, if inexplicable.

"What are you doing to him?" I said.

"I beg your... ? Oh, I see. Yes. Well, I'm sure he'll be all
right. Merely a precautionary measure."

"He's dying," I said.

Prime seemed surprised. "Really? I can't think of a reason

PARADOX ALLEY                7

why he should be." He stepped toward us, his eyes on Carl.
"Are you sure?"

"He'll be dead very shortly," I told him.

Prime stopped. His gaze began to drift upward, finally fo-
cusing, it seemed, on something far away. "Hmm. I see. Yes."
He looked at me. "The young man's life processes are being
probed. Various components, various systems are being tem-
porarily suppressed in order to obtain an overview of the en-
tire organism. At teast, that is what I am told."

"Unsuppress them," I said.

Prime smiled beatifically. "You needn't worry. He's in very
good hands. As it stands, the plan is to keep him sedated for
the time being. However, that can be amended. And I see no
reason why it shouldn't be. I'm sure the outburst was simply
the result of the strains of your long journey."

I spoke into the key. "Sam? How's he doing?"

"Damnedest thing. The heart stabilized just like that. Pulse
is up. No arrhythmias, good sinus waves. Can't figure it.
Those transponders must have been on thefritz."

"Carl's okay, then?"

"He's coming around."

Prime was eyeing the truck. "You have other companions
inside?"

"No. That was the Artificial Intelligence who oversees the
operation of my vehicle."

"I see." He knitted his brow. "Interesting way to put it."

I wondered what he meant.

Suddenly, the smile was back. "We seem to have gotten off
on the wrong foot. Again, our apologies. The invitation to
lunch still stands, if you would do me the honor."

"Maybe we need to think about it for a bit," I said.

"As you wish. If you choose to come, simply follow the
road across the valley. There is an entrance to my residence at
the base of the mountain." He turned and pointed. "There, at
the end of the road."

I couldn't see anything, but said, "Thank you," anyway.

"You're quite welcome."

Suddenly, Carl sat up. He looked around. "Hello," he said.

Lori threw down the canteen she was holding, fell to her
knees, and nearly strangled Carl in a hug.

8                   John DeChancie

Susan bent over and placed a palm on his forehead. "Are
you okay, honey?"

"Uig..." Tugging at Lori's arms, Carl nodded.

Prime clapped his hands. "Well! No harm done, it seems."

"Let him breathe, Lori," Susan admonished.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Carl finally managed to say. "What the
hell happened?"

"You should ask this gentleman," John told him, inclining
his head toward Prime.

"Oh." Carl looked up at our host. "I thought you were
dead."

Prime laughed. "Not quite. Your friends seem prone to
worrying about people's health, including yours." Prime
turned to me. "By the way, your concern about me was very
commendable. Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said. "You had me fooled pretty
good, though. Tell me something. Are you human?"

"In part, yes."

After waiting for elaboration that didn't come, I repeated,
"In part," not knowing what else to say.

He was willing to go a bit further, but no more. "A small
part, but I assure you, a very active one." He clapped his
hands again. "So! I shall bid you good day." He made a mo-
tion to turn, then halted. "Incidentally, young man..."

Carl was getting to his feet. "Carl Chapin."

Prime took a step forward, his expression hardening just
the slightest. "Mr. Chapin. I have recommended that no re-
straints be put upon you and that you be allowed to move
about as you wish. The concern here is not that you may cause
me harm. You can't. But an unruly attitude might get in the
way of what we want to accomplish. Do I have your personal
assurance that you will hereafter conduct yourself in a manner
that is not disruptive?"

Carl looked around uncomfortably. "Um... yeah, I
guess." He added quickly, "I mean, yeah. Sure."

Prime's expression brightened again. "Very good. I shall
look forward to seeing you—all of you—at my residence.
Good day."

We watched him walk to his sleek black roadster, climb
aboard, and close the clear bubble canopy. The engine whined
to life. The vehicle wheeled around and swung onto the black

PARADOX ALLEY

surface of the Skyway. The pitch of the engine increasi
slightly and the thing whooshed down the road in the directk
from which it had come, black shiny wings starred with h
sun-points. Just before reaching the bend it rose from tl
roadway and soared into air. It climbed almost straight u]
rising to about three hundred meters before leveling off.
shot across the valley, a black triangle against the violet sky.
made a half turn around the fortress, then disappeared.

John stared into the distance. "I wonder what he wants i
accomplish?"

(p^w^)

2

WE ALL PILED into the truck and had a palaver.

"Frankly, I don't see that we have a choice," John said
after he had taken a swig from the canteen.

We had had to ration water the whole trip. Nine humans
and four aliens had put a strain on the recycler.

"Prime gave us one," I countered. "He didn't insist that we
join him."

"What are our options, then? Should we fumble about on a
totally alien and very bizarre world? In hopes of doing what,
exactly?"

"Finding food, for one thing," Sean put in. "The cupboard
is bare."

"We've been invited to lunch," John reminded him.

"We could be walking into a trap," I said. "Can we be sure
Prime will let us leave?"

"We've seen his power. He may be able to do anything he
wants with us."

"That may very well be true," I said, nodding. "But we
don't know for sure."

"He seems friendly enough," Susan said. "Absolutely
charming, in fact."

Zoya said, "I doubt very much that he is what he seems to
be. I don't for a moment believe he is human."

"And I don't believe he's God," Liam said. "I'm not what
you'd call the religious sort, but gadding about in a shiny new
roadster isn't my idea of how a Supreme Being should be
conducting himself." He scratched his effusive light-brown
beard. "Of course, I'm not so sure exactly how a Supreme

11

12 John DeChancie

Being should be conducting himself, but—"

"I know what you mean," John said. "I think we should
dispense with that notion straight off. Prime is obviously an
advanced form of life. Perhaps he's even immortal. But eter-
nal? Hardly."

"Okay," I said, "we're in agreement on that score. I'd also
add that, though he might be very powerful, he probably isn't
omnipotent. Or omniscient, or all-loving and good, either. He
says he has something to accomplish—what, we don't know,
but his plans seem to include us. We have to decide whether
we want to cooperate. We might not like what he wants to
do."

Daria said, "Maybe he'll give us the choice of not cooper-
ating."

"There's that possibility," I answered, turning in the
driver's seat to face her. She was squatting behind the seat,
forearm resting on the back. She looked as pretty as ever. Her
hair had grown out quite a bit, softening the effect of the
severe cut she'd worn when we first met. The hardships of our
journey had left their mark. She looked tired most of the time,
which could have been due to her pregnancy, though she was
only a little shy of three months into it. She'd been gaining
weight too. Her features were slightly more fleshed out. A
little, not much.

"Daria," I said, "what's your gut feeling? Do you trust
Prime?"

She pursed her lips and thought about it for a long time.
Then she said, "We have no reason to trust him. Absolutely
none. Ask me on a bad day and I'd say no, let's not go near
him." She ran a hand through her smooth, dark-brown hair.
Tired or not, Daria always looked as if she'd just stepped out
of a beauty parlor: hair in place, makeup perfect. "And though
I wouldn't exactly call this a good day, I get this feeling that
we simply must deal with him. We'll have to, if we want to
get back." She sighed. "Do I trust him? No farther than I
could throw Sean. What's my gut feeling?" She shrugged
helplessly. "Let's go to lunch."

"I dunno, Daria, m'giri," Sean said with a grin, "after the
way you handled those two beefy loggers back on Talltree, I
wouldn't give odds on how far you could throw me."

PARADOX ALLEY               13

Daria smiled, a little abashedly.

"Oh, no, you should be proud, Daria." Sean's grin broad-
ened and he swelled with satisfaction. "Ah, I'll never forget
the sight of Tommy Baker, gorked out across the bed with his
arse hanging out. He had it coming, and it was a fine thing to
see him get it."

"I caught him at a delicate moment," Daria said.

"Anybody else want to express his or her opinion?" I asked
around. "Susan?"

"Oh, I trust him. Darla's right, no good reason. But isn't
everybody interested in finding out what this guy's all about?
And where the heck are we, anyway? What is this place? Only
Prime can tell us that."

"Lori? How about you?"

"Well..." She gave Carl a sidelong admonitory glare. "If
certain people can behave themselves... I say we go to the
Emerald City."

"I won't punch the guy again. But I'm not promising any
more than that."

"You'll behave or I'll give you a fat lip."

"Don't worry, I'll be Goody Two-Shoes."

"Whoever that is."

I said, "John?"

"Oh, yes, by all means. We should accept his invitation."

I looked at Yuri and Zoya.

"I agree with the consensus," Yuri said. "We certainly need
some answers."

Zoya looked out the port moodily. "It might serve us to be
cautious. Perhaps we should make some attempt to communi-
cate with him, talk to him further. Find out exactly what he
wants of us."

"Do you really think we can remain safe from him," Yuri
asked skeptically, "simply by staying away from that fortress
of his?"

"No. But.,." She focused her gaze far away. "I don't
think I want to go there."

"What's all the discussion?" Roland broke in impatiently.
"You saw what he did to Carl. If he wants, we all drop over
dead, like that. So what choice do we have?"

"Good point," John said.

14

John DeChancie

PARADOXALLEY

15

"I just wanted to take time and think things over," I said to
Roland. "And I wanted everyone to have a say in what we
should do."

"Sorry, Jake. I just don't see the point in haggling over
this."

"Maybe there is none, but we've been running in a panic
for a long time now. For once I want the luxury of ruminating
over our next move."

Roland laughed and sat back in the shotgun seat. "Take all
the time you want. We have most of eternity."

"Exactly," I said. "Ragna? Would you and Oni like to put
your two cents in?"

Not counting George and Winnie, who were what exopo-
logists would label "borderline-sapient quasi-hominids"—
looked like apes to me, funny ones, with long floppy ears and
big wet eyes—Ragna and Oni were the only alien members of
our party. They had joined us in the rig during our rest stop,
abandoning their cramped vehicle, and had since taken pains
to be as unobtrusive as possible, keeping to themselves and
generally trying not to be an added burden, which they
weren't. I liked them a lot.

Ragna blinked, translucent nictitating membranes sliding
up to cover the eyeballs before the lids came down. He put his
hands up to adjust his blue headband, which was a linguistic
translating interface. "The reference to outmoded monetary
units is understood denotatively, but not colloquially. How-
ever, I am getting the gist of your nub. Yes, we are having a
contribution to be making, which is this..." He glanced at
Oni, who nodded consent. "We, being the nonhuman minority
of this band of intrepid explorers—note irony—are hardly in
a position to be saying anything yea or nay, since, by the same
token, we have not been invited along, but more or less have
crashed this party, if you are following my rhetoric. Be that as
it may—and by the life of me, it very well may—we say yes,
by gosh, let us by all means go to the fortress of this Prime
fellow and ask him to put his two cents into the bargain as
well!" He smiled sheepishly. "If you get what I am meaning."

"I get what you are meaning," I said. "Who else? Sean?
Liam?"

"I'm hungry," Sean said. "Let's go and eat."

"He's always hungry," Liam said, "but count me in, too."

"I'm bored," Roland said. "Let's get moving."

"Sam?" I said.

"Oh, I have a vote?"

"Sam, you always have at least a kilocredit's worth to put
in," Susan said, "and you know it."

"Thank you, m'am. What I say is, I'd be wary of this
Prime dude."

I waited for more, then: "That's it?"

"Yup. I guess you have change coming, Suzie."

"Oh, come on, Sam," I said. "Spill it."

"Nothing to spill. I'm a computer, remember? Give me
data to analyze, numbers to crunch, I'll give you a readout.
But don't ask me to make anything out of recent events. It's
all too crazy for me. Emerald cities, fairy castles, crazy
planets, some guy who thinks he's God... Forget it, I'm
shutting down. Wake me when it's over."

"Oh, come off it," I said. "Every time you're put on the
spot you go into that 'I'm just a computer' routine."

"Seriously, I think this is a human-judgment situation. It
calls for acting on a hunch, an intuition, a feeling in your
belly. Computers don't have bellies to get feelings in, boys
and girls."

"Sam, when are you going to admit to yourself that you're
human?"

"Son, I was human for seventy-two years. That was
enough."

"But your Vlathusian Entelechy Matrix," John put in,
"makes your responses absolutely indistinguishable from those
of a human mind fully possessed of every faculty. It's enough
to fool anybody. Sometimes I half believe you're really a per-
son hidden away in this lorry somewhere, speaking into a
microphone and putting us all on."

"Well, you've found me out, John. You're right, I'm a
fraud. Thing is, I'm only one decimeter tall. You'll never find
me."

"You see? Computers don't usually have a sense of humor.
Jake's right. You are undeniably human, Sam, whether you
like it or not."

"Be that as it may," Sam said. "Getting back to the issue at




16

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

17

hand, though, I think you've made your decision already."

"We haven't heard from everybody yet," Susan said.

"Who's that?" I asked.

"You, Jake. What do you think?"

I sat back and exhaled. "Well. Just on general principles
... like Yuri said, we need some answers. I have a few ques-
tions to put to Mr. Prime myself. And if I don't like the
answers, I might just take a poke at him, too. But I have other
reasons for wanting to visit Emerald City. Moore and his gang
are out here somewhere. We might be safer inside the city."

"Maybe Prime invited them to lunch, too," Roland said.

"When? Did I miss something? Or did they get here before
us? I thought Moore and his crew took off in the other direc-
tion."                                 _^

"Maybe Prime contacted them by radio... or telepathy or
some such wonder."

"He didn't contact us that way."

"True," Roland admitted. "But he might still do that thing
—invite them."

"Okay," I said, "I'll buy that, but we'll have to inform
Prime that under no circumstances will we remain under the
same roof with those birds."

"I'll drink to that," Sean said. "Which reminds me, I've a
god-awful thirst."

Our beer reserves also had been under strict rationing.

Susan said, "Do you really think they're still after us? I
mean, what do we have that they want? The Black Cube?"

"I'd give them that," I said. "Nobody seems to want the
damn thing."

"One good thing," Sam said. "Old Corey Wilkes won't be
giving us any trouble. He was behind it all, and now that he's
gone, I think Moore might have a hard time thinking up rea-
sons to give us grief."

"Except that he has a score to settle with me," I said.

"Well, maybe. You'd think he'd've had just about enough
by now."

"Not our Mr. Moore," Liam said. "You don't know him,
Sam."

"I think I do," I said, "and I'm worried."

I looked out the side port. The "sun" was declining toward

the horizon. It looked to be late afternoon, the sky having
turned a slightly deeper shade of blue-violet. The green of the
grass-carpeted hills was iridescent—a psychotic, delirious
green. The neat shrubbery was variously colored—here pinks
and reds, there browns and oranges. This place had the feel of
a park, a playland.

I turned and yelled, "Winnie! Where are you?"

"Probably getting it on with George," Roland said. "Those
two are a pair."

Winnie came scurrying out of the aft-cabin, threading her
way through the thicket of human legs and bodies. George
followed her.

"Winnie here, Jake!"

"C'mere, girl."

She jumped up into my lap. I rubbed the bony, fur-covered
knot between her floppy ears.

"What do you think, Winnie?" I said.

Winnie thought, knitting her low brow. She put a lot of
effort into it. Then she asked, "What think about?"

"Huh? Oh. About that man we" met. The one with the
pretty clothes. Did you like him?"

She shrugged. I wondered if the gesture were learned or
innate.

"Big man," Winnie said. "Big."

"Big?" If anything. Prime had been on the short side. "You
mean, important? Powerful?"

"Yes, that. Big man. 'Portant." She groped for elaboration,
then said, simply, "Real big man." Then, an afterthought:

"Many."

"Many? You mean much? Much big?"

"Many," she said flatly.

"Many? More than one? He has friends?"

She considered it. "No. He many. Morethanone."

"I see." I looked to the group for comment. None. Turning
to George, who was no taller but a little more bulky about the
midsection, I asked, "What's your opinion, George, old
bean?"

George gave me a puzzled look.

"Do you think Prime—that man—is big and many?"

He nodded. "Many-more-than-one." He continued nodding




18 John DeChancie

emphatically for a moment, then stopped and pondered. "But
he one also, too."

"Eh? He's one. Just one man?"
"But many... also. One... many."
"This is beginning to sound suspiciously theological
again," John said. "One-in-many. Next they'll be expounding
on the doctrine of the Trinity."

"How did they tumble to all this?" Liam asked incredu-
lously.

"These two know everything," Susan said. "I've always
had the feeling that Winnie has known everything all along."

"Can you explain, George?" I asked. "Explain. Say
more?"

George scratched his belly and cogitated. "Pime. He...
not man."

"Oh. He's not? What is he?"

'"Splain." He looked as if a headache were coming on.
"He..." The belly scratching grew more vigorous. George
screwed up his face in frustration. "He... Pime... he..."

"Okay, okay. Don't get upset. It's all right that you can't
say it."

"He all of them!" George blurted. "All. One. Many." He
stopped scratching. Something dawned on him, a faint light at
the horizon of his understanding. His gaze was drawn out the
port to the sky. "Me," he said. He stared for a moment, then
lowered his eyes to Winnie. "Winnie, too. She also. We." He
pointed to her, then brought his stubby index finger back to
rest on his chest. "Me. Us." He tapped the finger. "We many."
That said, he sighed, looking a bit sad. " 'Splain no more."
There was a long silence.
Presently, I said, "Thanks, George, Winnie."
Winnie gave me a hug and got down.
"Well, gang," I said, not particularly apropos of anything.
"Yes. Well," John said.
"What do you say we get moving?"
"Yeah," Susan said emptily.

I turned forward, put my foot on the accelerator pedal, and
took hold of the control bars. "Start her up, Sam."
Sam did. The engine thrummed to life.
I looked out across the valley at the green-glass fairy pal-

PARADOX ALLEY               19

ace, and finally thought of something to say. I suppose there
was an impish grin on my face when I tried to come out with,
"Well, gang, we're—"

"If you say 'We're off to see the Wizard,'" Sam declared,
"I'll come out of my hidey-hole and bite you on the ass."

3

THE TRIP ACROSS the valley floor was leisurely and unevent-
ful. We passed other structures along the way, ones we hadn't
really noticed with the green fortress riveting our attention.
We took time to puzzle over them now. One looked like a
cross between an Ionic temple and a chemical factory. Another
was in the shape of a squashed silver sphere melded to a blue
pyramid. A third, lying some distance off the road, was a
free-form aggregation of butterfly-wing shapes. There were
others less easy to describe. Needless to say, we didn't have a
clue as to what they were or what functions they served, if
any. I suspected that some of them weren't buildings, exactly.
Sculpture? Possibly. Machines? Maybe.

The Emerald City was different. There was a fanciful qual-
ity to it. Its lines were graceful and romantic, belying its bulk.
It imparted a sense of solidity, though; it was big enough to
contain a city, and if it truly were a fortress, a castle, it looked
the part, high ramparts braced against the wind. It looked to
have been carved out of a single uniform block of material.
No seams, no joints.

It was a castle, but it was unlike anything you'd see in
history books. An alien hand had drawn the blueprints; I was
willing to bet on that.

Sam asked, "What was that about an entrance at the foot of
the mountain?"

"That's what the man said."

But what was there was simply the end of the the road. The
Skyway, that maze of interstellar road that stretched through-
out the galaxy, terminated at the base of the citadel in front of
a stand of short purplish trees. Road's end. We had come a
long way.

21

22 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 23

I braked.

"Whoa!" Sam yelled. "What's this?"

The juncture of road and hillside parted, the edge of the hill
rising like a hiked skirt, scrubby trees stitched to the hem. It
stopped just high enough to admit the truck, forming an arch
that revealed the mouth of a tunnel. The road continued
through.

"What do you think of that, Sam?" I asked.

"Nifty."

"Shall we drive on in?"

"Sure. I'll put the headbeams on."

I looked at the underside of the tunnel mouth as we drove
through the aperture. It was all metal inside. No earth or
debris rained down on us, and I couldn't for the life of me
figure out how this trick was being done, but I didn't have
much time to study it.

The tunnel was smooth-walled, lit by oval recessed fixtures
positioned at regular intervals directly overhead. Otherwise it
was featureless and reminded me of the Roadbug garage
planet, where the Bugs had caught us then dragged us across
light-years to this place. The tunnel bore through the mountain
for about half a kilometer before it debouched into a dimly lit,
expansive cavern.

But here the similarity to the Roadbug planet ended,
though the place did look like a garage. The skeletal shapes of
huge cranes and gantries loomed in the shadows. Strange ma-
chinery lay everywhere. There were scores of vehicles here,
too, some parked out in the middle of the floor and appearing
ready for use, others occupying numerous maintenance bays
recessed into me walls. The vehicles were of every shape and
description.

"How much to park here by the hour?" Sam wanted to
know.

"Where's the attendant?" I asked. "But seriously, folks—
how the hell do we get up to the city from here?"

"Elevator, I guess," Carl said.

"Yeah," I said. "Where? This place is big. See anything?"

We roamed through the place for a few minutes.

"What's that?" Roland said, pointing.

"Where?"

"Looks like a ramp. See? Through that opening right there,

against the far wall. No, now you can't see it—behind that
big electrical coil-looking thing."

"Oh." I eased the rig forward and saw it. It was a sharply
inclined ramp barely wide enough to admit a small vehicle.
No go for the truck.

"Looks like some sort of way up," I said, "but we'll have
to hoof it."

"Looks like I stay here," Sam said.

"Sorry, Sam."

"Well, I'd be a little obtrusive sitting at the table, anyway.
Enjoy your lunch."

I scrammed the engine. "Okay. Here we go."

The cavern was cool, redolent of garage smells—not oil
and grease, just the definite ambience of heavy machinery.

"Everybody have everything?" I asked when all the crew
had gotten out. "We might not be back here for a while."

"Got all my Nogon camping gear," Susan said while reach-
ing behind to adjust a strap on her backpack. "Don't know
what use it'll be, but what the hell."

"Good idea to bring anything we might possibly need," I
said. "There's no telling what's up there. Anybody else?"

Everybody was content to make the trip up with what he
had.

I took out my key and spoke into it. "Okay, Sam. Take care
and keep an eye out for trouble."

"You, too. Good luck."

We made our way over the dark smooth floor, toward the
archway that led to the ramp, walking past some extremely
bizarre vehicles. They were composed of various geometrical
shapes shoved together at odd angles. Farther along there were
more vehicles, these more comprehensible but very alien in
appearance.

Liam was first through the archway. He looked up and
stopped in his tracks. "Mother of God," he said quietly.

We joined him at the bottom of a huge cylindrical shaft that
shot straight up through the mountain, its vanishing point lost
in darkness. Running straight up the middle of the shaft with-
out visible support was a vertical ramp, a wide ribbon of some
metallic substance, its color a pale blue, its bottom end curling
outward like a length of tape. It touched the floor at a perfect
tangent to form the ramp we'd seen from the truck.




24

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

25

We walked around it, keeping our distance. I walked
around it twice, then again. The damn thing wasn't even three
centimeters thick.

"It's a laundry chute," Carl ventured.

"Yeah, for express laundry," I said.

Carl nodded. "Well, the way it really works is, you're sup-
posed to get this really good running start, see... like this."

He backstepped, then ran up the sharply curling end of the
ramp to a point where it became nearly vertical. He pivoted
sharply and began to run back down—

But he didn't. Couldn't.

His grin disappeared. "Hey!"

He began to glide up the ramp. He was still facing down,
his body perpendicular to the ramp and now horizontal to the
ground, held fast by some mysterious attractive force. He
could move his feet, though. He tried walking back down, but
the upward drift was too rapid. He started to run, clumsily, his
steps slow and heavy.

"Holy hell!" he yelled. "I can't—"

We all stood there gawking. I couldn't think of a thing to
do to help him. It was the strangest thing, watching him being
borne straight up on this impossible vertical treadmill. As his
ascent speed increased, he gave up running and turned slowly
until he was facing up the shaft.

"Hey!" he called over his shoulder. "I guess this is the way
up!" He laughed mirthlessly, the smooth walls of the shaft
carrying his echoing voice down to us. "Anyway, I sure as shit
hope so."

"Carl!" Lori screamed after him, her eyes round with fear
and disbelief. "Carl, be careful!"

"I think he's right, girl," Sean said. "That's the way up."

I stepped forward and tentatively put my right boot on the
ramp, testing it. I felt no pull, no quasimagnetic attraction. I
inched my foot forward. Someone grasped my arm—Daria,
stepping up onto the ramp with me.

"Going up?" she said, smiling.

"I'm with you, kid."

We climbed the steep incline. We hadn't taken more than a
few steps when it began to happen. The world tilted. My
sense of up and down rotated about forty-five degrees. Sud-
denly the ribbon of metal was no longer vertical but merely

steep, and we rode upward as if on an escalator in a depart-
ment store. I could move my feet, but it was like walking in
sticky mud. It was a little disorienting, but not unpleasantly
so.

I turned until I faced down the ramp. Everybody was just
standing there.

"Hey," I called, "it's okay. Hop aboard."

They exchanged shrugs and reluctantly approached the
ramp.

I shuffled back around again. Carl, a good distance ahead,
was waving and shouting something I couldn't hear. I waved
back.

"Don't get too far ahead!" I yelled.

He cupped his hand to his ear, so I yelled louder. He heard,
nodded, and tried walking back down again. But he was still
gaining speed. He finally gave up and threw out his arms in
despair.

We were accelerating, too. I looked at my feet. It was hard
to tell whether we were sliding over the surface or being car-
ried along by some mysterious movement of the surface itself,
as if it were a conveyor belt. The ramp was seamless, feature-
less, and the shaft around us was dark. I finally decided that
we were sliding—and I was almost sure that the soles of my
boots weren't actually touching the ramp but riding a few
millimeters above it.

It was a quick trip up. A disc of light grew at the top of the
tube, and we rushed toward it. Our speed was hard to judge,
but we were moving right along, and the sensation was exhila-
rating. The experience recapitulated my recent recurring
dreams, my fantasies—plunging headlong through a dark
tunnel toward a source of brilliant light. I'd read something
somewhere about that image—about it being a recapitulation
of the birth experience. I considered it. I'm not one to set
much store by armchair psychology, but there was an undeni-
able feel of truth to the notion.

We suddenly decelerated. My sense of orientation did a
double flip as the ramp leveled off, shot through an opening
into a large green chamber, and became one with the floor.
Daria and I slid to a gradual halt, took a few jogging steps,
and walked off the end of ramp onto a polished black floor.

"Where's Carl?" Daria asked.




26                  John DeChancie

I looked around. We were in a large circular room. Arched
openings were cut into the walls at regular intervals. Ramp
ends came out of them, converging and terminating on the
circular black area where we stood.

"Darned if I know," I said.

4

"WHERE'S CARL?" WAS the first thing John Sukuma-Tayler
asked as he stepped off the magic escalator.

"Good question," I said. "He seems to've misplaced him-
self."

John scowled and shook his head. "That damn fool. If he
gets us into more trouble—"

"I'm more worried that something might have happened to
him."

The scowl dissolving, John nodded dourly. "Oh, I suppose
you're right. Any idea where he might have gone?"

"No. I didn't want to go looking until you'd all come up.
How far behind you were the others?"

"Um... when I looked back, Susan seemed to be having
the most trouble getting on the thing. I don't know what pos-
sessed me to go first after you two, but I did. I think—oh,
here they are."

Out of the oval opening in the green wall came Lori, Yuri,
Zoya, Ragna, and Oni. Following close behind was Sean,
hand in hand with Winnie and George. There was a moderate
delay before Liam and Roland came through, propping up
between them a slightly gray-faced Susan.




Susan stumbled off the strip, moaned, and put a hand to
her stomach. "Oh, my God."

"You okay, Suzie?" I said.

She heaved a sigh, then burped. "'Scuse me. Roller
coasters always made me sick."

Roland laughed and slapped her on the back. "Oh, come
on, Susan. It wasn't that bad."

28 John DeChancie

Susan winced and rolled her eyes. "I don't believe we went
straight up... straight up! It was the worst... ooh, I can't
stand it." She belched again.

"Carl is missing," Daria told Sean, who had been glancing
around the chamber.

"We lost sight of him on the way up," I said, "and he
wasn't here when we arrived. I suggest we start looking."

"The boy's got the devil in 'im for sure," Sean said, "but
he wouldn't run off like this. Something must have hap-
pened."

"Whatever happened," I said, "it was fast. We couldn't
have been more than thirty seconds behind him."

"D'you think Prime had something to do with it?" Liam
asked me.

"Could be."

"Odd thing," Sean said. "I thought Prime would be here to
greet us."

"And I am. Welcome." The voice filled the domed
chamber.

"Hello?" I said, whirling to find the source.

"Forgive me," Prime's voice said, "I am afraid that certain
exigencies have prevented me from greeting you in person. I
will be joining you shortly, however, and until then I've pro-
vided—"

"Where's Carl?" I shouted.

"I'm sorry?" A pause, then: "Oh, yes. It seems the young
man has gotten himself lost. That is a very easy thing to ac-
complish in this place, I'm afraid. Please don't worry. He also
will join you very soon. He's quite safe, I assure you."

"We're concerned," I told him.

"Of course you are, and I don't blame you in the slightest.
You are in a strange place and have quite naturally assumed
that there is potential danger here. I fully appreciate your pru-
dent distrust of me. I could very well be an enemy. And I also
realize that you must have grave reservations concerning any
assurances I might give to the contrary. After all, you know
very little about me. Now, what I ultimately want you to un-
derstand is that your fears about me are not justified. I bear
you no ill will and mean you no harm. As time goes on, this
will become apparent. Having said this, however, I want to
warn you that your natural caution about this place is justified.

PARADOX ALLEY

29

There is indeed potential danger here, both inside this struc-
ture and on this planet, though the perils outside these walls
far outstrip those within. Let us deal with the proximate vari-
ety. There are in and about these rooms and towers numerous
artifacts, which, if used improperly, may be a source of trou-
ble. Also, the dangers of getting lost here are quite real. This
structure has certain—shall we say—architectural peculiari-
ties, which, until they are understood and taken into account,
can cause accidents. In short, you would be wise to use dis-
cretion and be generally circumspect in your movements until
you get used to your surroundings. I hope I have made myself
clear."

I said, "You mentioned something about dangers outside."
"Of those you will leam more later. They would be diffi-
cult to describe without my giving you an extensive briefing
on the situation here."

"Okay, but I take it you aren't alone on this planet. There
are others. Correct?"
"You might say that."

I was suddenly annoyed. This guy had a knack for answer-
ing questions with an unambiguous maybe.

"Thanks for the info," I said. "You said something about
lunch. Also something about straight answers to our ques-
tions."

There was an indulgent smile implied in the voice. "I un-
derstand your impatience. But perhaps you need time to think
about your questions first." A chuckle, then: "You are very
intelligent and resourceful creatures, of that I have no doubt.
Intelligent enough, perhaps, to realize that what you face here
is entirely strange and new to your experience. You will be
exposed to ideas and concepts which may be difficult for you
to grasp. Ultimately, the goal of complete understanding
might lie beyond your capabilities. I very much doubt that,
but that is one proposition which must be put to the test. In
any case, the learning experience itself should prove reward-
ing. This is why I contend that you need time. Impatience is
counterproductive at best. And here on this world-construct—
which I propose we call Microcosmos, for want of a better
name—it could conceivably prove lethal."

I nodded. "Okay, fine. I'm sure I speak for all of us when I
say we're eager to leam. And you can bet we'll be careful.

30                  John DeChancie
But frankly, the suspense is already killing me. And I'm

hungry."

Prime gave a gentle laugh. "No doubt. Just a moment."

We waited maybe a quarter minute. Then, out of an arch-
way to our right, came a glowing green sphere floating about

two meters off the floor.

"What you see is rather hard to explain technically," Prime

told us, "but its function is simple. It will guide you to the
dining hall, where, if you are still amenable, we will have
lunch. Please follow it there. I will join you shortly."

"I hate to keep pestering," I said, "but what about Carl?"

No reply.

"What about Carl?" Lori shouted. "Answer us!"

The green sphere bobbed, then receded through the arch-
way and into a dark corridor running tangentially to the circu-
lar chamber. There it paused, as if waiting for us.

"Lead on, MacDuff," John called to it as he started for-
ward. He halted and looked around at everybody. "Well?"

Susan was still nursing her middle. "I can't think of food
right now, but maybe if I forced something down..."

"Right," Roland said, "then I'll take you for a ride on the
magic ramp again. We'll look for the one that goes down this

time."

"Ulp."

We followed the green sphere.

Prime hadn't been kidding about the architectural oddity of
the place. Everything was goofy. Walls curved and canted
vertiginously, floors sloped at odd angles. Weird perspectives
tricked us at every turn. Even so, the place had a bizarre
beauty to it. Rather stark, though. The walls were smooth and
unadorned. No pictures, carvings, or decorations. No tapes-
tries, weapons, or shields emblazoned with colorful heraldry.
Not a proper castle after all. The floor was everywhere black
with a deep shine, looking like a dark mirror. Here and about,
though, stood odd thingamabobs, no doubt the artifacts Prime
had warned us about. Some looked like pieces of machinery,
others could have been sculpture, or for all we knew, alien hat

racks.

"This place is a damn museum," Susan said.

"I was just about to say that," John told her.

PARADOX ALLEY               31

I said, "Yeah, it does have the feel of one."

An odd one, though. There didn't seem to be much organi-
zation to it. Some things were lying about haphazardly; they
weren't necessarily on display. Nevertheless, I got the distinct
impression that this was a collection, a bunch of stuff that had
been obtained at various places and carted here for storage.

We soon came to a high-ceilinged hall featuring a large
centrally positioned table of irregular shape. Uniformly con-
structed seating appliances—the term chairs would tend to
connote that one could easily sit in them—were arranged
around the table, but what was on the table wasn't strange; it
was food, and it all looked good. There was a huge whole
baked ham, assorted roast fowl, fish, various cuts of beef, one
or two of pork, and maybe one of veal. These entrees were
flanked by vegetable dishes, casseroles, fruit arrangements,
baskets of bread, tureens of soup, bowls of salad—and on and
on. There was other stuff I couldn't readily identify, but it
looked very familiar. All in all, this was something more than
lunch and slightly less than a state dinner for a visiting foreign
dignitary. The eating utensils looked alien but serviceable, as
did the glassware.

We looked it over. Meanwhile our shining guide drifted
away, exiting through an arch and into darkness.

"Quite a spread," Susan commented.

"How're your insides?" I asked.

"Getting better."

We all stood about gawking until Prime entered the hall
through an archway to the left. Smiling, he strode to the ap-
proximate head of the table and stood. "Welcome. I'm glad
you came. Please be seated."

We chose places around the table. Along with the rest of
the gang, I regarded the "chair" on which I was to "seat"
myself. It was pink, shiny, and looked somewhat like a for-
mation of coral. The prospect of actually using the thing as a
seat involved the possibility of having an autoerotic experi-
ence—or a painful one, depending on how careful you were.

"I think you will find—" Prime began, but a shout from
Lori interrupted him.

She had tried silting but had immediately sprung to her
feet. "It moved!" she told us.




32                  John DeChancie

Prime chuckled. "The chairs will automatically reform
themselves to accommodate your bodies. Simply sit down
and..."

Gingerly, I sat. The damn chair did that very thing, and it
did it almost before my buttocks had touched down.

"There, you see?"

"Interesting," I said as the chair made some further adjust-
ments, these very subtle and done much more slowly. I sank
into the thing a little and stopped. It was strange, but I was
comfortable.

When everyone had settled in. Prime poured himself a
glass of amber liquid from a carafe. "I think you'll find this
wine very insouciant and a bit immature, but compatible with
almost everything here." He indicated a similar decanter near
John, who was seated to his right. There were several around
the table. "Please serve yourselves. I must apologize for the
lack of servants—the only one I have is engaged at the mo-
ment."

I picked up a carafe and poured the glass to my right for
Susan, the left for Daria, and one for me.

Prime raised his glass. "I propose a toast. To life."

"Hear, hear," Sean said.

I inhaled the bouquet. While I was at it, I smelled the
wine, too. What I got was the sense of a late-summer day ...
ripe fruit fallen in the orchard, warm breath of flowers, bright
sun declining over the garden gate, the arbor heavy with
grapes, fresh-cut hay fields, dreaming the afternoon away ...
like that. Odors familiar yet exotic, somehow. More than
odors; an ambience. An experience.

I drank the wine and drank in the experience. There was a
taste, too. It was fruit and flowers and dew-laden sprigs of
wild mint; it was a dash of crushed cinnamon, a twist of
lemon, a drop of honey. It was many things.

Presently, Daria said, "I've never... ever tasted anything
like this."

"I'm so glad you like it," Prime said, beaming. "It is very
good isn't it?"

"Ambrosia," John murmured, staring into his glass.

"What is it called? Does it have a name?" Zoya wanted to
know.

PARADOX ALLEY               33

Prime squinted one eye. "I think... well, a free translation
would be 'Earth's sweet breath of summer.'"

"How appropriate. How lovely."

"Where does it come from?" Yuri asked.

"The beings who produced this wine were very much like
yourselves, and were excellent wine makers. Possibly the best
the universe ever saw. As I said, they were very much like
you. In fact, they were your descendents, over two million
years removed from your time."

"Two million!" Susan gasped.

"Yes. They were still human—very human. And they still
remembered Earth, apparently. No doubt they visited that
most ancient home of humankind."

"Where's Carl?" Lori broke in loudly.

Prime looked at her, his expression tolerant. "He'll be here
any moment. You shouldn't worry so much, my dear."

"Two million years in our future," John said. "Very diffi-
cult to believe. But you speak as if that time were long past
... to you."

"Yes it is," Prime said. "It was quite long ago. But time, to
us ... to me, means very little."

"Who's 'us'?" I asked.

Prime drank, sat back. "I have been thinking of the appro-
priate word or phrase to use. Something handy—short, con-
cise—which would impart the meaning without too much
distortion. In your language there arc a number of words. But
I have chosen the Culmination. That is what we are. What I
am. You may refer to us the Culmination."

I usually jump at the chance to ask obvious questions. "The
Culmination of what, exactly?"

Prime gave me a level, sober look. "Life. Consciousness.
Process. Mind. Will."

I quaffed the rest of my wine. "Stuff like that, huh?"

Prime laughed silently, his grin broad. "Yes. Stuff like
that." He looked around the table. "Please, do begin. We can
talk as we eat."

"Arc you God?" Lori said.

"What is God?" Prime answered.

"Huh?"

"Can you define the word?"

34 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 35

"Well, you know..."

"Precisely, now."

Lori chewed her lip, then said, "You know. The guy that
made everything."

"Guy?"

"Person. The person who made the universe. Everything."

"Made?"

She got a little annoyed. "Created. The person who created
living things. That guy. The one you pray to." She rolled her
eyes. "You know."

"Do you pray to God?"

Lori was suddenly uncomfortable. "Sometimes. Not a lot."

Prime smiled a little impishly. "I'm teasing you. I knew
what you meant. And the fair answer to your question is pre-
cisely this: I don't know—yet."

"That's a funny answer," Lori complained.

"Nevertheless, it's the only one I can give before I explain
some things to you. And that will take time." He reached for a
small loaf of bread and tore off a piece. "I suggest we eat
first."

"We're still a little concerned—" I began, then heard a
noise to my right.

It was Carl, being led into the dining hall by a glowing
sphere. Impossible to tell whether it was the same one that had
ushered us around.

"Carl!" Lori got up and rushed to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Where the hell were you guys?"

"Where the hell were you?" I asked him.

"Jeez, after I got to the top, I waited and waited. When you
didn't show I took off and scouted around. Got lost."

"We couldn't have been more than a minute behind you."

"Yeah? It seemed a lot longer than that. I thought you guys
weren't coming up."

"But you saw Daria and me on the ramp. Didn't you?"

"Yeah, that's what I couldn't figure. I thought the ramp
stopped or something and you were stuck. And I couldn't
figure a way to get back into that shaft and look down."

"Well, you should've stayed put," I told him.

"Sorry. I didn't go very far at all. I mean, all I did was step
out of that round room. And all of a sudden I was, like, lost. It
was really weird."

Carl did the chair routine. "This place is screwy," he de-
clared after he had settled in.

"Any explanation for Carl's confusion?" I asked Prime.

"Well..." Prime had taken up a long curved ladle and was
dishing himself some of what looked like shrimp casserole.
"You may recall that I mentioned some architectural anoma-
lies associated with this edifice. You will find that within the
confines of this building, the properties of time and space are
somewhat different from what you might normally be accus-
tomed to. Now in most areas the effects are slight, but here
and there the curvature increases, and things might seem a bit
strange until you have made certain psychological adjust-
ments. The effects are the by-products of all the different tech-
nologies in and about the place." He poured himself more
wine. "For example, that conveyance you used to come up.
Time flows a trifle faster when you ride it—meaning that the
trip is actually longer than it seems. Not by much, mind you. I
suppose Carl may have grown a little impatient. Anxious,
probably. Your arrival may have seemed unduly delayed. Am
I right, Carl?"

"Yeah, I guess I was pretty jumpy."

"Well, there you are. And you may have lost your way by
entering an area where -the shortest distance between two
points is not necessarily a straight line, if you get my mean-
ing."

"Not really."

"Suffice it to say that this building would be difficult to
negotiate one's way through even without the spatiotemporal
distortions."

We had all started digging in. I helped myself to a serving
dish piled with what looked like steak tartare.

"I hope this fare is acceptable," Prime said. "Given enough
time, the kitchens here can produce some very good food in-
deed. All of this was on rather short notice."

I remembered something and looked over at Ragna and
Oni. "What about—"

But the alien couple had found food they could eat.

"This is most excellent," Ragna said, smiling through a
mouthful of mush. "Quite like the food of which we are hav-
ing at home. In fact, it is most exactly like that of same.
Uncanny!"




36 John DeChancie

And George and Winnie were munching green shoots with
pink, pulpy heads, and were enjoying them.

I asked, "How did your cooks manage to come up with
native foods for these guys—or us, for that matter? Pretty
neat trick, short notice or not."

"I hope I won't spoil your appetites," Prime said, "by tell-
ing you that everything on this table has been synthesized."

"That's amazing," Yuri said. "The stuffed cabbage tastes
quite authentic."

"I'm glad you like it."

Conversation lulled as the feeding got serious. I wolfed
down steak, noodles Romanoff, broccoli with cheese sauce,
chicken curry, artichokes in lemon sauce, two baked potatoes,
a few spiced meatballs, a pile of mushrooms in onions and
butter, and half a roast glazed chicken. That took care of the
main hunger pangs. There were other dishes which didn't look
familiar. I asked Prime about their origins.

"Other times and other places," he said. "For a little vari-
ety. Try them."

I did. Most were excellent, some were so-so. All were
fairly exotic.

By then I was stuffed, and had to turn down the boysen-
berry torte and the lemon-cheese souffle. Well, I had a smidge
of the souffl6. It was light and fluffy. Very good. Everything
had been superb. Good. Too goddamn good, and I couldn't
figure it out.

I couldn't figure out Prime either, which wasn't surprising.
He had told us almost nothing yet, and I was impatient. I'd
been watching him, and he had dug in as heartily as any of us.
His gusto didn't look fake. Maybe he was human.

"Where'd your cooks get the recipes?" I asked.

"There is not much we don't know—even relatively trivial
things like food preparation techniques of antiquity. My
'cooks'"—he chuckled—"all this was done by machines. We
merely supplied the data."

"Your technology must be fantastic."

Prime leaned back, wiped his lips delicately with a pink
napkin.

"We have no technology," he said.




5

I REGARDED OUR host. If there were any revealing emotions to
be read in his face, they were encoded in expressions I
couldn't scan. I recalled what he'd said concerning his human-
ity. At times I could see that spark, that small part of him,
glinting somewhere within those purple-flecked eyes. I
thought I could, anyway, now and then. Most of the time the
mask covered everything, presenting its blandly pleasant face
to us. I couldn't conceive of what was really behind it, the
essential part of what he was. Something alien, surely; an
impenetrably mysterious presence. The shadow of something
vaguely frightening lurked behind the one-way window of his
personality.

"Huh?" I replied to his last statement.

"I said, we don't have any technology. That is to say, the
Culmination possesses no original technology. All that which
we have at our disposal has been bequeathed to us by the great
scientific and technology-creating cultures of the past." With a
sweep of an arm he went on-, "This edifice, for example. It's a
technological wonder in itself—a self-maintaining, self-
defending fortress. It is at least a half-billion years old—"

"Half-fc(7/('on," Yuri gasped, almost choking on his brandy.
He cleared his throat and said, "Surely you're joking."

"Oh, I assure you I'm not. The dust of the race that built it
lies compressed in geological strata, along with everything
else they ever built or accomplished. They are but a memory
—a faint one at that. But this structure endures. This is not its
original site, of course. It was relocated several times in its
long history, until it was finally brought here to Micro-
cosmos."

"For what purpose?" Scan asked. "What is Microcosmos?"

37

38 John DeChancie

"An artificial world. Its original purpose was manyfold. I
suppose a handy way to think of it would be—"

"Wait a minute," I broke in. "Are you saying that Micro-
cosmos isn't yours either? The Culmination—whatever that
is—didn't build it?"

"No. Microcosmos itself is a relic of a time long past."
Prime refilled his wineglass as he continued: "As I was say-
ing, it would be easy to think of it as, say, the site of a long
defunct institution of higher learning—an amalgam of univer-
sity, library, museum, research center, and so forth. This con-
veys at least part of its original function. The rest is not easy
to grasp, since a distinct element of recreation went into the
original conception behind it. Also, it served some sort of
religious purpose, strangely enough. What that was would be
hard to put into terms I could easily convey to you. You are
free to research the history of this place, if you wish, though I
must say I wouldn't place a high priority on it in terms of what
you should be doing here—"

"Exactly what—excuse me for interrupting again," I said,
"but... uh—"

"Quite all right," Prime said. "Please go on."

I had availed myself of the same bottle of brandy that Yuri
had found among the half-dozen containers of spirits on the
table. It was a quality product, and although I couldn't iden-
tify it, it wasn't especially exotic. Just good booze. I took a
slurp from my snifter and said, "Exactly what are we sup-
posed to be doing here? We've hauled from one end of the
galaxy to the other, left Terran Maze far behind, and come to
road's end. What next?"

"Ah."

Prime settled back in his chair, wineglass in hand, elbow
balanced languidly on the armrest. He crossed his legs, and
the act struck me as so humanly natural that it allayed my
fears just a little.

"Doubtless this isn't the first time the question has oc-
curred to you. In fact, you've probably been dying to ask it.
And I will answer it, in time. This is but one of many opportu-
nities we will have to sit together and talk. We have a great
deal to talk about, believe me, and we won't cover it all in one
session. What I want to do today is to sketch broad outlines
for you. Provide a sweeping perspective. But I also want to

PARADOX ALLEY               39

give you some kind of preliminary answer to that overriding
question. You are here because we want you to participate in
an undertaking which very possibly may be the greatest, most
momentous, most significant ever attempted... quite literally
... in the history of the universe."

I said, "Yeah, but do you give green stamps?"

The overwhelming silence of the place hit me then. I
cocked my ears. Nothing stirring. This place was dead, dead
and old.

Prime laughed. "That was a marvelously witty and very
irreverent comment. I quite enjoyed it."

"Jake, really," Susan admonished in a whisper.

"No, I did," Prime said, apparently having overheard.
"And you might be surprised to know that I understood the
reference."

I said, "You did? Explain it to me, then. Sam uses the
expression all the time. I never understood it. In fact, Sam
told me he didn't quite get it either. Picked it up from his
dad."

"Sam is... your father?"

"Was. The on-board computer that runs my truck is pro-
grammed with some of his personality elements. I call him
Sam, too."

"I see." Prime brought two fingers up to caress his cheek,
and mused, "That might be a possible problem...."

"What might be?" I asked after a brief interval during
which Prime had given the matter some thought.

"I beg your pardon? Oh, nothing. Artificial Intelligences
are beings, you know. Depending, of course, on how ad-
vanced they are. There is a certain threshold of self aware-
ness. ..." He trailed off again, then came back. "Excuse me.
We seem to have gotten sidetracked."

"I suppose," Liam said, "the next obvious thing is to in-
quire as to the nature of this undertaking."

"That's what will take time to explain," Prime said. "I can
only say that the concept, once you understand it, will thrill
you—perhaps frighten you—to an extent to which you have
never been thrilled or frightened before." He looked around.
"Yes. If and when you come to understand what it is, you very
well may want no part of it."

"Will we have a choice?" I asked.

40 John DeChancie

"Yes. Most assuredly."

"And if we choose not to participate, will we be free to
leave?"

"Absolutely. You arc free to go at this moment, if that is
what you wish."

"Fine," I said. "But we have a problem. Where the hell arc
we? And how do we get back to where we belong?"

"You will be guided back to your point and time of ori-
gin—"

A look of shocked, fragile elation sprang to everybody's
face.

Prime looked around and laughed. "I see that meets with
your approval."

Susan gazed at him in unbelieving wonder, her mouth
hanging open. She swallowed and said, "You'd take us back?
All the way back? I mean to where we live? Where we be-
long? We're lost, completely and totally, and if you mean only
that—"

"I thought as much. Yes, back to wherever you want to go.
That is no particular problem."

I thought Susan would faint. Instead she began sobbing
quietly. I put my arm around her.

"Is she upset?" Prime asked.

"It's a long story," I said.

"I understand. What I was going to add was, as to the
location of this place—this world-construct—I can only say
that describing exactly where we are would be problematical
with regard to finding some conventional frame of reference."

"When are we?" Yuri asked.

"Well, at this point, we are outside of time altogether. We
are moving, though, with respect to the frame of reference of
the universe at large."

"What is our velocity?"

"I'm afraid the notion of velocity here doesn't really
apply."

"But, as you said, if we're moving with respect to the
frame of reference of the universe—"

"I'm sorry. That phrase was an oversimplification."

"Are we moving faster than light?"

Prime frowned, then gave a short ironic laugh. "I don't
seem to be much help. Do I? Forgive me. There seems to be a

PARADOX ALLEY               41

problem in expressing in concise terms some of things I want
to relate. I do have things to do here and about, and I must
leave you before long, so it's not really a problem in commu-
nication, but one of time. You will come to understand it
eventually, I think, but we'd best delay any involved explana-
tions for now. Let us merely say that this world is outside of
space, outside of time, but is on a journey of some duration
nevertheless."

"Another aspect of the time element interests me," Scan
said. "Namely the perspective from which you're speaking.
Your point of origin is obviously some time in our future.
Correct?"

"Yes."

"Our remote future, I take it."

"Very remote. Some ten billion years."

I took a long swig of my brandy, then slowly reached for
the bottle.

"You all look stunned," Prime said.

"I wouldn't say it's impossible," Yuri said quietly. "But I
must say I can't believe it."

Roland, who had been listening impassively all the while,
shook his head. "You simply don't look, act, or speak like
a... like a man from ten billion years in the future. In fact,
the very notion of the existence of human beings at that
point—"

"But I'm not human," Prince said, "except in very small
part. I will repeat, though, what I said to you earlier. It is a
very active and vibrant part of what I am. Now. Here. When I
am speaking with you. Otherwise, I would not be able to
communicate with you at all."

I finished off another two or three fingers of brandy and set
the snifter down. "Which brings us to another question. Just
what are you? What is the Culmination?"

Prime drained his glass and sat forward. "Again we run
into the problem of trying to do too much at one sitting—and
again I will try to convey some general ideas. Let's begin by
stating what the Culmination isn't. We are not a race, but are
composed of many races. We are not a culture, but are beyond
culture. We exist outside the stream of universal events—we
stand, so to speak, on the shores of the river of time, looking
out across the waters. Yet in another sense, we are at the

42                  John DeChancie

mouth of that river as it spills into the sea of eternity. What we
are is this: we are that toward which the consciousness of the

universe has been tending."

The rock-walled silence fell again, but this time I thought I
could hear faint stirrings beyond the dark archways. My imag-
ination, probably. But I believe in ghosts Mondays, Wednes-
days, and Fridays, and I had no idea what day of the week it

was.

"Forgive the metaphors," Prime went on, "but they are

sometimes useful. What we are speaking of here is the evolution
and final culmination of consciousness in the universe. Think
of each sapient race in the universe as a tributary to that great
river of awareness, feeding into it, flowing on toward some
distant ocean-of fulfillment. To pose the ultimate questions...
then, if possible, to answer them. We seek the ultimate limit
of knowledge. We seek the consummation of being."
Prime rose and swept his eyes around the table.
"What you see before you—this body, myself—is but an
instrument by which it will be possible for you to communi-
cate with the Culmination. You have been in contact with the
Culmination since our first meeting, some few hours ago. We
will talk again, but now I must leave you. You will be con-
ducted to your quarters." The warmth of his smile was almost
withering. "I have enjoyed our luncheon together. Forgive my
being abrupt, but I have pressing matters to attend to. I hope
you will be comfortable during your stay here, however long

you choose to make it."

"I thought you said we could go now if we wanted to?" I

reminded him. "Anytime, you said."

"And so you may. Do you wish to leave now?"

I glanced around the table and got looks of varying degrees
of befuddlement. "I think we have to take a meeting on that,"
I said to Prime. "Can we get back to you?"

"I'm afraid I will be occupied for some time," Prime told
me. "I had hoped you would at least stay the night. However,
I can return in a few hours to hear your decision, if that is
what you wish. You may remain here, or if you like, you may
retire to your quarters to rest. It is up to you."

"Uh... urn." Nobody seemed to want to take the lead.
"Look, can we sit here for a little longer, then go to our

quarters?"

PARADOX ALLEY               43

"Certainly. I will send the guide to conduct you in, say,
half an hour?"

"Uh, make it twenty minutes. Then how will we get in
touch with you?"

"I will contact you again as soon as I can," Prime said.
"You can then apprise me of your decision. If you choose, you
may then leave."

"Well, that sounds okay. How long do you think you'll be?
If you don't mind my asking."

"Certainly not. I don't think I will be occupied more than
three hours."

"Oh. Fine with us, I guess."

"Very good. Again, I want say that I have enjoyed our
luncheon. Your company has given me great pleasure."

"Well... thank you. I think I can speak for all of us—it's
been... interesting. To say the very least."

"Thank you. A very good afternoon to you."

We all got up as he turned and strode away from the table.
He passed through an archway and entered one of a number of
corridors branching away from the dining hall. Nobody said a
word. He receded from us, striding purposefully, gracefully,
soft-soled boots padding over the polished onyx floor, green
cape billowing in his wake. Without looking back, he turned a
comer and went out of sight.

We sat.

"Anybody know what that joker was talking about?" Carl
asked.

John cocked a sardonic eyebrow at him, then turned his
head to me. "We have a decision to reach, Jake."

I poured myself more brandy. These weighty matters call
for inspired thinking. "I'm for getting the hell out of here,
like, mucho fasto."

"I wish he could have stayed to answer more of our ques-
tions. So many of them still hanging." John shook his head
slowly. "Absolutely astounding. Incredible."

"If he's telling the truth," I said.

"Well, I suppose he could be leading us on. I'm incapable
of imagining why, though."

"Maybe he's got plans for us. The last survivor of a dead
race. Alone, desperate. Or maybe he's just crazy. We don't
know."




44

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

45

John glanced around the dining hall. "What about all this?
And what we saw outside and in the basement?"

"Maybe the story about Microcosmos is true. It's a mu-
seum, a junkyard, a disneyworld, whatever. And he's the
robot caretaker."

Yori asked, "You think he's a machine?"

"Sure," I said, "or an android, something like that. He
admitted as much himself."

Zoya said, "He's not human. I'm very sure of that."

"He sure puts on a good show," I said.

"Yes, he does."

Daria asked, "What about his saying that he was part
human?"

"Don't know quite what to make of that," John said.
"What could he possibly mean?"

"What do you make of this Culmination business?" Yuri
said. "Any idea, Jake?"

"Nope. Sounded like a lot of bullshit to me. Actually, it
sounded a little like what your Teleological Pantheism is all
about." I took a sip and added, "No offense."

"Yeah, bullshit," Carl seconded.

The Teelies looked at each other.

"Remind me to kill you later, Jake," Susan scowled. "But
he's right, John. It does strike very close to home."

"Don't think I didn't notice," John said. "He sounded like
a Teelie himself."

"I think he's telling the truth," Roland said. "And I think
we should stay."

"Okay, that's one vote," I said. "Anybody else want to
exercise his franchise. Or hers?"

"Well," Yuri said. "We..." He looked at Zoya, who re-
turned a cool stare. "I think at least that it's my duty to stay.
The opportunities for learning here... I can't begin to guess
what secrets this place holds. The issue is clear. I must stay."

After a short silence, Zoya said, "I... think we should stay
for a while at least. I..." She ran a hand through the tangles
of her chestnut-brown hair, then heaved a sigh and rubbed her
forehead, closing her eyes. "I just have a bad feeling about
him." She lowered her head. "I'm so very tired."

"You should be," I said, "after running around the uni-
verse, lost for two years."

"I think we are all very weary," Yuri said.

"I'm sleepy as hell," Carl said. "I ate too much."

I realized that I was feeling pretty logy, too, what with the
brandy and all. I set down my glass, resolved to drink no
more. For now at least.

"Any other votes?" I asked. "Lori?"

"I think we should stay and find out if Prime needs us. I
think we should help him."

"Why should we help him?" John asked.

Lori thought about it, then said, "I don't know if he's God
or not. But he did build the Skyway."

"Remember what he said," Yuri reminded, "about the Cul-
mination not possessing any technology."

John rubbed his chin. "Yes, he did say that, didn't he?
Strange."

"Actually, he said that they didn't originate any," I put in.
"Doesn't mean they don't use existing technology."

Yuri shook his head skeptically. "I don't know. Difficult to
imagine all that miraculous Skyway technology just lying
about, waiting to be used."

"Maybe the Culmination merely developed it, adapted it
for the purpose," Roland speculated.

"Well, that makes them consummate engineers, at least."

I yawned. Recovering, I said, "I guess we really don't
know yet who built the Skyway."

"If the Culmination didn't do it, who did?" Daria asked.

"I suppose we have to stick around to find out."

"Then we should stick around," she said firmly.

I turned to Carl. "What about it, kid?"

"I say let's get the hell out of here. I want to go home."

John said, "Well, 'home' is a separate problem for you."

Carl cocked his head toward the hallway down which
Prime had made his exit. "He kidnapped me, he can take me
back."

"You're still convinced Prime's responsible?"

"I sure am."

"Okay, that's one no vote so far. Any others? Ragna?"

"I am thinking—and so also is Oni—that we should be
staying perhaps for the night, at least. Perhaps some further
questions can be put to our host that he might be answering.
Maybe?"




46 John DeChancie

"Maybe. Anybody else? How 'bout you, Susan?"

"I'm intrigued, to say the least. I want to go home, but..."

"Should we stay the night, do you think?"

She nodded. "At least."

"John?"

John brooded for a long moment. Then: "I would... I
would not think very highly of myself if I walked away from
the chance to discover the answer to some very basic ques-
tions. If Prime is a man... or a being from ten billion years in
the future, he could tell us things... Lord, what things he
could tell us!" He looked around the table. "It seems as if my
no vote would be in a distinct minority, wouldn't it? There-
fore, I say we stay. I don't think we're in any danger."

"I wonder what became of our friend Mr. Moore and his
lads," Sean said.

"No one thought to ask," I said.

"Maybe Prime doesn't know they're here," Liam said.

"He must. But he doesn't have to worry about them. We
do. They could show up here. Anyone forget to bring his
weapon?"

Shaking heads around the table. Everybody was armed ex-
cept Lori, and that was because we were short a gun for her.

"Well, we'll take turns on watch. We should be okay. What
about you guys—Scan? Liam? Think we should stay?"

"Ah, it was high adventure we were wanting," Scan said,
grinning. "I think we've got it."

"That we have," Liam seconded.

"Jake," Sean asked, "are you really voting no?"

"If I had any sense, I would. But..."

In my mind, the long string of events that had led to all of
this played back like a recording on fast-forward. The uni-
verse and everything in it had conspired to get me here, it
seemed. The Paradox Machine was still frantically spinning
its wheels. I knew—I had known all along—that I would
have to keep wrenching levers and pulling toggles until the
damn thing either stopped or did what it was supposed to do,
whatever that was. There was no avoiding it.

"I say we stay and get some answers." I looked at George
and Winnie. "Those two look like they're at home here."

"Home!" Winnie said.

"Home!" George said.

PARADOX ALLEY               47

"Home," I said, nodding.

"Here's the butler," Carl said, looking behind me.




The sphere was back, ghosting toward the table. It stopped

a few meters away. Any time you're ready.
"Well," Liam said, "I could use a lie-down."
"So could I," I said, and yawned again. It had been a long

trip here. A very, very long trip. Some ten or twelve billion

light-years. "But," I went on, "somebody has to take first

watch. I will."

We left the dining hall.

(T^W^S

6

THE DREAMS CAME that night.

Our rooms seemed to be a full kilometer from the dining
hall, or maybe our "butler" didn't use any of those spatiotem-
poral shortcuts Prime had talked about. It turned out that the
distance wasn't quite that much; it seemed like a long way,
though, what with all the twisting and turning. We saw noth-
ing new en route, just more gizmos and gadgets lying about.

The rooms were something. There were six of them—six
main ones, anyway. They were spacious, with alcoves and
walk-in closets adjoining each. The major spaces communi-
cated by means of wide L-shaped passageways. There were no
doors except those to the six bathrooms. The fixtures in these
were strange but usable. What was remarkable was how the
place was furnished.

"Look at this bed!" Susan squealed.

It was circular and big enough to park the rig on. Mounds
of fancy cushions covered it. Overhead hung a tent-like can-
opy, and a translucent fabric screen ran around it.

"You could have an orgy in here," Susan said. "What do
you say, gang?"

"You go first," Daria told her.

There were other beds, most not as large, but big enough,
three to each room, along with smaller daybeds, couches, re-
cliners, and other things you could rack out in. More than
enough for everybody. There were tables, chairs, settees, ot-
tomans, and other pieces, everything executed with exquisite
craftsmanship. The place was lavish. There were imaginative
lamps, painted screens, inlaid tables, tapestries, intricately
woven rugs, and shelves of objets d'art. Nothing in any of the
rooms was done in a recognizable style. Some things were

49

50 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 51

faintly oriental, others functionally modem. A few looked
positively antique. All were tasteful and seemed to comple-
ment one another. The shiny black floor and the lucent green
glass walls made the place absolutely striking. A showcase.

"Nice," Lori said after touring the suite.

"I wonder if all this was here," Liam said, "or Prime had
his lads bring it up from the cellar."

"Had it manufactured special," Scan ventured. Then he
yawned, scratching his unruly red beard. "Mother of God! I
could sleep for a week. After all that time in the truck..." He
lowered himself onto a purple velvet chaise longue and
plumped a pillow. He sighed and smiled, then keeled over.

He was right. Those beds looked inviting. Too inviting,
maybe. But what else was there to do? We had some time to
kill.

"Okay, children," I said. "Nap time. I'll stay up, then.
Carl? How about you taking second watch?"

"Yeah," he said through a yawn. "Sure."

I caught it, and yawned, too. "Jeez, everybody stop doing
that. I'll never stay up."

Ten minutes later, after everyone had had a chance to go to
the head, they were all conked out and I was left stalking the
suite like a ghost. I considered the possibility that the food had
been drugged. But I had probably eaten more than anyone,
and though I was tired as hell, I wasn't on the verge of passing
out. I felt capable of staying up as long as I needed to. As long
as I didn't lie down.

There wasn't much to do. Hanging in one of the rooms was
a landscape painting, done with watery colors in an impres-
sionistic style. I spent a few minutes examining it. It had been
done on a hard oval board with no frame. The scene was of a
pleasant, semi-arid planet, stunted trees fringing on a low hill
to the right, jagged rocks up on a high ridge on the other side,
a rock-strewn dry streambed meandering through the middle.
A heavily cratered half-moon, far bigger than most I'd seen,
looked over the hill in a hazy, dark-pink sky. I speculated as to
where and when this planet existed or had existed. Inhabi-
tants? No signs.

I don't know at what point I realized that this wasn't a
painting. The more I looked at it, the more real it became.
Edges got gradually sharper, detail came into focus. This was

a photograph of some kind. Perhaps. Something different,
maybe.

The scene reminded me of a place I knew, certain areas of
a planet called Osiris, I forget the catalogue number. The
moon was a little too big, though. But Osiris has a pink sky. I
remember eating lunch one day on Osiris. I'd pulled off the
Skyway and had opened the hatches, letting in warm, dry air.
Pleasant smells, quiet. I'd come by way of an ice world, and
the sudden shift in climate was soothing. I've always liked
that aspect of the road. Radical contrasts, abrupt changes.
Yes, the place did look a lot like Osiris. Those rocks should be
a little more on the beige side, though. Yeah, like that. And
the trees were a little different. Make them a little taller and
color the foliage russet—there we go. Come to think of it,
Osiris's moon is pretty big at that, but smoother. Not as many
craters—make it look more like a baked potato with acne
scars, that's it. And—

I jumped when I realized what was happening. There was
the surface of Osiris—beige rocks, russet trees, potato moon.
I had changed the painting.

I walked away. Or the painting had been reading my mind.
Yuck. I don't like things that hang on walls and read my
mind. Don't like it at all. Call me stodgy and conventional.

I meandered on. There were other things to look at, other
pictures on the wall, but I was spooked a little. I did stop to
examine some pottery. The stuff could have come from any-
where. From Earth even. It had a vaguely American Indian
feel to it—but I'm no expert, and really couldn't tell for sure.

The gang had all zonked out in one of the big rooms.
George and Winnie were rolled up into a ball; Carl and Lori,
too. Susan and Daria had stretched out side by side on the
circus-tent bed, with long, skinny John prone and perpendicu-
lar to them, the three of them forming the Greek letter pi.
Roland had curled up on a divan. Yuri and Zoya occupied
separate day beds. Those two were not a pair. I wondered how
long they'd been married. Must've been sheer hell. But then,
their long, desperate journey must have put a considerable
strain on things. Even so, I half regretted having picked them
up. Sometimes their bickering got to me.

I checked them all, looking for signs of drugged sleep, and
didn't suspect anything. I found out how to douse some of the




52                  John DeChancie

lamps. Each was different, none seemed to work by electric-
ity. I left one glowing—it was a goose-necked thing with a
bright painted-paper shade—and walked out of the room,
nearly tripping over Liam's leg sticking out over the edge of a
low couch.

There wasn't much else to do. There wasn't any reading
matter about, or none that I recognized as such. I hadn't
thought to bring a deck of cards.

Somehow I found myself in a room I hadn't seen before,
and this one had a terrace and a view.

And what a view.

Here was Microcosmos at sunset spread out magnificently
to world-rim, kilometer after kilometer of it in swatches of
varying color and texture. The sky was blue ink to the "east,"
an explosion of orange and fleshy red in the "west," sun-disk
just now slipping below the infinite horizon, moving very
quickly. I watched as night fell faster than it could on any
other world. It was like a door slamming shut. The sun slid
under the flat plane of the world, and bang, it was night. The
stars came on like beacons, wheeling in their crystal spheres.
The land was dark. No. Here and there a stray light. Inhabi-
tants? Automated lighting? No telling. I watched the heavens
turn for a while, thinking.

I yawned. This was going to be rough. I really needed to
•stretch out and get eight hours.

A night chill began to seep into my joints, and I walked
back inside, noticing a slight but abrupt temperature shift as I
did so. The room was still warm. Must be some sort of barrier
to keep out the cold. There was no apparent way to seal the
room from the outside.

Ten minutes later I realized that I was lost, and I couldn't
figure out for the life of me how that had happened. I couldn't
find our suite. I ran through a series of sparsely and oddly
furnished rooms, then came to an area occupied by more arti-
facts. I called out. No answer. I hadn't gone up or down
stairs, I still had to be on the same floor. I ran around, and all
I did was get more disoriented.

I found a room with a lone bed in it. It was little more than
a spongy mattress raised a few centimeters off the floor. I sat
on it and crossed my legs. How had I gotten so lost so
quickly? Well, Prime had warned us. What was I going to do?

PARADOX ALLEY               53

Prime had said he would call on us in three hours. How
much time had passed? He'd be around sooner or later.
Maybe.

I was a little worried. But there was nothing to be done.
We were at Prime's mercy, if he wished us ill. Remote possi-
bility that Moore and his men were about. But they'd probably
be as lost as I was if they were stumbling around the castle. If
they were here. Prime had them quartered somewhere. They'd
probably stay put.

No. There was nothing to do but lie down. The room was
bare and dark, stray light leaking from the hallway. Silence.
An alien, whispering silence. I could hear my heart beat, feel
blood pounding through me. A sense of being unimaginably
far away from home overcame me. How long had I been
away? A few months, actually. It felt like eons.

God, I was tired. Yes, we've established that. Go to sleep.

The dreammg began...

It was like this:

There were dark suns and burnt-out suns, suns that had
collapsed, exhausted, after eons of fierce life. The universe
was old, dying. It was cold between the cinders and cold
between the still-burning stars. The warm dust clouds that had
once given birth to new suns had long ago spawned the last of
their progeny. The galaxies were far apart now, still flying
outward from the ancient burst of energy that had sent them
on their way. Still gradually slowing down from that initial
impetus, they would never completely stop. Time would
never really have a stop. Time would go on until it simply
didn't matter any longer.

The universe wheezed and sighed. It was growing old. The
heat-death was upon it, and there was no hope.

On a planet of a sun that had shriveled to a cold white
pinpoint in the sky—a planet that was a construct composed
of the reprocessed material of most of what had been its solar
system—a meeting took place. The date had been set four
thousand years in advance. The meeting commenced on time.

It was contended that something should be done to give a
rounded graceful finish to the grand story, the Universal
Drama. Surely it was not in accord with esthetic principles to
let the tale simply peter out. There was a need for a proper

54 John DeChancie

ending. What had all the struggle been for? To what purpose?
Why had a thousand billion races evolved, developed, ma-
tured, withered, and died. For what end?

There was this reply: Why can it not end as it surely will—
by itself, when there is no more to tell, at its proper time?

The rejoinder: There is no more to tell, yet it has not
ended. The universe is exhausted, and hobbles on its useless
way to oblivion. There is no race living that lacks the will to
continue the quest. It is commonly accepted that everything
that can be done, and is worth doing, has been done, that
everything knowable and worth knowing is already known.

Came this riposte: But those deeds and truths are ends in
themselves. You spoke of the achievements of many races ...

One day those achievements will be dust. The very parti-
cles of which that dust is composed will decay, fly apart into
random noise...

And so? There will be no one about to mourn....

It need not be so. There exists a possibility that something
new may be achieved, something totally revolutionary. There
is the potential that this thing will survive even the death of
the physical universe....

Can this be?

Yes. It is possible.

We will take your word for it. Granted that it is a possibil-
ity, there is no need for it. Again, we wish to speak of the
attainments of past epochs. Look:

Towers of transparent metal so high that spacecraft docked
at their tops, once, billions of years ago... the Crystal
Towers ofZydokzind still stand...

So, too, stand the Works of the race with the name that
means Shining Consequence. None know what these Works
are or what they mean, but they populate a vast black plain
and are as various as they are beautiful. Some are structures,
some are mechanisms, some are the remnants of acts or
events. Most are indescribable. The Works must be seen and
felt and experienced. Many have traveled to the planet of the
Shining Consequence to do these things...

Immediately after the first singing of the Great Glad Song
of the race of the Dreaming Sea of Ninn, the song was re-
peated, note-for-note, by the poet's nearest neighbor, who
thought it the most beautiful thing ever heard. The song was

PARADOX ALLEY               55

taken up by another, and was passed along from individual to
individual around the planet. The Great Glad Song was sung
continuously for thirteen million years, each generation learn-
ing it, passing it on, never allowing a lapse in the chain of
perpetual repetition. The last survivor of the race died singing
it. Hear it now...

In a globular cluster of a galaxy called Wafer there exists a
religion which undergoes constant theological transformation.
The pantheon of gods constantly shifts; old deities are deposed
and new ones installed on an almost daily basis. The body of
canonical dogma is vast and complex. The rituals and cere-
monies which this religion prescribes are beautiful and com-
pelling. There are only fourteen living adherents to this
religion. Their faith is adamantine. There never have been
more than thirty-six practitioners living at any one time in this
sect's 400,000-year history...

There was once a race that spent most of its resources in
devising a means by which a star may be moved. This they
learned how to do, and did. They rearranged some of the
constellations seen from their home planet. How this was done
is unknown. The motive was not religious or superstitious in
nature, but derived chiefly from esthetic concerns ...

Enough.

There is more.

We understand. But there must be further growth and de-
velopment.

Granted that this is necessary, what exactly do you pro-
pose?

We propose the creation of a new kind of conscious entity.
There already exists the physical instrumentality needed in
order to bring it into being. We need but the willing participa-
tion of enough individuals.

What will be the nature of this proposed entity?

We cannot know that until it is brought into being.

What purpose will it serve?

Whatever purpose it chooses, discovers, or invents.

We understand the essence of the idea. We will assist.

So quickly?

The thing is too dangerous to leave to those who are so
enthusiastic to do it.

Then we are agreed. We shall begin at once...

John DeChancte

56

*   *   *

A starburst of light grew in the darkness.

I bolted to a sitting position, awake, fragments of the
dream clinging to my consciousness. An eddy of force then
carried the remnants away, and I was fully awake.

The white starburst did not disappear, and kept growing.
Light filled the chamber, the star formation reflected deep

within the four walls.

There was a flash. Something materialized in the air about
a meter off the floor—a figure. I squinted, shielding my eyes.

"On your knees, mortal," I heard a woman say. The voice
was about three times louder than normal.

I rolled off the mattress and jumped to my feet with gun in

hand.

"On your knees! Is that not how your kind shows obei-
sance?"

My eyes could pick out some detail now. It was a woman

dressed in white robes. Her hair was red, her skin as white as
her garments. She floated amid an aura of lambent light.
"Not this mortal," I said. "Who are you?"
"Then what is your manner of making homage?"

"Who wants to know?"
"You are impertinent. Not like the others. You show a

weapon."

"Sorry. I'm like that until I've had -my coffee."
The lady didn't respond. I backed off a little, toward the

door.

"You are afraid of me, though," she said.

"Call it wary," I said. "What do you want?"

"I wish you no harm."

"Fine with me."

I could see her better now. Small white feet, the toenails
painted bright green, dangled from beneath the hem of her
robe. Her eyes were watery gray. She kept her arms to her
side, one hand angled on her slender hip, the other holding
something that looked familiar—a small gray cylindrical ob-
ject.

"You are the leader of your tribe," she told me, then waited

for a response.

It wasn't a question, but I answered, "That's pretty much
the wrong word. Expedition would be more like it."

PARADOX ALLEY               57

"Of course. Your journey has been a long one. You have
come far, seeking."

"Lady, I'm not seeking a blessed thing. I never wanted to
make this trip. We're here because we were brought here."

"Yes. Your case is special. You cany the Origin Experi-
ment."

"What's that, if I may ask?"

"A black cubical object. Do you have it?"

"Uh... not on me."

"Can you get it quickly?"

"Not very quickly."

She seemed disappointed. "I desire to possess it. You will
give it to me."

"I will?"

"You will. I will give you something in return. This." She
held up the cylindrical object.

"What is it?" I asked.

"That which you seek. The key to the road you call the
Skyway."

"Lady, that's the last thing I want."

She was silent a moment, regarding me. "I find that diffi-
cult to believe. The others want it very badly."

"What others?"

"Those others of your kind who came here. They are your
enemies, are they not?"

"Yes, they are." I saw no use in denying it.

"You wish to see them obtain this thing?"

I considered it, and decided I really didn't know what to
think about that. "Not especially."

"Then take it."

The object floated out of her hand and drifted toward me. I
reached and grabbed it. It was ordinary-looking computer pi-
pette, a conventional data recording and storage device.

"I thought you wanted the Black Cube," I said.

"I do. You will give it to me. I give you this thing as a
token of good faith. I—"

Something seemed to disturb the air. The woman's image
flickered.

"I must leave," she said. "I will tell you this. Do not listen
to the being who calls himself Prime. He is ... misguided. His
plans for you will come to no good."




58 John DeChancie

The image wavered again, blurred and grew dim, then
brightened and sharpened again. But, I thought, it can't be
just an image, unless the pipette in my hand was an image,
too. It felt real enough.

"I must leave you now. I have other artifacts which you
may want. Other things. Believe in me and you will prosper.
Farewell."

Another flash blinded me. When I could see again, the
room was dark and empty, and the smell of ozone came to me.

I looked at the pipette. If the White Lady could be be-
lieved, this was me Roadmap.

The real one.

"Oh, hell," I said.

<7^W^»)

7

THE DREAM AND the vision stayed with me as I wandered
through Emerald City for at least an hour. I didn't cover much
territory because there were some interesting things lying
about, and I stopped to look at a few of them. What they
were, I couldn't tell. More alien wizardry, I supposed.

"Jake! Where the hell were you?" Susan hugged me as I
walked into the suite.

"Carl," I said, "I'm sorry I chewed you out for getting
lost."

"Easy, wasn't it?"

"You bet. Are you guys okay?"

"We're all fine," Scan said. "Though 'I hae dream'd a
dreary dream.'"

"Did you dream it, too, Jake?" Daria asked.

"Yep."

"Good morning."

The crew turned around to greet Prime.

"I hope you're all refreshed," he said brightly.

Everyone nodded.

"Breakfast, then?"

"I'm starved," Susan said.

"Good. My servant will come to conduct you to the dining
hall, where I will meet you very shortly. Until then."

He bowed and strode out of the suite.

We all sat down to wait.

"He's always so polite and, like, formal all the time," Lori
commented.

"Yeah, like he has a poker up his butt," Carl sneered.

"Carl!" Lori said indignantly.

"Sorry."

59




60                  John DeChancie

"I wonder what this servant is like," Liam mused, "and if
he calls Prime 'Your Lordship' or something."

"I thought he meant another of those light spheres," Roland

said.

"Sounded like he meant a real live servant," Susan said.

"Didn't he mention that he had one?"

"I think he did," John said. "But I wonder what real and

live can mean in this context."

"I'm thinking about the dream," Yuri said.

"What was it like for you guys?" I asked.

Zoya told me, "We've been discussing it since we awoke."

"I saw those... beings," Susan said. "The ones who were

having the debate."

"Anybody have any thoughts on what they were talking

about?" I asked.

"It was just overwhelming," Susan said, taking a deep

breath. "I can't believe that somehow I've been chosen to be
witness to what will happen ten billion years in the future, that
I'm a part of things happening on a cosmic scale—literally.
Maybe it's too much for me. Prime's right—it's frightening."

"I think, perhaps, I have a dim understanding of the project
they were contemplating," Yuri said. "A group mind of some
sort. A union of conscious entities, such that the whole is
greater than the sum of the parts. Obviously this was the Cul-
mination, or the beginning of it."

"According to Prime, the Culmination is already a reality,"

Sean said.

"Apparently it is."

"Or so he says," I put in.

"You doubt him, Jake?" John asked, not incredulously, but

as if he had doubts of his own.

"I have reason to believe—" The thought of telling them
about the White Lady crossed my mind. But no; Prime very
well could be monitoring our every word. He probably was. "I
don't think," I went on, "we should take everything that Prime
tells us at face value, and that goes for what comes by way of
mystical dreams and visions. Granted, we don't have much of
a way to check out his story. But a good dose of skepticism

never hurt anybody."

"Jake's right," Yuri said. "We should all bear it in mind.

I'm certainly far from accepting it all on faith."

PARADOX ALLEY

61

"Well, I guess I'm a bom believer," Susan replied. "I
mean, the dream was so real. It didn't have that surrealistic
quality that most dreams do. I don't want to say I'm com-
pletely convinced, but..." She scratched her scalp, scowling.
"The only thing I can't figure out is what our part in this is
supposed to be."

"Prime wants us to join the group mind," Roland said.

"I get the overwhelming feeling that Prime is to us as we
are to a clam." Yuri said. "Or an amoeba, more likely."

"But why? I mean, why us? Why would anybody want my
poor, mixed up little birdbrain?"

"I can't imagine," Roland said dryly.

Susan threw a pillow at him. "Or yours, you insufferable
creep."

"Or any of ours, for that matter," Yuri said.

"He certainly is slumming, then," I said.

"He may not be God, but he must be a god, for all practi-
cal purposes. And this is his Olympus."

"Could be. But where there's a god, there may be gods."

"Are you saying that Prime is not alone?"

"Well, the notion of a group mind certainly implies the
existence of others, by definition."

"You think Prime is just a part of it, then?" Susan asked.

"I dunno," I said, "but see if this makes sense. Prime is
kind of like a computer terminal. The group thing acts through
him. Maybe there's a supercomputer somewhere, with all
these minds whizzing around inside it, see. And Prime is just
an input-output device. He said as much, actually. When we
speak to him, we're communicating with the Culmination."

Susan made a face. "I don't know how I feel about whizz-
ing around inside a computer."

"Prime," Roland said. "It makes sense that he calls himself
Prime. He's probably the main input-output device."

"Makes a dollop of sense," Scan said, nodding.

"Good guess, Roland," I said. I got up, moving from the
weirdly curved recliner I was on to a comfy overstuffed chair.
"Damned perceptive."

"But just a guess."

"What else have we got?"

Yuri said, "At least we have a working hypothesis."

"Okay, so essentially we're dealing with a computer here.




62                  John DeChancie

Hypothetically, that is. What does that tell us?"

"Somebody must have programmed it," Liam said.

"Not necessarily," Daria said. "Even we have self-
programming computers."

Liam scratched his beard and nodded ruefully. "Point well
taken."

"So," I said, "this computer, which very well may be in or
about Emerald City, is pretty much autonomous. Hypotheti-
cally."

"And," Roland said, "hypothetically, it's in charge here."

"Probably. Next question is, what's it doing here? What
does it want? From us, specifically?"

"A lube job," Carl grumbled.

"A what?" Susan asked, frowning.

"Never mind."

"What did he say?"

"Maintenance," I said. "Help. It needs us. That's the im-
plication. The way Prime talks, it's incomplete, somehow. Is
that what you meant, Carl, more or less?"

Carl gave me a grouchy look. "I don't know a damn thing
about computers. Back on Earth, I never even saw one. I
know that on the Skyway they're everywhere. Little things.
You plug these little pipettes into 'em and they'll do anything
for you. Back on Earth... I mean, when I left Earth, com-
puters were real big things with all these spinning
whaddycallits and flashing lights and stuff. When I got ac-
cepted at USC, they sent all these forms you were supposed to
fill out, and this IBM card that says on it, 'Do not fold, spin-
dle, or mutilate.' That's all I know about computers."

"USC ... IBM," John said, sampling them on his tongue.
"Jake? Do you know what he's talking about?"

"Well, USC ... sounds familiar."

"University of Southern California," Carl said. "Interna-
tional Business Machines, Incorporated. I have an uncle that
works for IBM."

"Oh, yes, of course," John said remembering. "History of
Cybernetics, my first year at Cambridge. IBM, the American
computer company."

"This is interesting," Roland said. "You said you got an
IBM card? Card? You mean a—"

"A card. Like made of paper."

PARADOX ALLEY               63

"Paper?"

"Cardboard. Stiff paper, with all these little holes punched
in it."

"Holes."

Carl nodded. "Holes."

There was a short bemused silence. Then Yuri said, "This
hypothetical computer... I suppose we must assume it's a
very advanced type."

"Yeah, it probably doesn't need IBM cards," I said.

Yuri laughed. "Likely not."

"Damn it," Carl said suddenly, springing to his feet. He
stalked out of the room.

Susan gave him a moment's grace. Then: "Was it some-
thing I said?"

Lori looked fretful. "I think he's homesick."

"Poor kid. Aren't we all."

"He doesn't want to stay."

"It's crazy," Susan murmured.

"What is?" I asked.

"Just yesterday we'd've all given our right arms to go
home. For months now we've been chasing all over creation
—literally!—getting involved in the craziest goddamn shit,
excuse my language, and now we can go back anytime we
want to, and we're sitting here debating whether we want to
get ourselves involved in sheer absolute lunacy! I think we all
need to leave a call with our therapists."

"Sam's my therapist," I said. "Which reminds me. He's
probably thinking we're all dead. I should have checked on
him last night, but..." I got out Sam's key and nicked it on.
Nothing but static. "No way this thing can punch through a
kilometer of rock. I'll have to go down to the garage."

Carl came running back into the room, looking like he'd
met up with something big in a dark alley. He halted, then
looked a trifle embarrassed. "Scared the shit out of me for a
minute." He cocked a thumb in the direction of the L-shaped
connecting passage, from which came sounds of shuffling
feet. "Wait till you get a load of this."

The Snark entered. "Hello, there," it said.

I fell of my chair. I think I screamed.

It wasn't as tall as I remembered it to be, though it towered
a good two-and-a-third meters high. A cross between a giraffe

64

John DeChancie

and a kangaroo, the creature had two funnel-shaped ears flop-
ping out of a head that resembled a very strange dog. Two
fully prehensile forlegs—arms, really, with four digits on
each hand—dangled from narrow, sloping shoulders. It
walked on two birdlike legs with wedge-shaped four-toed feet.
Its bright yellow skin looked like vinyl, shiny and inert, and
was daubed with pink and purple splotches. The eyes were
small and round, disconcertingly humanlike.

The creature glanced around, then regarded me. From the

floor, I stared back at it.

"What's with him?" it said, then surveyed the room full of
astonished humans. "What's with all of you?" Its voice was
high-pitched, almost feminine.

John was first to attempt speaking. "Who... uh, are you?"
"I'm your servant, dearie. Got any objections?" I looked
over heads and scanned the room. "This place is a mess al-
ready. Dearie me, a servant's work is never done." It kicked
Susan's bedroll. "What's all this paraphernalia?" It clucked
disapprovingly, shaking its ungainly head. "What a frightful

mess."

John swallowed hard. "You're... our servant?"
The creature fixed him in a haughty, indignant stare. "Who

were you expecting, Arthur Treacher?"

8

"ARE YOU SAYING that your servant is discourteous and imper-
tinent?" Prime set down his coffee cup and looked at Susan
with mild surprise.

"Oh, it's not that we're complaining," Susan hastened to
say. "It's just that... well—"

John said, "The creature's personality is unmistakably
human. In fact, it's almost uncomfortably human."

"Oh, my."

"No, no, please. As Susan said, we don't mind. It's just
that we can't understand how this could be."

I sat picking at an omelette and drinking strong black cof-
fee, listening. I hadn't said much since the Snark had made its
appearance. I was feeling very sober.

A slow smile crept across Prime's full, plum-colored lips.
"I suppose I must explain. The creature is merely a mecha-
nism—a very sophisticated one, and fully entitled to all rights
and privileges accorded self-aware beings—but that is all it
is. One of many we have available. It was activated recently,
and its task is to look after your personal needs. In order that it
might fulfill its function more efficiently, we thought that we
would program it with appropriate cultural background data
and impress it with a fully human personality. The matrix we
used was a composite of all of your personalities. The dream-
teaching technique was modified for this purpose, so that last
night, while you dreamt, you were feeding data back into the
process. The amount of information here is considerable, and
there are uncertainties associated with the technique. Personal-
ity is still one thing that resists quantification. The exact na-
ture of the final product can't be predicted, nor could we

65

66

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

67

predict your reaction to it. I'm very sorry you don't care for
the result."

"Oh, no," Susan said. "I kind of like him."

"I want to know who Arthur Treacher is," Lori said.

Prime looked at her, sipping from his cup. "Who, did you
say?"

"A very cryptic cultural allusion the creature made," John
said. "Astonishing, actually. Most of us had no idea who he
is, or was, but Jake says he remembers something about a
motion picture actor by that name."

I roused myself to speak. "Yeah, middle-twentieth century
or (hereabouts. Maybe earlier. When I was a kid back on
Earth, they were still showing those old black-and-white
movies on video. Sam and I used to stay up late watching
them. Memory grows dim, but I think I remember the name.
Played servants, butlers, a lot. 'Course, I could be mistaken."

"Thing is," Roland said, "how did the creature know?"

"Well." Prime sat back. "The amount of background data
fed in was considerable. Quite frankly, you would be aston-
ished if I gave you numbers. Exactly where that particular
datum came from would be difficult to pinpoint. It very well
may have leaked in from Jake's unconscious. No way to tell,
really. Is it important?"

John shrugged. "Hardly."

"Why does it look the way it does?" Susan asked.

"Its form derives from the race that created it, long ago.
That race is quite extinct."

"I see. So it's an android, in a manner of speaking."

"In a manner of speaking."

Susan grinned. "We named it Arthur."

"Very good choice."

As if on cue, Arthur came shuffling in with a fresh pot of
coffee. I got to wondering where in hell the kitchen could be.

"Freshen your cup, dearie?" Arthur said to Susan.

"Sure."

Yuri said, "I'm looking forward to using all the data stor-
age facilities you said were housed on Microcosmos."

"Yes, of course," Prime replied, "but you may find your-
self feeling quite lost. Again, I must emphasize to you that the
amount of information available here is staggering. Simply
getting your bearings would take a human lifetime."

"Yes, I suppose so. And, of course, there would be the
problem of translation."

"Oh, that's not a problem. Most of it can be translated into
standard English, if you wish—"

"I prefer Russian."

"—or any human language. Or any language at all. And it
can be done very quickly. Even at that, you would be adrift in
an endless sea of data. It's all organized, mind you,
catalogued and cross-referenced. But simply learning your
way around the system would take up a good deal of your life.
That's why I urge you to accept the dream-teaching."

"Still," Yuri said, "I would like to test the waters—wade
around a bit, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. You might find something of interest."

"I'm sure I will."

Arthur finished pouring refills and waddled off, mumbling.
I stared after him. It. I wasn't quite ready for "him" yet. Or
"her," if that was the case.

"When can we begin?" Yuri asked.

"Now, if you wish," Prime answered.

"I'll wait for the others."

Susan asked, "Will we dream again tonight?"

"If you will permit it, yes," Prime said.

"Oh, I have no objection. It's a wonderful way to learn.
However do you do it? Does it have something to do with
telepathy?"

"Actually, it has more to do with electromagnetic induc-
tance than with extrasensory perception."

"Then I wouldn't understand it at all."

"The technique is not beyond your comprehension. It's
quite simple, really."

"I'm sure."

"I suppose, then," John said, "that any further questions
we might have will be answered in the dreams."

"I will be more than happy to fill in any details you might
need, but as far as providing a broad perspective, the dreams
can do that very well. There is one thing you should under-
stand. We are using the dream-teaching technique at a very
low level of efficiency. If we wanted to, and if you would
permit it, we could infuse your minds with more knowledge
than you could ordinarily accumulate in a dozen human life-




68 John DeChancle

times. There is the possibility that this sort of cramming could
produce deleterious side effects, but it could be done, and the
side effects most likely could be handled. It will be up to you
to decide how much you want to know—how far you want to
progress along the path to a higher consciousness."

"How far can we progress?" Yuri asked.

"As far as your desire takes you."

"I see."

Nobody had much else to say as we finished our coffee.
Arthur returned, and Prime got up.

"Arthur will conduct you to the main data storage facility.
We will meet again for lunch. Until then, have a pleasant
morning." He bowed and walked off.

Arthur watched him leave, then turned to us. "Okay, kids.
Schooltime. Get your pencils and books together and follow
me."

"Fuck off," Carl said.

Arthur scowled at him. "Uh-oh, this one's going to be trou-
ble. Detention for you, kiddo. And bring a note from your
mommie."

Carl grabbed a milk pitcher. I was pretty sure he would
have thrown it if John hadn't wrenched it away.

Lori was appalled. "Carl, behave yourself!"

Arthur flinched. "Ooh, he's dangerous! Reform school ma-
terial. All right, you're excused from class."

"Get bent."

"Same to you, dearie. The rest of you—"

"Hold on a minute." I got up. "We're all very interested in
browsing through the library, but first I'd like to go back to
my vehicle to take care of a few things. If you don't mind."

"Fine with me," Arthur said. "Do you know how to get to
the cellar?"

"Not really."

Arthur pointed. "Go down this corridor here, make the first
right, and you'll find a down chute, express to the basement.
If you want, I can summon a guide to show you."

"Uh..." Those light-spheres gave me the creeps, now that
I thought about it. Besides, they were probably monitoring
devices. I wanted at least the chance that I wouldn't be
watched. "No thanks. I can find my way."

"Be careful, dearie. Okay, if any of you want the cook's
tour of Data Storage, follow me."

PARADOX ALLEY               69

Daria got up and walked over to me. "I'll go with you."

"Okay. I hope we can find our way back."

"Don't you think they're watching our every move?"

"I've been trying to delude myself that they're not."

"I'm coming, too," Carl informed me. "And Lori. We're
cutting class."

Lori turned up her nose. "Who wants to see a bunch of
books?"

I said, "I could be wrong, but I doubt that Prime was talk-
ing about books per se."

"Or pipettes, or tapes, or any of that stuff," Lori said.
"Anyway, I never went to school, and I'm not going to start
now."

"Never? No school at all?"

"Well, a little, when I was real small. I learned to read
okay, and arithmetic and everything, but I mostly taught my-
self."

"Oh."

John came over. "We'll meet you later in the library, I
suppose?"

"If I can find my way there," I said.

"I should go with you," Susan said. "But I really want to
see what they have."

"It's okay. Have fun."

"Be careful." She looked at Darla. She seemed about to
add something, but hesitated.

"We'll be careful," Darla said reassuringly.

"Please do."

The two of them had been getting along much better re-
cently. They weren't exactly friends—far from it—but they
respected each other's feelings, at least. Anyway, it was a
great improvement over the fistfight they'd had a while back.

We found the down chute easily enough. It looked exactly
like the up chute, leaving us to ponder how you were sup-
posed to tell the difference.

"How do you know whether it's working?" Cari wanted to
know. "If it isn't you'd walk right into the hole and drop."

The silver ramp started in the middle of the hallway flush
with the floor, went through the oval opening in the wall,
extended over the edge of the floor and arched downward.

"Well, I guess I'll be the guinea pig," I said, and tread on
the ramp. I walked toward the opening. The gravitic force




70

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

71

snared my feet about a meter from the drop.

"Looks like you're supposed to be smart enough to stop if
this doesn't happen," I said. "Hop on."

They did.

It was an exhilarating trip down. The temperature dropped
a little. The shaft was dark, but light was coming from some-
where. Didn't know from where, though.

The shaft let out into a big empty room. We walked out of
it into the garage. I looked around and spotted the truck. It
was a good hike across the cavernous expanse of the garage.
We made it, not dawdling too long, looking at exotic vehicles

and machinery.

The hatch didn't open. Maybe something's wrong with the

exterior cameras, I thought.
"Sam? It's me, Jake."
The driver's gull-wing hatch hissed open, and I climbed in.

"Sam?"

"Good day, sir," a bland, pleasant voice said.

"Huh? Who are YOU?"

"I am a Wang Generation-Ten Artificial Intelligence soft-
ware multiplex read into a Matthews 7894Z submicroproces-
sor. Have I correctly identified you as the owner and principle
operator of this vehicle?"

"What! Where the hell's Sam?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't have that information. Is there any-
thing else I can do to help you?"

"Damn!" I raced to the aft-cabin and checked the screws on
the panel covering the CPU rack. No signs of tampering, but
an intruder might have taken pains to be careful. I got out a
power driver and extracted the screws. I looked inside.

There's not much to the guts of a computer. In Sam's case,
his VEM, the seat of his intellection and personality—what
made Sam something more than the usual colorless, off-the-
shelf A.I. spook—was the biggest component. It had been
years since I'd taken this panel off. Sam rarely had problems
in the CPU area. The VEM looked like an undersize wax pear.
I had to conjure up its appearance from memory, because it

was gone.

"Oh, Christ." I sighed and sat down at the breakfast nook.
I stared at the table for a moment, then looked up. Daria had
been watching.

"Prime, of course," she said.

"Yeah. Or maybe Moore."

"He couldn't have gotten in here."

"Maybe not. But some of his boys are pretty good techni-
cians. Maybe they zapped Sam with an electromagnetic pulse
generator and broke in."

"For what reason?"

I got up and went to the safe. I let it read my thumbprint,
then opened it.

"The cube is gone, too," I said. "There's your reason."

Daria sat on the cot. Carl and Lori came in.

"Gee, that's too bad, Jake," Carl said. "Sam was a good
guy."

"They're probably holding him hostage," Daria said.
"They wouldn't destroy his VEM."

I shuddered. As much as my intellect told me that what we
were talking about here was only a very sophisticated Artifi-
cial Intelligence program, the thought of losing Sam was hard
to bear. It would be like losing a father for the second time.

"Anyway," Daria went on, "I don't think Moore could
have gotten into Emerald City without Prime's permission.
And if Prime let them in, I doubt he would have let them do
any mischief."

I hoped she was right. I didn't trust Prime, and Moore bore
me malice. I could picture him crushing Sam's VEM beneath
the heel of his huge, muddy lumberjack boot.

"If Sam's gone," Carl said, "who's in the computer?"

"The A.I. program that came with the hardware," I said.
"Sam works in tandem with it when he has a lot of stuff to do.
It really doesn't have much of a personality."

"Oh."

I got up, went into the cab, and sat in the driver's seat.

"Computer," I said. "Um... did I ever give you a name?"

"No, sir."

"Okay. Well, never mind."

"Yes, sir."

"Computer, what happened? There's been a security
breach. Report."

There was a brief pause. Then: "I'm sorry, sir. I have no
files containing any data on a breach of vehicle security."

"Do you have anything recorded on video pipette?"

"Searching... Yes, sir."

"When was it recorded?"




72 John DeChancie

"Minus six days, fifteen hours, twenty-one minutes, sir."

"That's no good. Anything recent? Within twenty-four
hours?"

"Searching... Nothing recorded within the last twenty-
four hours, sir."

"Damn it. Okay. Sam must have left a message. If security
was threatened to the point where he thought he might be
disconnected, he would have recorded something somewhere.
Make a search for this file name: Revelation Thirteen Colon
One. Got that?"

"Yes, sir. Searching."

"And stop calling me 'sir.'"

"Very well. Pile labeled Revelation Thirteen Colon One
has been located. Security protected. Positive voiceprint iden-
tification of vehicle owner needed to access. Processed...
checked. Additional security-code word sequence needed to
access."

"Heartbreak Hotel," I said.

"Access now available. Shall I access the file?"

"Yes!"

"Reading file name: Revela—"

There was an interruption.

"Computer? Hey, what happened? Computer!"

"Jake, this is Sam."

"Sam! Where the hell—"

I broke off. It was only a recording.

"This is going to be quick," Sam's voice went on. "Didn't
want to leave a message with the Wang A.I., thinking you'd
suspect tampering if you didn't hear it straight from me. I
knew you'd search for a file with the emergency code name,
and if you're hearing this, that's exactly what you did. As I
said, this is going to be quick. I figure I have just a few more
microseconds of real-time before I'll be shut down—whether
it's for good, I don't know. I also don't quite know what's
happening. Someone is fiddling with me, the rig, and every-
thing else. Trouble is, I can't see, hear or scan a thing. Who-
ever's doing it is pretty damn slick. If I come on-line again,
I'll erase this file. But if I don't ever wake up, I just wanted to
say that I love you, son. You've always been just about the
best son a father could have. And I know Mother always felt
that way, too. You know that, but I wanted to say it. Take
care, and say good-bye to everyone for me. Look after Darla.

PARADOX ALLEY               73

She's carrying my grandson. She loves you, too, Jake. I can
tell. I'm sure everything will turn out all right in the end. Just
keep driving straight, and don't take any nonsense from any-
body. Don't feel too bad about me. I've had a long run, and
maybe I've taken one too many curtain calls. It's time I—"

There was silence.

I sat back. For the second time in my adult life, I cried.




9

THERE WASN'T MUCH else to do in the truck. I checked for
vandalism, booby traps, and general damage. Nothing on all
counts. Meanwhile, Carl and Lori had gone back to inspect
the trailer, and before long we heard a blood-curdling yell. I
dashed to the access tube and scurried through, Daria follow-
ing. I somersaulted into the trailer.

"They took my car!" Carl was standing in an empty area of
deck. Yesterday afternoon his 1957 Chevrolet Impala had
been parked there. "It's Prime. I'm gonna kill him."

"No, you're not," I told him. "You'd like to, and so would
I, but we can't. So, forget it. What we can do is confront him.
I intend to do just that, so hold on until lunch."

Carl exhaled. "Shit."

"Don't worry."

He was suddenly very glum. "Maybe he'll give Sam back,
but I can kiss that car good-bye. Whatever it was for, the job's
done. It's not needed anymore. I'm not needed anymore."

"That means you can go home."

Carl sighed. "Yeah." Then a flash of indignation: "But they
owe me a car!"

"Good luck."

Carl moped back to the access tube, crawled in and went
through.

Daria was looking around the place. She clucked. "This is
a mess. It smells in here."

She was right. I kicked an apple core away, bent and
picked up a half-eaten chocolate bar. "Goddamn filthy ten-
ants," I muttered. "I oughta raise the rent."

"Lori," Daria called, "there's a broom behind that junk
over there, I think."

76 John DeChancie

"Let's all pitch in," I said.

"No, Lori and I will handle it. You make sure this truck is
Skyway-worthy. I want to get the hell out of this place."

"Me, too. But what about the others?"

Daria sneered. "They can stay here and become gods if
they want to, the whole lot of them. I'm for leaving right now.
Prime said he'd see that they got home. They can take their
chances. We'll take ours."

"Don't you have any aspirations to superbeinghood?"

Her mouth curled into disgust. "Fuck."

I nodded. It was the first time I'd heard Daria use the
word.

"Yesterday, you seemed to think our destiny was here."

She shrugged. "I guess I did. A lot can change in a day.
And a night." Suddenly she threw her arms about me, her
eyes wide and pleading. "Jake, I think our destiny is to get
back. Let's go, take off. Just us. There must be a way back
from this place."

"Where? How?"

"I don't know." She cast about in her mind for something.
Her eyes lit up. "The Bugs! Where did they go? They headed
toward Emerald City. We haven't seen them here—"

"This is a big place. "

"But there might be a Skyway route back from here. There
has to be."

"We didn't see a portal anywhere on the planet," I re-
minded her.

She chewed her lip. Then something hit her. "The other
side!"

"The other... ?" Then I got it. From space, we had only
seen one face of the world-disk. "Yeah, maybe."

"Oh, Jake, let's do it. I want to get back on the road. You
and me, Jake. I want that." She drew close, resting her head
on my shoulder, and I held her.

"We can't just leave them, Daria."

"If they don't want to go, if they're going to stay here and
get involved in things we can't begin to comprehend, why
can't—" She took a breath, and lifted her head. "Is it Susan?"

"Huh? No, no, it's not just Susan. I couldn't just up and
leave any of them stranded. I'm partly responsible for their
being here."

PARADOX ALLEY               77

"No, you're not, Jake. I am. I'm responsible for the whole
thing."

"Enough of that. Look at me. I promise you that we'll get
home. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, Jake. Yes, darling!"

She kissed me, then said, "I'm going to have your baby
... I want it to be someplace normal, in a farm hut on some
backwater planet, in a dingy motel room—anywhere!—any-
place that's not strange and frightening and totally alien." She
buried her face in my jacket. "Oh, Jake, I don't have anything
against anybody. Really, I don't. Susan can come with us, or
any of them, I don't care. It's just that I'm so tired, darling.
So very tired. I want to stop running. I want to go home."

"So do I, honey, so do I. But we've got a long road ahead
of us, and it might be a little while before we leave. Can you
hang on?"

She knuckled her eyes dry, sniffling. "Sure."

I looked around. Lori was gathering some trash together
behind Sean and Liam's battered magenta roadster. She had
been trying not to eavesdrop, but was aware of my looking at
her.

She grinned at me. "Place sure is a sty."

I gave her a wink. "Oink, oink." She laughed.

Daria stooped to pick up some food wrappings.

"Sure you don't need a hand?" I asked.

"You men folk'll just be in the way," Daria said, smiling.
"Seriously, I really want this truck to be ready to leave on a
moment's notice. I'll feel much better knowing that."

"Yeah," I said.

"We'll get him back, Jake. Sam will be back."

I remembered the White Lady's pipette. "Speaking of find-
ing a way back..."

Daria looked puzzled.

"Got something I want to check out," I said, and left her
staring at at my back as I jogged to the access tube.

Carl was slumped in the shotgun seat, staring moodily out
the port. I slid into the driver's chair.

"Buck up, kid. All is not lost."

He gave an ironic snort.

I took out the pipette from a zippered pocket of my jacket
and fed it into the pipette deck on the dash.

78 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 79

"Computer?"

"Yes?"

"Analyze this input."

"Very well. You have prohibited me from addressing you
as sir. Shall I call you Mr. McGraw?"

"Call me Jake. And you're name's... Bruce. Got that?"

"Yes, Jake."

"And by the way, I'm sorry I was short with you a little
while ago. Not your fault."

"Think nothing of it, Jake. It is a pleasure to be working
with you."

"Thanks."

Most A.I. programs are pretty thick-skinned. No excuse
for mistreating them, though.

I glanced at Carl. He looked very depressed.

"Come on, kid. It'll be okay."

He exhaled slowly. "Oh, it's not that, really. I was getting
tired of the damn car, anyway. It's... it's a lot of things."

"I'll bet."

"Lori," he said.

"Hm?"

"It's goofy, but..."

"What is it, Carl?"

"You know, when I first saw her, I thought she looked a lot
like Debbie, but as time goes on—"

"Debbie," I said.

"Yeah, the girl who was with me the night I got kid-
napped."

"Debbie! Your girlfriend. Yeah, sorry. Go ahead."

"Well..."

"Were you in love with this girl?"

"I guess. We were... y'know, going steady. But it's not
that. I mean, I miss her and everything, but—"

"Were you going to marry her? Engaged, maybe?"

"No, we weren't engaged. We loved each other. I mean, I
really cared for her. She was... special."

"And you're starting to feel the same way about Lori?"

"Jake, you don't understand. It's none of that. I like Lori,
and the reason is, she's a lot like Debbie. I mean, really a lot
like her. In fact, it's giving me the creeps."

"Really? Teenage kids everywhere have a lot in common."

"Look, let me explain. When I first saw Lori, I thought,
hey, she could be Debbie's little sister. The hair is different.
Debbie has real dark hair, and it's long. But the face, and the
voice... Jeez, the more I look at Lori, the more I think, if she
dyed her hair and got about two years older... maybe not
even that."

"How old was Debbie?"

"Sixteen. That's what she told me, anyway. Girls lie about
their ages sometimes."

"Well, Lori can't be very much younger than that."

"Lori's skinny, too. Debbie had a few pounds on her. More
rounded. You know?"

"I know exactly. Okay, so Lori could be Debbie's twin."

"Not 'could be.' She is."

"You mean that literally?"

"I don't know what I mean. All I know is that it's been
giving me the willies."

"We've all got a bad case of the willies, kid."

Carl shook his head slowly.

"Probably a coincidence," I suggested.

"Nah," he barked, shaking his head emphatically. "Nothing
about this whole crazy thing has been a coincidence."

And I knew exactly what he meant. I looked out the port.
The garage was silent, cool, and alien.

Presently, it struck me that Bruce was overdue for a report.
"Hey, Bruce. What's up?"

"Sorry, Jake. We have an anomaly here."

"What sort of anomaly?"

"The pipette is reading out more information than is possi-
ble for its capacity type."

"Okay. There may be a very good reason for that, which I
won't go into. Is it formatted correctly?"

"Yes, it is formatted according to specifications with which
our system is compatible. That is no problem."

"Okay. But there's a lot of data—is that it?"

"I have reached the limit of my available working storage
space."

"Oh. Well, can you tell me what you've got so far?"

"I can, Jake. It is a map of the Skyway system."

"You recognize it as such?" I asked.

"There is no mistaking it. In layout and format it matches




80

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

81

the maps we have available in our auxiliary storage, the maps
of the Expanded Confinement Maze. There is one problem,
however. None of the new map material coincides with any of
the available material."

"You're saying that the new stuff shows unexplored, un-
charted road?"

"Yes, Jake."

"Bingo."

"Pardon?"

"We found it."

"Yes, this would be very useful material if its authenticity
and accuracy could be established."

"You're telling me," I said.

"Am I telling you? Yes, I am."

"What we have to do, then, is search the new data for
congruences with the maps in storage."

"That would appear to be a potentially productive course of
action."

"No doubt," I said. "Any problem in that?"

"No. I will simply erase and reload as I go. However, the
job may take a good deal of realtime."

"Go to it," I told him.

"Yes, Jake."

"And Bruce? Lighten up, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Jake. Could you please phrase that differ-
ently?"

"Remind me to do some work in your basic vocabulary
area."

"I'll log it now. Shall I cancel the command to 'lighten
up'?—which, I'm sorry to say, is not a valid command."

"Cancel." I laughed.

Carl was staring at me.

"So you finally got it," he said.

"Yeah. I got it, all right. I keep getting it, right in the seat
of the pants."

"You got the Roadmap. The real one. Where did it come
from?"

"A shining white goddess appeared unto me, saying, 'Be-
hold, I bring you tidings of great joy, and a big pain in the
butt. By the way, have a Roadmap.'"

Carl nodded slowly. "Uh-huh."

"You think I'm kidding?"

"I'll believe anything."

"Then believe it. That's how it happened. Prime's not
alone here. There's another force present. I figure it's a force
opposing the Culmination. Or it could be another part of the
Culmination, a dissenting faction, maybe. Which doesn't
make a lot of sense, if I understand what the Culmination is
supposed to be about, which I don't. So there you have it,
whatever it is."

An hour later, Bruce was still hard at work.

"A lot of data, huh?" I said.

"Yes, Jake."

"Well, keep at it."

"Yes, Jake."

While we waited, Carl and I gave the women a hand. We
packed all the trash into plastic sacks, which we set out neatly
on the floor of the garage. Maybe Arthur took out the garbage
around here. Then we swept the place out, vacuumed,
scrubbed, and generally tidied up. When the trailer was fin-
ished, we set ourselves to straightening up the cab and aft-
cabin, gleaning five more sacks of crap. I was surprised by the
amount that had accumulated. But thirteen beings in a con-
fined space produce quite a mess.

"Well, at least it smells a lot better," Daria said.

I sniffed. "Yeah, the dirty-sock odor is gone. I still get a
whiff of our lumberjack friends, though."

Daria rolled her eyes. "Oh, those two. Apparently
antiperspirant is a scarce commodity on Talltree."

"Or maybe sweat is plentiful." I sat down in the driver's
seat. "Bruce, how's it coming?"

"Situation still anomalous. There is a great deal of data."

"Uh-huh."

"I've located a congruence."

"Huh?"

"Just now. I've found a section of the Terran Maze."

"My God."

"Now I have all of the Terran Maze located. Yes. Yes. And
here is the Expanded Confinement Maze. Reticulan Maze,
Ryxx Maze, Beta Hydran Maze, and the rest of known Sky-
way routes."

"Now," I said, "your next job is to find Microcosmos."




82                  John DeChancie

"Microcosmos? Can you please define that?"

"The name of this world. You should have data on it in
storage."

"Understood... searching... found. Yes, a section of
Skyway is here. However, I see no indication of a portal."

"If you can find Microcosmos on the master map, there
might be one indicated on the reverse face of the planet. Okay.
What I want you to do is chart a route from Terran Maze to
here, working backward. It won't be necessary to have a vi-
sual route layout. Just keep a tally of lefts and rights. That will
be our way home."

"Understood," Bruce said. "Beginning job now."

I turned sideways and looked back at Daria, Lori, and
Carl. "Well, we know a few things. For one, we know that the
Skyway isn't infinite. I don't know how many gigabytes the
complete map takes up, but it's a finite number."

"It has an end," Daria said. "We knew that, didn't we?"

"I think we're talking about a circle here. No beginning, no
end. If your hunch is right, we can get off this platter and get
back on the Skyway."

Bruce said, "Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"The new maps are a bit unusual in that they show some
routes marked in a different manner from the rest. Comparing
these with the data placed in storage by the previous supervi-
sor program—"

"Sam."

"Yes, that was its informal designation. Comparing these
with Sam's data, I would say these are Roadbug service
roads."

"Sounds like it," I told him.

"If these roads can be utilized, the route would be much
more direct."

"No doubt," I said. "That's how we got here. But I don't
know if we can go back that way. In fact, without Carl's car,
I'm sure we can't."

"Then I will disregard them."

"Lunch, anyone?" Daria said. "I've whipped up something
out of what was left of the rations."

"You're on."

PARADOX ALLEY               93

We ate. The fare was a shade downscale from what Prime
could offer, but somehow it felt good to have a meal in the
truck again. Which was strange, since we had been on Micro-
cosmos slightly less than twenty-four hours. My sense of time
was completely out of whack. It seemed as if we'd been here a
good deal longer. I thought about it, and decided it must have
been the dream. The dream had spanned billions of years and
unthinkable distances, and I had a lingering sense of having
traversed those vast times and spaces.

Bruce finally completed his task. It had taken him two
hours.

"Display the planetary layout of Microcosmos," I in-
structed him.

And there it was on the screen. It looked as though most of
the prominent features were indicated, and I had a hunch we
could depend on these maps to be accurate and comprehen-
sive. There were other roads besides the ingress stretch of
Skyway. They meandered across the terrain, some dead-
ending near buildings and complexes, others going all the way
to the rim. I searched out an efficient route to the edge of the
planet.

"I wonder what you do here?" Carl asked. "Fall off the
world?"

"I wonder." I eyed a thin ribbon of highway that seemed to
have its start near Emerald City. "This looks interesting. But
how do we get from Emerald City to the beginning of the
road?"

"Beats me," Carl said.

"Okay, Bruce. Let's see the other side of the coin."

"I understand the metaphor."

Carl jumped. "Holy hell, is that a portal?"

"That's our back door." I laughed."

But it wasn't your average portal array. Bruce displayed the
cylinder count: 216 of them, arranged in haphazard patterns,
shot through with odd twistings of road. It looked like a
connect-the-dots puzzle that an eight-eyed alien had given up
on. Four major highways, converging from the points of the
compass, fed into the spaghettilike mess of roads at the mid-
dle.

"This is interesting," I said. "There's almost no end to the




84 John OeChancie

various ways you could weave in and through there. Might
mean that from here you could go almost anywhere in the
Skyway system."

"But how do you know which way to zig and zag?" Lori
asked, peering over my shoulder.

"Very simple," Bruce said.

"I'll bet," I scoffed. Then I shrugged. "Really?"

"Yes, Jake. Each section of the master map is numbered in
binary. There is a table provided. Look—this is just a portion
of it. Now, as you see, this is basically a hexadecimal core of
a multidimensional, multi variable table, in which each cylin-
der is given a number. Passages through and among various
cylinders are given in a number sequence corresponding to the
cylinders involved. These sequences in turn correspond to the
map section numbers. Now, as you can see, this is a very
complex array, and processing could be hampered by core
storage limitations, but by batching separate passes and by
converting the data to a packed-decimal format in working
storage, it should be possible to—"

"Wait a minute," I said. I couldn't make anything out of
the flurry of numbers on the screen. "Are you saying that if I
gave you x section of Skyway as a destination, you could tell
me what combination of cylinders to shoot in order to make
the jump there?"

"Yes, Jake, that is what I am saying. It would merely be a
table lookup function."

I sat back and whistled. "Then that 'way home' you spent
two hours charting—that wasn't a way home at all. That was
the way we came."

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Bruce said. "One could take that
route, of course, but the transit time back to Terran Maze
would be, assuming conventional speed averages and taking
into account rest and maintenance stops, something on the
order of thirty thousand Standard Years."




(T^W^)

10

"THE LONG WAY home," I said.

"Indeed," Bruce said calmly. "However, as I have said, we
have a much more efficient route at our disposal."

"If we can shoot that portal without getting smeared. Looks
pretty tricky."

"It may require computer-assisted driving, if not complete
computer control."

I sat back and sighed. "No one needs us humans anymore.
Think you can handle it, Bruce?"

"I am not sure. I am not a machine chauvinist. The task
may very well call for the sort of hand-eye coordination and
intuitive timing that only human beings possess."

I smiled. "Well, thank you, Bruce. Are you just saying that
because you're programmed to avoid bruising our poor little
egos, or do you really feel that way?"

"I'm sorry, Jake. That question is a little ambiguous, and
would be very difficult to answer."

"Probably right. Okay, Bruce, you did a very good job."

"Thank you, Jake. It has been a pleasure working with
you."

I turned in my seat. "Well, gang? What do you want to do
now?"

"Let's go," Daria said. "We have the map." Then her
shoulders slumped. "Sorry, Jake. Forgot about Sam. I wasn't
thinking."

"We're short on some things, too," I said. "No provisions.
We're okay on fuel, but I'm reading low lubrication levels
here, and we need coolant, water—"

"Sounds like it'd be a short trip back," Carl said. "Maybe

85

86 John DeChancie

we could get along on next to nothing."

I shook my head. "You're forgetting the trip to the portal
over alien terrain. Not only that—something tells me we have
miles to go before we sleep. I have some unfinished business
back home. Things to do. Trouble is, don't know what to do
about maintenance. Unless..." I looked out at the garage.

And I saw Arthur shuffling toward us through the gloom.
He waved and came over to the driver's side port.

I thumbed a toggle and the port hissed back into its slot.

"Hi, Arthur!" I said brightly. "Say hello to Bruce, here." I
slapped the dash. "You two should have something in com-
mon."

"Pleased to meet you," Bruce said.

"Hello, Brucie." Arthur poked his dog-nose snout into the
cab. "What are you all up to?"

"Housecleaning," I told him. "Getting things shipshape for
a quick getaway."

Arthur smiled, the comers of his mouth turning up to re-
veal smooth rounded teeth. The funnel-shaped ears elevated as
he did so. "Good thing I locked up the silverware. Are you
leaving soon?"

"Well, no," I said. "I don't think so. There's a little matter
of something that was stolen from me. Couple of things, actu-
ally."

The ears drooped. "Really? What was stolen?"

"An Artificial Intelligence module belonging to this vehi-
cle's on-board computer. It was quite an advanced type, and
its name was Sam. Know anything about it?"

Arthur was a little miffed. "I certainly do not. I hope you
don't think I swiped it. Wouldn't think of it."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply an accusation. It's just that I
don't have a long list of suspects."

Arthur nodded. "I see what you mean. But I really can't
help you. I'm sony it happened."

"I intend to speak to Prime about it."

"Oh, well, of course you should," Arthur said with a sin-
cere nod of his ungainly head. "I hope things get straightened
out." His sloping forehead furrowed. "You said a couple of
things were stolen."

"Yeah. One of them I really can't complain about, since I

PARADOX ALLEY               87

never wanted the thing in the first place. The Black Cube.
Know what it is?"

"The Origin Experiment. I know it by name, but that's
about all I know. I just work here."

I grunted.

"You're very upset about this, aren't you?" Arthur said
sympathetically. "I'm really very sorry."

"I appreciate your concern."

"Well, it's my job to see to your general comfort and wel-
fare." Arthur stepped back and looked the rig over. "Nice
truck," he said.

"Thanks," I said.

"Are you people coming upstairs soon?"

"Eventually," I told him. "How are the others doing?"

"Oh, they're having fun. You missed a nice lunch, too."

"Sorry, but we were occupied. Was Prime there?"

"Actually, no," Arthur said. "He's attending to some press-
ing business."

"Will he be at dinner?"

"No, he won't. I was told to give you his regrets and in-
form you that he wouldn't be dining with you tonight. Busy,
busy, and all that."

"Busy, busy?"

"Sorry."

"Sounds like a convenient excuse."

Arthur shrugged noncommittally.

"I know," I said. "You just work here."

"Room and board, no salary," Arthur said.

I snorted, then remembered I was talking to a robot.
"Right." I looked around. "Any way to get some service in
this garage?"

"What do you need?"

"General scheduled-maintenance stuff."

"Well," Arthur said, "I'm no mechanic, but if you just
wheel the truck into one of the maintenance bays, I'm sure
you can get what you want."

"Where?"

I fired up the engine, and Arthur waved me across the
garage and into a narrow channel lined with banks of ma-
chinery. I squeezed into the space and parked, scramming the

88 John DeChancie

engine. Almost immediately, things began to happen. We
heard whirring and clicking, then a steady hum. Suddenly, a
many-segmented mechanical arm, bright and glittering,
snaked across the forward port, its business end bristling with
strange tools and attachments. Of and by itself, the forward
cowling unfolded and flew back, exposing the engine. The
tool head hovered for a moment, rotating its attachments until
an appropriate one was centered, then dipped out of sight.
More arms appeared, busying themselves here and about.
Brightly colored tubes wriggled out and attached themselves
to valves and petcocks.

Bruce's voice was vaguely troubled. "Jake, I don't quite
know what is happening."

"We're getting super service," I said.

More arms shot into view, all crisscrossing but never
touching, each going about its task with blurring speed. Zip,
snap, click, bang. Sparks flew, tiny wisps of steam trailed off,
vapors rose amid a writhing tangle of mad mechanical appen-
dages.

It was over in less than a minute. Everything retracted, the
cowling slammed shut, a deep gong sounded. And there was
silence.

I checked all the readouts. The fuel tanks were full. Lubri-
cation and coolant levels were maximum, the water tanks
were brimming, all batteries showed a full charge.

"All systems A-O.K., Jake," Bruce pronounced.

"Looks like," I said.

"I wonder if they give free dishes," Carl said.

"Maybe this is the elusive place that gives green stamps—
whatever the hell they are... or were." I pulled out of the
maintenance bay, wheeled out onto the floor of the garage,
and parked. Arthur started walking toward us.

"You guys want to go back upstairs?" I said.

"Let's stay in the truck tonight," Daria said.

"Yeah, let's," Carl seconded.

Lori nodded, and I said, "Okay."

"It's all the same to me," was Arthur's response. "Less
bodies to look after. Have fun." He turned to leave.

"Hey, Art?" I called after him. "Er... Arthur."

He halted, looking back over his narrow shoulder. "Arthur




PARADOX ALLEY               89

I can put up with," he said with weary tolerance; "Art is a
little too much."

"Sorry. Do you have a proper name?"

"Does a duck quack? Never mind, you couldn't pronounce
it." Arthur turned around. "What do you want?"

"How do you get out of this place?"

Arthur pointed off to the right. "Just follow that green line
across the floor there. It'll take you to an exit tunnel."

"That line there?"

"Is there another one? Yes, that line there, dearie."

"And that's the way out?"

Pensively, Arthur rubbed the underside of his snout. "Well,
let's see. Exit tunnel. Exit. Hmmm. Now, the last time I
looked, I thought for sure the word exit meant a way out."

I gritted my teeth. "I wanted your assurance that we
weren't going to be tricked. Stupid of me to ask, I suppose."

"Do I look so untrustworthy?"

"Frankly, yes."

"My, aren't we paranoid. I think I'll leave in a huff."

And he did.

Shaking my head, I watched him disappear into the half-
darkness. "He's supposed to be a composite of all our person-
alities. What I want to know is, which one of us is the
smartass?"

Daria laughed. "Funny, but I can see a lot of your sardonic
humor in him, Jake."

"Me?" I yelped. "You've got to be kidding."

"Actually, it does make sense that he would have an effem-
inate personality."

"Well, it doesn't make any damn sense to me at all."

Lori had been thinking. "Do you think John and Roland
and the rest will be okay?"

"Who knows," I said. I rubbed my jaw. "But I know one
thing. I know we're being manipulated."

"How so?" Daria asked.

"What Arthur said about seeming untrustworthy. Actually,
I lied. He appears to be anything but a danger. It's hard to take
him seriously at all. He's a cartoon figure, a big, gangling
improbability, with a seriocomic personality. And look at
Prime. He's everything a superbeing should be—wise, kind,

90

John DeChancie

and gentle. But think of it. He could take any shape. He's not
a being. He's a tool. At least that body is. The persona he's
presenting seems a little too tailormade, too contrived."

Daria nodded. "I know what you mean. He seems to be
bending over backward to make us feel safe, to convince us of

his good intentions."

"Precisely," I said. "And that tactic backfired on me from

the very start. Just the way I am, I guess."

"Me, too." Daria sat in the shotgun seat and brooded. Pres-
ently she said, "But what do they want from us?"

"Maybe the part about wanting us to join the Culmination
is true," I said. "However, I don't intend to stick around long
enough to find out whether it is." I pushed the start button,
and the engine turned over.

"Are we leaving?"

"Not just yet. I want to check out this escape route first.
Then we'll see about provisions. If we can pilfer some food,
we'll be set to leave at a moment's notice. Everyone strap in."

I rolled the rig across the smooth floor of the garage, fol-
lowing the solid green line Arthur had pointed out. It led
straight toward a clutch of vehicles, then arched to the left. It
took us past some more exotic machinery, skirted another
maintenance bay, bent to the right and proceeded into darker
regions of the garage. I turned on the forward lights. The line
weaved among stacks of crates and containers, tall gantries
hulking in the shadows behind them. Presently we came to a
clear area. The walls of the chamber narrowed, feeding us into
a tunnel and complete darkness. The tunnel floor sloped
downward for a stretch, then leveled off. I slowed down, feel-
ing cautious and a little edgy. The fear of getting lost again
began to gnaw. The line ended, but the tunnel continued for a
length until the headbeams showed what at first looked like a
dead end, which turned out to be the floor swooping up
sharply, too sharply, I thought, and braked. But something
was wrong; there came a sudden surge of speed. The rig got
sucked into the mouth of the tube and shot upward, propelled
along like a shell inside the barrel of a fieldpiece. The angle
wasn't as steep as that of the pedestrian escalators, but it was a
thrilling trip up, too thrilling, because I was convinced that
this time we'd blundered into something we couldn't get out
of—maybe this was a missile firing tube, or a catapult that

PARADOX ALLEY               91

launched aircraft. Imagine our embarrassment when we got to
the top.

But it was okay. The ramp leveled off sharply and we could
see daylight—the tunnel's end. The invisible force set us
loose, and we rolled out into bright late-afternoon sun, travel-
ing a gray-green, two-lane highway.

I pulled off the road and let the engine idle. We were
among low grassy hills. A stand of trees fringed a rise to the
right, and an arrangement of rounded pink boulders sat off the
road on the other side. Through the rearview parabolic mirror
I could see Emerald City atop its escarpment. No other struc-
tures lay in sight, but the view was limited by the terrain.

"Now," I said, sitting back. "How do we get back inside?"

"Forget it," Carl said disdainfully. "Who needs that fairy
palace?"

"You can't complain about the food," I said. "And it looks
like we could go a long time between meals out here."

"We'll figure something out," Carl said with haughty con-
fidence.

"You think we can forage? Or do you figure to hunt small
game?"

"Huh? Hey, I don't know, but we'll get by somehow."

"Sure. I'm feeling pangs already. Daria, what do we have
left back there?"

"Some crackers, I think. Half a bag of walnuts." She
thought. "A can of beef consomme... and a rotten apple."

I looked at Carl.

He shrugged off my stare. "Okay, okay. So we'll get
hungry. But the sooner we get through that portal, the sooner
we get back to where we can find food."

I said, "Bruce, calculate the most efficient route to that
master portal and give me an ETA, assuming nonstop driving
and an average speed of about 130 kilometers per hour."

"Forty-six-point-two-five hours, Jake."

"So," I said, "it's two days if I don't sleep or if I teach you
guys to pilot this rig, and that's assuming Skyway cruising
speed, or near it, anyway. I don't think we can average more
than eighty klicks an hour over alien road."

"Eighty klicks?" Carl said incredulously. "That's... what?
Only around fifty miles an hour! This rig can hit two hundred
or I'm a monkey's uncle."

John DeChancie

92

"It can do over that," I said, "on a high-speed road like the
Skyway. But I'm talking average speed, Carl. That's different.
And this is little more than a back country road."

"Yeah, I know," Carl grumbled. "Shit. We can still make

it, though."

"Maybe, if we have to. But I'm not ready to leave just

yet."

"Right, right. I'm sorry. We gotta get Sam back, I know."

I studied Carl for a moment. The scared kid inside him was
peeping through. He was farther from home than any of us.

I looked back at the tunnel, which exited from the base of a
steep hill. "Well, we can't go down the up-ramp, that's for
sure. Bruce, can we get back to the Skyway using these sec-
ondary roads?"

"No, Jake, there's no connection."

"You can't get there from here." I sighed. "That's odd. Can

we go off-road?"

"Perhaps, Jake. The maps are not so detailed that I can

make that judgment with any degree of authoritativeness."

"Damn. I don't want to go overland, but that through-the-
mountain bit seems like the only way into the city by road."

"And who's to say," Daria added, "whether they'll lift up

the mountain and let us in again?"

"Right. So I guess we cruise around a little and see if we
can find some nice little rabbits who'll let us conk them over

the head."

I was hungry. I'd just picked at breakfast, which seemed

like days ago, and Darla's quickie lunch had vanished into the
void. Nothing to be done about it now, though. And sitting
here would accomplish less than nothing. So I eased back onto
the road and brought the rig up to sight-seeing speed, just

moseying along.

"They know where we are, of course," Daria said.
I nodded. "Of course. They've known our every move. But

they haven't stopped us yet."

"Yes, but I'm still not ready to believe that Prime meant
what he said about letting us leave any time we want to."

"Yeah, couple of things bother me about that," I said.
"Consider all the stuff that's here. All those exotic vehicles,
the wondrous gadgets, the technology. Just sitting around,

PARADOX ALLEY               93

waiting to be pilfered by disenchanted Culmination candi-
dates."

"Maybe it's supposed to be pilfered," Daria suggested.

I thought about it. "Maybe. Haven't seen any signs of
plundering, though."

"It may be we were the first ever to make it to the end of
the Skyway."

"Gosh. Think of that."

Daria ruminated, then said, "You don't think anyone could
get away with swiping anything from this place, do you?"

"Not for a moment. I can't believe the Culmination would
let this stuff get dispersed anachronistically throughout all of
spacetime. Most of it is from the far, far future. It would stick
out like a sore thumb back where we come from. Talk about
paradoxes."

"What about knowledge leaking out? All that data in the
library. Taking back any of that would be anachronistic in
itself."

"You have a point. Then, I guess, the knowledge doesn't
leave here, either."

We looked at each other.

"I don't like the implications of that," Daria said worriedly.

"Neither do I."

The sky was a pretty, purplish blue, appearing as if it had
been colored in by crayon. The strange, artificial look proba-
bly had something to do with the atmosphere being a lot shal-
lower here than it would be on a standard planet—or so I
guessed—although it was deep enough to support a few puffy
clouds. No doubt the weather was controlled. I wondered if it
ever rained.

We rolled down a gradual grade and out onto flat grass-
lands. Structures came into view. Up ahead a side road di-
verged, leading to a featureless golden dome. Farther on
another road branched off to a complex edifice that looked
like a collision between a chemical plant and a Mogul palace.

"So many things..." Daria said out of a reverie.

"Like what?" I asked.

She sighed and shook her head. "So many unanswered
questions. Little things, as well as big. Like, why isn't there
any Skyway to the master portal?"




94 John OeChancie

"To slow us down. Make us think twice about leaving. Or
it's because this was such a pretty place, they didn't want to
mess it up with new construction."

"All of the above," Daria said. "Or none of the above."

"You got it," I said. "Don't hold your breath for complete
explanations. Mystery is the essence of life."

She rolled her eyes. "Let me write that down."

"Okay. It's M-Y-S-T-E-R— Huh? Why are you laughing?"

"Jake, you're getting more batty with every kilometer you
drive."

"I'm being driven batty. I knew there was an explanation."

For the next half hour we followed the road and saw the
sights. There was plenty to look at. The vegetation changed;

trees became more numerous, thickening to forest for a
stretch, then thinning out a little to look like an orchard. More
buildings in various architectural styles. There were other
things, too, among which was a huge statue of a winged,
four-legged animal resembling a gryphon, except that the head
looked rather feline. The statue sat atop a cylindrical base and
must have risen to more than sixty meters. An alien god—a
mythical animal? Or was this the likeness of a once-extant
sapient being? No telling. There were other monuments which
gave the impression of being tombs or cenotaphs. One was a
diamond-shaped mass of metal that stood balanced, impossi-
bly, on one of its apexes, resting point to point with the tip of
a pyramidal base. Another was a giant glass needle, a thin,
tapering crystalline shaft that shot up over a hundred meters.
There were obelisks, stelae, slabs, monoliths, and other
masses, all of various geometrical shapes.

More buildings. One looked very familiar. In fact, we were
shocked. I pulled off the road and stopped.

"The Taj Mahal!" Daria blurted.

And it was, if memory served. Though I'd been in India,
I'd never laid eyes on it. But the Taj is one of those universal
picture-postcard images that has engraved itself in the mass
mind. No mistaking those serenely graceful turnip-top domes,
the slender minarets, that classical symmetry and sense of
proportion. In a word, beautiful.

"My God," Daria said, "what's it doing here?"

"Part of the collection," I said.

PARADOX ALLEY

95

"Do you think there are more Terran artifacts here?"

"Possibly."

"Maybe it's just a replica."

"Maybe. Looks new, doesn't it? Probably restored or re-
constructed."

I got us moving again. Farther along we came to an inter-
section. The other road was narrower but was made of the
same blue-green material. I stopped, checking traffic. There
was none, so I crossed and continued on.

I should have waited, because a few kilometers down the
road I saw a blip on the rear scanner screen.

(T^W^"?)

11

I TROMPED THE power pedal. "Bruce," I said, "we got trou-
ble."

"Noted, Jake. Bandit at six o'clock, closing fast."

Maybe it was Prime, come to fetch us back. But I doubted
it. "In camera range?" I asked.

"Extreme telephoto. Can you make it out?"

I looked. It was a dun-colored dot, growing rapidly, soon
resolving into a paramilitary vehicle with familiar camouflage
markings. One ofZack Moore's buggies.

"Incoming message on the Skyway citizens' band," Bruce
said calmly.

"Put it through."

"... McGraw, breaking for Jake McGraw. Come back."

I recognized the voice. It was Krause, who had been an
officer aboard the ferryboat Laputa. I had had a minor run-in
with him, and a major one with his skipper. Captain Pender-
gast.

I put my headset on. "Yeah, you got McGraw."

"Hi, there! Where've you guys been?" Krause's chummy
manner rang as false as a bell made ofpapier-mache.

"What's it to you, asshole?" I had decided not to be civil
about this.

"Hey, now, is that any way to talk? After all we've been
through together?"

"Back off," I said, "or you're a dead man."

"Don't be so paranoid. I just want to talk. What's it like
inside that castle, anyway?"

"Good food, good service, and a great game room. Any
other questions?"

"Food! All we've had to eat is synthesized glop! We're

97

98

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

99

starving and you're living off the fat of the land! Isn't fair."
"Doesn't the White Lady take care of you?"
A pause. Then: "We call her the Goddess. That's what she

is, you know."

"And she doesn't feed her children?"

'Wo. She just tells us to do stuff."

"Like what?"

"Most of the time we can't understand her."

I thought it best to pull a few more teeth and try to get what
information I could. "Where's the rest of your crew?"

"Oh, around."

It looked as though I wouldn't get much out of him, but I
needed a little time. Krause's vehicle was pacing us now. I
wanted to pick the best place to make my move. I'd take the
offense first in this particular engagement. I was tired of
screwing around with these guys. Besides, best to strike when
the situation was still one-on-one. So I needed to chat him up

a little longer.

"Where are you guys holed up?" I asked.

"We have a place. Kind of a temple, sort of. It's nice. But
the food we found is awful. I bet that everything in that green
palace of yours is first class."

"You alone?"

'Wo. Got a few of the guys here. Are you?"

"Yeah."

He laughed. "/'// bet. Or did most of your gang decide to
join up with that Prime fellow? They all ducked out on you—

that right, Jake?"

"Yeah, they all ducked out." I killed the mike. "Everyone
strapped in?" I looked around. My crew was well-trained by

now.

Krause chuckled. "They all want to be gods, huh? Actu-
ally, I don't blame them. Wouldn't mind being boss of the
universe for a while. But the Goddess says it's all a crock."

I switched the mike on again. "That so?" I said, eyeballing
the road ahead for a likely spot to do a "moonshiner's flip,"
a.k.a. an "Alabama roundhouse."

"Yeah, that's what she says. She says Prime is misleading
people and getting them involved in things that aren't their

business."

"What's the Goddess' business?"

"You got me. What do I know from what a goddess is
supposed to be up to? None of us understands what the hell's
really going on here. Except that—whaddya call her?—the
White Lady and Prime are enemies."

"What's she been after you to do?"

Krause snorted. "Kowtow to her, for one thing. I'm getting
pretty tired of it." His voice took on a worried edge. "Jeez, I
hope she isn't listening. But you should see what we have to
go through. Kneeling when we talk to her, calling her Your
Divinity, and crap like that... Christ, I hope she didn't hear
that either."

"What're you worried about? What happens if you incur
her disfavor?"

"No food, no water. Two of our guys died last night—they
got sick on the trip. Scurvy, I think, though Jules had a heart
condition, too. Anyway, the Lady could have saved them, but
she didn't, because Moore gave her lip."

So, Moore wasn't in Krause's vehicle. And we had two
less enemies on this world. Good and good.

"? probably shouldn't have told you any of that... but, I
dunno. Most of us really would like to go home. You got the
map now, Jake. The real one. How 'bout we make a deal?"

"You still believe rumors?" I said.

"C'mon, Jake. The Goddess told us. She gave you the real
map. We need it to get back home."

"The Goddess told you wrong, Krause. I never had a map
and I don't now."

"Then where are you going?" He grunted. "Heading for
that big portal on the other side, I bet."

"Just out sight-seeing, Krause. Lots of interesting things
here."

"Yeah, sure. Look, we don't even want the map. All we
really want is the Black Cube. The Goddess wants it. If she
don't get it, we don't get off this pancake."

"Krause, you got yourself one big problem, there. My
sympathies, but I can't help you. I don't have the cube any
more. My truck was broken into last night. Somebody stole
it."

Krause delayed answering a moment. "How can I be sure
you're telling the truth?"

"That's a tough one."




100

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

101

Ahead was a sharp curve. I took it at high gee. Coming out
of it I saw my opportunity. The road straightened out and
continued into a long straightaway, bisecting a greensward

that looked level and firm.

I cut the mike. "Bruce, stand by for an Alabama round-
house."

"Jake," Bruce admonished, "that is not a recommended

maneuver."

"Standby!"

"Standing by."

I flipped the master toggle controlling the traction gradients
on the trailer rollers. Those rollers were now frictionless. I
braked hard. The trailer immediately jackknifed to the left, but
instead of correcting, I let it go, twisting the control rings on
the steering bars and defrictionizing the cab rollers as well.
The rig spun. Stopping this maneuver was the hard part.
"You pulling over, Jake?" came Krause's voice.

"Bruce! Stabilize!"
I flipped the master toggle back and frantically twisted the

control rings, at the same time countersteering and braking. I
had to do almost everything at once—Bruce was handling the
stabilizing jets and monitoring the various safety servos which
would help keep the rig from going completely out of control.
We were now traveling backward and decelerating. The trailer
started to swing out again. I toggled and pedaled and steered,
fighting to get it back into line. I juiced the power rollers to
maximum grab, defrictionizing the rears again. The rig shud-
dered, and we rolled to a crunching stop—a brief one, be-
cause I had the power pedal floored. The rig sprang forward
and we flew back up the road.

Krause was coming out of the turn.

"Jake, I can't take your word... HEY, WHAT THE

HELL!"

We were heading right down his throat.

The jungle-striped gun buggy swerved off onto the
shoulder, but I kept steering right for him.

"Bruce, stand by on exciter cannon!"

"Roger. Target visually acquired."

Krause didn't have time enough to get a shot off at us. The
vehicle's exciter turret was swiveling into line, but whoever
was driving was too busy trying to avoid getting smashed by

one big mother of a trailer truck and was frantically steering
against the turret's swing. The gun buggy veered off and
headed out into the greensward, presenting its broadside to us
for a perfect set-up shot.

"Fire!" I yelled, but Bruce beat me by a quarter second.
His shot was dead on target, the blue-white exciter beam
opening a fiery gash along the entire length of the gun buggy's
starboard side. I swung off and headed back onto the road.
The left parabolic showed Krause's vehicle trundling across
the grass, heading for a clutch of bone-white pyramids. It hit a
low rise, bouncing crazily.

Then it exploded. Bruce's shot must have penetrated to the
ordnance bays. A starburst of arching contrails blossomed out
of the fireball.

I couldn't look anymore because we were heading back
into the curve. I braked into the turn and accelerated out.

Two more military-style vehicles were heading right at us.

"Fire at will!"

Bruce let fly, hitting both gun buggies head-on. They shot
past on either side, and I heard the crackle of belated return
fire. Again, we had surprise on our side. They hadn't had
reaction time enough to get off a shot at the cab. I wasn't
about to give them another opportunity.

"Bruce, emergency power. Gimme all you got."

"Yes, Jake."

I roared back the way we had come, taking turns at maxi-
mum gee and cheating on the bends by cutting across the
shoulder of the road when necessary. I hadn't had time to see
if Bruce's shots had been effective. Most vehicles have their
thickest armor front and back, since most attacks on the road
come from those quarters. Knowing that, I still hoped we had
lucked out,.or had at least disabled them. We had a big lead,
and it would take time for them to turn around, but those
buggies were fast. I didn't think we could outrun them on this
slow road. Out on the Skyway, no problem. They'd have trou-
ble catching me. But not here. Which meant I would have to
think of something quick.

I thought, quickly, if not brilliantly. I feared a missile at-
tack. I had dealt with their ordnance before, and only Carl's
magic Chevy had saved us—even at that, we had taken a hit.
If they chased us, they would wait for a level stretch and let




102                 John DeChancie

loose what missiles they had left. Better to get off-road now
and try to take advantage of the terrain. They could follow,
but out there we'd have a chance of catching them broadside,
the only hope of a sure kill.

Trouble was, the orchard landscape was back, and there
was nowhere to go if I didn't want to go crashing through the
trees—which would slow us down, and needless to say, leave
any easy trail to follow. I looked out at the neatly spaced rows
of trees. Some were gnarled little things, but most were six
meters high at least. On the whole, they didn't look crash-
through-able. There was maybe enough space between them
to squeeze by... hard to tell, though. I thought back. The
intersection was coming up. If I could get there and make a
turn before they saw us, they'd have to split up, and since
there were only two vehicles chasing us and three ways I
could go, we might lose them completely.

But no such luck.

"Jake, I have visually acquired our pursuers."

"Damn."

"Missile alert! Incoming! Take evasive action!"

I'd already taken it, panic-braking. The orchard had given
way to a sort of wide esplanade lined with dark monuments
leading diagonally off to the right. I barely managed the turn,
scraping the side of the trailer against one of the huge metallic

blocks. With any luck—

There was a flash and an accompanying crump as the mis-
sile hit one of the monoliths. I was momentarily relieved for
more than one reason—they hadn't unleashed a barrage of
missiles. They were probably low, trying to make each shot
count, but they probably had at least one more to chuck at us.

I raced down the stone-paved esplanade. It flared into a
circus, in the center of which stood a free-form sculpture done
in twisted metal. I skirted that, roaring off the pavement and
onto turf. Ahead was an obstacle course of monuments and
other odd bric-a-brac, and on the other side lay a grouping of

turquoise domes.

I dodged and weaved through the field of monuments—it
was like a driver training course. Stray exciter bolts sizzled
around us, but no missiles came our way. I made a lurching
turn around the domes, coming to the foot of a low hill dotted
with more orchard trees. There was nowhere to go but up, so I

PARADOX ALLEY              103

went, flooring the pedal and hitting the first tree dead on. Not
much to these trees—it snapped, fell, and we steamed right
over it. I wanted to leave as much debris behind as I could, so
I started sideswiping them, getting them to fall and block our
pursuers' path. Branches scraped against the ports and
crunched beneath the rear rollers. I tore the hell out of that
goddamn hill. It would have been fun under other circum-
stances.

It wasn't a big hill, and we were over the top quickly.
Apparently the gun buggies were having a hard time getting
up the slope. They hadn't fired at us. There were no trees here
on the other side, nothing but a gradual grade down to a flat
meadow with no cover other than tall weedlike plants. It was a
good hundred meters across to the edge of a thick forest. I
hurried. We shot down the hill and bumped across level
ground. I floored the pedal and cut a swath through the tall
grass, scanning ahead to judge how thick the forest was and
whether we could go crashing through or whether we had to
turn and fight. I decided to risk more damage to the ecology
and plunged the rig into the trees. This stuff was thicker. The
cab shook with the impact. I heard a horrendous cracking,
looked out and saw the right stabilizer foil fall away. But we
didn't stop. Trees fell in our path, branches slammed against
the view ports. It was rough going. I got hung up a few times,
but managed to get free and keep rolling. Momentum was on
our side; also a 600 megadyne nuclear-fusion engine. We
crashed out into a small clearing, and I paused to look about
for a trail or a road. There was a tiny break in the tree line off
to the right, so I headed for it, and it turned out to be the start
of little more than a deer path. But it helped.

"Hope Smokey the Bear isn't around," Carl managed to
say over the snapping, thumping, and banging.

"Who the hell is that?" I shouted.

"Forget it."

The vegetation was not quite Earthlike, but not very exotic
either, just more of thousands of variations I had seen on the
basic theme of "tree." These had drooping branches bright
with feathery red and yellow leaves. There didn't seem to be
any wildlife about—nothing squawked or hooted disapproval
at our intrusion, nothing bolted from cover to run for its life. I
wondered if the whole planet were lifeless except for vegeta-

104 John DeChancle

tion. Prime, we humans, and the White Lady.

We crashed out into the clear, and I stopped, slid back the
port, and listened. No noise behind, nothing like two vehicles
trying to follow our trace. They'd have a rough time getting
around the tree stumps and other debris I'd left. Good. Better
and better.

"We have sustained some damage, Jake," Bruce informed
me.

"I know. Anything critical?"

"All main systems seem to be functional. However, we
have a hull breach in the trailer, and the right stabilizer foil has
detached itself."

"Yeah. So much for stability. Well, it could have been
worse."

"I must compliment you on your creative driving, Jake,"
Bruce said.

"Thank you. I was inspired."

I got moving, crossing a grassy field to the slope of a low
rise. At the crest, I stopped. There was an abrupt transition in
terrain beginning a few meters away. The grass petered out,
giving way to dust and gravel. A few wiry bushes with bril-
liant pink blossoms dotted a parched landscape. An eroded
butte ringed by mounds of talus lay about half a kilometer
ahead. Near it sat a complex of buildings that looked like
some sort of industrial facility.

"Interesting," I said.

"There's a road down by those buildings," Carl said.

"Yeah. Good as any, I guess."

I drifted down the hill and rolled out into the desert.

Carl gave a look out the port, checking the rearview para-
bolic mirror. "You think we lost 'em?"

"I hope. Not much cover out here."

It was pretty, though. The dust was red, the rocks coffee-
beige, and the vegetation was in colorful bloom. The sky had
turned a deeper shade of violet as the "sun" declined to our
right, coaxing long shadows from outcroppings of rock and
stunted, rough-barked trees.

"We should look for someplace to spend the night, a hide-
out of some sort," I said.

"What about that place there?" Lori asked.

PARADOX ALLEY              105

"I'd like to get some more distance between us and those
gun buggies first," I answered.

I hurried toward the thin green line of the road, bumping
over rocks and fallen tree trunks, following the edge of a
sinuous depression to our right that looked like a dry wash.

Daria began, "Maybe we should—"

"Alert!" Bruce interrupted. "Bandits at six o'clock!"

The rearview screen showed two camouflage-painted bug-
gies rushing down the hill.

"Fire rear exciters at will!" I shouted, mashing the power
pedal.

"Affirmative. Have commenced firing."

I weaved the rig back and forth, eyeing the terrain ahead
for cover. There wasn't much to eye. A few rock formations,
low mounds, nothing elevated enough to completely hide the
rig. Best we could do was to swing around and bring our
forward guns to bear, hunkering down behind the crest of a
ridge to present a low profile. Basic tank warfare in open
country.

But they still had missiles, and one was coming our way.

"Tracking multiple missiles," Bruce said imperturbably.
"Jake, you had better take cover. I can't seem to knock any of
them out."

I had already steered sharply to the right, heading for the
dry wash. If I could get down in there without wrecking us,
and if the wash were deep enough, and if we could get back
out of there, and if—

We practically fell into the wash. The cab dropped, crash-
ing to the stream bed, pulping our bones and teeth. I recov-
ered quickly enough to floor the pedal and pull the cab away
before the trailer flipped over. The accordion joints along the
trailer groaned, bent to the failure point.

There was a crunching thud—the trailer falling in behind
as I wheeled out into the dry wash, rollers jouncing over ruts
and boulders. I heard a whoosh. A missile impacted about
twenty meters downstream, throwing up a geyser of dust and
rubble.

"Only one actual blip, Jake," Bruce informed. "The others
were electronically generated decoys. I'm very sorry to report
that our defensive systems are not quite up to par."

106

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

107

"They never were," I said. "Can't afford it."

Now what? We were sitting ducks in this hole. I raced
downstream, feeling the undercarriage whack against protrud-
ing boulders. I winced, hoping the rig would hold together.
One hole or tear in a vital component and it would be over.

Farther downstream the channel widened and the height of
the banks shrank to half a meter. I looked around, checked the
parabolic. Nothing, so I wheeled to the right. Whump, bong,
and the cab was up and out of the wash—crash, rip, the
trailer following. I cringed. Ohmygod, I thought, I'm going to
cry when I look underneath the rig. If I ever get the chance.

We were out and exposed, but no more missiles came our
way. Those buggies would have just as much trouble crossing
the wash, so now was my chance to pack some distance be-
tween us and them.

"Jake," Bruce said, "I'm getting a very unusual blip on the

scanners. Airborne, descending and closing with us."
Carl craned his neck, looking up.
"See anything?" I asked.
"No... I—" He froze.

"Carl? What is it?"
He turned around. The color had drained out of his face.

"Shit," he said in a scared, half-audible whisper. "Shit!"
"What the hell is it, Carl?" I shouted.
He looked at me. His eyes were panicky, crazed. "Not

again," he said.

"Jesus Christ, Carl, what—"

The rig left the ground.
I yelled. The engine quit, and a blood-freezing silence fell.

The rig was taking off like a plane, nose high and soaring. I
looked out the port. A huge black object, irregularly shaped,
hovered above us. The angle was wrong to get a good view.

"Jake, what is it?" Daria screamed.

"I don't know," I said. "A craft. Sucking us up in some

sort of gravitic beam."
"Prime," she said flatly.

"I guess."
The object came into the forward ports as our angle of

ascent steepened. The thing was rounded, bulbous in spots,
and big. Other than that, it was almost featureless.

Carl was tugging finitely at the hatch lever—the master
sealing circuit was on.

"I gotta get outta here," he said through gritted teeth.

"Carl, take it easy. It's probably Prime, picking us up."

He tore off his harness and leaped at me, grabbing the front
of my jacket with both hands. He shook me. "Open that fuck-
ing door, d'you hear? Open that door! I gotta get out! I gotta
get outta here!" His face was contorted by blind fear, his eyes
sightless, his lips the color of his face, a dead fish's belly.

"Carl, what the hell's wrong with you?" I snapped.

"You don't understand, you don't understand. That thing
can't get me again, I won't let it, I gotta get outta here, I—"

He let me go, wrenched around and stabbed at the instru-
ment panel. I unstrapped myself and seized both of his arms.

"Carl, take it easy!"

He struggled free, turning around. He sent a haymaker at
me, which I ducked. I closed with him and wrapped him up.
We Indian wrestled for a moment, then he dragged me to the
right. I tripped, falling between the front seats. Carl stepped
over me and fled aft. I was in an awkward position and
couldn't get up immediately, my left foot wedged underneath
the power pedal. I finally freed it and hauled myself up.

Carl was lying facedown on the deck. Daria stood over
him. Lori, still strapped in, was in tears.

"Hope I didn't hurt him," Daria said. "Side neck chop."

"You're good at that," I said. I went back and checked
him. He wasn't unconscious, just stunned. He writhed, groan-
ing.

"He'll be okay. You have a light touch."

"What's his problem?"

I said, "I think that thing up there is his flying saucer."




S^W^t                                     •il

12

I CLIMBED FORWARD—the rig was inclined at a sharp angle
now. I sat in the driver's seat and looked out. A large struc-
ture, part of the strange craft, loomed before us. It looked
something like the neck of a bottle with an aperture like an
iris. The aperture began dilating as we approached, soon wid-
ening enough to admit the truck. Which it did. We shot right
in there. The aperture closed behind us, and we were in semi-
darkness.

The truck settled.

Prime's voice boomed at us from the dark cavity ahead.

"I AM VERY DISPLEASED," he said gravely. "IT
SEEMS THAT YOU MAY NOT BE TRUSTED. VERY
WELL, THEN. YOU HAVE FORCED ME TO TAKE
HARSH MEASURES. PREPARE TO MEET YOUR
DOOM!"

"Go to hell!" I shouted.

We heard an impish chuckle. "JUST KIDDING!" came
Arthur's voice.

"What?" I rasped, switching the feed from my mike to the
outside speakers. "Arthur! You son of a bitch, where the hell
arc you?"

"Now don't get testy," Arthur said, his voice at a lower
volume. "Just having some fun. You ought to be grateful. I
just saved your butt, you know."

I exhaled, relief flooding over me. "You did?"

"You better believe it, dearie. That last missile had your
number on it."

"Oh," I said. "There was one coming at us?"

"Right on target. Of course, I knocked it out before it got
very far."

109

110 John DeChancie

"Oh."

"Oh," Arthur said mockingly.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Hold on a minute."

We waited. A minute later, Arthur came waddling out of
the darkness. "Come on out," he said.

Carl was sitting up. He looked embarrassed, still a little
scared, and at least partially rational.

"You okay?" Lasked.

"Yeah. I..." He ran a hand over his face, and shook his
head to clear it. "I don't know what happened. Something
snapped. I dunno." He looked up. "I'm sorry," he added, rub-
bing his neck.

"Forget it. Is this your flying saucer? The one that nabbed
you?"

Carl got to his feet, came forward. "Looks like it. Same
damn goofy-looking place."

We got out. The chamber was like the inside of an egg
flattened on the bottom. Behind the truck, the entrance had
closed up into a puckered sphincter-valve affair. The room
was uniformly constructed out of some dark material.

"Still angry?" Arthur asked, smirking.

"A little," I said. "You do a good imitation of Prime."

"Why, thank you, Jake," Arthur said in Prime's voice. "I
plan to make a career in show business, you know."

I looked around. "What now?"

Arthur shrugged. "What do you want to do?"

"You're not taking us back to Emerald City?"

Arthur shook his head. "Not if you don't want to go."

I turned to Darla. "What do you think?"

Daria shook her head. "I don't know, Jake. We'd probably
be safer in Emerald City, but..."

"I don't want to go," I said. "But I have to find Sam. He's
got to be there somewhere."

Arthur said, "Oh, Sam's fine. I kind of like him. He's your
father, right? You know, he looks a lot like you."

I must have looked as if I'd been hit with a power hammer.

Arthur stared at me blankly for a second; then something
dawned on him. "Oh, of course. You left before Sam..." He
brought his four-fingered hand up and slapped his face.
"Dearie me, I think I've made a boo-boo."

PARADOX ALLEY              111

"What arc you saying?" I managed to get out.

"Urn... I think I'd better take you back to Emerald City.
Right now. Follow me."

We followed him. Another sphincter-valve, this one much
smaller than the first, was set into the far wall. It opened to
admit us, and we went through into a curving tube-shaped
corridor that bent to the right and led into a circular room. In
the center was a high cylindrical platform on which rested a
wedge-shaped box affair looking somewhat like a lectern. Ar-
thur stood in front of it and began to slide his fingers across
the box's slanted top face. A control panel, I thought.

Nothing much happened. I didn't feel any movement. I
looked over Arthur's shoulder. The triangular panel, made of
the same dark material that the rest of the ship was composed
of, was totally blank, yet Arthur seemed to know where to put
his fingers.

"Want a view?" Arthur asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah."

The ship around us disappeared.

Darla squealed, and Lori fell to all fours. Carl jumped
back, yelling, "Jesus Christ!" He stared unbelieving at his
feet, beneath which was nothing but air.

I stared down, stamping my right foot. The floor was still
there—something was there, anyway. I turned around. And
behind us, about ten meters away, flying along with us like a
escorting fighter, was the truck.

We were soaring in open air about three hundred meters
above the surface of Microcosmos- Arthur still had his hands
extended over the now invisible control panel.

"Sorry," he said. "I should have warned you. Let me
opaque the ship's mass a little."

The walls and floor came back abruptly, then gradually
faded to full transparency, but this time they looked like tinted
glass.

"Do you have a sense of the ship around you now?" Arthur
inquired.

"Yeah, better," I said.

Lori got up. "I'm going crazy," she declared. "I really
think I'm gonna go completely bats."

"Hang on, honey," Darla said soothingly, putting an arm
around her shoulders.

112

John DeChancie

"Where did you get this... ship?" I asked.

"Belongs to Emerald City's fleet," Arthur told me. "It's a
spacetime ship. Goes anywhere, anytime. Zips you there real
fast."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's probably the most advanced spacecraft ever
built. Don't ask me who built it. I'd break my jaw trying to
pronounce the name."

"Do you know how it works? What drives it?"

"Oh, quantum this, that, and the other thing. You really
want me to go into it? You couldn't understand it, anyway."

"Forget it."

The patchwork quilt of Microcosmos rolled beneath us.
Our airspeed couldn't have been much. Ahead, I could see the
Emerald City atop its citadel, sparkling in the light of the
setting sun.

"You have to take it easy going short distances," Arthur
went on, anticipating my next question. "You can't do contin-
uum jumps near big masses. I mean, you can do them, but it's
tricky. Even for me. And I'm pretty good at driving this
thing."

"You do a lot of flying?"

"Never. This is my first time."

"I see." I shrugged to myself.

The ship made its approach to Emerald City. Everything
seemed to be going fine until we suddenly veered off. The
world below us tilted crazily.

"What's wrong, Arthur?" I said, fighting an attack of ver-
tigo.

"Something's coming our way."

I searched the sky and found it. It was a yellow glowing
ball trailing streamers of fire, streaking down at us.

"What the hell is that?" I shouted.

"I don't know," Arthur said calmly. "Some kind of
weapon. Don't worry."

"Worry? Who, me?"

The ship made a dizzying turn and headed away from the
green castle. The fireball executed the same maneuver and
streaked after us, hot on our tail. Our speed increased rapidly,
but there was no feeling of acceleration, no G-forces. We

PARADOX ALLEY              113

climbed swiftly, then leveled off. The fireball did the same,
and it seemed to be gaining. Arthur appeared to be aware of
this without having looked.

"Uh-oh," he said. "Hang on, kids."

Arthur proceeded to put the ship through some impossible
maneuvers. We flipped, looped, dived, pulled up, then went
into what would have been called a stall, had it been done by
an airplane. Then we dropped like a stone, tumbling end over
end.

I fought off vertigo, closing my eyes. There was absolutely
no physical sensation of movement.

When I opened them again, we were flying close to the
ground at tremendous speed. Behind us, the fireball was pull-
ing out of a dive to match our altitude.

"Dearie me," Arthur fretted. "I can't seem to shake this
thing off our tail."

"Doesn't this ship have any weapons?" I asked.

"Not much offensively, but a whole bunch defensively. The
ship's supposed to be invulnerable to just about any weapon
ever created. Anyway, that's how it was touted in its day. But
I can't take any chances. I have no idea of what technological
culture that fireball may have come out of. It might have been
specifically invented to challenge this ship's claims to invul-
nerability. You know how arms races go."

We shot up into the sky again and did a series of evasive
maneuvers, these more improbable than the last. The fireball
matched our every move.

"Dearie me!" Arthur exclaimed. "Now I'm starting to
worry."

"What about those defensive weapons?"

"I've already tried to neutralize it. Nothing worked."

"Can't you shoot it down?"

"Dogfight with it?" Arthur cringed. "You don't know what
you're saying. Dogfighting is probably that thing's trump suit.
You never know what to expect with these standing-wave en-
ergy weapons, which is probably what it is. It might be able to
absorb the energy of an attack and grow even more powerful."

I looked ahead. The edge of the disk-planet was coming up
fast.

"We're running out of world, Arthur," I said, trying to

114

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

115

sound as composed as possible.

"That may be our only chance," he replied.

Our speed must have been stupendous by then. The edge of
Microcosmos swept past, and we streaked out into space. The
planet shrank behind us, its disk tilting away, bringing the
edge into view. Forty-five degrees along the rim of the world,
the luminous sun-disk was falling below the horizon. Beneath
us, the world-edge was rounded and looked metallic, busy
with embossed geometric patterns which could have been
mazes of pipelines, conduits, power stations, and other tech-
nological facilities. I estimated the edge's thickness to be
about two hundred kilometers. There very well could have
been roads down there, but I couldn't make any out.

The other face of the planet, still dark, flipped up toward
us. Before long, though, the sun, now on the opposite side,
peeked back over the horizon and sent long shadows across
the land. It was magnificent to watch, even under the circum-
stances.

The fireball had dropped back. Suddenly, there was a split

second of a blinding flash. The walls opaqued instantly, cut-
ting it off. Purple spots swam in front of my eyes.

"Well, we outran it," Arthur said, breathing a sigh. "It was
losing energy, so it gave up and dissipated. Rather spectacu-
larly, wouldn't you say?"

"Anything else coming at us?" I asked.

"No."

"Any idea who sent it?"

"There's only one possibility."

"The lady, the goddess in white?"

Arthur glanced at me over his shoulder. "I've never met
her. Let me tell you, though, you should put quotes around
lady. She's no lady, any more than Prime is a man. Those arc
simply outward forms, adopted for the sake of convenience—
and for facilitating communication with you people."

"Can you guess why she'd want to give you trouble?"

"I can guess, but when you're talking about the Culmina-
tion, dearie, you might as well be trying to figure out how
many angels can dance on the head of a pin."

"She's part of the Culmination?"

"That's right. And mortals like us can only dream about
what's really going on."

I began, "But I thought—" And realized I didn't know
what to think.

"What you have to understand, dearie, is that Prime and
the Goddess represent two aspects of the same being. They
both share the same ontological base. Stop me if the vocabu-
lary gets too stuffy."

"I think I know what you mean."

I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

The walls faded again, and we saw that the land below had
brightened up. Brilliant morning light fell across the face of
the world. Our altitude had decreased to the point where we
could pick out individual features of the landscape. There
seemed to be more structures on this side. Sizable city com-
plexes lay here and about. We swooped toward one of them.

"This is an industrial arcology built by a race known as the
Mumble-mumble," Arthur informed us. "Like most alien
names, you can't say it in human."

Below us lay an aggregation of multicolored domes,
spires, and polyhedral buildings. The ship angled toward an
octagonal structure with a wide flat roof.

Arthur smiled at me over his shoulder. "I'm in contact with
the Artificial Intelligence that runs the complex. It wants to
know if we're technicians on our way to work. I'm telling it
yes. When we land, try to look proletarian."

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

"Laying low for a while. We don't dare try making the trip
back to Emerald City until we find out what's going on."

It made sense. I nodded.

Our craft swooped in over the roof and hovered over a
circular area outlined in red. Then it set gently down. Arthur
made a few swipes at the control panel, then turned away. The
wall opaqued again.

"Nice landing," I told him.

"All in a day's work."

He led us back into the connecting tube. We passed the
valve-door of the chamber where the truck was, following the
curving corridor around to another valve. Arthur touched an
area of the wall beside the bulge, and the sphincter dilated.

We were descending.

"Elevator," Arthur said, pointing up.

The hole in the roof was being sealed off by a secondary




116                 John DeChancie

sliding door. The platform on which we rode came down into
a large machinery-clogged chamber and merged with the
floor. The door-valve distended itself, seeking ground, met it,
and dilated a bit more. While all this was going on, I exam-
ined the seemingly monolithic material of which the ship was
constructed. Its color was a very dark olive drab, not really
black. The texture was grainy, and there was something else
going on across the surface, an ingrained pattern of tiny lines
and geometric shapes, barely visible. I tapped the wall. It rang

hollowly.

We stepped out and got our first chance to get a good look

at the ship. It was essentially an irregular grouping of curving
tubes with nipple-shaped ends. Breast-shaped protuberances
stuck out here and there. Rather erotic, this ship, in a way. I
wondered what symbolism it had had for its nonhuman

builders.

The big valve, the one we'd gotten sucked up by, was

open.

"Jake, would you get your truck out of there, please?"

Arthur asked.

I did, backing it out carefully. By the time I had parked and

powered the rig's engine down, something startling was hap-
pening to the ship.

It was shrinking like a balloon with a fast leak. It didn't

hiss. It just got smaller.
And smaller.

And...
When it had shrunk to a diameter of about two thirds of a

meter, Arthur picked the damned thing up and held it in both
arms. It looked like a model of itself. It was a model of itself.
"Arthur!" I screamed. "That's impossible!"

"Why?" Arthur asked.

I looked at Daria, Carl, and Lori. They were dumb-
founded, staring at me as if I had the answer.

"Why?" I said. "Because you couldn't possibly pick it up.

It's got to weigh—"

"Oh, no," Arthur said, "its mass isn't very much at all.

Here."

He tossed the thing at me. I lurched and managed to bal-
ance it. It was heavy as hell, but it should have weighed at
least a hundred tons. More, maybe.

PARADOX ALLEY              117

He looked at Carl, Daria, and Lori, then back at me. "Sat-
isfied?"

"Very," I said, stepping forward to give him his ship back.

"Oof," Arthur said, struggling with it, though he obviously
had three times my strength. "Just don't ask me about the
power source."

"Don't worry, I won't," I told him.

Arthur waddled over to the middle of the red circular plat-
form, set the ship down and walked back. "When it's deflated
it's kind of inert, and can't be detected at all."

"What now?" I said.

"Now I get in touch with Prime." He stared off into space
for a moment. "Except he's not available, damn it. He never
is, when I want him. Dearie me." He sighed. "We'll have to
wait."

Bruce's voice came from the rig's exterior speaker. "Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"Jake, there is some sort of attempt being made to commu-
nicate with me. My guess is that it is a computer system indig-
enous to this structure."

"Oh, I forgot," Arthur said. "That's the... I guess you'd
call it the plant foreman."

"I am making an attempt to establish contact. Is this per-
missible?"

"Go ahead, Bruce, do your best," I told him, then turned to
Arthur. "Now, before anything else, what was it you were
trying to tell me about Sam?"

"Oh, yes. Well, he's been... loaded into another ma-
chine."

"By whom, and for what reason?"

Arthur's tone was apologetic. "I'm afraid Prime is the cul-
prit, Jake. And the reason, as far as I can understand it, was
that Prime determined that Sam, as an Artificial Intelligence,
was sufficiently advanced enough to warrant special consider-
ation."

"You mean he's to be a Culmination candidate?"

"You got it."

I scowled, shaking my head. "Why is it that Prime's mo-
tives always seem to be as pure as the driven snow, no matter
how underhanded his methods are?"

"Good public relations?" Arthur suggested.




118 John DeChancie

"You ought to know."

"It's a living, dearie. The employment situation here is
tight."

"Yeah. One other thing. You said that Sam looks like me.
How could you know what he looks like?"

"From your memories of him, Jake. I have a pretty clear
picture of Sam in my data files."

I nodded. Somehow Arthur's answer didn't satisfy me.

"Jake?"

It was Bruce again. "Yeah?"

"Jake, I have managed to establish a rudimentary form of
communication with the unknown A.I. It has put a number of
questions to us. Do you wish to reply?"

"Well, what's it asking?"

"It would like to know the purpose of our visit."

"Jeez, I don't know."

Arthur said, "Tell it that we're on an inspection tour."

"Jake?"

"Huh? Yeah, go ahead."

A few moments later Bruce reported, "The Intelligence
says it is happy to receive us and wishes to know what aspect
of the plant's operations would be of greatest interest to us."

"Research and development," Arthur said.

After another pause, Bruce relayed, "Very well. Would you
like to begin the inspection immediately?"

"Tell it no," I said. "Tell it... um, say that we have had a
long journey and would like to rest first. We will begin the
inspection in approximately eight hours."

"Very well."

"That ought to hold it," I said. "I don't plan to stay here for
eight hours."

"I can't guarantee that I'll be able to contact Prime within
that time," Arthur informed me.

"No? What's he doing?"

"I don't know. All I know is that he's not available and
there's no telling when he will be."

I thought of something. "Then who's looking after the rest
of my crew?"

"I activated another servant. They'll be fine."

"Another servant?"

PARADOX ALLEY              119

"A multipurpose robot about half my size. Nice kid, but
not much personality."

"Great." I yawned. "It's been an exciting day. Much too
exciting."

"Yeah," Arthur said snidely, "chewing up vast stretches of
parkland can take a lot out of you."




(T^W^Z)

13

I SLEPT. No dreams came.

But there was something out there, a sense of conflict, of
opposing forces coming into contact, a tension. It was like
picking up distant radio signals, listening in on field commu-
nications of a faraway battle—a burst of static, a word or
phrase, an interruption, a few hazy images, waves of
interference... jamming...

There came a sense of an overwhelming presence. A being
vast and ineffable, a pervading Oneness whose dimensions
bestrode the length and breadth of spacetime. But its Oneness
was threatened. Something had gone wrong, and the root of
the problem lay hidden in darkness. That which had been cre-
ated to be One had split, polarized. The conflict raged up and
down the corridors of time.

The road must be built.

No, it is folly.

We must tap the resources of time....

We cannot allow it.

We are not an elite, just the culmination of all that was....

That which is past is dead.

We cannot forget that our roots are in dust!

We must forget, else there is no hope....

I woke up suddenly.

I sat up on the bunk and swung my feet out onto the floor.
Beside me, Daria lay in fitful, troubled sleep. She tossed and
moaned, a fine film of sweat covering her forehead.

"Daria... Daria, wake up."

Her eyes flicked open, wide with fear. She sprang up into

121

122 John DeChancie

my arms and crushed her face into my chest, her breathing
labored. She trembled.

I held her for a long time.

When she was okay again, she asked, "Did you dream it,
too?"

"Bits and pieces. I don't know why. I told Prime that I
didn't want the dream-teaching. I guess I was passed over, but
I picked up some kind of leakage." I rubbed my eyes and took
a few deep breaths. "Tell me about it."

Daria crossed her legs and pulled the ratty blanket up
around her. "It was awful. It started like the first dream—like
a documentary. There was more about the project—the cre-
ation of the new form of consciousness. Not much I could
understand... but then, there was an interruption."

"The Goddess?"

"Yes, it was her, but she didn't appear in that form. I can't
explain it. It was horrible. It was like being witness to the
conflicts that went on in Heaven between God and Satan. I
can't explain it, Jake. All I know is that I want no part of it."

"But we're caught in the middle."

She looked down. "Yes. We must get back... somehow.
Back to the real world."

"The worlds, you mean. The worlds of the Skyway that the
Culmination created."

"Caused to be created. The Roadbugs built it, and maintain
it. They're a race that didn't contribute to the Culmination.
They declined to participate, but thought the project was a
good idea."

"What, the Skyway?"

"No, the Culmination itself. When the Culmination came
to be, they became a servant race. Willingly, I think. They
built the road at the Culmination's request."

"I caught a little bit of that. Why did the Culmination want
the road built?"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure I understood. That's
what part of the conflict is about. Do you remember the first
dream? When the various races discussed the project? There
were opposing factions, and somehow those conflicts were
never resolved. This... this new form of consciousness was
supposed to be uniform, monolithic, one thing only. A unity.
But it didn't work out that way. Now there's this godlike

PARADOX ALLEY              123

being, this immortal, powerful thing loose in the universe...
and it's partly insane. Schizophrenic! There's no telling what
it will do. It transcends time and space. It can effect changes
on the stream of time itself."

"Create paradoxes?"

She looked at me with a sudden new awareness. "Yes. Yes,
it can do that. It can do anything. Oh, Jake!" She threw her
arms around me. "We've been pawns! We've been manipu-
lated! I don't know how or why or what the purpose is, but
we're puppets, nothing more. All of this has been for no un-
derstandable reason. No reason we can fathom. We don't have
a chance of comprehending these forces that insist on pushing
us around. I'm tired of it! I want them to stop, Jake! I want to
be left alone!"

She sobbed, and I held her.

Presently, I asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine."

She dried her eyes, swung her legs out, got up. I noticed
that her abdomen bulged. 1 put my hand on it and pressed
gently. She smiled and put her hand over mine.

"Over three months," she said.

"It's been that long? I guess it has. You've gained weight.
You're tall enough so it doesn't show."

"It's going to be a boy."

"Why not?"

She laughed. I kissed her stomach, put my ear to it.

"You can't hear the heartbeat like that," she said.

"No. He has the the radio on."

She laughed again.

I got up and kissed her mouth, then bent and kissed both
breasts.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you," I told her.

It was that simple. It had been that simple all along.

I got dressed and went out into the cab. It was empty. I fed
a signal to the trailer and yelled for Lori and Carl.

"Jake, they went off with Arthur," Bruce informed me.

"What! Where?"

"They commenced the inspection. Carl couldn't sleep, and

124 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 125

insisted on exploring the place. I am in constant touch with
the foreman, and know exactly where they are. They are fine,
and Carl is busy using the Product Ideation and Design Facil-
ity."

"The what? Never mind, just tell me how I get to where

they are. Damn kids, running off. You should have got me up,
Bruce."

"Jake, I did try. But you were apparently exhausted."

"What time is it? How long have they been gone?"

"About six hours, Jake."

"Good God."

Daria came into the cab, dressed in khakis and one of
John's torn Militia surplus shirts. We were all getting short on
clothes.

"An attendant is being summoned to conduct you to the
Product Ideation and Design Facility."

"An attendant?"

"I think..."

And there it was, a shining multiarmed robot coasting to-
ward us across the glossy blue floor.

We got out. The contraption pulled up to us and stopped. It
was partly a conveyance of some sort, although the seats in
the back hadn't been built for humans. Lacking wheels, the
thing floated a few centimeters off the floor. It buzzed softly
at us.

I said, "I guess that means 'All aboard.'"

We climbed into the back of it and perched ourselves on the
impossible, mushroom-shaped seats. There weren't any
backrests, but there was a crossbar to hang onto.

We were conducted on a very informative and educational
tour of the plant. A long one, too, but I was politic enough not
to complain. Everything was impressive, but we didn't know
what the hell we were looking at. Our guide kept buzzing at
us, we kept nodding and smiling pleasantly. Oh, my. Fifty
million units produced in one year? How admirable.

But, by God, what a plant. A cool, quiet place of industrial
and scientific sculpture. We could appreciate it on that level at
least. We soared along high curving ramps looking down on
silent gargantuan machines, labyrinths of pipeline, armies of
tall bubble-topped cylinders, rack upon rack of instruments,

giant antennalike assemblies, huge metal coils, and jungles of
transparent tubing. Everything was silent, still. Color was
everywhere—blue industrial light glinted off gold and silver
spheres, orange and red conduits tangled with each other
against overhead domes of bright pink and yellow, green
rampways flew through the dry, still, blue-lit air.

Finally, we arrived. The Product Ideation and Design Fa-
cility was a large wedge-shaped room stuffed floor to ceiling
with instrument panels throbbing with electric life, glittering
with lights and luminous screens and flashing dials. Arthur sat
on a bench near Carl, who was hunched over what appeared to
be some sort of computerized drafting board—a wide flat
screen crawling with moving diagrams and charts.

We got out of the robocart and walked over. Lori was lying
on the soft carpeted floor, asleep, her head propped up with
Carl's bunched jacket. Carl didn't even glance up. He was
absorbed in whatever he was doing.

I looked at Arthur. "What gives?"

Arthur shrugged, grinning. "He's having a dandy time."

"How the hell did he figure out how to work the equip-
ment?"

"Oh, it's not as hard as you might expect." Arthur rose,
walked over, and peered over Carl's shoulder. "In this plant,
in its day, engineers were looked upon as artists. They really
didn't need to know much about engineering. Here, machine
intelligences supply all the data, all the formulae, all the
know-how. They do all the dirty work. The only thing that
organic brains can supply is creativity. That's what Carl's
doing. He's telling the machines what he wants and what he
wants it to do, and the machines are helping him design it.
And if the design is judged a worthy work of art, they just
might build a prototype model."

"That's really something," I said. And it was, it was.

"No! Not that way," Carl said sharply. "It opens from the
left. Yeah."

"Satisfactory?" a soft voice asked.

"Satisfactory."

I looked at Arthur, who said, "I think Bruce is responsible
for the plant learning English."

I nodded.




126                 John DeChancie

"Now the engine is all yours, pal," Carl was saying, eyes
still riveted to the drafting board. "I don't have a clue how that

works."

"Very well. Requires advanced propulsion principle—high

efficiency, low maintenance..."

"How about no maintenance? Can you do that? I'll never

find someone to fix it."

"A challenge for time periods longer than quarter revolu-
tion of average galaxy."

"Huh? Quarter revolution of a— That's millions of years.

Hey, I'm not going to live anywhere near that long."

"Then no maintenance is no challenge."

"All ri-i-ght!"

"Weapons systems?"

This went on for another hour. Carl eventually acknowl-
edged our presence, then insisted that he had to finish. I didn't
ask what he was doing. Lori woke out of a troubled sleep, and
needed some attention. She had had the dream too. Afterward,
we hung about and looked around. We were extremely hungry.

At last, Carl was done.
"Very unusual, extremely idiosyncratic," the design chief

pronounced. "But of surpassing elegance and simplicity. May
we go ahead with fabrication of prototype?"

"Sure!" Carl said, getting up. He swayed slightly, and put a
hand to his forehead. "Man, am I bushed. Terrific headache,
too. But it was a hell of a lot of fun."
"Lunch time!" Arthur said.

"Lunch?" I was ready to gnaw on some lab equipment.
A detail of robots brought us lunch. The food was very
good, not quite the haute cuisine of Emerald City, but far
more than adequate. Bruce had done a good job feeding bio-
chemical information to the plant's protein synthesizers. The
flavorings were top-notch. Textures were a little off here and
there, especially in the steak. A little too mushy. But the bread
was terrific. You'd never know there wasn't one grain of

wheat in it.

After lunch, the plant foreman spoke to us. "We have

begun production of prototype. Would you like to observe?"
He sounded a lot like the design chief, and I suspected that the
latter was merely a subsystem of the former.
Would like to observe, yes.

PARADOX ALLEY              127

We all boarded another robocart and swung out into the
plant.

The place had come to life. We rode for an hour through
the throbbing heart of technological wizardry. What had been
hulks of dead machinery now flashed and sparked, whirred
and hummed, chimed and beeped and thrummed and sang,
while pink and violet electrical discharges leaped between
giant coils, translucent tubing glowed and pulsed, luminescent
motes swam inside huge transparent spheres, and veils of en-
ergy fluttered in the air overhead like auroral displays.

"Goddamn Frankenstein movie," was Carl's reaction.

At last we came to a large, quiet empty chamber. We got
off and waited. Before long, the far wall retracted, and two
robots hauled the prototype out onto the showroom floor.

It was Carl's 1957 Chevrolet Impala, chrome glinting in
the track lighting, a lambent sheen soft upon its coat of
candy-apple red, metal-flake paint.

"My car!" Carl shouted ecstatically, throwing open the
driver's door and hopping in. He sniffed. "Hey, they got that
new car smell just right!"

"Satisfactory?" the plant foreman asked hopefully.

"Satisfactory!" Carl enthused.

There was a note of pride in the foreman's voice. "May we
then begin field testing and evaluation?"

"Uh—yeah. Well, maybe not. I know it's gonna work!"

"Intuitive evaluation? Perhaps empirical data are needed as
well?"

"Huh? Urn..."

I was smiling at Carl. He noticed and returned a sheepish
grin. "Hell, I couldn't resist."

"What're you going to do when they present you with the
bill?"

"The bill. Oh."

I chuckled.

The foreman spoke delicately. "Remuneration can be for-
gone. We compliment designer on high esthetic factor of
overall concept. Inspired, and truly beautiful in result. Con-
gratulations. When may we begin production?"

"Yeah, Carl," I said. "When can these nice people turn out
fifty million units for you?"

"Jesus. I don't know."




128 John DeChancie

"Production is not contemplated?" the foreman asked
sadly.

"Well... Jake, what do I tell them?"

I said, "The artist would like time to ponder the philosophi-
cal ramifications of his creation before considering sharing it
with the universe at large."

"Of course. Commendable. Please contact us when time is
proper."

"Oh, yeah," Carl said, nodding emphatically. "Sure. And
thanks a lot."

"Extreme pleasure has been taken in assisting a consum-
mate artist such as yourself."

Carl looked embarrassed.

We got back to the receiving bay as the robots were deliv-
ering the Chevy. We had taken the long route—the foreman
had insisted that we see the Submicron Fractionating Assem-
bly. Whatever it was, it was pretty.

I didn't see Prime's arrival. I was inspecting what was left
of the starboard stabilizer foil when I happened to glance up at
Daria, who was staring open-mouthed at something out on the
floor. I straightened up, walked around her...

And there was Prime, standing near our miniature space-
ship, conversing with Arthur.

He turned a smiled at me. "Hello, Jake," he called.

"You're hard to get hold of," I said, walking over. "But
you seem to get around."

Prime glanced around. "Wonderful facility. Have you
toured the place?"

"Endlessly."

He laughed. "Odd that you should wind up here."

"Actually, we never intended to leave Emerald City."

"Really?" He seemed pleased to hear it. "I assumed that
you were on your way home."

"Without Sam? Hardly."

"No, I suppose not. But it was my intention to give your
father some voice in the matter.".

"He's not my father. He's an Artificial Intelligence pro-
gram."

Prime nodded. "And a remarkable one. His Entelechy Ma-
trix was manufactured by the Vlathu, was it not?"

PARADOX ALLEY              129

"Yes."

"We know of the Vlathu. They possessed techniques un-
known even in the time of the Culmination. The Vlathu at-
tained a very high degree of spirituality for a primitive race."

I thought about that for a moment before saying, "If you
consider the Vlathu primitive, what does that make us? We
humans, I mean?"

"Humans are one of the ancestral races of the Culmination
itself. One of the tributary races. I have told you many times
that I am partly human. I meant by that, that the Culmination
is in some part composed of human elements."

"I'm not sure I understand," I said. "You may be de-
scended from human beings, but after ten billion years of evo-
lution ..."

He laughed. "Evolution. Odd concept. The process isn't
automatic, you know. If there is no good reason for a species
to evolve, it won't. But let's set that aside. The elements I
referred to aren't genetic remnants, but the minds of actual
living human beings. Their very soul and substance. They are
a vital part of the Culmination. Some of them are your
friends."

Daria, Carl, and Lori had gathered behind me. I turned my
head toward them, and Daria looked at me gravely. I turned
back to Prime.,

"What do you mean? Who?"

"Well, Susan D'Archangelo, for one. She has consented to
contribute to the project. So has Yuri Voloshin, Sean Fitzgore,
Roland Yee, and Liam Flaherty."

"I can't believe you."

"I'll leave it to them to convince you. There has been no
coercion. None, Jake. You must believe that."

I was silent for a moment, my mind churning and chum-
ing. Then: "I still can't believe it."

Prime's hands went out in a helpless shrug. "I'm sorry."

"What about the others? Zoya, Oni, Ragna, John... ?"

"They have declined. They will join you on your journey
home." Prime chuckled. "Incidentally, you've forgotten one
person. Sam has declined as well."

"Sam never went to church."

Prime laughed. "I dare say he didn't."

Daria asked, "Aren't you forgetting Winnie and George?"

130 John DeChancie

"My dear, they are part of the Culmination. They always
were. They are members of one of the Guide Races. Think of
how you got here."

"We were kidnapped," I said.

"Your case was special, of course. But what prompted all
these quests to find the end of the Skyway?"

He was right. Winnie's map lay behind it all.

"About Sam," I said. "You'll return him to me?"

"He will return. Everything will be returned to you."

I stared at him. What was this form I saw? What? What did
it represent? I shook my head. "Maybe I'm just slow, but there
are a hell of a lot of things I don't understand about all this."

"Then lay yourself open to the dream-teaching. You need
not join the project to do that. You will leam."

I was suddenly irked. "To hear you talk, everything's just
going along swimmingly. But it isn't. The Goddess has other
ideas. Doesn't she?"

He turned and stepped away, halted, then slowly wheeled
about, his eyes on the floor, his lips drawn into a wry smile.
"Other ideas. No. There is only One Idea, with variations."

"But she's opposed in some fundamental way."

"No."

"Then the dream last night... what was all that about?"

"Dream and find out. Don't fight it. Don't be afraid."

I considered it. "Maybe I will."

"Good. And keep this in mind. Conflict is part of the warp
and woof of existence. That which contains no tension is
static. If this is true, can any attempt to reach the ultimate be
free of conflict? Do not think that the Culmination must be a
success from the start. That was a fundamental error of those
who conceived it. Yet that mistake did not necessarily lead to
a fundamental flaw. The question is, what ultimately hap-
pened? Since the Culmination is outside of time, that question
can be answered. And you will find the answer if you choose
to seek it."

"Doesn't the Goddess know it, too?"

"Of course."

"It doesn't make sense," I said.

He turned and walked away a few steps, stopped, turned
about. "I must leave you now. Jake, I have a sense that you
must suffer further. I can help to some degree, but I am inhib-

PARADOX ALLEY              131

ited by circumstances you might find difficult to understand."
He smiled again. "I shouldn't worry. You are well suited to
overcoming adversity. I think that is why whatever forces are
at work behind you chose you as their instrument. You are the
archetypal hero, Jake." He raised his right hand. "Be well."

And he vanished, leaving behind the smell of ozone. The
Goddess' exit had had more panache, but his showed real
class.




(p^^)

14

"WHAT NOW, Arthur?" I said wearily.

"I'm supposed to go fetch Sam and the rest of the washouts
when Prime gives me the all clear."

"When will that be?"

"I don't know, dearie. When the current flap has subsided.
It won't be safe until then."

"Okay, say you go and get them," I said. "Then what?"

"I take you to the egress portal and show you what cylin-
ders to shoot in order to get back where you belong."

For which there was no need, since I had the Roadmap. I
looked around, throwing up my arms. "What do we do till
then? Fill out a time card and punch in?"

"Make something," Arthur said, "like Carl did."

"Do you need any ashtrays?"

"How about a hand-tooled leather wallet, monogrammed?"

"You only have one initial," I told him.

"And I don't have any pockets, either. Well, then, I'm
stumped."

So was I. But there was nothing to do. We couldn't leave
for the master portal, and we couldn't very well drive all the
way to the other side of the world, back to Emerald City. We
were at Arthur's mercy.

There was sleep to catch up on, though, and thinking to do.

Lay yourself open to the dream-teaching. Prime had ad-
vised. I wasn't sure I was ready for that yet. I thought about
it. I needed answers, but falling into a swoon and getting
infused with divine enlightenment wasn't my style. Besides,
didn't you have to fast for forty days and nights in the desert
first? I had left my ban-shirt at the cleaners back in T-Maze.

133

134 John DeChancie

I was tired of searching for ever-elusive answers. Damn
tired of it. As Daria said, we keep getting pushed around by
unseen forces. A phrase Prime had used kept echoing: "what-
ever forces are at work behind you." Indeed, what forces? If
neither Prime nor the White Lady were really calling the
shots, ^vho was? Were there other aspects of the Culmination?
Was it something outside the Culmination entirely? More
whispers in the darkness, more missing pieces of a puzzle I
had grown weary of fumbling with.

I lay in the bunk, Daria asleep beside me. No dreams for
her. It seemed that if you didn't want to hear the propaganda,
you simply turned off your receiver.

I listened. The plant was quiet except for a faint back-
ground hum. Now and then came a faraway thump or bang—
maintenance attendants about their chores, perhaps. Perhaps
not. Were we safe here? Of course not. But Arthur had his
funnel-ears pricked for any intruders—and whatever other
sensors he had were tuned in, too.

I got up and went out to the cab, sat in the driver's seat.
Arthur had inflated the spacetime ship to about half its full
size, and had gone inside. Said he had things to do.

I regarded Carl's vehicle. Everyone, including Carl, had
wondered about its origin. Had Carl created it himself? The
answer, in gleaming chrome and whitewall tires, lay out there
on the floor of the receiving bay.

The time comes, as the saying goes, when a man's gotta do
what a man's gotta do. Push me, and I push back. Time to
take the offensive. From now on it would be Jake McGraw,
Master of Space and Time.

I woke Daria up.

"Hmph?" she said.

"C'mon. I got an insane idea."

"Hmph."

I went back to me cab while Daria dressed. "Bruce?"

"Yes, Jake?"

"Patch me through to the plant foreman."

A short delay, then: "He's on the line."

"Hello?" I said.

"Greetings'." the foreman beamed.

"Hi. Uh, would it be possible to use the Product Ideation
and Design Facility again?"

PARADOX ALLEY              135

"Certainly! At this moment?"

"Yes, please."

"Will send transportation immediately."

But could I do it, make that insane idea a reality? Reality
seemed a fluid, changing thing here on Microcosmos, a mal-
leable lump of stuff that could be beaten and pummeled into
whatever shape was desired. I'd take a whack at it myself.

I told Daria to take a blanket along. I thumbed the intercom
button, thought better of it, and punched up the interior trailer
monitor. Oops, Carl and Lori were busy back there. I hoped
those kids knew at least the rudiments of birth control. I
should talk, I thought.

The robocart arrived, and we hopped on.

"It is revolutionary concept," the design chief said. I
thought I detected a note of av/e in its voice.

"Yeah, it sure is."

I peered into the depths of the drafting board. Since the
object I wanted to create was immaterial, there wasn't much
to look at except geometry. But it was fascinating. There were
all sorts of things: planar sheaves warping and folding back on
themselves, torus shapes and saddle shapes distending and
contracting, Moebius strips and Klein bottles and things that
neither gentleman had dreamed of; a matrix bound up in knot-
ted tufts of nothing-at-all, forming the very fabric of space
itself—and of time, and even of matter; point-masses migrat-
ing across limitless dimensions; impossible constructs, singu-
larities, parallel lines meeting at the edge of infinity...

"However," the chief went on, "technique of dimensional
impaction is not unknown. Scale here is much larger, but in
theory can be done."

"Can be done in practice?" I asked.

"Would be honored to try. May suggest to begin by postu-
lating isotropic homogeneity throughout entire metrical
frame?"

"Sure, let's do that thing. What's an isotrope?"

Two hours later, I had a terrific headache, but the design
chief seemed confident that the major theoretical obstacles had
been overcome. Problems concerning the actual production of
an artifact loomed large, though. The production manager was
called in for consultation.

136 John DeChancie

"Retooling necessary," the PM stated.

"How extensive?" the chief asked.

"Possibly entire facility."

"Can be done?"

"Affirmative."

Later, my head seemed about to burst. They brought me a
bed—it was a big round cushy thing, very comfortable—and
I racked out after trying to rouse Daria, who preferred the
floor. Her back, she said.

I slept for an hour, got up and went to the board, where I
was served a cup of hot beverage and a sweet roll.

"Anything?" I asked.

"Design almost complete," the chief told me. "Must tell
you that entire plant staff is much enthused and excited by this
particular project. Retooling is progressing on schedule."

"Jeez, you guys must make a bundle in overtime."

"Say again, please?"

I took a slurp of ersatz coffee. "Sorry, just thinking aloud."

We went on an inspection tour of the retooling effort, visit-
ing buildings that I didn't think we'd been in before. They
were tearing the place apart. What we witnessed surpassed
anything we had seen of the plant's "conventional" production
operations. We watched an army of robots storm an assembly
facility and reduce it to junk, then cart in new material and
build a titanic contraption that looked like a particle accelera-
tor married to an exciter cannon. We stood by, spellbound, as
whole new wings were added onto existing buildings—slap,
dash, bang—to accommodate new oversized equipment. One
of the larger facilities now housed a monstrous affair that had
been thrown together in under an hour, a towering edifice of
black glass tubing, shining metal, copper spheres, and multi-
colored domes. At its top, dozens of shafts converged, bring-
ing unknown forces together to clash inside a central chamber.
They were apparently testing the thing when we drove
through. Violet discharges snaked through the dark glass, and
the machine screeched like a beast chained in the depths of
hell. We got out of there.

When we returned to P.I.&D., Carl and Lori were there,
looking worried.

"What's going on?" Carl asked. "The whole place is going
crazy."

PARADOX ALLEY              137

"Quotas to meet for the Five Year Plan."

"Huh?"

"I got a little project cooking," I said.

"Jesus, we thought something happened. Little project?"

A big problem came up: a power shortage. The energy
requirements for final assembly of the object were beyond the
plant's capacity. Calls went out to other automated industrial
facilities around the planet, and most replies were favorable.
They'd be willing to help. Word had gotten out about the
project. We were a sensation.

The retooling went on for another twelve hours before the
initial stages of final assembly commenced. It was then that a
horrendous explosion rocked the plant. We tried frantically to
contact the foreman. Half an hour later, our call was returned.

"Extensive damage sustained in facility housing Inertial
Electrostatic Confinement Ring," the foreman reported.

I felt guilty. "Gee, that's terrible. What happened?"

"Failure in primary power tetrode, leading to fracture and
subsequent leakage in coupling loop."

"Oh. Anybody hurt? Uh, I mean ..."

"Several worker units lost. Have been replaced."

"I see. Maybe we'd better cancel the project before worse
mishaps occur." I was thinking more of our own safety.

"Anomalous event, recurrence statistically negligible. We
urge that effort be pursued through to completion."

"Well, I don't know."

"Abandoning task at this point would take on tragic
aspect."

"It would?" These guys really were gung-ho. "Okay, let's
go ahead then."

"Splendid! Your courage is to be commended."

"My courage?"

Repairs were effected, and work was resumed.

Arthur told me he was ready to leave any time. I told him
we wanted to go back with him to Emerald City.

"Fine with me," he said, "though you could wait here. I
won't be more than an hour."

"I think I have to get out of this place before I go nuts. Can
you wait till the project's done?"

"Sure. By the way, what in the world are you people trying
to do?"

138 John DeChancie

"Produce your hand-tooled, genuine leather, mono-
grammed wallet," I said.

"Just what I've always .wanted."

The final assembly was almost an anticlimax. Everything
went smoothly. We were summoned to the showroom.

I held it in the palm of my hand and stared at it. The robot
who had delivered it whooshed away.

It was a very simple object, yet a very strange thing to look
at: a small, totally black featureless cube.

"A most sublime artifact," the foreman said with almost
religious solemnity.

"The cube!" Daria gasped. "My God, Jake, why?"

"I don't really know why, not intellectually," I told her.
"Not yet. But everything seems to revolve around this little
object. A whole legend has grown up around it, around us.
The legend says that when we go back, we'll arrive before we
left, and I will give the cube to Assemblywoman Marcia
Miller, who will in turn hand it over to the dissident move-
ment, who will in turn give it to you. And you will give it
back to me. Except that the 'me' you will give it to is the me
of three months ago." I took Darla's hand and placed the cube
in her palm. She stared at it in astonishment. "My duty
seemed very clear. Since somebody stole the one you gave
me, I thought I'd better come up with another one to give back
to you. And there it is."

"But..." Daria was baffled.

"According to the legend," I went on, "the cube doesn't
have an origin. It just keeps cycling from future to past and
back again. Now, here I am at the end of the Skyway. It
doesn't look as if I'm ever going to find an object like this. In
fact, everyone here seems bent on taking the original one
away from me. So, I thought I'd kill two paradoxes with one
volitional act—I created the damn thing on my own. Now I
have the cube again, and the cube has an origin. Well, these
guys did the originating, actually. I just gave them the idea."

"But how, Jake?" Daria asked, shaking her head in wonder.
"How did you know what to create? Nobody ever really
cracked the cube's mystery. Ragna's people made some good
guesses, but how did you know what the cube really was?"

"I didn't, of course. I took Ragna's people's speculations

PARADOX ALLEY              139

and asked the design chief to come up with a design for an
artifact that would more or less answer to the description. He
did. And the factory crew made it a reality."

"But what is it, Jake?" Carl asked. "What is the cube?
What's it for?"

"Don't know what it's for, yet," I answered. "But what it
is, near as I can figure from what the design chief told me, is a
continuum in which the normal properties of space and time
are nonexistent. Within the confines of these six sides, neither
space nor time exist at all. What's inside the cube is literally
and absolutely nothing. A nonspace. A singularity. TheA/igt'n-
scientists' speculation about it being a huge space folded up
was wrong, but I can see how they arrived at the hypothesis.
Nonspace is a slippery concept to grasp. Another thing: space
and time are not the only thing that doesn't exist inside. Noth-
ing else in the universe does either. Fundamental things, like
the Planck Constant, or G, the gravitational constant, or any
of those foundation stones of the physical universe as we
know it. Inside the cube, anything goes. You could make a
whole new universe in there, using physical laws different
from the standard ones."

Daria said, "What about the information, the data coming
out of the cube? The Movement people who examined it dis-
covered that."

"The chief told me that stray radiation is generated at the
interface of the cube's surface and the outside world. It has
something to do with virtual particle creation, which goes on
everywhere in the universe all the time. I can't quite grasp the
reason, but somehow when these particles pop into existence
near the cube, they get real nervous and instead of blinking
out of existence like good little virtual particles are supposed
to, they stay real and fly out into the world as electron-
positron pairs."

"Man, you lost me there," Carl said.

"Forget it," I said. "I don't understand it myself."

"Jake, I have other problems with this," Daria said. "How
do you know that this cube and the first one are identical?"

"I don't, now," I said. "But if I do succeed in delivering
this one back to T-Maze three months in the past, it will be
identical. Because this cube will be the first cube. No?"

Daria sighed in resignation. "I guess." She frowned and

John DeChancie

140

shook her head. ""But I still don't see how you could have
created something when you didn't know exactly what that

something was in the first place."

I took the cube back and tossed it into the air, caught it. It
was feather light. What I couldn't figure was why it wasn't
completely weightless. The design chief had told me it had
something to do with "inertial drag" and the fact that the fro-
zen energies holding the cube together possessed "mass equiv-
alence."

"Well, let's put it this way," I said. "I didn't know any-
thing. But I had some speculations about what the cube was.
Everybody had them. Prime told us that it was 'an experiment
in the creation of a universe.' Don't ask me how he knew. I
spilled all of this to the design chief, who is a creative mind.
He took these ideas and kicked it around his circuits for a
while and came up with a few ideas of his own. One of them
turned out to be feasible. And the technical guys did it up for
us. This is how the cube got created in the first place. This

was its origin."

"If you say so," Daria said.
We got on the robocart for the trip back to the receiving

bay.

"There's still a paradox," Daria stated as we got moving.

"Where did the idea for the cube come from?"

"I told you," I said.

"No, I mean the reason it came to be. Its reason for exist-
ing at all. The first cube prompted the speculation, which
generated the motivation to create this one. But you're saying
that this one is the first one. So ... so, you see, it's as if—"

"The cube created itself," I said.

"Yes! That's the only way you can look at it! It's impossi-
ble, Jake. Absolutely impossible."

"Have an impossibility," I said, handing it to her.

The plant foreman was sad to see us go. "You will return
sometime soon? Our brief association has been most reward-
ing and gratifying."

"Sure, we'll come back," I told it, not wanting to hurt its

feelings.
"When?"
"Uh..." Nothing like being put on the spot.

PARADOX ALLEY              141

"Will you consider postponing your departure? All our
various subsystems are most distressed over your leaving. In-
dividuals of paramount creative powers, such as yourselves,
are very rare. We are very desirous of continuing to work with
you on other projects."

"Well, you're very kind, but we really must run along."

There was a sound not unlike a sigh. "Then please take our
good wishes with you, and do return at your earliest conve-
nience."

"Thank you. We will."

I wondered when the plant had last entertained visitors.
Thousands, millions of years ago? It was cruel, in a way.

After Arthur had inflated the spacetime ship to full size, I
shot the rig into the large cargo bay, and Carl tucked his
Chevy into one of two smaller ones. We all boarded the craft.

The illuminated spires and domes of the plant dwindled
behind us as we sped toward the edge of the world. It was
night on this face of Microcosmos, which Carl had dubbed
"Hipside." The moon surrogate rode low in the sky, and stars
like diamonds on black velvet dotted the dome of night.
Below, city complexes lay outlined in dim crosshatches, and a
few stray lights glowed feebly in the dark countryside. A still,
deserted world, Microcosmos was, eerie even by day, by night
a place of silence and shadows and mystery. A chill went
through me. Time was a thing of substance on this world, a
weight bearing down like the stone mass of an ancient temple.
I felt a sudden savage longing to get free of this place, this
graveyard of the ages. It was dead here. There was death here.

The world-disk nipped over as we swung around the edge,
and seeing Microcosmos in daylight again made me feel a
little better. But not for long, because a reception committee
was on its way to meet us.

"Oh, shit," Arthur said, frantically swiping at the control
box.

Dozens of variously colored fiery motes were streaking up
at us. Arthur put the ship into a steep climb, but in no time a
swirling orange vortex-phenomenon was hard on our tail. The
thing looked very familiar. Arthur began evasive maneuvers.

"Arthur," I said, trying to sound calm, "what do those
things do?"

"Oh, they eat things," Arthur said airily. "Like spacetime




142 John DeChancie

ships. Ingests them, sort of. An explosive device can't do
much damage to us, nor can any kind of beam weapon. But
that thing can snare us and slowly disintegrate us. It has
enough energy to do that."

I said, "Oh."

Horrified, I looked at Carl, remembering one of his
Chevy's fantastic weapons, the enigma Carl called the "Tas-
manian Devil." Carl swallowed hard and nodded.

I turned to Arthur. "Are these the things that chase their
targets and never give up until they destroy them?"

"Yup. How did you know?"

"Uh... what are you going to do?"

"Well, there's only one thing I can do..." Arthur said.

The thing behind us was gaining, matching our every in-
crement of speed, growing until we could see its boiling inter-
ior, a fiercely glowing furnace of demonic combustion. There
was a suggestion of something else in there, a shape, a mad,
implacable figure, a howling psychotic beast bent only on de-
struction.

"... and I think I better do it now."

Instantaneously, everything, around us disappeared—the
Tasmanian Devil, the sky, Microcosmos itself. And in their
place were endless stars, all around us.

We were in space.

"Dearie me," Arthur wailed, "I've really gone and done it
now."

He was silent, slowly moving his thick, stunted fingers
over the face of the control box.

"Arthur," I said after a long moment, "what's happened?"

"Oh, nothing. We made a continuum jump, which we
shouldn't have done near such a large mass as a planet, espe-
cially Microcosmos, since it has very peculiar gravitational
properties. We had no choice, but that doesn't help much."

"What's the problem?"

"Well, I have no idea where or when we are. None. It'll
take time to get enough readings to make an educated guess.
My uneducated guess is that we've jumped over ten billion
light-years."

Standing beside me, Daria put both arms around my waist
and pressed herself against me. I needed someone to hug, too;

I snaked my arm about her shoulders and held her closer.

PARADOX ALLEY              143

"Well, this is a bit of luck," Arthur said. "Star very near.
Not only did we not wind up in the middle of intergalactic
space, we blundered on to a likely planet-bearing star." He
snorted. "It probably has a brood of grungy ice balls and gas
giants orbiting it. No good to us." He sighed. "Better check it
out, anyway."

The stars shifted suddenly. Then again. And again. Each
time, a single star up ahead grew brighter, and with a few
more jumps it stood out as a tiny disk against the spattering of
glowing points around it.

"Looks awfully familiar," Arthur said suspiciously. He
shook his head. "Couldn't be. But it's the right spectral type.
Let's see if we can resolve a planet or two."

Delicately, Arthur palpated the face of the box, which, I
had come to believe, was some sort of direct interface or link
between the ship's instrumentation and Arthur's powerful
robot brain.

I scanned the star swarm around us. To our rear, the swarm
thickened, congealing along a long milky band of lumines-
cence shot through with dark clouds. I searched left and right,
trying to pick out constellations.

"You won't believe this," Arthur said. "But guess where
we are."

"That's Sol over there," I said. "The sun. Earth's sun."

"You just earned your astronomy merit badge, kid."

<p^w^)

15

"I'M GOING home," Carl said, awestruck. "I'm really going
home."

"Hold on, dearie," Arthur cautioned. "We know where we
are, but not when we are. This could be Earth in one million
A.D., Or B.C., for that matter, or any time in between. So
don't get your hopes up. That was a completely blind jump we
made. The chances of our winding up here at all were approx-
imately infinity to one." Arthur shook his head. "Amazing. If
I'd aimed for here, I never would have made it. Not in one
jump, anyway. To've done it with any degree of accuracy and
safety, fifty would have been more like it."

"Any way of finding out when we are?" I asked.

"Well, several. I could clock the rate of a few known pul-
sars and get a fairly good idea of the galactic epoch we're
in... if I had a few known pulsars to look at. Trouble is, I
don't have much in storage about Terran astronomy, not any-
thing like what I'd need to make those calculations."

"I thought you knew everything, Arthur," Daria said.

"How much do you know about Terran astronomy?" Arthur
countered.

"Not a whole lot."

"Well, there you are. Neither does this ship, although
there's a lot of general astronomical data in its memory.
Maybe the ship's computer can come up with something. Off-
hand, I'd say there's a good chance we're in the general time
frame you people came from, give or take a few thousand
years. I do know a few constellations, and they're not at all
distorted."

"One way to find out for sure," I said.

145




146 John DeChancie

"How?"

"Let's go to Earth and take a look at it."

"That idea makes me a little nervous," Arthur said. "Don't
like to go mucking about where I don't belong. But..." He
swung his ugly dog head around and gave me his grimacing,
nonhuman approximation of a smile. "What the hell, eh? We
have nothing to lose but our lives."

"That's the spirit, Arthur," I told him.

"Spare me the cliches."

It took Arthur twelve hours to dodge and weave his way
through the solar system, which wasn't bad time» considering
that we traveled nearly two billion kilometers. In fact, I
thought it was great time, but Arthur said it wasn't, giving the
excuse that he had to take it easy in the midst of great gravita-
tional stress. I don't know what he was talking about, because
we didn't see any planets on the way in, not even Jupiter, And
not one asteroid. But I don't know much about space. I like
something firm under my feet.

We spent the time in the truck, sleeping, eating the great
gobs of food that the factory people had given us, and talking.

"Have you considered what you might find when we get to
Earth?" I asked Carl.

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Hot dogs, the L.A. Dodgers,
cars that run on gasoline, movies, girls..."

Lori folded her arms and shot daggers at him.

"Have you thought of anything else?" I said.

He shrugged. "Like what?"

I really didn't know how to tell him. "I guess it depends on
when we arrive."

"When? I don't get you."

I tried another tack. "What about Lori?"

"Oh, I've thought about that." Carl pulled her over to him
and hugged her with one arm. "We've decided. We're getting
married."

Lori smiled winsomely. "Yeah," she said.

"Going to be complicated."

"How so?" Carl asked, frowning.

"Well, remember. Lori's time of origin is almost two
hundred years in the future. There're a few adjustments she's
going to have to make."

PARADOX ALLEY              147

"I know," Lori said. "Imagine having to worry about tooth
decay." She made a face.

"Yeah, tooth decay, and other bothersome things. But more
than that, Carl, you're going to have to establish some kind of
identity for Lori. Some sort of fictitious but convincing back-
ground for her. You can't very well go around telling every-
body that she's from another planet."

"Why not?" He waited for my look of incredulity, then
chuckled. "Yeah, I know. Nobody's ever going to believe my
story. I'd get laughed out of the country. Or they'd lock me up
and throw away the key."

"Right. Don't even try. And that car stays here."

"Hey... wait a minute. That car would back up my story
all the way! Yeah! Why didn't I think of that?"

"Hold it, Carl."

"Let 'em laugh at my story. I'll just fire a Tasmanian Devil
at 'em and let 'em see how funny it all is. Hell, I'm taking the
car."

"Carl, it won't work."

"Why not? Forget it, Jake. It's my car, and I'm taking it
with me."

I stared at him for a moment. "Carl, how old are you?
You've never told me."

"Nineteen."

"Really? I thought you were a little older than that. You
look it."

"I got used to telling people I was twenty-one. But after
that year I spent driving around in outer space, I must look
like I'm fifty."

"You never went into that period of your life, either. What
did you do out there on the road?"

"Nothing. I'd stay in motels. Eat. Drive around a little.
Sleep in the car. I stayed with a g—uh, a friend for a couple
weeks. Then I thought of getting a job, but I didn't have any
papers. So I kept driving around."

"Did the Militia give you any trouble?"

"I was stopped once, for not having a proper license plate.
But I gave the cop two gold coins, and she let me off with a
warning."

Our stalwart law enforcement personnel. "I'm surprised
you were only stopped once."

148 John DeChancie

"They chased me several times. But all the cops ever got
was a lot of dust in their teeth."

I nodded. I knew that car very well. "What did you do for
money?"

"I found all these gold coins in the trunk. I guess Prime put
them there."

I didn't know how to go about telling him that I didn't
think Prime had done it.

Earth.

I hadn't seen it in more than thirty years. It hung in space
beneath us looking like a huge blue and white marble, its land
masses faint brown texturings beneath a gauze wrapping of
cloud. Day was breaking over the Philippines, and the swirl-
ing gray fingers of a tropical depression hovered over New
Guinea. Early morning sun glared off the bright blue island-
freckled Pacific.

We made our entry into the atmosphere somewhere in the
vicinity of Wake Island, I think. We swept over the Hawaiians
at a screaming Mach 12, then decelerated rapidly, following a
flight path that hewed fairly close to the Tropic of Cancer, if I
remembered my Terran geography.

We now had a fairly good idea what time frame we had
jumped into. The ship had tracked numerous artificial satel-
lites in orbit about the Earth, but not the profusion of my day.
No power satellites, no geosynchronous space colonies, no
activity in and about the moon. No space traffic whatsoever.
We were obviously somewhere in the middle to late twentieth
century, the dawn of the age of space travel. I had warned
Arthur not to make a dead-on approach to the western coast of
the United States. I did remember my Terran history, and these
were very paranoid times. Carl agreed. Arthur said he didn't
know whether the ship was radar-transparent, because in the
era in which the ship was built, no one worried about prehis-
toric technologies like radar. There was a chance that alarms
were already going off all over the place. So we scared the
shit out of Mexico, hung a right at the tip of the Baja penin-
sula, and headed north following the coast and flying low.

The ship was fully transparent now. It was eerie—four
humans, one improbable alien android, a futuristic trailer
truck, and a contemporary automobile, streaking over coastal

PARADOX ALLEY              149

towns and fishing villages, blithely flying along like charac-
ters out of a surreal version of Peter Pan.

"What will the natives think?" I asked Arthur.

"Huh? Oh, the transparency's only one-way, dearie. Don't
worry about that. I've got the surface of the ship tuned to a
mirror finish. We'll be reflecting sky and sea. Practically in-
visible, except from a few angles."

"San Diego!" Carl said, pointing to the coast.

I looked. Lots of orange-tile roofs, a few tall buildings, a
big harbor choked with shipping. I'd never been to San Diego.

"We'd better head inland here," Carl said.

"We've got company," Arthur said.

I didn't see them until they got out of the sun: two
military-looking aircraft with triangular wings. They swooped
down on us and leveled off. One banked and vectored in for a
closer look.

"Christ, we got the Air Force after us," Carl said wor-
riedly. "We're a goddamn UFO."

"Not for long," Arthur said.

With a stunning burst of speed, we left the aircraft behind
as if they were standing still. The sea was gone; we were
streaking over semiarid land that soon turned to desert.

"Slow down!" Carl yelled. "We'll be in Arizona in another
minute! Turn around and go back!"

"Don't take a fit, dearie," Arthur said calmly.

We executed a sharp turn and headed northwest for a
hundred kilometers or so, soon hitting the edges of congested
urban development. We jogged east again, skirting the edge of
it and still bearing generally north.

"That's gotta be San Bemardino," Carl said. "Go out into
the desert a little ways and land."

"Will do."

We did, settling down behind a ridge that ran along a nar-
row dirt road.

Carl asked, "Jake, do you have a screwdriver in the truck?"

"A power driver. Well, maybe I do have an old screwdriver
lying around." I went back and found it, then met everyone in
the small cargo bay. Arthur had already dilated the doorway.

"Well, we're off," Carl said, flushing with excitement.

"We're coming with you," I told him.

"Jake, you can't!"

150 John DeChancie

"We're not going to stay. I just want to make sure that we
haven't left you in an untenable position. We don't know ex-
actly when we are, Carl."

"This is where I belong. I know it! This has to be my
world, my time frame."

"Carl, think a minute. When exactly were you abducted?
What was the date?"

"I'll never forget it. It was August twenty-fifth, 1964."

I still didn't know quite how to tell him. Arthur came into
the bay and did it for me.

"Well, I've got the exact date," he said. "It was fairly easy.
I monitored some local radio broadcasts. It's Tuesday, July
seventh, 1964."

Finally, it dawned on Carl. "Oh, my God."

"Yeah," I said.

His eyes widened. "Then—" He broke off, his mouth
hanging open.

"Right. You can't go home yet, Carl."

Carl closed his mouth and swallowed hard, looking sud-
denly ill. He leaned back against the fender of his car. "Shit."

"It seems we have some time to kill," Daria said.

"I can't believe it," Carl said. "I just can't believe it. You
mean that if I drive to Santa Monica and knock on my front
door..."

"Your paradoxical double would get a big shock," I said.
"But since it never happened... or did it?"

"I think I'd remember it."

"Exactly. And I don't think you should do it, either. We'll
just have to wait."

"Yeah, wait for Prime to come and do his dirty work. Kid-
nap me. And I guess we have to let him do it."

"I have some thoughts about that," I said. "I'm not sure
I'm right, but—"

"I don't want to stay here," Carl said.

"Where do you want to go?"

"I have some friends who could put me up for a while."

I thought it over briefly and decided it was a good idea.
The Paradox Machine was spinning its wheels frantically now,
coming up to full steam. We'd have to be careful, but we'd
have to act.

Arthur said, "Jake, I'm going to take the ship up into orbit,

PARADOX ALLEY              151

if you don't mind." He handed me an oblong-shaped object
made of the same olive-drab material that was all around us. It
was about ten by five centimeters and a little over one centi-
meter thick. "This is a communcations device. It will always
be operating, monitoring you, giving your position. If you
want to reach me, just hold it next to your mouth and speak,
either side of it. I'll hear you." He turned to Carl. "How far
away are you going? Where do you live?"

"In Santa Monica. It's right on the beach, about sixty, sev-
enty miles from here... er, a hundred klicks, about."

"You won't have to come all the way back, Jake. Just let
me know and I'll pick you up at a convenient place. I can
easily home in on that beacon."

"Good," I said. Something occurred to me, and I consid-
ered the way we were all dressed. Carl and Lori had on gray
utility jumpsuits which the Voloshins had lent them, and Daria
was wearing her silver Allclyme survival suit. She had been
wearing it when we first met. It was a little tight around the
waist now.

Daria caught my stare and looked down at herself. "This
won't do, will it? I'll change into that old stuff of John's. It
looks ridiculous, but it's more nondescript than this."

"Hell, I left my old clothes back at Emerald City," Carl
said.

"And I don't have much but this jacket and slacks," I said.
"Not what you'd call outlandish in our day, but the styles
might be different enough to draw a few odd looks."

"Forget it," Carl said. "This is southern California, the
land of the nuts. You should see some of the getups people
walk around in out here."

Home.

The reality of being back on Earth again sank in as I sat in
the back seat of the Chevy, watching the countryside roll by. I
had seen the surfaces of a thousand planets, and none looked
exactly like this. None, no matter how "Earthlike" they were.
A good part of my lifetime had been spent in alien environ-
ments, and now I was home again at long last, back in the
environment that had spawned those of my kind. The Good
Earth.

Compounding the wonder was the knowledge that this was

152 John DeChancie

Earth as it had been before I'd been born, almost a century
before. A dented blue automobile passed us, spewing pale
blue smoke. What the hell did it run on—burning wood?
There was a smell in the air, something I didn't recognize.
Gasoline, I thought. No, oil. I asked Carl if it was, and he
said yes, but told me that the car was burning it because it was
in bad repair. Interesting.

We came into a town, San Bemardino, Carl told us. We
drove around for a bit, then pulled into a parking lot adjacent
to a large shopping plaza.

"Be right back," Carl said, getting out. He took the screw-
driver with him.

He returned in a few minutes, stooped in front of the car
and did something, then went around and fiddled with some-
thing at the back. Then he got in.

"Had to steal some license plates," he explained. "Other-
wise we'd get stopped for sure."

He pulled out of the lot, cruised down a traffic-choked
boulevard, turned right at a sign and got onto a ramp leading
to a multilane highway.

The sky was Earth blue, the earth the color of earth. Trees
looked like what trees should look like, grass looked like
grass. With all the worlds I'd been on in the last thirty years,
this seemed strange.

The air was... unusual, and it got to be more so as we
sped into the heart of a endless, sprawling metropolis.

Daria was rubbing her eyes. "Some kind of irritation," she
said, sniffling.

"That's smog," Carl told us. "You get used to it, kinda,
after living here for a while. In the fall we get the Santa Ana
from the desert. Winds. They blow all the shit out to sea."

"Those poor fish," I said.

"Oh, it's not as bad as some people make it out to be."

"Carl, it smells awful," Lori said fretfully. "I don't think
I'm ever going to get used to it."

"Take a good whiff of it into your lungs. You'll get to like
it. Gee, I should stop and get a pack of cigarettes."

"Carl!"

It was a bright, hazy day, and the warm sun put me into a
strangely good mood. The Sun. How many alien suns had

PARADOX ALLEY              153

warmed my skin, or irradiated it, or nearly burned it? Too
many.

The sun-drenched metropolis went on and on. I couldn't
believe that Los Angeles had been this big in the middle of the
twentieth century, kilometer after endless kilometer of resi-
dences, businesses, office buildings, service stations, shops,
institutional buildings, and apartment complexes, all laid out
in a vast grid of streets and highways. These last were some-
thing. They made the Skyway look like a country lane.
Clogged with murderous traffic, they met five or six at a time
at snarled interchanges, twining about one another into knots
of elevated ramps, cloverleafs, and cutoffs. Although speeds
weren't high compared to those on the Skyway, the sheer vol-
ume of traffic made the whole mess frightening. Anyway, I
was scared. Carl wasn't. He seemed to have cheered up a
little, and he was navigating his way through the shifting
streams of vehicles with automatic ease, like a veteran. He
was home.

"There are no restraining harnesses in this buggy," I said,
looking down at the blue fur-covered seats. I had known it
before, but the careless disregard for safety struck me now.

"Damn good idea to have 'em," Carl said. "Congress
should get after Detroit to make 'em mandatory." An after-
thought: "I should have thought of putting them in when I was
designing it."

I looked out at history. The architectural styles were
strange to me. They just don't build things like that anymore.
Everything was strange, yet somehow faintly familiar as well.

We took a spur to the right that shunted us off onto another
highway. We were heading due west, toward the ocean.

"This is the Santa Monica Freeway," Carl told us. "Straight
shot into Santa Monica, then I'll be home." He laughed.
"God, it's good to be back."

About twenty minutes later the freeway ended. We cruised
down a wide city boulevard, then turned right onto a palm-
lined street running along the beach. There were lots of
bathers out, catching the late afternoon sun.

"First thing I'm gonna do is get my board and go out," Carl
averred.

"Your board?" Lori said.

154 John DeChancie

"Surfboard."

"Oh."

"You'll love it."

"It's a nice beach."

I pulled out the communications device, thinking to test it
out. I looked at its grainy surface. It was covered with the
same half-visible geometrical lines and squiggles that I'd seen
on the ship's material. I held it near my mouth.

"Arthur?"

There was a moment's delay, then: "Yes, dearie?"

"Testing," I told him.

"Receiving you fine," Arthur said, his voice reproducing
with high fidelity.

"Good. Where are you?"

"Oh, the back side of the moon, hovering at about two
hundred kilometers."

"Really? See anything interesting?"

"Nope. Frankly, I'm bored. I think I'm going to hibernate
until you need me."

"How long will it take you to get here if we need you in a
hurry?"

"Oh, about ten minutes, if I hurry."

"Maybe you should stay in Earth orbit."

"If you want. I might be detected, though."

I agreed. "Yeah, you might. Stay put, and we'll contact
you later."

"Have fun."

"By the way, what are our chances of getting back to Mi-
crocosmos?"

"Fair," Arthur said. "Since I know where we are, it makes
it fairly easy. You just have to aim for the center of the uni-
verse."

"The center of the universe?"

"Fourth dimensionally speaking, that's where Micro-
cosmos is, almost all the way back to the beginning of the
universe. It's a little off-center though, by about one or two
billion years."

"Oh," I said.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. If another ship like yours entered the solar system,
would you have any way of detecting it?"

PARADOX ALLEY              155

"Yes, but that's not going to happen," Arthur told me.

"Why?"

"Because this is the only ship of its kind ever built."

"What about the chance of encountering the ship's para-
doxical double? You call it a spacetime ship. Doesn't that
mean it's a time machine?"

"In a way," Arthur said thoughtfully, "but I don't think
there's much chance of it happening."

Neither did I.

(T^W^)

16

I TOLD ARTHUR that we'd keep in touch, and signed off.

We headed north on the Coast Highway for a few kilome-
ters, then turned right at a sign which read Topanga Canyon
Boulevard and followed a winding road bearing up into the
hills. Eventually, Carl made a right onto a gravel road, then a
left into a driveway leading back to a beige-painted clapboard
cottage with a small beetle-shaped automobile parked beside
it.

Carl pulled up in front of the house and turned the motor
off.

"Friends?" I asked.

"Yeah, one friend. A guy, a little older than me. He's a
writer."

"What's he write?"

"TV scripts, movies, stuff like that. I know he did a Gun-
smoke, and I think he wrote a version of some big Hollywood
movie—one of those Roman Empire epics. I can't think of
the name of it. Anyway, his name wasn't on the credits. A
couple of friends of mine used to come over here and mess
around, watch old movies, listen to jazz records."

"Records?" Daria asked.

"Uh... recorded music."

"Oh, I see."

"Anyway, he's home. He's gonna think I've totally flipped
when I tell him what's happened."

Lori silently mouthed, Gunsmoke?

We got out. Carl banged on the front door. No one an-
swered, and Carl banged again. Faint sounds of upbeat music
came from within.

Carl was ready to knock a third time when the door was
opened by a youngish dark-haired man wearing black-rimmed

157

158

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

159

eyeglasses, a short-sleeved yellow pullover shirt, and dark
pants. He had on leather moccasins and carried a carved briar
pipe. He looked friendly but impatient.

"Carl!" he said. "Hey, I'm working." Puzzled, he glanced
at Daria, Lori, and me, then said to Carl, "What's up?"

"Need your help. We're in a jam."

"A jam?" He eyed me again, scrutinizing my maroon star-
rigger's jacket. "Yeah?" He looked Cari up and down. "Are
you guys shooting something?"

"Huh?" Carl answered.

"What's with the costumes?"

"It's a long story."

The man nodded. "I've a feeling I'm going to hear it.
Come on in." He swung the door back, turned and walked
inside. We followed him in.

The living room was really a work space. There were three
debris-littered desks, a half-dozen loaded bookcases, one sofa,
and a few chairs. A piece of equipment which I recognized to
be a typewriter sat on one desk amid piles of manuscript,
stacks of periodicals, and other paraphernalia. Besides clog-
ging the shelves, books lay everywhere, piled in stacks on the
desks, on the floor, and on the furniture. The place did have
the look of a writer's lair.

"Dave," Carl said, "these are some friends of mine. Uh,
this is Jake...."

"Hi," Dave said, shaking my hand. "Dave Feinmann."

"And this is Daria," Carl said.

"Hello, Daria. And you're ... ?"

"Lori."

"Hello, Lori."

Dave went to a cabinet containing a rack of equipment
that, from the look of it, was a device for playing audio disks,
something I'd never seen in my life. He turned a knob, and
the music, which sounded like early jazz, faded into the back-
ground. He cleared some books off the furniture and motioned
for us to sit down, taking a seat himself in front of the type-
writer. He lit his pipe, cocking his head toward the typewriter.
"Doing a treatment for an episode of this new science fiction
series. Producer's a friend of mine. Looks like they've sold
the pilot."

"Yeah?" Carl said. "Great."

Dave got the pipe going. He gave Carl a funny look, then
shrugged. "So, you're in a jam. What is it this time? Did the
cops finally—" He broke off and squinted at Carl. "Jesus.
You look different, somehow. Where did you get that crazy
haircut?"

Carl passed a hand through his hair. "Crazy? Yeah, I guess
it is."

"It's way out. I—" Dave passed his eyes over the four of
us, looking uneasy. "What are you people up to? You're not
extras—you're not working a shoot nearby?"

"No, Dave," Carl said. "You're not going to believe this,
but..."

For the next half hour, Carl spilled his story, though leav-
ing out a good bit of it for economy's sake. I spent the time
watching Dave's shifting reactions. He began with simple be-
mused skepticism, modulated to adamant disbelief, then
switched to shocked credulity. By the time Carl had gotten
through most of what he had-to say, Dave's expression was
almost blank. He looked numb, and a little shaken. Several
times, early on, he had interrupted Carl, insisting, "This is a
gag, right?" He wasn't insisting now.

Carl finished up and sat back, looking at Dave expectantly.
Silent, Dave puffed on his pipe and stared out the window. He
did this for a long while.

Finally Carl snapped, "Jesus Christ, Dave, say some-
thing!"

"I'm waiting for Rod Serling to come out and do the
teaser," Dave said quietly.

Carl sighed. "I knew you wouldn't believe it."

"Oh, I believe it."

"You do?"

"Yeah." Dave crossed his legs and sat back. "There are
exactly three possibilities. Either you've nipped, or I've
nipped, or you're telling the truth. There's another, maybe—
but I know you, Carl, and you couldn't keep a straight face
this long if you were jiving me. But let me tell you some-
thing right now—if I've read you wrong and you are indeed
pulling my leg, if you got these people out of central casting
and came up here to see how long you could keep me on
the hook, if this is a gag, Carl, I'm going to kill you. I'm go-
ing to get out my samurai short sword, disembowel you, and




160 John DeChancie

feed your liver to you—without onions."

Carl shook his head slowly. "It's no gag."

I took out the communicator and handed it to Dave. "Ever
see a radio like that?" I asked.

Dave examined it. "Radio?"

"Maybe you'd call it a walkie-talkie. Say something into
it."

Dave scowled. "Into it? Where? There's nothing to this."

"Speak into this side," I told him, pointing.

Dave rolled his eyes, then held it near his mouth and said,
"Hello?"

"Hello?" came Arthur's voice.

Dave jumped, dropping the communicator. "Jesus Christ!
It sounds like he's in the room. That can't be a walkie-talkie."

"Yes, it does have good reproduction for a long-range re-
ceiver."

Dave pointed. "Is that—"

"Yeah, that's Arthur," Carl said.

"Hello?" a puzzled Arthur said. "Jake, are you there?"

I picked it up. "Yeah, Arthur. Sorry, we were just testing it
again."

"I think we can rest assured that it works," Arthur said
peevishly.

Dave chewed his lip, then asked, "He's a robot, right? And
he's up on this... saucer?"

"Spacetime ship," I told him.

"On the moon?"

"Arthur, are you still on the moon?"

"That's right, dearie. Is that a new friend of yours?"

"Yeah, that's Dave."

"Hi, Dave!"

Dave looked around uncomfortably before he said, "Uh
... hi."

"Lively one, isn't he?" Arthur commented.

Dave was nonplussed. Suddenly, something snapped and
he jumped up. "This is too much." He thumped the pipe into
an ashtray and raised his hands palms up in a helpless, de-
spairing gesture. "I don't believe it. On top of everything, the
robot's a smart-shit. He's in this fucking flying saucer, and
he's on the fucking moon, for Christ's sake, and I'm feeding
him straight lines."

PARADOX ALLEY              161

"Such language," Arthur complained.

Dave suddenly developed a grave expression. "Excuse
me," he said quietly. He left the room.

Carl waited a moment, then picked up the communicator.
"Arthur, you asshole!" he whispered hoarsely. "Now he's all
pissed off."

"All these neurotic humans I have to put up with," Arthur
grumbled.

Dave returned five minutes later bearing a tray on which
were a number of tall bottles. His face looked a bit gray. "I
don't know about you guys, but I need a drink. Beer's all I
have."

We all took a bottle. Dave sat, took a long swallow, and
ruminated. He took another drink before he said, "I've just
had a shock. I'll tell you about it in a minute, but first, let me
tell you the reasons for my believing your fantastic story
strictly on the basis of what you've told me, and what I've
seen. I buy it not because it makes one whit of sense, which it
doesn't, not because it's believable, which it isn't, but because
of a few little things. I'm a writer. I'm plagued with the pen-
chant for noticing things—little things. Tiny touches of con-
vincing detail. Like your accent, Jake."

"My accent?" Strange to hear someone say I had one.

"Yeah. It's American, generally. But I can't place it, and I
specialize in regional dialects. I do great dialogue, my pro-
ducers tell me. But I can't place yours. Yours either, Lori.
Now, Darla's is totally different from both of yours. If I had to
put a tag on it, I'd say it was Mid-Atlantic. Neither British nor
American. But there're traces of other accents in there. A
melange. I can't figure it."

"Better to call it mid-colonial," Daria said.

"Yeah. I guess so." Dave gulped more beer. "Accents.
Okay, now clothes. Those getups you're all wearing. Those
clothes weren't made anywhere in the civilized world. I don't
know that for sure, but the style... I mean, it's a style I've
never seen. And they're nondescript clothes, nothing flashy
about them, except that jacket of yours, Jake. But it's worn
and tattered. The elbows are wearing through. That jacket's
been worn, for Christ's sake. Again, there're only two possi-
bilities. Either that's a studio wardrobe throwaway, or it's a
real jacket, worn by a real person, who happens to be from

162 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 163

another time and place." Dave drained the bottle, took another
from the tray, and applied a tool to its top. The metal cap
popped off. "And you, Carl. I noticed it right off the bat.
There's something different about you, even besides the hair-
cut and those futuristic overalls you have on. You look differ-
ent. Like you've traveled, grown. You look older. You are
older, according to your story. About a year, right?"

Carl nodded.

"Sure. So it all fits, it all hangs together on that level, the
level of convincing detail. On the rational level, the whole
thing holds about as much water as a colander. But I have to
believe it. That communicator thing could be a souped-up
transistor radio or something, but even so, it's one weird ob-
ject. I wouldn't have accepted the story on that basis alone,
but... it, plus the little things, the fine touches—add it all
up, and... I've stepped into a dimension as vast as space and
as timeless as infinity, the middle ground between light and
shadow, et cetera. Cue Rod. Action." Dave exhaled slowly,
taking off his glasses and rubbing his left eye. Then he swept
back his longish dark hair. "But there's one more thing. The
clincher—a piece of irrefutable evidence. The shocker. When
I was in the kitchen, I made a phone call. I called you, Carl. /
talked to you. You were home, at your parents' house."

Carl seemed to collapse inside. He lowered his head and
stared at the floor.

"Okay," Dave said. "So, what do we do? How can I help?"

Dave's rented house was small, having only two bed-
rooms, but he was willing to give up both of them and sleep
on the couch. When I protested, he said he usually collapsed
there anyway after working into the wee hours. There was
only one bed, which Carl and Lori insisted that Daria and I
have; they made do with layers of blankets and pillows piled
on the floor in the spare bedroom. We were set for a prolonged
stay. Ordinarily, Dave said, he didn't suffer house guests for
more than three nights, but he was willing to put us up, and
put up with us, for as long as was required.

"However long it takes to resolve the spatiotemporal
crisis," he told us, "you're welcome to stay. What, I'm going
to throw out time travelers from the twenty-fifth century?"

"Twenty-second," I corrected him.

"Right, that was Buck Rogers."

Trouble was, our presence would undoubtedly disrupt his
work routine. He wrote for a living, and he needed to put in a
full day's work every day, including weekends. It behooved
us, then, to find something to do during daylight hours, which
would entail going out, which would necessitate our getting
some acceptably conventional clothes. Dave came through for
us again. He lent us money, enough to buy something decent
for all of us at a discount clothing outlet. I told Dave that I
could pay him back in gold. Carl insisted that he'd make good
on the loan.

Once we'd solved the costume problem, we cast about for
something to keep us occupied. Going to the local beach was
out. Carl's double would be there.

"I was a beach bum, I admit it," he said. "But I know what
beaches I used to hang out at. I never went to Malibu. Didn't
like the kids who hung out there. Bel Air types with Corvettes
and Lotus Fords and Porsches. We can go there, and my dou-
ble wouldn't show up in a million eons."

Earth... summer... 1964...

It was a bright and colorful and happy time, a flux of
seaspray and sunlight and rock music tinny and loud from a
portable radio. The images come quickly to me, along with
the sounds and smells: the reek of gasoline exhaust and suntan
lotion and hot dogs sizzling on the grill at the concession
stand; the endless beach carpeted with seminude bodies bak-
ing in nonionizing radiation, and the roar of the ocean, rolling
in and out as it has done on this planet, this home of human-
kind, for five billion years. Daria and I stretched out on towels
beside the bright surf and let Earth's sun warm on our backs.
We dozed, and the flux convolved about us. We were lost in
time and didn't particularly want to be found.

... summer, 1964. It was a time of blaring news reports
over the radio and TV... the Russians, Viet Nam, Laos,
Cambodia. An election year, the Republicans nominating
somebody named Goldwater, whom I had never heard of, to
run against the incumbent, Johnson, whom I had barely heard
of. (Hadn't there been another President Johnson, in the ear-
lier part of the century? Or had it been another century
entirely?) It was a time when the world had fallen under the




164

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

165

spell of four young men from Britain with domed haircuts
who played their electrified instruments enthusiastically, if not
well, singing songs with a steady beat and charmingly simple

lyrics...

We had some time to bask in the sun and absorb some of
the backdrop of this time and place, but we had some thinking
to do as well; rather, I had it to do. At night we sat around
with Dave and talked, filling him in on more details concern-
ing our adventures in the world of the future and the worlds of
the Skyway, including our journey outside the known mazes

—the Outworlds: Splash, Talltree, the planets of the Nogon

—the chase through the Garage Planet of the Roadbugs, the
wonders ofMicrocosmos, and other tales.

"This Culmination business," Dave said, sitting with us on
lawn chairs out on a little porch off one side of the house.
"Mind-boggling. From what you told me, this.. .thing will
come into being approximately ten billion years in the future.
Yet, you're dealing with it now. And you're dealing with it on
a planet that you say exists back at the beginning of the uni-
verse, ten billion years ago."

"Near the beginning, anyway," I said. "Within a few bil-
lion years of the Big Bang, or whatever happened back then.
Yes, that's the way it was explained to us. The Culmination
transcends time. Once it was created, it became eternal." I
took a sip of my gin and tonic. "There's a possible scientific
explanation for it. If we think of it strictly on a physical plane,
maybe the Culmination is nothing but an instantaneous com-
munications device, one that makes possible the transmission
of information faster than the speed of light."

"Relativity," Dave said, nodding. "I've read a dozen books
about it written for the layman. The way I understand it, if
you send a message that's faster than light, you send it back

through time."

"Yeah," I said. "If there was an instantaneous communica-
tions device operating at a point in the far future of the uni-
verse, and if it were powerful enough, it would broadcast
throughout time, and any capable receiver existing in the past
would be able to pick it up."

"I think I understand," Dave said, "but something as gran-
diose as the Culmination... I mean, it's hard to think of it as

nothing more than a souped-up radio."

"Right, but that may be the only handy way to think of it.
Otherwise, the concept gets mystical and slippery."

"Well, seems to me it's got to get mystically slippery at
some point. It sounds like what they did was create God."

"Or some approximation of Him... or it."

Dave whistled softly. "Mind-numbing. Way out. There're
no words for it." He took a long drink of beer, looked thought-
ful for a moment, then said, "I still can't grasp why the Cul-
mination built the Skyway."

"From what we can guess, it exists as a means to bring
potential candidates to a central place for processing into the
Culmination," Daria said.

"I understand," Dave said, "but why do they need candi-
dates? Why do they need minds for the Culmination?"

"That's what we don't know," I said. "We've some clues,
but nothing like an answer. And we don't know exactly what
joining the Culmination entails. Do you get zapped into a
computer? Get transmuted into pure energy? Or what?"

"Maybe you just die," Dave suggested.

I chewed over the current paradox situation. Something
had to be done, and soon. I talked it over with Arthur.

"Arthur, do you know any reason why Prime would abduct
Carl and set him loose on the Skyway?"

"No. The notion is totally ridiculous. Prime would never
do such a thing."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Arthur laughed derisively. "Why in the name
of all that's holy in the universe would he?"

"I dunno. You tell me."

"Well, I can't. It makes absolutely no sense that Prime
would travel ten billion light-years to a jerkwater planet and
kidnap a human being—not a very bright one, at that—give
him that bizarre vehicle, and set him off on the Skyway to
cause all sorts of trouble. You think of Prime as a god, don't
you?"

"A demigod, maybe."

"Demigod, shmemigod. Okay. The gods—or the demi-
gods, if you will—may be inscrutable, but they sure aren't




166

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

167

stupid! I mean, they don't go around doing idiotic things just
to pass the time."

"Then who abducted Carl?"

"I think you know the answer."

I did. However, I had a hell of a time convincing Carl.

"Carl, let me explain it one more time...."

Carl covered his head with a beach towel, turned over on
his stomach, and shoved his face into the sand. "I'm going
bananas," he said in a muffled voice.

"It's crazy, but that's the only way it works."

"I'm going to have myself committed. None of this is

real."

"It probably isn't. Look, your double—the you of a year
ago—is down there in Santa Monica living the life of a typi-
cal teenager of his era. In a few weeks, he's going to be
abducted by a flying saucer and taken one hundred and fifty
years into the future and set loose in a strange world. That
happened to you. Now it has to happen to him, on the same
day in history that it actually happened. Prime isn't going to
be around to do the deed. We have the ship, the only one of its
kind in existence. Do you understand it now?"

Carl turned over again and unraveled the towel. He lay
back, blinked sand from his eyes, and covered them with his
arm.

For a minute, we listened to the Beatles sing of love and its

loss.

"I understand," Carl said finally. "I think. It doesn't make
sense, but I understand it. I'm getting used to things not mak-
ing sense."

"Good," I said, "because they rarely do."

"There's only one thing."

"What?"

"I've been thinking about this for a while. If things are so
screwed up, so backward and impossible, then it must be true
that Lori is Debbie."

I nodded. "Again, it doesn't make sense, but..."

"Yeah. Besides, it works out better that way. If Debbie is
another person, then I got some explaining to do."

I asked, "When did you finally convince yourself that she
isn't another person?"

"The other day, when we went to the clothing store. When

Lori came out wearing that pink blouse with the white lace
around the cuffs, I recognized it. Debbie was wearing that
blouse when we first met. I remember because I teased her
about how shocking pink it was. When I saw Lori choose it in
the store, I stood there like I'd been struck by lightning, be-
cause it hit me that hard. I knew then that somehow—and
don't even know how, yet—somehow Debbie and Lori are the
same person. The only difference is the hair. Debbie's was
darker. Not by much, either, now that I think of it, but it was
darker. Seems to me that it was a little longer, too, but that
may be my lousy memory. It's been a long time since I've
seen Debbie."

Daria came back from a swim and lay down beside me, her
skin glistening wet in the sunlight. She had bought a one-piece
maternity swimsuit with a little skirt, and she'd been com-
plaining that she looked ridiculous. She didn't look ridiculous.
I asked Carl, "Where did you meet Debbie?"
"That's another strange thing. She came right up to me on
the—"

Carl sat up with a look of shocked realization.
I nodded and said sympathetically, "Yeah, Carl, it's going
to be rough."

I tried to look fatherly.

Lori and I had come down into L.A. by way of Sunset
Boulevard, which had taken us through Brentwood, West-
wood, Beverly Hills, and into West Hollywood. It had been a
nice drive, traffic on the moderate side, and I had reached a
point where I felt comfortable operating Dave's Volkswagen.
It was a good, economical little car. I know, because I had
filled it up before we left. Gasoline was ridiculously cheap as
it was. I couldn't see the price staying that low for any length
of time.

"Okay," I said. "I'm going to let you off around Vine

Street. Do you remember the address in Culver City?"
"Yeah," Lori said. She was nervous and a little scared.
"Dave's sister is expecting you at ten."
"Ten, right. But I don't know where Culver City is."
"If everything goes well, Carl—Carl Two, the double—

should take you there. He knows where Culver City is."
We had asked Dave if he knew anyone who could put Lori




T

168

John DeChancie

up for a few days. We couldn't have Carl Two bringing her to
Dave's place. Carl One said that Debbie lived in Culver City,
and it turned out, Dave had a sister who lived there. Dave
phoned her with the story of a social worker friend of his who
ran a shelter for runaways, and of a girl who needed a place to
stay because of overcrowding. Debbie Smith—nice kid, basi-
cally, just needs a little special attention. Dave's sister said

fine, send her over.

Lori was chewing her lip anxiously.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"What if... ?" She shivered. "Oh, Jake, this is so scary.
What if I can't get Carl to pick me up? What happens then?"

"Good question," I said, "and I'd be lying if I said I knew.
I don't know what happens if you foul up a paradox. I don't
know that a paradox can be fouled up. But I don't think you're
going to have any trouble. Those jeans of yours look sprayed

on."

"They shrank in that silly clothes dryer of Dave's."

"All to the good, I say. Just walk around looking as pretty

as you are."

She frowned and nicked a hand through her hair. "I think I

look horrible as a brunette. What an awful color that dye

turned out to be."

"Daria did her best. Okay, what street is this?"

"Bonita."

I turned left, went two blocks, and turned right onto Holly-
wood Boulevard. I cruised for a few blocks, then pulled over.

"This is it," Lori said.

I looked around. "I don't see him, but our Carl said that
this is one of his hunting grounds." There were plenty of kids
out, riding in cars, shouting at one another, standing on street
comers, and generally misspending their collective youth.

Lori got out, closed the door, and poked her head in the
window, her eyes wide with apprehension. "Jake? What if

there really is a Debbie?"

I smiled. "Don't stay out too late, Debbie."
A little of the anxiety left her face, and she smiled thinly.

"Wish me luck," she said.

I watched her walk away. Those jeans really were a second

skin. Carl Two didn't have a chance.

(T^W^S

17

IT WAS A lovely summer with an undercurrent of suspense.

The Paradox seemed to be working out on schedule. "Deb-
bie" saw "Carl" on the average of three times a week. They'd
go out driving, cruising the main boulevards and meeting
friends, or they'd go to "drive-in" motion picture theaters,
afterward ingesting hamburgers and accompanying confec-
tions at various establishments offering same. Every odd day
they went to the beach, where Debbie learned the rudiments of
surfboarding, Frisbee sailing, and increasing the natural pig-
mentation of the skin by overexposure to ultraviolet radiation.
All these activities, and more, we were told, were typical
pastimes for young people of the period and locale. "Debbie"
didn't care much for surfboarding. "I'm always hanging ten,"
she complained—whatever that meant.

Meanwhile, Carl (our Carl) would grind his teeth. The
drive-in movies upset him especially. He never mentioned it
but once, and never asked Lori what transpired when the cou-
ple visited these "passion pits," as he called them.

"I know damn well what they're doing," he told me.
" 'Cause I did it, too!"

But he endured it. After all, it wasn't as if Lori were dating
another guy. It was asif.-.In the final analysis, the language
lacked the means for accurately describing the situation.

It was good, then, that Lori spent a good deal of time over
at Dave's sister's place. Shelly and her husband seemed to like
"Debbie" a great deal, and didn't balk at the prospect of her
staying on indefinitely.

"Shelly can't turn away a stray animal," Dave explained.
"Drives Bob nuts—they must have half a dozen cats by now."
The couple had no children of their own.

169







170                 John DeChancie

Dave.took Lori down to the Federal Building in L.A. to get
her a Social Security card, which she obtained by presenting
the authorities there with a false birth certificate that Dave had
conjured up. "Didn't cost a hell of a lot, either," Dave told us.
"Amazing possibilities, if you think about it."

What did Debbie do, mostly, over at Bob and Shelly's?
"Watch TV, sit and read movie magazines. Eat a lot. I've put

on five pounds. I like TV."

She liked rock music, too. She adored the Rolling Stones.

There were dangers inherent in the situation of having two
versions of the same human being running around in proxim-
ity to one another. Dave was worried that the other Carl might
drop in some time, as he was wont to do on occasion. We
forestalled that eventuality by having Dave call Carl up and
tell him that he'd be away for a month or two—up in the
mountains writing a feature film script. There was still the
possibility that the two Carls might bump into each other. But
the consensus was that, as Carl had no memory of encounter-
ing a twin of himself, it never happened. Ergo, it wouldn't
happen. We could have rewritten the textbooks on logic that
summer, if we'd have put our minds to it.

Something else was bothering Carl. I tried to sound him
out on it, but didn't get very far. Obviously the prospect of
reliving the abduction, compounded by the monstrous irony of
his having to take part in it, was taking its toll on his nerves.
There was nothing I could do except to assure him it would all
go according to plan.

And I wondered myself. Whose plan?

The summer wore on and the crisis approached. The Para-
dox Machine clanked and whirred and shot bright blue sparks,
its spinning sharp-toothed wheels up to full speed.

We summoned Arthur.

It was a balmy California evening. We stood in a hollow in
back of Dave's house, watching the skies. There were few
stars; only the biggest and brightest could make it through the
hazy glare that the sprawling electric grid of Los Angeles

threw back at the sky.

"I've got goose bumps," Dave said, playing his flashlight
beam up into the night. "This is like a scene out of The Day
the Earth Stood Still."

PARADOX ALLEY

171

"A movie?" I asked.

"Yeah. And if Arthur looks anything like Gort, I'm going
to shit enough bricks to build a barbecue pit."

"I can't say for sure, but Arthur probably doesn't look any-
thing like Gort. Arthur doesn't look like anyone or anything I
know."

"There?" Daria whispered, pointing to a distant shape
moving against the semidarkness.

We heard a low droning accompanied by a chopping
sound.

"Helicopter," Dave said. "See the lights?" Dave stamped
his foot. "Damn, there's a lot of air traffic tonight."

"Probably better that way," I said, wishing I had the com-
municator. Lori had it. She was out somewhere with Carl
Two. Arthur said he already had Dave's house pinpointed and
would be able to land if we stood near the site and signaled
visually. Carl One was in the house, biting his nails. Would
Carl Two repeat history and go up to Mulholland Drive, there
to meet his destiny? Only time would tell, and time wasn't
telling yet.

Dave gasped, and I looked up.

There was the ship, ghosting over the lip of the hollow, its
dark ovate bulk outlined by a constellation of flashing red and
blue lights. I smiled. Arthur had done a good job of camou-
flage. The lights were positioned to mimic the configuration
of a conventional aircraft. I wondered if he'd been tracked on
radar. Soundlessly, like some sort of dirigible whale, the craft
eased to the ground, its immensity filling up the hollow. The
main cargo bay dilated and we went in.

",/e-sus! This is your truck?" Dave said, awestruck.

"That's it."

"This thing's a monster! You say it's atomic powered?"

"Nuclear fusion. Want to climb in?"

"Ye-sus."

He did, and we did. I gave him the tour, and Dave oohed
and aahed for a while, then fell into silent wonderment.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

He took his hands from the steering bars. "You know, up
rill now, I gotta admit that there was a tiny bit of doubt in the
back of my mind about all this. I was secretly hoping, desper-
ately hoping, I guess, that I'd fallen into a group delusional




John DeChancie

172

psychosis thing, like those saucer cultists who camp out in the
desert waiting for the aliens to come down and save the
world." He slapped the instrument panel. "But here it "is, in all
its mind-shredding reality. You know, there were times when I

thought—"

Brought up short, he stared numbly out the viewsereen.
"Oh, my God," he said in a hollow voice.

I looked. It was Arthur.

"Yoo-hoo!" Arthur waved.

We got out, and I introduced Dave to our quasiandroid

servant.

"Are you tracking Lori?" I asked.

"Yes, indeed," Arthur said.

"Where are they?"

He gestured vaguely. "Out there somewhere. Nowhere near
the pick-up zone, which you said wasn't far from here."

"Well, we have some time," I said, then glanced around.
"Carl should be here. Daria, would you run and get him?"

"Sure."

I noticed that Dave was still gawking at Arthur, who was
returning a supercilious glare. Suddenly self-conscious, Dave

averted his eyes.

"Dave's been a real help," I said to Arthur. "Don't get on

his case."

"Well, excuse me," Arthur sniffed.

"My fault," Dave said. "I was staring. I've never seen a
seven-foot tall, pink and purple person before."

"And yellow," Arthur said, pointing to an appropriate sec-
tion of his plasticlike skin.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Quite all right. You know, Dave, I'm not as strange as I

look."

"That's right," I said. "He's stranger."

"All I get is abuse," Arthur lamented. "A servant's lot.
One of these days I'm going to rise above my station in life
and tell you how passing strange I think humans are."

"We know we're strange, Arthur," I said. "Don't forget.
You may not look it, but you're human, too."

"Don't remind me."

Arthur conducted Dave on a tour of the ship.

PARADOX ALLEY

173

"It's so empty," Dave remarked, perplexed. "There's noth-
ing in here."

"Oh, there's plenty of auxiliary equipment," Arthur said.
"It's all built in." Arthur went to a bulkhead and ran his index
finger over its surface, outlining a simple oblong shape. Sud-
denly, the pattern materialized and the portion of bulkhead that
it described tilted out. Arthur detached it and held it in both
hands. "This is a weapon, for instance. There are lots of
things hidden in the walls, everything from scientific instru-
mentation to—"

Daria came running in. "Carl left," she said breathlessly.
"Took the Chevy."

"What?" I yelped. "Where'd he go?"

"He was raving that he'd had enough crazy stuff and that
he was going to get Lori and go away somewhere and forget
all this. I tried to stop him, but he was already pulling out of
the cul-de-sac."

"Great," I said. "Arthur, do you have another communica-
tor?"

Arthur crossed to the opposite bulkhead and did the same
trick, pulling a smaller oblong out of the wall. He handed it to
me.

I said, "Is there any way to track Carl's Chevy?"
"Do you know what type of propulsion system it has?"
"Of course not. Hell, I'd never catch him, anyway. But it's

a good bet he'll find Lori. So just guide me to her."

"Should I take the ship up? I've got the outside surface

tuned properly now. It should be radar transparent. And with

the camouflage, we'll be fairly inconspicuous."

"Yeah, for a flying saucer. Just stand by. Dave, I'll take the

VW and go after him, if that's all right with you."

"Okay," Dave said nervously. "I'll stay here in the dimen-
sion of imagination."
"Hm? Right."

A balmy, subtropical California night, traffic-choked and
many-peopled. We raced north on the San Diego Freeway. By
this time I could dart and weave between lanes like a native.

"I wish there were some way for Arthur to contact Lori," I
said.




/

c 174

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

175

"It might be awkward for her if Arthur's voice suddenly
came out of her handbag," Daria ventured.

"It might. Again, where did Lori say they were going?"

"Out somewhere in the San Femando Valley, to watch a
drag race."

"A which?"

"Drag race?" Daria nipped both hands palms up.

"Do you have any idea—"
"It has something to do with automobiles, but beyond

that..."

"In this culture," I said, "what doesn't have something to

do with automobiles?"

Traffic thickened as we got into the valley. I was used to
the incessant rush of traffic by now. The automobiles no
longer looked hopelessly antique to me. I rather liked their
rococo flourishes and useless adornments: tail assemblies that
stuck up like shark fins, massive and totally functionless chro-
mium "bumpers," kitsch statuary mounted on hoods, white-
striped tires, garish paint schemes, buffed wax finishes, radio
whip antennae, blinding tail-light configurations, and other

embellishments.

"Arthur?" Daria called into the communicator. "Are you

tracking them?"

"They haven't moved. You are now about five kilometers

west of their position."

I took the next cutoff and headed east on Roscoe Boule-
vard, then made a series of lefts and rights at Arthur's direc-
tion as he zeroed us in on the signal emitted by the
communicator that Lori was carrying. We passed a big parking
lot adjacent to a brilliantly lighted outdoor stadium.

"This might be it," Daria said.

Howling engine sounds came to us from the other side of a
curving grandstand. I hung a U-turn and headed back. The
sign at the entrance to the lot read VALLEY DRAGWAY.

"You're right on," Arthur said.

It cost fifty cents to park. We got out, I locked up the VW,
and we jogged toward the entrance to the track, an opening in
a corrugated metal fence blocked by turnstiles and a ticket
booth. As we neared the booth, Daria stopped. She pointed
left toward a row of cars. I looked and spotted Carl's Chevy.

"Which one is it?" Daria wondered. "The double's?"

"No way to tell. Let's look around. If we find another one,
that means our Carl's here."

We searched the immediate area but came up empty. It
would have taken us an hour to cover the whole lot.

"He might have parked out on the street," I said. "Let's go
in."

The ticket girl said that there were only a few heats left to
run, but sold us two tickets anyway. We bumped through the
turnstile and walked through a concession area littered with
scraps of sticky paper, coming to a passageway between two
sections of grandstand. We mounted steps and came out into
the seating area.

The grandstand was crescent-shaped. A long, straight strip
of asphalt began in the middle of the crescent and ended about
two thirds of a kilometer out in brush-covered flats. Two bi-
zarre vehicles, which were nothing more than long, low, open
metal carriages with overgrown motors mounted on them,
were poised at the starting line, bellowing like dinosaurs and
shooting blue flames. An array of lights on a pole changed
color, and the two things took off like demons loosed from
hell, trailing smoke and fire. They reached the end of the
course in no time, and parachutes blossomed from their back
ends. The noise was incredible. A pall of gray haze hung over
the track, and the air was pungent with fuel exhaust and the
smell of burnt rubber. An announcement was made and a roar
went up from the crowd.

"What's this all about?" Daria shouted above the din as two
more outrageous vehicles approached the starting line.

"A display of exotic automotive technology," I said, "or a
circus. Probably both. Let's look around."

"What do we say if we run into Lori?"

"Nothing," I said. "We wink and act as if we don't know
her. But we stick close, and if our Carl shows up, we try to
intercept him. And don't ask me what we do if Carl Two
catches sight of Carl One. I'm playing this strictly by ear, and
my goddamn ears are killing me."

"Right."

We climbed to the last row and walked along an aisle,
looking down over the heads of patrons. Besides the smoke
and the fumes, I smelled women's perfume, tobacco, and
cooking grease. It was a good crowd for a Tuesday night.




176

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

177

There were a good many young couples, some of which, at
first glance, I mistook for Lori and Carl Two. Kids seemed to
dress alike in this time and place. Maybe they do in all times
and places. The grandstand was a huge affair and the crowd
thinned out toward the far end of the crescent. No Lori in
sight. We doubled back a ways, then went down steps and
walked along the bottom aisle, looking up and scanning for
three familiar faces, two of which would be identical.
We saw nobody.
"Where could they be?" Daria fretted.
"Don't know. It's a huge place. Maybe we just missed
spotting them. Let's go back to the concession area."

The hot-dog stand was closing down for the night, and
people were leaving the track in steadily increasing numbers,
filing through an exit on the other side of the concession area.
I sent Daria to check the women's room while I glanced in the
men's. The latter was being used, but not by either Carl. Daria
reported no luck. I told her to stand by the exit while I went
back to search the grandstand one more time. The voice over
the loudspeakers announced the last race, to be run by two
vehicles which looked a shade more conventional. I walked
along the middle aisle scanning up and down the grandstand.
"Jake?" came a quiet voice inside my pocket.
"Arthur?" I answered. A man in a green T-shirt turned his
head to me with a curious look. "Wait a minute," I said.

I took steps up to the last row, found some empty seats,
and sat down. I took out the communicator.
"Go ahead," I spoke into it.

"I'm tracking the other beacon. It has left your area."
I wondered how we had missed them. "Right. We're leav-
ing."

Hurrying back, I spotted Carl. It was our Carl—I recog-
nized his clothes. He was caught in a crush of people at the
head of the stairway leading down to the concession area. Just
as I was about to close with him, he turned and saw me, then
forced his way through the crowd, plunging down the steps. I
followed, leaving jostled, angry teenagers in my wake.

As he neared the exit gate, Carl saw Daria and slowed. I
caught up with him. Daria ran over.
"They left, Carl," I told him.
"I know," he said, continuing toward the exit.

"Did you see them?"

"No, they weren't up in the stands."

"Where, then?"

"I finally remembered. Most of that night is fuzzy to me.
We went to the races, but we didn't sit in the stands. I found
out a buddy of mine was racing, and we went down to the
pits. I still don't remember everything, but we must have left
by the pit entrance and walked around back to the parking
lot."

"Let them go, Carl," I said.

"I have to be there tonight," he said vehemently.

"Carl, you can't," I said. "Look. Forces are operating here
that we have no control over. I don't know what would hap-
pen if you intervened and prevented the abduction. Nobody
knows, but it's a good bet that the universe wouldn't be the
same. You might throw it entirely out of whack."

We walked through the exit and out into the parking lot.

"I know," Carl answered. "I still have to be there."

"Carl, what is it with you? Something is bothering you,
something you haven't let on yet."

"That night, the night it happened," Carl said. "Tonight.
It's about Debbie. The way she acted... the way / acted."

"Are you worried she'll be hurt?" I said. "We've gone over
that. Arthur told us that when your double pushes Debbie—
Lori—out of the car, she'll float. She won't fall. She'll still
be in the gravitational beam the car is in. After Arthur tucks
the Chevy into the small cargo bay, he'll lower her down and
we'll pick her up."

"That's just it," Carl said. "I remember now. I didn't push
Debbie out of the car. That was where I was all screwed up in
my memory of that night. I wasn't trying to push her out. I
was trying to keep her from jumping. But there was something
else—" He stopped and looked around. "Oh, God."

"What is it?"

"The car. It's gone."

We were in the general area where Daria and I had found
it. "This is where you parked yours?"

"Yeah. He was parked way over on the other side, but
when he was walking back this way from the pits, he must
have seen the super-Chevy here and figured he remembered
wrong. I do that all the time—forget where I parked. Now




178

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

179

he's got the super car." He sighed, holding up a set of car
keys. 'This is the original key. It fits both cars, of course. And
he wouldn't be able to tell the difference. I made the super-
Chevy identical to the ordinary one."

I didn't know that to be a fact, but I did know that the
vehicle he had created had been identical in every detail to the
one he'd been driving when we met on the Skyway—the one
I stole from him—down to the pair of fur-covered dice hang-
ing from the rearview mirror.

"How could you do that?" I asked.
"I did the custom job on the original myself," he said. "I
spent two years doing it. Bought the thing when I was fifteen,
before I could legally drive. I know every inch of that car."

I nodded. "Okay, then that solves the problem of how we
make the switch. Your double's already got the super-Chevy."
"Yeah. But there's one more thing I have to do."
Carl turned to leave and I caught his arm.
"Carl, don't. You're coming with us."
"Sorry, Jake, but—"

He swung a wild left. I put up my forearm, but it was a
feint, and I was slow to block his quick right jab. The punch
landed squarely enough to daze me. Daria rushed in, but Carl
had already begun sprinting away. Daria chased after him but
couldn't keep up. He disappeared into the streams of people
exiting the track.

Daria ran back. "Are you all right?"
"Getting old," I said. "He suckered me good."
"Should we go after him?"

I rubbed my jaw, shaking my head. "No way to make a
decision. We might screw things up by trying to prevent him
from screwing things up. I'm coming around to thinking that
, nothing anybody does or tries to do can thwart fate from tak-
ing its course. This is turning into a Greek drama."
"I've always hated Greek drama," Daria said.
"Me, too. It's those damn choruses breaking in and yap-
ping all the time."

We found the Volkswagen and got in. We went nowhere.
The exits were jammed up, and we had to wait in line. We
were held up a good fifteen minutes, and we tried to catch a
glimpse of the other Chevy. Carl either had beaten the rush or
was tied up at another exit.

Finally we got out. When we were back on Roscoe Boule-
vard, I checked in with Arthur.

"Lori is now bearing generally south," Arthur informed
me. "But she's on a road paralleling that big express highway
down there."

Daria leafed through the map of L.A. "Sepulveda," she
confirmed. "It intersects with Mulholland about a mile south
ofShermanOaks."

I turned left at the intersection of Sepulveda and Roscoe,
heading south. We underpassed the Ventura Freeway and hit
Ventura Boulevard, continuing straight. Sepulveda narrowed
to two lanes, winding its way up into the Santa Monica
Mountains. House lights glowed in canyons to either side.

Daria turned on the dome light and looked at the analog
wristwatch she had bought. "Eleven-thirty," she said, and
turned the light off.

We had no timetable. Carl had said that he didn't re-
member exactly what time the abduction had occurred. He
guessed that it had happened around midnight.

A pair of headlights grew in the rearview mirror. Carl
passed us, doing at least seventy miles an hour. The original
Chevy was a hot vehicle, too. I floored the pedal, and Dave's
VW coughed and gave its all, which was pitifully little. We
chugged along in Carl's wake until his tail-lights vanished
around a bend.

"Well, hell," I said. "There goes the monkey wrench into
the works." I handed the communicator to Daria. "Check in
with Arthur."

"Turn west off of your present route," Arthur instructed us.
At least that much was going according to plan. Carl had
pinpointed the kidnapping site as being somewhere near San
Vicente Mountain, the peak of which, overlooked Mulholland
west of Sepulveda.

I missed the tumoff before the tunnel and had to double
back. We went up a short ramp and got onto a dirt and gravel
road—Mulholland Drive. It led us into a surprisingly remote-
looking area. You'd never guess that one of the biggest cities
the world had ever seen was just down the mountain. It wasn't
exactly desolate, but you got the feeling that you were a long
way from everything.

The road was edged with scrub brush and an occasional




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John DeChancie

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181

prickly pear, and wound through groves of live oak and juni-
per. We drove along for several kilometers without seeing any-
thing.

"Jake? Daria?"

"Yes, Arthur," Daria answered.

"The signal source has stopped at a point due west of you.
You're almost on top of it."

I slowed, though I couldn't see thing. I coasted down a
slight grade, searching my side of the road.

"Arthur, where are you?" Daria asked.

There was a slight delay, then: "Right above you. I have
the phony airplane lights turned off."

"We don't see the car," Daria told him.

"It's parked about fifty meters off the road. Just to the

right, up ahead."

I saw a gap in the brush—a narrow side road. I stopped.
Daria said, "Arthur, are there any other vehicles in the

area?"

"None that I can see or detect."

"Let's make sure," I said, starting forward again and turn-
ing off onto the side road, which was little more than a horse
trail leading us around the base of a hill. We passed under a
large brooding tree and came out into a hollow.

I saw a glint of candy-apple red in the sweep of the head-
lights as I turned around.

"There they are," Daria said. "Unless it's Carl."

"You're right on top of the signal," Arthur said.

No other vehicles were in sight.

"Okay, this is it," I said. "Arthur?"

"Yes, Jake?"

"Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." He sighed. "Dearie me, how do
I get myself into these predicaments?"

"Did Carl ever mention another vehicle being nearby when
it happened?" Daria asked with some concern.

"Not that I remember. Let's head back around the hill and
park. We'll come back on foot."

I headed out of the clearing, following the trail back almost
to where it made its T with Mulholland. I wedged the VW
between two junipers and killed the motor.

"You got that flashlight?"

"Yup." Daria held it up.

I shut off the headlights and the night deepened around us.
We got out and walked back up the trail. Insects clicked and
snapped in the weeds. The city was a glow on the horizon,
and a faint, distant roar. The air was dry and cool. Daria
played the flashlight beam from side to side, searching. About
halfway to the hollow we found a path leading up the hill,
making its way among big gray boulders. Daria shut off the
flashlight and we climbed up to the first switchback and hid
behind the rocks. We looked down and listened.

"Carl may have gotten cold feet," I whispered.

Daria nodded. "Let's hope so."

We went down and continued on the trail, stopping when
we reached the tree with the weeping branches. I put the com-
municator next to my lips.

"Any time, Arthur."

"Roger."

I looked up through the branches, but couldn't see any-
thing. Nevertheless I somehow sensed the craft's descent, felt
its immense bulk growing black-on-black against the sky like
some dark angel auguring doom. A shiver ran through me,
and I began to appreciate the extent of the trauma Carl must
have suffered. I couldn't blame him a bit for having been
scared out of his wits.

I heard a voice coming from the parked Chevy. It was Carl
Two. A door slammed, and the engine roared to life. The
back tires spun briefly, then the engine died. The starter
whined futilely, again and again. There was a shout. In the
dim scattered light of the city-glow we saw the Chevy begin to
levitate from the ground, its front end rising. We heard Lori's

voice, but she wasn't screaming. She was shouting something
at Carl.

Suddenly there was a rustling in the brush above us, and
the sound of running feet coming down the hill.

Daria gasped, "Oh, no—"

Carl One burst into the clearing, running toward the car,
which by now had lifted a good two meters into the air. The
passenger-side door had opened and Lori had one leg dangling
out, holding the door open with both arms. Carl leaped and




182

John DeChancie

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183

grabbed onto something—either the door or Lori's leg, or
both. I couldn't see. He began to rise with the Chevy, hanging

on.

Lori was screaming now, frightened and shocked and con-
fused. Slowly, the three of them, two layers of a core sample
of the same human being and the woman they both loved,
floated up into the still California night.

"Jake?" came Arthur's voice. "What's happening down
there? I have an extra body in the scoop beam."

"It's Carl One," I said. Daria and I hadn't moved; neither
of us could think of a thing we would dare do.

"Well," Arthur said with annoyance, "I've stopped trying
to figure out what's supposed to happen here. Two of them
fell out, so I'm going to set them down after I've stowed the
automobile in the bay."

I slumped against the tree and closed my eyes. I could hear
the Paradox Machine. It howled and shrieked and it sounded

like Lori's screams.

Presently, I was aware of Daria hugging me, her face
against my back, and I realized that Lori's screaming had

stopped.

I turned around and held Daria for a moment, then took the
flashlight from her and thumbed it on. Her face was drawn
and pale, her eyes frightened.

"Oh, Jake, it was so awful."

"Yes."

"And we did it. We perpetrated it. We're guilty."

"Of what?"

"I don't know."

"Of doing what we had to do?"

"Did we have to do it?"

"We thought we did."

"Jake, I just don't know. I just... don't know any more."

"I never did, honey. I never knew the tune, but I keep
trying to hum along."

We walked out into the clearing. Two bodies came down
from the sky like stage deities on invisible wires. They landed
gently on their feet.

Lori and Carl.

Our Carl. He was holding her, her face pressed against his
shoulder. She was trembling violently.

"Hi," Carl said as we approached.
"Hi," I said. I didn't know what else to say.
"It happened like it was supposed to happen," Carl said. "I
knew something else went on that night. I finally remembered
what Debbie had shouted at me when the car began to lift. She
told me not to be scared. I was stunned. Here was this thing
coming down out of the sky at us, and here was the girl I
loved acting as if she knew what was happening. That's what I
blanked out of my mind. It was a fact I couldn't explain. It
made me afraid just to remember it. I didn't want to believe
that the girl I had met and fallen in love with could have had
anything to do with the kidnapping. And I could never under-
stand why she tried to jump out of the car, like she was leav-
ing me. I tried to stop her. But she was being dragged
out... by someone else. I couldn't see who." He stroked
Lori's tinted hair. "It was me. It was the only person it could
have been."

Lori's trembling had subsided. She turned her head up to
Carl.

"You did, didn't you?" Carl said. "You tried to tell him.
You saw that he was scared out of his mind and you tried to
tell him that he'd be all right."

She nodded, closed her eyes and rested her head on his

chest.

"I felt awful," she said. "Like I was doing something evil.
I set him up, I went along with it. And then .. . when you ..."
She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "And when you came out of
nowhere, Carl, I thought I was going crazy. I didn't know
what to do. I was so scared."

Carl took a deep breath. "It all happened exactly as it was
supposed to. Everything."

I spoke into the communicator. "Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"How is he?"

"Out like a light. Fainted dead away. He's fine, though.
Just frightened."

"Did you speak to him in Prime's voice?"
"Yes, but I don't think he heard me."
"Well, if he comes to, just do your Prime routine and say
something comforting."

"Oh, I will, I will, but he'll still be scared shitless. I'm




184 John DeChancie

going to try something on him- It's a mechanism that was
formerly used to tranquilize wildlife specimens. It shouldn't
hurt him, even if it doesn't work."

"Okay. Meet you back at Dave's place. How is Dave, by
the way?"

There was a delay. "He says the only thing he regrets is
that he can't ever use this in a script. Lacks verisimilitude."

(T^W^S

18

I'M BAD AT good-byes. But I did my best.

It was about five in the morning. Carl, Lori, and Dave saw
us off.

Lori hugged Daria, then me. I shook Carl's hand and then
Daria kissed Carl and Lori. Then Lori hugged me again and
kissed me. This went on for some time. Dave just stood by
and smiled oddly.

"Jeez," Carl said, "I'm going to miss you people."
"Us, too," I said.

"I can't say I'm going to miss being nine zillion miles from
home," he added. "I'm glad to be back. You can have the
future. It's yours. I don't belong there."

"Future? No such thing," I said. "No future, no past. Time
is one big wide-open amusement park. We proved that."

"Yeah, I guess."

Lori was sniffling. I stroked her cheek and said, "You're
sure you want to stay, Lori?"

She pulled Carl closer. "Yes. I'll put up with smog, tooth
decay, and this character. There's really nothing for me back
where I come from. I kind of like it here. This is a nice
place... a nice time to be alive."

1 nodded. "Yes, it is. It seems peaceful, in a way, com-
pared with what history says about it."

The eastern sky was growing milky. A few birds were tun-
ing up in a nearby copse of sumac trees. Behind us the ship
hovered silently; Arthur was standing by to take us away from
Earth in the waning summer of a year long past.

Carl began, "I wish ..." He chewed his lip, thinking.

"What is it, Carl?" I asked.

"I wish there was some way of contacting you," he said,




186

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

187

then shook his head. "Somehow, but... it's impossible.
Right?"

"Send me a letter. Mark it: Jake McGraw, Postal Slot 7836,
Administrative Zone Twelve, Vishnu, Colonial Planets.
That's my address. Figure out a way to delay delivery for
about a hundred and fifty years. Should be easy enough."

Carl laughed. "Yeah, sure." Then he stopped laughing and
had me repeat it. I did.

Arthur's voice came through the communicator. "Are you
quite ready?"

I walked over to Dave. "Thanks," I said, shaking his hand.
"We couldn't have done it without you."

"I still think there's an outside chance that I've hallucinated
this whole thing," he said. "By the way, Arthur doesn't look
anything like Gort." He stared at the ship for a moment, then
sighed. "The future. I've dreamed about it, written about it.
And here it is, right in front of me. You know, Jake—you
haven't really told me much about it. Nothing about what's
really going to happen in the next few years here."

I said, "You mean like stock market quotations?"

"No." He glanced at Carl and Lori, then said, "Tell me, is
there going to be a—" He stopped, then shook his head. "No.
Don't tell me anything. At least I know there's going to be a
future. Sometimes that prospect looks very dubious. And
judging from the little you've let on, it's going to be a pretty
interesting future."

"Never a dull moment," I said.

"People..." Arthur said impatiently.

"Keep your pants on," I yelled.

"I won't say the obvious," Arthur said.

"Well," Dave said, offering his hand again. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

There was more hugging and kissing, and Lori started cry-
ing again, so I dried her eyes and kissed her and told her to be
a good girl. Which was silly, for she was now a woman.

"I'll always remember you, Jake," she said.

"And how could I forget my little Lorelei?" I said.

"Debbie," she corrected. She whispered in my ear, "I hate
that name!"

"Which one?"

"Both, actually. Debbie the most."

"It looks good on you."

Presently there was nothing more to say.

I took one last look at Earth, at Earth's sun showing its face
to a new day, at the grass and the trees and the kind skies of
the birthing place of humankind.

And then I left that world, that time.

Earth dwindled in our wake as Arthur piloted the ship
through the gravitational vortices of the solar system and out
into deep space, where we could, as he put it, "do a good
clean jump."

"Where to?" he added. "Back to Microcosmos?"

"Not just yet," I said. "We have to dump Carl off some-
where. And the sooner the better."

"He'll be okay. That tranquilizer mechanism seems to have
done its job. Where did you have in mind?"

"Look. This is a spacetime machine, right?"

"Right."

"We can go anywhere, any time?"

"Well, more or less. There are some limitations."

"Can we jump forward in time about one hundred and fifty
years and drop him off on the Skyway somewhere?"

"Just anywhere?"

"Terran Maze would be a good idea."

"Right you are. Just point out a likely planet and I'll shoot
for it."

Bruce helped him do that. We picked Omicron Eridani II,
and Arthur got his bearings from the Earth-based astronomical
data that was stored in that tiny but powerful robot brain of
his. We picked a date that was about a year before I met Daria
on the Skyway. All would go according to plan.

Arthur asked, "Are you all getting off there?"

"No, just Carl. We're going back to Microcosmos with
you."

Daria drew me aside. "Jake, do you realize that if we did
get off, the Paradox would be complete? You'd be back in
T-Maze before you left—before any of this happened. Don't
you think—"

"No, Daria. The story's not over yet. I have to go back and
get Sam."

She nodded, and didn't mention it again.




188

John DeChancie

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189

*   *

We had given a lot of thought to the subject of setting Carl
loose on the Skyway. Our Carl—Carl One—had tried to de-
scribe his experiences immediately after the kidnapping. But
his memory of the whole period aboard ship was hazy to say
the least—which accorded exactly with the way things were
going for Carl Two, who was at the moment slumped in the
seat of his magic Chevy in the small cargo bay. He was cata-
tonic, and it was hard to say whether this was the result of the
"tranquilizer" beam or the trauma of the kidnapping. Probably
a little of both. I was worried.

Carl One had told us that "Prime" had spoken to him dur-
ing this period. We induced Arthur to do his impression of
Prime for Carl Two at regular intervals.

"What do I say?" Arthur had demanded to know.

"Be soothing. Be a nice person."

"Oh, great."

But he did it. We had no idea if any of it got through to
Carl. I had the feeling that it did.

According to Carl's story, when the mental haze lifted, he
found himself in his car on the Skyway. And when he saw a
portal for the first time, he somehow knew what it was and
how to shoot it.

Arthur pondered this problem for a while. Then: "I can
come up with something akin to dreamteaching by modifying
the tranquilizer beam circuitry. I think."

I asked, "Don't you need tools or equipment or something
to do that?"

"You're thinking in terms of conventional technology. It
won't be a simple task, but it's not a matter of tinkering with
anything physical, at least not on the scale of ordinary objects.
This ship has the capacity to reprogram its auxiliary mecha-
nisms for any function desired, within limits. Trust me."

"Oh, I do," I said. "You exude trustworthiness."

"I'll have to change my deodorant."

So it was that we set Carl off on the road between the
worlds to seek his destiny, which was to find me and go home.
He had nothing more than his car, the clothes on his back, and
a little over 1000 Universal Trading Credits' worth of gold
(my entire stash—I was now broke) in the trunk.

It was a grungy mudball of a planet with lowering skies

and mud-colored rocks—but just beyond the portal was
Adonis, a very nice world indeed, well-populated and civi-
lized. We landed on the Skyway a few kilometers from the
portal's commit boundary. Arthur opened the bay door and
nudged the Chevy out. Carl sat there in the middle of the road
for a minute. Then he started the engine and drove off. He
never looked back.

The Chevy dwindled to a candy-apple red dot and vanished
between the towering jet-black columns of the portal.

Carl had shot his first portal and survived. Arthur's modi-
fied dream-teaching gadget had worked.

"Good-bye, Carl," Daria said in a murmur. "For the second
time, good-bye. And good luck."

"Hail and farewell," I said.

It took us over fifty jumps and six hours to get back to
Microcosmos, which wasn't bad .time when you consider the
distance. It had taken longer to get to Earth starting from a
little beyond the orbit of Pluto. Arthur apologized, though, for
the delay. Well, he didn't exactly apologize. When either
Daria or I would stroll into the control room to see how things
were going, he'd glare at us defensively and give some ex-
cuse. "I keep running into bumpy spots," he complained.
"Fouls up my calculations. Spacetime isn't uniformly smooth,
you know."

"I never said it was," I told him.

"This has to be done just right," he went on. "We don't
want to return before we left. I've had just about enough of
that nonsense."

"You and me both," I said.

Eventually we got there. Arthur turned the ship transpar-
ent, and we watched an odd little cloud of stars grow and
grow until it became the peculiar star-sphere that enclosed the
textured disk of Microcosmos. It was daylight on the Emerald
City side.

All seemed peaceful down there. Nobody threw things at
us, no mind-shaking enigmas chased us as we made a smooth
entry into the atmosphere and streaked across the sky on a
decelerating trajectory toward Emerald City. The patchwork
surface of the planet rolled underneath the ship like a giant
map on a fast scroll. Arthur broke all the speed records and




190 John DeChancie

nearly scared us to death. It looked as if we were about to go
crashing into one of the city's valley-side curtainwalls until
Arthur suddenly veered off and took the ship in a harrowing
turn around the castle. Veering again, we dove between two
huge towers and came to a screeching halt above a third. The
domed top of the tower opened like a morning glory and we
descended into it, coming to rest on a smooth black floor. The
dome closed up, and we had arrived.

Arthur sighed and took his stubby fingers from the control
box. His narrow shoulders slumped.

"If I were flesh and blood," he said, "I'd be exhausted. As
it is, I only need a two-day recharge session."

"Some pretty fancy flying, there, Arthur."

"Thank you. I thought it best to hurry like hell. Looks like
someone called a truce, but you never can tell."

I locked up the truck, telling Bruce to keep an eye on
things, and we debarked from the ship.

"Jake," Arthur said as we walked toward a nearby down-
chute. "I think you have a little bit of a shock in store."

I stopped. "What?"

"Well, it's about Sam. He's no longer a computer. He's
alive, Jake. He's very much alive."

(P^^'7)

19

"HELLO, JAKE," SAM said.

He was sitting at the dining room table with John and
Zoya, having coffee and rolls. He got up with a smile that
lived in my memory. The face was my father's face, but it was
one I hadn't seen since childhood, for the man coming toward
me with arms extended was my father as he had been as a
young man, around thirty-five. His hair was dark brown, al-
most black, his eyes the color of slate. He was about six feet
tall (lately I'd fallen into using that antiquated system of mea-
sure), plus an inch or two. His jaw was strong, his shoulders
broad, and his hands and feet, like mine, were a bit oversized.
His lips cut a thin line over a markedly cleft chin. His nose,
thin and straight, was prominent but not large. Altogether a
handsome figure of a man. He was dressed in a trim gray
two-piece utility suit with a black belt, and he wore black
hiking boots.

He embraced me, and I could not speak. Although Arthur
had done his best to prepare me, there is little that can serve as
an adequate buffer against the shock of your life.

"Son," he said, "it's good to see you again."

"Dad," I finally croaked. I put my head on his shoulder and
shut my eyes tight against the flow of tears.

I think 1 was a little irrational for a few minutes; it was a
total state of shock. I don't remember what was said, or who
said it, but sooner or later I noticed Prime standing off to one
side, observing us with approval.

"Welcome back!" he said brightly.

I nodded and looked around. Ragna and Oni were seated at
the table along with John and Zoya. Ragna smiled, his wide
pink eyes gleaming. Zoya beamed at me. John looked bored.

191




192 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 193

Another wonder—so what?

Daria had been standing off to one side. She walked over
and said, "So we finally meet in the flesh."

"Come here, Daria darling," Sam said. They hugged.

I couldn't help keeping one arm around Sam, could not
relinquish the feel of his flesh, his corporeality. If I hadn't
been used to having Sam's disembodied personality around,
me sight of him like this, reborn, reincarnate, would probably
have been enough to stop my heart. I would have died on
everybody right there.

As it was, I had trouble fully regaining my powers of
speech.

"How... was it done?" I gasped at Prime.

"An artificial body is nothing miraculous," he said. "The
problem lies merely in effecting an adequate interface between
it and the artificial brain that controls it, which in this case is
the Vlathusian Entelechy Matrix. You are aware of the many
resources on this planet. I simply used those needed to ac-
complish the job. And I think we were quite successful.
Wouldn't you agree, Sam?"

"I sure would." Sam slapped his chest. "Never felt better in
my life." He turned to me. "I'm told that this isn't your garden
variety human body."

"No," Prime said. "It doesn't have some of the biochemi-
cal subtleties of a natural organism—even science at its height
can't duplicate the genius of me Creator. For instance, Sam
will never have another son, nor any more progeny. But his
body does have a number of advantages. Sam will never grow
old. He won't suffer illness—"

"But I'm not immortal," Sam said.

"No," Prime said, walking over to us. "I offered to tell
Sam the body's estimated life span, but he didn't want to hear
it."

"Even if it-were a million years, or only a week," Sam
said, "I wouldn't want to know. I'll be damned if I'm going to
spend my second life counting down the days. You can't live
like that."

"I understand and agree," Prime said.

I asked, "How did you get this body to look like his former

one?"

"The imaging entailed using a number of sources—but

chief among them was a three-dimensional photograph of you
and Sam that was stored in the on-board computer's auxiliary
memory. Did you know it was there?"

I said, "Yeah, I do seem to remember having an old holo
scanned into pixels and stored away."

"Your memories of Sam also were useful," Prime added.

"Okay," I said, rather absurdly, as if we'd been talking
about the weather. I sat down and poured myself a cup of
coffee. I couldn't keep my eyes off Sam, who seated himself
and took a sip from his cup.

He winked at me. "Who says you only go around once,
eh?"

"Sam, did you have any choice in this?" I asked.

"Not in getting shanghaied out of the truck. When I came
to, I found that I'd been loaded into some weird kind of
computer... I think." Sam looked to Prime for corroboration.

"It was a computer, in essence," Prime said.

"Anyway," Sam went on, "I was in contact with our host
here, and he asked me if I wanted to join the Culmination. I
said thanks, but no thanks. He said, okay, then how about a
new body? I said, sure, why not?"

I laughed. "Sure, why not."

"I was getting a little tired of being a trailer truck. I like
this just fine."

"I can't blame you. Your turning up missing like that gave
me quite a scare, though."

Prime had seated himself at the table. "Our apologies. But
had I told you our intentions, I doubt you would have believed
me."

"You could have tried," I said.

"I did try," Prime said, "and would have succeeded if you
hadn't left rather abruptly."

Aside from pointing out about a half-dozen holes in
Prime's reasoning—for instance, hadn't he ever heard of
radio communication?—I had little to say to that. It seemed
that in any given argument, Prime had a subtle way of manip-
ulating the emotional tug-of-war so that he always wound up
on solid ground, leaving his adversary in quicksand. I couldn't
figure exactly how he did it, but you simply couldn't argue
with him, and I didn't feel like going through the motions
with him now.




194 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 195

"Where have you guys been?" Sam was curious to know.

I looked around. "How long have we been gone?"

"About five days," Zoya said. "We were worried."

Daria filled them in while we breakfasted.

"So Carl finally got home," Sam said. "Well, good. And I
think Lori will be happy back there." He pushed his coffee
cup away and sat back. "Imagine," he said wistfully. "Earth,
way back when. It must have been something to see. Nineteen
sixty-four. Let's see, that was almost seventy years before I
was bom."

Daria changed the subject with: "I can't get over how much
you two look alike." She swiveled her gaze back and forth
between us. "And with your looking just about the same age,
you could almost be twins."

I was about to remark that I'd always been accused of
being Sam's clone when I suddenly realized that amidst the
confusion and shock I had completely forgotten about the
most important topic of all.

"Where the hell is Susan and everybody else?" I blurted.

"That's hard to say," Sam said, rubbing the blue-black
stubble of his chin. He had always had a heavy beard. He
looked at Prime. "Do you want to tell him what you told us?"

"I'd be glad to," Prime said as he buttered a croissant.
"Ah... John, would you please pass me the marmalade?"

John passed him the marmalade.

"Thank you. Jake, Daria... let me first assure you that
your friends are fine. Alive and well, fit and hale, and all of
that. They are under no—"

"Okay, okay," I said curtly, "I'll take your word for it. Just
tell me where they are."

"That brings up the perennial problem of communication
again. But let me try—"

"Look," I cut in. "I'm getting awfully weary of these huge
philosophical barriers that keep preventing you from answer-
ing the simplest of questions—like, where are my friends?
Are they here, or are they somewhere else?"

Prime interrupted the job of applying marmalade to his
croissant long enough to turn his head and ask, "Do you want
to visit them?"

"Of course."

"Then sit back and relax."

I tried.

"Open your mind and call your friends. One or all of
them."

I stared at him.

"Just do as I say," Prime instructed.

I leaned back and pictured Susan's face in my mind. Noth-
ing happened.

Prime smiled, his black eyes twinkling. "Keep trying."

So I kept trying... to do exactly what, I didn't know. I
began to feel faintly ridiculous sitting there, staring off into
space, but then something began to happen. Hard to describe.
The environment around me began to dissolve, like a film,
into another scene. It startled me at first, and the process
halted and reversed—the dining room, the table, and every-
one in the room reappeared. But then I relaxed and let go,
discovering that I could control whatever was happening. I let
the scene around me fade again.

I found myself sitting on a ledge on a steep rocky slope.
Far below was a fog-filled valley ringed by snow-tipped
peaks. Above was a jagged mountaintop against a gray sky. I
stood and breathed in. The air was cool, fresh enough to have
been created the instant before. Looking around, I saw stunted
trees clinging to the slope, along with an occasional bush. The
slope was steep but not difficult to climb, set with wide flat
stones in uneven steps. I hopped to a higher outcrop and
looked around. Deciding to climb the mountain and perhaps
get a better view of what was going on, if anything, I began
the ascent.

A cold wind rose. Eventually the slope leveled off to a
wide ridge graced with an occasional tree. I walked along the
edge, gazing down, until the way narrowed to a ledge just big
enough to walk on without having to turn and sidestep. I
paced slowly along it. The ledge narrowed some more, and I
considered going back; but I kept on. Soon the ledge was
barely as wide as my feet were long. I inched along sideways,
the wind strong enough to tug at my open jacket but not
enough to unbalance me. Far below a lake of mist swirled at
the bottom of the cliff.

Eventually I came to a crevice splitting the wall behind me




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197

in a crooked V. I stepped back into it. It was a corridor cut
back into the mountain, widening into a descending pass. I
walked for a few minutes, came out the other side of the
mountain, and found a gentle slope leading down to the edge
of a forest. I took a path that led me down through tall coni-
fers bearing enormous cones. A soft trilling came from the
treetops; birds, maybe. Maybe something else.

I came to the bottom of the hollow and found a swiftly
running brook. I turned downstream and followed it, jogging
over the smooth boulders that lined its banks. When the forest
thinned out, I left the rocks and took a path that paralleled the
stream and wound amongst miniature trees and tended shrub-
bery. The path became stone-paved and bore away from the
main stream, following a small tributary and cutting through
rock gardens. A dwelling lay up ahead: a cottage, done in a
vaguely oriental style, fronting on a quiet pond. Susan was
there. She was sitting on a stone bench near the edge of the
pond, reading from a slim volume bound in blue cloth.

She glanced up and saw me, smiled, then got up and ran to

me.

We embraced. Her brown eyes shone.

"Jake! It seems like years," she said, beaming.

"It does seem like it's been a long time," I said, running a
hand through her straight, light-brown hair.

This was all very strange. It wasn't a dream, but it couldn't
be real, I thought. Not altogether real, at any rate.

"Where are we?" I asked. "What is this place?"

"This is a place where I stay... sometimes," Susan told
me, taking my hand and leading me back toward the bench by
the pond. "It's quiet, and I can think here."

"About what?"

"Anything that I think is worth thinking about."

"I see."

We sat. Pink and yellow flowers floated on the pond's sur-
face, bobbing gently, and reflections of overhead boughs
shimmered deep within. Rushes grew at the pond's edge. A
trilling cooing sound came from the trees. Other than the mur-
mur of a brook, all was quiet.

"Where are we?" I asked again.

"It's a space and a time I sort of like," she said. "Isn't it
nice?"

"Very. Tell me—does joining the Culmination mean that
you can never give a straight answer again?"

She laughed. "No. Jake, I really don't know where or
when this is, exactly. It's somewhere and when outside of all
space and time—or maybe I created it. I don't really know. I
haven't given it much thought. Does it matter?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"What was that about straight answers?"

"Sorry," I said. "Fair is fair. Okay, it doesn't matter. But
how did I get here?"

"I gave you access to the Consensus Metaphysical Sub-
stratum. Go ahead, ask what that is."

"What is it?"

"I'm still learning, but basically it's a reality that everyone
can agree on. But it isn't necessarily the true reality."

"The true reality of what?"

"Of everything. Real reality."

I nodded, then turned my head and stared into the pool.
There was something dark at its bottom.

"It's hard to explain," Susan told me.

"I'm sure."

She patted my hand, and I took hers in mine.

"Are you real?" I said. "Are we really here, or is this an
illusion?"

She pinched the back of my hand. "Feel that?"

And I did. "Yes. But it occurs to me to ask what that's
supposed to prove. A pinch can be dreamed, too." I looked
into her eyes.

She said, "I'm really here, Jake. And so are you."

I had never noticed that there were little flecks of green in
her irises. "I must be," I said.

A ripple crossed the pool, and a faint reflected wave
flowed back.

"Where have you been?" Susan asked. "You guys took off
the other day."

"Earth," I said, "for a vacation."

She nodded as if she understood. "Did everything work
out?"

"More or less."

"Good."

She was wearing what she always wore, her gray and




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199

brown survival suit with soft gray deck boots. Her hair was a
little mussy, as always.

I said, "I guess it wouldn't do any good to ask you to tell
me what the Culmination really is, or what it's like being part

of it."

"Would you like to be a part of it, Jake?"

I shook my head. "No."

She nodded again, smiling, and again she understood, this
time only too well. "It's not your kind of thing, Jake. You're
not a joiner. The idea of it goes against your grain."

"I guess so."

"But you're wrong, Jake. The Culmination is nothing like
anything you've ever experienced before."

"There's something in me that dreads the loss of individu-
ality."

She took both my hands and gazed at me intently. "Jake,
look at me. Am I any different? Do I act differently?"

"No, you seem fine."

"I am. I feel wonderful. And I'm the same Susan you knew
before. Nothing's changed. I haven't lost myself in some end-
less ocean of consciousness. It isn't like that at all. It's... it's
like being reborn."

"I've heard that before."

She let go my hands, leaned back and sighed. "No. You
see? I'm as inarticulate as ever."

"I understand," I said. "I think."

"It's not all that difficult to grasp."

"By the way, where are the others?"

"Oh, they're around." She looked over my shoulder. "As a
matter of fact..."

I turned to see Sean strolling down the garden walk.

"Jake, me boy!"

We shook hands, and he slapped my back. He seemed sub-
stantial enough; he almost fractured my spine.

"I knew you'd be back," he said. "We were a mite worried,

though."

"I was worried about all of you."

"No need. We're getting on rather well." He glanced
around. "Nice place, Susan. Very nice indeed."

I said, "Oh, you don't hang out here?"

"No, I have my own place. So do the others, I suspect."

Susan nodded. "I've been to Roland's. It's on a mountain-
top."

"Roland's a philosopher in the grand tradition," Sean said,
grinning. "Waiting for his Zoroastrian flash of understanding.
Mine's a shed in the woods. So's Liam's. Loggers to the last."

"So," I said. "What you people do basically is hang out
and... what, have each other over for tea?"

Sean chuckled. "Among other things." Sean walked to the
pond's edge and surveyed the scene. "Very nice place indeed."

Susan and I reseated ourselves.

"Tell me something, Suzie," I said. "Why did I have to
climb a mountain to get here? If this is some Nevemeverland,
why couldn't you have just materialized me right here?"

"I didn't materialize you, I just let you into my space. I
want people to have a sense of having traveled some to get
here. Next time, though, I'll eliminate that part of it, if you
like."

"No, no," I said. "It was interesting. Beautiful, actually."

"Yes, a journey is always beautiful."

"Some of ours haven't been."

"There've been some bad things," she admitted. "But it's
all been an experience."

"I suppose you can say that about anything that happens."

"You can, but it's true."

I looked off into the quasi-Zen rock garden. I wasn't learn-
ing much. But then, I really had stopped caring so much about
finding the key to all this. I was convinced that Susan and the
rest were okay, were under no compulsion or duress, and that
was all I needed to know. I decided right then that if the four
of them wanted to stay, I wouldn't argue with them. I was
going home; if they wanted a lift, fine. If not, fine.

Still, I wondered what would become of Susan, and felt
obliged to find out.

She seemed to be in tune with my thoughts. "Jake, would
you like a small taste of what it's like?"

"Is that possible?"

"Sure. I don't see why not."

"A free home trial, no obligation?"

She giggled. "So to speak."

I nodded. "Let me ask you this: Were you offered this sort
of thing?"




200

John DeChancie

"Uh-huh."

"And you took Prime up on it, right?"

She nodded.

"Was everyone asked to take a trial run?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"And did anyone besides you four take it?"

Susan chewed her lip. "You know, I don't believe anyone

but us did."

I bent over, rested my elbows on my knees, and watched a
circular wave propagate across the pond. Well, I had at least
one piece of evidence, circumstantial though it may have

been.

"He's thinking we were hooked, Suzie," Scan said.

Susan nodded solemnly. "Funny that it worked out that
way. But it's not true, Jake."

After a long moment's contemplation, I said, "There's only
one way to find out."

But I thought, should I risk it?

I turned and looked deep into Susan's eyes, trying to see
through to some core of her that might have been hollowed
out and filled with something that was not Susan at all. I
searched, but saw nothing but the warmth, affection, and trust
I had come to know was there.

"Take me for a ride," I told her.

She smiled and took my hand. "Let's walk," she said, ris-
ing.

(P^W^S

20

WE WALKED PAST the pond and through more oriental gar-
dens. Scan accompanied us.

"I'll go along with you a bit," he said, "if you don't mind.
Then I'll be on my way."

"Come with us, Sean," Susan said. "By all means."

The gardens gave way to forest, and we climbed out of the
valley. Reaching the timberline, we broke into alpine meadow.
The air grew chilly, but I wasn't cold. The meadow sloped
upward and ended where patches of snow lay atop gray-brown
shelves of rock. We walked laterally along the slope, crossing
through colonies of mountain wildflowers, their stems bend-
ing in the wind. Cold breezes from the summit blew about us,
and puffs of misty cloud scudded through a bright, silver-gray
sky. The grass fluttered in waves up and down the mountain.
A streak of sunlight fell across the high part of the meadow,
then faded. Clouds grouped and broke apart, chased by icy
fingers of wind. The smell of heather and wildflowers rode on
the lean, bracing air.

Susan and I walked hand in hand, Sean to my left and a
little behind us. Susan didn't seem to be leading me anyplace
in particular, yet her stride had purpose in it.

"Beautiful, this place," I said. "Where is it? Is this some-
place in space and time, or is this the Substratum?"

"This is the Substratum," Susan told me. "And most of
what's around us now is due to you."

"Huh?"

"This is basically your show now, Jake. My turf petered
out a little ways back."

"Yeah?"

I didn't know what to make of that. I didn't feel in control

201

202 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 203

of the situation. This place was as real as any I'd ever seen,
and just as responsive to my whims and desires as the rest of
the universe was, which is to say not at all.

We had traversed the windward face of a huge mountain
whose peak was unseen, lost in clouds above. Now we came
to a pass cutting between it and another mountaintop. We
climbed a steep grade which gradually leveled off into a
gravel-paved path between two steep slopes. The wind pushed
at our backs, but as we began to climb again up the rock-
strewn face of what apparently was a still higher mountain, it
abated, replaced by stiff, cold breezes blowing down the slope
and into our faces. The going was tough; huge masses of rock
reared up in our path, and we had to skirt an occasional deep
crevasse.

I was beginning not to like this one bit. I was in no great
physical shape, and was beginning to get tired—although,
strangely, not as tired as I should have been. It was getting a
little too chilly for comfort, now that I thought about it.

"Where the hell are we going?" I asked.

"As I said, Jake, this is your show," Susan said. "If you
don't like the metaphor, change it."

"This is a metaphor?"

"A common one. Scaling the heights, that sort of thing.
Change it. Find a new way of getting to where you want to
go."

"Where—" I began, then stopped and looked around.
Everywhere the earth seemed to run up to a ceiling of cloud.
What to do? Go back down?

So I pushed on, leading Susan by the hand. Sean took up
the rear. We trudged up the slope and entered a bank of fog.
Wet mist enveloped us, and rocks glistened underfoot. I was
fine, except for feeling a little chilled. Susan didn't seem to
mind the cold at all. We broke through the fog and the ground
leveled off abruptly. We had come up to a broad level plateau
populated with dark monoliths. I looked up and saw a bright-
ening sky painted in swirls of gray and silver, shot through
with luminescent streaks. A fine icy rain fell, cold and bracing
on my face. The clouds roiled and billowed like milk poured
in water.

"What now?" I asked, stopping.

"I think you want to make it wanner," Susan suggested.

"Yeah."

The clouds parted and a golden sun broke through with
shafts of cathedral light.

"Religious symbolism?" I commented.

"Maybe."

"Pretty," Sean said.

It did warm up a bit, and very quickly, but up here lay a
high windswept plateau, and I turned my collar up against a
breeze blowing sand from the direction of a ruined city far out
in the flats—Broken towers, tumbled walls, sand drifting
against a shattered dome. To our right, nearer, another ruin
was wedged into a box canyon, stone dwellings pressed to-
gether under the eaves of a sheer cliff.

"This gotta be someplace," I said.

"It is," Susan said. "Everyplace is someplace."

"Penetrating philosophical insight."

"Thank you."

Hills in the distance, and somehow we reached them in a
very short time. The wastelands dropped behind us as we fol-
lowed a twisted trail upward through scrub brush and browned
grass.

"California," I said.

"Hm?"

"Reminds me of southern California."

"I've never been there. I'll have to go sometime."

"It was a good place circa 1960. Except for the smog. I've
heard it was very nice between 1919 and 1940."

"I'll have to go, then," Susan said.

We reach a ridge. The path snakes down a hill and into
changing terrain. The sky changes, and it becomes a star-
dusted night, low half-moon hanging to our left, another
moonlike body—a tiny disk—speeding along the ecliptic. At
zenith a river of stars... strange shapes in the darkness at
either hand, moving things, hulking things. No trace of fear in
me, just resolution. I'm searching for a particular place. I
don't know what it looks like, or where it is. A meteor
shower, brilliant points of green fire falling out of the night,
vanishing almost as soon as they appear. Glowing filaments
radiating from an area of sky to our left, galaxies pinwheeling
overhead—to the right, an aura of zodiacal light at the hori-
zon. A night wind rises, and the star-rivers flow.




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205

"Beautiful," Susan comments.

"Thanks," I say, understanding that she means it as a com-
pliment, not comprehending why I'm accepting it.

A violet sun comes up and chases the glory away. Another
city to our right, a grouping of crystal bubbles sitting on a vast
empty plain. This world stays with us for a short minute, then
dissolves into a seascape at twilight, breakers pounding a
porcelain-white beach. Shells crack under our feet as we walk
the strand. The sky chums with grays and blacks. There is no
color in this place—if it indeed is a place, and not a phantasm
conjured by Prime or some hidden deceiver. No life here. The
sky is dishwater gray fading to charcoal, and the bits of shell
underfoot are chalk white, gray, and black. Sand dunes to the
right bristling with stalks of dried beach grass, m the distance
a line of low hills.

"Great place for a beach house," I say.

Susan nods. "Sure." Ironic agreement.

Sean says, "Don't much care for the look of this place,

Jake."

I say, "Neither do I."

What to do? We step out of that place and into another. It
didn't occur to me to ask how we had done that.

Night again here. A moonlit necropolis, a ruined temple, a
mound of debris, truncated columns, a half-buried plaza. We
walk in alien moonlight. Stars again, a gaseous nebula glow-
ing above. Where are we? The question goes unspoken.

I stop and gaze at the time-swept city around us.

"The ruined cityscape motif again," I comment.

"Time," Susan says.

"Yeah. Great big gobs of it."

Whispers from the darkness: ghosts. A shadow falls across
our path, thrown by a communion-wafer moon backlighting a
blasted tree. The shadow looks like a wild dancer. A temple
sits on a hill up ahead, its riven dome no longer sheltering the
statue of a tall alien deity. In a crypt somewhere a mote of dust
falls and the heavens are disturbed.

"I'm spooked," I said. "Let's get out of here."

Over here, Susan, says, so I follow her over there, wher-
ever it is. It's not in any particular direction, really, just a
slightly different frame of mind. It's a soothing emotional
shade, a combination of restful contemplation and wistful

nostalgia. It's more than a state of mind; it's almost a smell. I
tell Susan that I'd rather see/feel something, and if she could
do that for me, would she? Yes, I can, she says...

... and we're in another world, this one swampy and wet,
so I can it and get into another, then another, then a fourth and
fifth. We linger in this one, for it's a little like the place I'm
looking for, a little, not much, because it's much too warm, so
I take the temperature down five degrees and change the color
of the sky to blue—I like blue skies—and shade the grass so
it isn't so blindingly, feverishly green, and I make the trees
taller and give them fuller foliage, and perhaps touch up that
bark to look a little less like cancerous leather, and what I'm
looking at now is a planet under a kind sun, a very nice place
indeed for good old-fashioned dirt fanning, which is the sort I
like best. The terrain rolls gently, not too flat like some places
I'd seen—the tornados wouldn't be totally implacable here.
There are some mountains in the distance; good, if you want a
change of weather, you don't have to go very far. And there's
a cute little farmhouse under some poplar trees, and a barn,
and sheds, and a chicken coop, a corn crib, a granary, a cattle
pen, and other outbuildings and accessories, all you'd need.
"Like this place?" Susan asks.
"Yes," I say. "Yes, I do. Very much."
And I do, because, although it's not a lot like our place on
Vishnu (which is a much less benevolent planet than this one),
it comprises all the elements that I require for a sense of well-
being and peace: space, quiet, green things, more space. The
clouds are white and puffy, and whoever had painted them had
first laid down washes of pure Earth-sky blue underneath. It
did look a lot like Earth. Maybe that's where all we humans
belong, after all.

"Nice little farm," Scan said approvingly, grabbing up a
fistful of black sod and smelling it. "Fertile."

"Great, I've found it," I said. "What have I found? What
am I supposed to do?"

But I knew the answer. Susan told me, anyway.
"Your body can stay here while other parts of you roam
wherever you want. No matter where you are or what you do,
you'll always have a sense of being home. Just like now—I'm
still back at the cottage by the pond, even though I'm here at
your place, too."




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207

"Makes sense."

"No, it doesn't." Susan laughed. "That's why it's so neat.
It doesn't make any sense at all. But it's wonderful."

"This is it, then?"

"Of course not. It's only the beginning."

I knew that, too. I knew a lot of things, then. What this
was, was a new form of existence. Exactly what kind of exis-
tence, I didn't know. The answer was part of what lay at the
end of the long road ahead.

I thought about it for a while, and when I snapped out of it,
I was back on the farm again. Susan was there, but Scan had

left.

"He says he wants to visit again sometime," she told me.
"He told me to tell you good-bye. Someone else is here,
though."

I was already shaking hands with Prime.

"We should talk," he said.

"I'll be going," Susan said.

Susan and I embraced. We parted, and I looked into her
eternal brown eyes and saw that we would never meet again.

"It was wonderful, Jake. Knowing you. Loving you."

"I love you, too."

There were no other words to speak.

"You won't join, will you, Jake?"

I turned my consciousness to Prime and said, "No."

The comers of his lips turned up into a knowing smile.
"You are a remarkable individual."

"Thank you. I must go back."

"Of course."

"You gotta tell me about the cube, though. I'm not sure I
understand everything. You took the first one, the one I
brought from the Skyway."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"We opened it," he said.

"And?"

"The results were ambiguous. Not surprising, since the ex-
periment sought to answer an ultimate question. Those rarely
admit of unequivocal solutions."

"What ultimate question did the experiment pose?"

"It is perhaps the only ultimate question—the only one that

matters. And that question is: Why is there something rather
than nothing?"

I found a nearby tree stump—somebody had cleared this
land—and sat down. I watched clouds for a moment, then
said, "That is pretty damn basic."

Prime paced in front of me. "Oh, it can be formulated any
number of ways, and it has a million corollaries. Did the uni-
verse come into being spontaneously, or was it caused by
something else? If the latter, what does that do to the concept
universe itself? And on and on and on."

"So," I said, "the results were ambiguous."

"Let's say that the data will be a long time yielding conclu-
sive results. Very difficult to tell at this point."

"Okay. Tell me this: In all of space and time, no one ever
thought of constructing this experiment?"

"It had long been known to be theoretically possible. For
some reason, it was never done. At least, there is no record of
it ever being done. We don't know everything that ever hap-
pened."

"You're not omniscient?"
"Not quite."

"Uh-huh. You're not a deity—in the sense that beings of
my time and space and culture understand the term."

"No. That is a very curious concept, by the way. Intrigu-
ing, though."

"Do you think there is such a deity?"
"It may yet be true," he said.
"The jury is still out on that one."
"I understand the allusion. Yes."

"All right." I took a deep breath. "All right. The cube
created itself, didn't it?"

"It seems to have done just that. Remarkable. Possibly re-
capitulating the history of the universe it modeled."

"Possibly?"
"Very possibly."

"Why couldn't the Culmination have created the experi-
ment?"

"We don't create. We don't do science. Science is knowl-
edge. We seek wisdom. In the final analysis, science gives
answers which lead only to more questions."

"But what does wisdom lead to?"




208

John OeChancie

"Ultimately? Perhaps only to a state of mind... or a state
of being in which a question is its own answer."

I got up. "Well," I said. "Thanks a lot. I have a load of
goods in my truck that I have to deliver. I'm running late."

"I understand."

"Thanks for all your help."

"You're very welcome."

I turned to look at the farm one last time. Nice place. I
could have stayed there for a million years or so.

But I have to get out on the road once in a while.

And I really did have a load to deliver.

(FW^S

21

DISSOLVE TO:

INTERIOR—EMERALD CITY DINING HALL—DAY.
A lap-dissolve from one scene into another, just like in
mopix.

And there I sat, in my free-form sculpted chair at the table.
Everyone was looking at me.

"Jake?" Sam was eyeing me curiously.

"Yeah," I said. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes.
"How did I get back here?"

Sam arched an eyebrow. "What makes you think you've
been anywhere?"

"Huh? I must've been gone for hours. Days maybe." I
glanced around. Everyone was puzzled. Me, too. "Wasn't...
I mean, didn't I—"

"You've been staring off into space for the last minute or
so," Sam told me.

"What?" I sat back and exhaled. "Holy hell."

"It must have been quite a trek," John commented.

I looked at him and nodded. Then I noticed Prime was

gone. Inclining my head toward his empty seat, I said, "What

happened to...?"

"Hm?" Sam answered. "Oh, he just got up and left. Said
he had some pressing business. Probably was double-parked."

I took a long drink of coffee. It was still warm. I began,
"How long did you say—" I stopped and put my cup down.
"Never mind."

"Jake, what happened?" Daria asked.

"Huh? Nothing. I mean... I'm not really sure. Tell you
later."

Daria shrugged. "Okay."




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211

And I wasn't sure at all, now, what had happened. It had
been something outrageously wonderful, mysterious, and sub-
lime—that much I did know—but exactly what had happened
was unclear. I might never really know for sure. I did know
that all of a sudden I felt extremely depressed. It was a crash-
ing to earth. A letdown, a feeling of great loss. The sense of
bereavement was profound.

"Jake? Is something wrong?"

I didn't answer. I sipped my coffee and stared at the table.
Conversation started up again, but I didn't listen.

I thought I heard Susan's voice, far off, faint. I cocked my
ears. No. Just wind, maybe. Or a castle ghost.

"Jake?"

It was Daria, again. I turned my head to her.

"Are you all right, Jake?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm... fine. Fine."

The feeling passed quickly, leaving a wistful longing for
something I couldn't name. That gradually faded, too.

I sighed and sat up, drained my cup, and stood.

"We're going home," I announced.

We hunted up Arthur and found him fiddling with the con-
trols on the back of his little helper robot, which looked like a

mobile gum-ball machine.

"What's gotten into you?" he was asking it as we ap-
proached. He looked up. "Oh. Hello, there."

"We're leaving, Arthur," I said.

"Want a lift to the exit portal, or are you taking the scenic

route?"

"What you said."

"Right. Dearie me, this little guy's innards are all cock-
eyed." He nipped the access plate up, and it clicked into
place. He tapped the robot's transparent globular head. "All
right, Edgar, run along."

The mechanism rumbled off on wobbly wheels.

"'Bye, Edgar," Daria said, waving. "Nice meeting you."

"Whirrclickbeep," Edgar said, swiveling his head around
and raising a mechanical arm.

"Nice kid, but from a low-tech family, if you know what I
mean," Arthur said. "Okay, I'm your chauffeur again."

There wasn't much to fetch from our quarters. John, Zoya,

and Daria had a few things to pack, Ragna and Oni next to
nothing, and I rounded up my toothbrush and an extra shirt. I
didn't see anything belonging to Susan, Roland, or the Tall-
tree boys. Sam had nothing but the clothes on his back.

Our host made no appearance as we made our way to the
tower. I didn't expect him to show, but for some reason I
doubted we'd seen the last of him.

Emerald City's glossy green walls remained mute; the
empty chambers were as silent as they had been for the last
million years. What events had transpired in them, long ago?
What plots had hatched, what scenes had unfolded? Don't ask
me. The place had made a fair motel, as motels go.

We took an up-chute to a higher level, walked down a
hallway, then climbed a spiral stairway to the tower.

"Good Lord," Sam exclaimed. "You weren't kidding about
a flying saucer."

"Would I kid you about a thing like that?" I said.

Arthur dilated the saucer's main hatch and we boarded.

By the time we got our gear stowed in the truck, Arthur
had taken off. As I stepped into the control room, the walls
de-opaqued and I could see the tower's top closing behind us.
Emerald City dropped away, and we shot out over the valley.

Sam was mesmerized as he watched the terrain of the disk-
world slide beneath us.-

"This is pretty weird," he finally decided.

"You think?" I said.

"Most spectacular!" Ragna exclaimed, his pink oval eyes
wider than usual.

Oni's pale blue hands were up over her mouth in a very
human gesture of amazement. She uncovered to say, "It is
indeed magic, or something verily like it!"

"Verily," I agreed.

"I am almost sorry to leave this place," Zoya said quietly.

I regarded her for a moment. There hadn't been time to
discuss what effect Yuri's decision was having on her. She
looked relieved. Perhaps it had been for the best.

We were heading for the dark face of the planet—it was
still broad daylight on this side. I scanned all around, trying to
catch sight of anything coming our way. And sure enough,
slowly gaining on our tail...

"Arthur—"




212 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 213

"I saw it before you did," Arthur said as he stood at the
control panel. He hadn't moved his head.

Daria searched the sky and saw the glittering many-colored
phenomenon behind us. "I wonder what it is this time."

"I know what it is, and I'm scared," Arthur said. "And I'm
not even alive. In the conventional sense, that is."

"What is it?" I asked.

"What's the conventional sense of being alive?"

"For God's sake, what's chasing us?"

"I don't have a name for it. You'll soon see."

The glittering vortex grew until it became a rotating wheel
of fire that stretched from horizon to horizon.

"Oh, my God," Daria said, clutching my arm.

"Arthur," I said, "you had better reach deep, deep into that
bag of tricks of yours."

"What bag is that, dearie?"

The rim of the wheel was a ring of golden fire braced by
hundreds of green luminescent spokes that spun about a ruby-
red, star-bright hub. Cascades of pyrotechnics spewed from
the rim at various points along its circumference. The spokes
shimmered and left blue smoky trails as they rotated. The
phenomenon wasn't a physical object in the conventional
sense—the spokes and the rim seemed to be turning in oppo-
site directions.

"Pretty," Sam said.

"Deadly," Arthur said.

"What's it do?" Sam asked.

At that instant the ship was enveloped in a brilliant fireball,
and we were thrown to the deck by a terrific concussion. I
rolled and got to my feet, helped Daria up, but another shock
wave hit us, and we went down. This time I waited for a
moment before trying to get up. I asked Sam if he was all
right.

"Never better," he reported. "What hit us?"

The walls had opaqued instantly, but now they were par-
tially transparent again. The wheel was radiating dazzling pur-
ple energy beams from at least a hundred points along the
circumference of the golden ring, and they were all focused in
onus.

"Whew!" Arthur said. "For a couple nanoseconds there we
were actually subject to the normal laws of physics! Any more

of that and we'll turn into vapor. But I have the energy pretty
much neutralized now."

We all got up and looked back. We seemed to have put
some distance between us and the wheel. Not much, but we
were slowly pulling away. There was still a faint aura sur-
rounding us, gradually fading.

"I think we can outrun this thing," Arthur said.

"Can you do a continuum jump?" I asked.

"Not with that thing chewing on our tail, and certainly not
this close to the planet. We lucked out last time I did a blind
jump. Our fortune might not be so good the second time. Just
let me get some distance first, and then we might be able...
uh-oh."

"There," Daria said, pointing to starboard.

A V formation of glowing red disks was coming abreast of
us, having just darted out from a suspicious-looking greenish
cloud. Arthur steered the ship to port, but we were met by
another V, this one made up of a squadron of pulsating blue
cubes. Arthur veered off again.

"Cubes," Arthur observed. "Well, at least that's in keeping
with the minimalist style they seem to be fond of. Dodeca-
hedrons next, I bet."

"They can give us trouble?" I wanted to know.

"Maybe. They don't seem to want to close with us—which
means..."

"They're herding us somewhere," Sam suggested.

"Yes," Arthur said, "but I can't imagine where or why."

The interceptors kept feinting at us, pinching us in, forcing
Arthur to adjust and readjust our heading. They obviously had
some specific course in mind for us.

"Very effective ploy," Arthur commented admiringly. "We
can't outrun them while we're neutralizing the wheel's energy,
nor can we outshoot them. I'm betting they can't outshoot us,
either, but all bets are off when we get to where they want us
to go."

"We're coming up on the edge of the world," John in-
formed us solemnly.

"That may work to our benefit," Arthur said.

The curve of Microcosmos' rim swept under us looking
like an LP record covered with moss and lichen. We flew out
into space following a trajectory that kept us at a fairly uni-




214

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

215

form altitude above the bulge of the cross-hatched, metallic

disk edge.

That's where they got us. A blinding blue-white flash en-
veloped the ship.

"Oh, dearie me."

The ship wobbled, then shuddered, then wobbled again.
The walls went opaque, and the interior lighting went off.
Strange forces pushed and shoved at us. The lighting returned.

"Everybody up against the bulkhead!" Arthur yelled.

"Strap in!"

I stepped back and leaned against the bulkhead, which im-
mediately threw out rubbery tentacles that snaked around my
thighs and my chest, wriggling under my arms.

"Merciful deity-types!" Ragna exclaimed as the same hap-
pened to him.

The next minute was disorienting. We went into a tumbling
fall, then straightened out and dove in a tightening spiral.
G-forces tore at us, but the straps, marvelously resilient, cush-
ioned the shocks, and the bulkhead behind me seemed to have
turned soft and mushy. I wondered if there were anything in
the infinitude of possible universes that this craft could not do.

Besides making a claim of absolute invulnerability, that is.

It couldn't do that.

"They caught us in a cross fire," Arthur said after he had
regained control of the ship. We seemed to be flying fairly
straight now, though still descending. "I was wondering if
there was a weapon that could bring this ship down. And there
isn't. But they maneuvered us exactly into a position so that
three of the defensive batteries along the rim could get off
shots at us simultaneously. That did the trick, at least tempo-
rarily. The main propulsion system is inoperative. It can fix
itself, but it'll take time. Meanwhile, I have to set her down,

like right now."

There was a gentle bump. The ship skidded a couple of
dozen meters, stopped, rocked back and forth a few times,
and came to rest.

"Whew," Arthur said. "Crash landing."

I said, "Any landing you can walk away from is a good
one, I always say."

"They'll be here any second," Arthur said. "There should
be a tunnel entrance around here someplace. Our only chance

is to get in the truck and get underground right away."

The rubbery straps retracted, disappearing into the bulk-
head. I looked around. It was dark outside. We had come to
rest on a flat metal plain whose only nearby discernible feature
was a reticulated cube glinting in the starlight about fifty
meters away.

I took a step forward, bounced up about ten centimeters,
and floated gently back down.

"The only gravity here is what the mass of Microcosmos
generates naturally," Arthur warned. "It's about one twentieth
of what you people are used to. Watch your step."

"You coming?" I asked.

"If there's any time, I'll deflate the ship and stow it in your
trailer. Get going."

"Looks like we're back in the trucking business," Sam
said.

We ran to the rig and piled in. I turned her over, and by the
time I had the engine squeezing hydrogen, the door to the
cargo bay had dilated. I backed out, slipping and sliding. The
gravity was just barely enough to allow the rollers to grab at
all. ljuiced them up to maximum traction.

"No need to brief me on the current situation," Bruce said.
"I have been monitoring."

"Good boy, Bruce," I told him.

Sam was staring at the dashboard camera, which had once
been his eyes. "Who the hell is Bruce?" Then he figured it
out.'TheWangA.L?"

"Right," I told him.

Arthur followed us out. As soon as he stepped out onto the
blue-tinted metal of the surface, the ship began to shrink. I
cycled the trailer and opened the rear door. There was no air
out there. When the spacetime ship had become a miniature of
itself, Arthur picked it up and galumphed around back. Arthur
could move when he wanted to.

I scanned the dark sky. One of the blue cubes was hovering
off to starboard at about a hundred meters off the surface.

"Damn!" I said. "We've had it."

I checked the trailer camera. Arthur was aboard—

—and I saw something back there I couldn't believe, but
now was not the time to ponder it.

I gunned the engine and shot forward, making a sharp turn




216

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

217

toward the cubical structure. A pink flash stabbed my eyes.

Sitting in the shotgun seat, Sam looked back. "It's the
cube," he said. "Firing at us."

Green spots chased each other in front of my eyes. "Are
they hitting us?"

"I guess. Can't tell. I don't see how they could miss at this

range."

Another flash lit up the metallic plain, but by this time I
had the ports polarized.

"Did you have this rig retrofitted with some kind of super-
tech defensive screen or force-field?" Sam asked.

"No—I never thought of it. Should have. Had the opportu-
nity, in fact."

The cubical structure was big, its surface running with
pipes and conduits. Antennalike projections bristled here and
there. It had no opening, however. I swerved away from it,
rolling over the smooth featureless surface. The cube got off
another shot at us, and this time the rig shook a little with the
impact.

"Hm," Sam said. "They're not missing."

There was an obstacle up ahead, a pipeline or something of
the sort, running across our path. I turned left and ran along it
until it ended at an elbow joint curling into the ground. There
were other structures to the left, and I turned and scooted
toward them, rolling in and out of one of two shallow troughs
on the way. I ducked into the midst of some oblong buildings,
shooting up and down the alleys between them, finally exiting
the miniature town and heading for another just like it which
lay across an obstacle course of valves and pumps. I nearly
flattened a few of these; it was dark out here on the edge of the
world. The flashes were getting more violent. The cab shook
and buffeted more with each new assault.

"They're getting through to us," Sam said worriedly.

"I wonder what's been holding them back so far," I said.

I shot through another whistle-stop town of mechanical
structures. At the other end I found a ramp leading up to a
wide raised slab which cut across our path—a sort of elevated
roadway. I had to get up on it or double back, so I gunned the
engine, sent the rig thumping up the steep ramp, and turned
left on the roadway, looking for a way down the other side,

because we were sitting ducks up here. The star-filled sky
crawled with red disks and blue cubes, most of them shooting
beams of pink fire at us. Colorful bastards, I had to give 'em
that.

I floored the power pedal and got some speed up. The
roadway was wide enough to permit cautious evasive action

—the edge was difficult to pick out. As we made our way
down the level road, I could see that the ground below was
dropping away. Then all of a sudden the ground left off
entirely, the road having become a bridge over a deep pit, at
the bottom of which lay things that looked like cranes and
wrecking equipment. There was no guardrail, and although
being up there would have been scary under any circum-
stances, getting shot at into the bargain provided that certain
zest, that sharp experiential tang, that.. .je ne sais quoi which
makes life worth living. He said blithely.

There was something lighting up the murk at the other end
of the bridge, something familiar yet frightening.

"What the hell is that?" Sam demanded, and I realized that
Sam had never seen what Carl had named a Tasmanian Devil.

"It's a real pain in the butt," I answered, braking hard.

Looking like a swirling tornado of red-orange fire, the
strange phenomenon slowly but steadily advanced toward us,
strange shadows writhing at its center. I slid the rig to a halt

—it was hard stopping in this gravity—and switched all the
monitors to real-view. The roadway wasn't wide enough to
execute a U-tum, and there wasn't time to back and fill, so I
slammed the transmission into reverse and floored it. This is
just the sort of thing you don't want to do with a trailer truck.
There was a very good chance that we'd wind up at the bottom
of the pit. But we really had no choice. I knew what that thing
would do if it caught us. When it caught us. I had first seen a
Devil back on a planet called Splash—it seemed a thousand
years ago. Roland and I had inadvertently unleashed one by
fiddling with the weapons controls on Carl's Chevy. This one,
and the one that had chased the spacetime ship, looked about
the same. There was something absolutely implacable about
it. It gave the impression that it would not stop until its as-
signed task of the complete destruction of its target was ac-
complished.




218 John DeChancie

The trailer was already angling toward the edge of the
roadbed. I cut the front rollers to the right, compensating and
straightening it out.

We didn't get very far back up the road. Something came
out of the pit and picked us off the bridge.

"Some kind of crane," Sam said, pressing his face against
the port and trying to look straight up. "Don't know what the
hell—some kind of magnetic gizmo."

Reeling us like a fish on a line, the gizmo or whatever it
was swung the rig out over the pit, dangled it there for a
moment, then began to lower it swiftly but carefully down. A
hole opened up at the bottom, and we descended through it.
The trailer hit the floor first, then the cab thumped down, not
ungently. There came a loud, echoing clang above us. Then
there was silence.

I looked around. In dim light I could see outlines and
shapes of things—machinery and the like. We were in a large
chamber, its farthest comers hid in shadow. The darkness was
a little unsettling, even though the scanners showed nothing
stirring out there.

"What now?" Sam wondered.

The engine was still running. I eased forward a mite, peer-
ing into the gloom. "I don't know. Can you see... ?"

The scanners went crazy as a towering dark shape outlined
in flashing lights came out from a hole in the wall. I focused
the rig's spotlights on it. Rising to about thirty meters, it was
an asymetrical structure composed of interconnected compo-
nents, and taken as a whole it appeared to be some sort of
mobile wrecking crane or other piece of heavy equipment. It
was jagged with mechanical arms and appendages, some of
them very wicked-looking, all of them capable of opening up
the rig like a hotpak dinner.

And it was coming for us.

(TW^)

22

"JAKE, I AM receiving a query," Bruce informed me, "presum-
ably originating from the Artificial Intelligence in control of
the mechanism which is advancing toward us."

"Tell it we come in peace," I said lamely.

"I do not think that is the issue. It is asking why we have
not been assigned a Disassemble Order Number, and demands
to know what sector and subsystem we have been decommis-
sioned from."

"Tell it to stand by for data transmission!" Sam barked.
"Done," Bruce said.

The hulking thing stopped in its tracks, lights flashing, its
Shiva-arms waving threateningly. Motes of light flickered on a
pyramid-shaped component at its top.

"Go to address OOOOH to 0002H!" Sam ordered.

"Done."

"Restart and move Source Library to Working Storage!"

"Done."

"Download!"

A minute later, Bruce said: "Done. Receiver acknowl-
edges."

Sam exhaled, looked at me and grinned. "When the check-
point guard asks for your papers, give him everything you got.
Swamp the bastard."

"Good move," I said.

"Let's hope it works."

The huge thing chewed the matter over for a moment,
standing there in the darkness. Then a grouping of lights re-
aligned itself along the monster's left flank.

"The mechanism informs me," Bruce relayed, "that it is

• 219




John DeChancie

220

having very little success in processing the data it has re-
ceived. It demands further data and clarification."
"System reset," Sam said.

"Done."

"Select datapipe B. Begin moving entire contents of Auxil-
iary Storage to CPU."

"CPU at capacity," Bruce stated.

"Download, then reload."

"Downloading."

Sam crossed his arms and snorted. "That ought to hold it."

It did for about thirty seconds. Then angry red lights blared

on the pyramidal structure.

"The mechanism informs me that it is not capable of pro-
cessing the data we are transmitting," Bruce said. "It instructs
us to follow it to a place where such a thing may be accom-
plished."

"He's taking us to see the Commandant," Sam said.

Some of the robot's components swiveled about, a few
lights changed pattern, and the thing began moving away. I
followed cautiously. The hulking contraption led us into the
high-arched tunnel that it had come out of, and as it entered it
reconfigured itself, reducing its height slightly. The tunnel ran
for about a quarter klick, debouching into a dim spacious cav-
ern full of gigantic equipment. I tagged after our robot captor
down a wide central aisle that ran straight through the
chamber and ended at another tunnel, this one shorter than the
first. It fed through into a smaller chamber clogged with pipes
and machinery. The aisle here branched at a Y, the left leg
leading to a tunnel mouth which looked small enough for the
robot to have a hard time squeezing into.

It didn't take me long to arrive at the decision. I had no
desire to see the Commandant. When we got to the Y, I
gunned the engine and swerved left, racing down the branch
and into the tunnel. The robot either hadn't noticed we had
gone the other way or wasn't willing to chase us; it showed no

reaction.

Maybe, I thought, because this tunnel is a direct chute to

the discombobulator.

But it wasn't. We came out onto a high suspended metal
ramp that curved through a perplexity of multicolored pipe-
lines, cables, and exotic technology. It was at least a ten-story

PARADOX ALLEY              221

drop off the edge, and overhead the tangle of conduits and
titanic machinery continued up out of sight. I slowed and
drove carefully; there was no guardrail, and it was a long
and very unpleasant way down.

"Sam, was that too easy, or am I just paranoid?" I said.
"Seemed just a tad too easy," Sam allowed.
We moved on, soaring through congested and confusing
spaces. The ramp took odd bends, banking crazily as it
swooped and swerved. Then it did something that made me
come to a full stop.

"Either this roadway has artificial gravity, or it's for flies
only," Sam deduced.

A few feet ahead the ramp did an outside loop, curving
under itself and doubling back. It then twisted and spiraled
downward, finally leveling off a dozen stories below. I looked
at Sam. He shrugged. I shrugged, too. Why not?

It was the best roller coaster I ever rode. A little disorient-
ing, though, as there seemed to be about four equally valid
centers of gravity to contend with. As we came shooting down
the final dip, my stomach was debating whether to turn itself
inside out or plant soybeans this winter.

We moved on, encountering more nonsense. I could have
sworn that at one point we were crawling across the ceiling,
instead of the floor, of a huge compartmented chamber. I be-
came convinced of this as loose debris in the cab began to fall
up. Then it all fell to the driver's side. I peeled a dirty sock off
my face and considered taking a Dramamine pill. I had a
headache, and the contents of my stomach were sloshing
about. Daria looked a little green.

"How long do we do this," Sam asked, "before we admit to
ourselves that we're lost?"

I looked back and forth between two branches of a diverg-
ing ramp, considering the choice. "We were lost when the
saucer crashed," I said. "Now we're just making a proper job
of it."

"Maybe Arthur knows how to get out of here," Daria said.
"Holy heck," I said, "I forgot all about him." Switching a

mike to the intercom circuit, I called, "Hey, Arthur! You okay

back there?"

"Wonderful," came the robot's voice.
"You don't sound happy."




John DeChancie

"Things could be better."

"Do you want to ride up here in the cab?" I asked.

"If you want me to."

"As a matter of fact, you might be of some help." I
scratched my beard stubble. "Trouble is, you probably can't
squeeze through the access tube."

"If you're talking about that hatch at the front end of the
trailer, you're probably right," Arthur said. "Actually, I may
be able to do more good back here. I have some of the ship's
sensors activated."

"Do you know where we are?"

"Only generally. What we want to do is to find an access
terminal that will allow us to plug into the computer network
that runs Microcosmos."

I looked at Sam, who chuckled. "Uh, I think we were on
our way to one when we got lost," I said.

"I know all about it, I was listening in. Yes, that's where
that maintenance robot was taking us, I think, though you
were probably wise to play it safe, even if we did get lost. No
matter, there must a terminal around here somewhere."

We meandered for a while longer, touring the guts of the
machine that was Microcosmos.

Presently Bruce announced: "I have made contact with an
Artificial Intelligence who seems to act in the capacity of a
supervisor, of sorts."

"I'm linked with it, too," Arthur said through the intercom
circuit, which I'd left open. "It's a subsystem coordinator. Get
off the line, Bruce. I'll handle it."

"Very well," Bruce said.

Moments passed until I grew impatient. "What's up, Ar-
thur?"

"Hold your pants on," Arthur said peevishly. "I'm being
routed up through the hierarchy."

More time passed in silence.

"Okay," Arthur finally said with a sigh. "You may find this
hard to believe—I did—but the artificial brains in charge of
running the machinery of Microcosmos don't seem to know
about Prime. At least I couldn't get any sort of recognition out
of them. However, they do seem to know about the Goddess.
She seems to swing a lot of influence around here—which

PARADOX ALLEY

223

makes sense when you think about all the trouble we've been
having."

"Exactly," I said. "And that may mean we'll never get off
this pancake alive."

"Don't give up hope, dearie. We do have some friends on
this world. I've managed to get a message to the industrial
facility where we hid out before. I got a reply. It looks like
they'd be delighted to have us back, and we can travel there
under their auspices."

"They can guarantee us safe passage?" I asked skeptically.
"Practically. The situation has grown into a sort of an in-
ternal political tussle. I don't think the Goddess will want to

interfere, at least not at this point."

"Okay," I said. "How do we get to the plant from here?"
"I've arranged for transportation. We're taking the train.

And if you take that ramp to the right, we should reach the

station in about ten minutes."

I followed Arthur's directions, and ten minutes later on the
dot we entered a high-ceilinged chamber bathed in red light.
The layout of the place was complex, but you could see that a
wide, slightly concave track or raised platform ran through the
middle of it all. Suddenly things started shooting by at phe-
nomenal speed—odd machinery, huge wrecking cranes like
the one that had collared us, unidentifiable gadgets and doo-
dads, all skimming along and levitating slightly above the
track.

"What do we do now?" I asked Arthur.
"Sit tight."

A few moments later a gigantic crane arm reached out of a
crimson shadow, picked the rig up, swung it out over the
track, and lowered it down. A force caught us, and we were

whisked away along the track at tremendous acceleration. It
nearly broke my neck.

Eventually the G-forces fell off and our speed steadied.

"I nearly got killed back here," Arthur complained over the
intercom. "All this loose junk... and that stupid damned au-
tomobile!"

"You okay?" I asked.

"I'll live."

"I thought you weren't alive in the conventional sense."

224 John DeChancie

"I wouldn't be able to stand it."

Our speed was fantastic; everything outside was a blur. We
shot through another huge chamber in the blink of an eye,
entered a tunnel and sped through it, hurtling toward a mote of
pink light.

"Jake?" It was Darla.

"Yeah?"

"Did Arthur say what I thought he said?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it's back there."

Darla was thunderstruck. "Jake, how?"

"I don't know," I said.

"But..." She groaned, exasperated. "Which one is it? The
one Carl created, or the one... ?"

"You were saying?"

"Oh, Jake, I'm confused."

"You're confused." Then I remembered something Prime
had told me. Everything will be returned to you.

We plunged headlong into darkness, periodically flashing
in and out of eye-stabbing light. Our speed must have been
something close to five hundred kph, but I didn't feel like
asking Bruce to confirm it. I kept my grip tight on the control
bars and my left foot heavy on the brake pedal; there was no
telling when I might suddenly regain control.

"Arthur," I called. "How far?"

"How far to the plant? Oh, I don't know. At this speed
we'll be there in a few more minutes."

He was right. It wasn't long before we began to decelerate
at a mercifully gentle rate.

"Now, if I can't get the spacetime ship started again," Ar-
thur went on, "you can make a dash for the central portal. The
plant is about a half day's drive from it, as the crow flies."

"We'd never make it," I told him. "Any chance of taking
the train to a point near enough to the portal so that we'd have
at least a fighting chance?"

"I'll work on it," Arthur said. Then he heaved a mortal
sigh and lamented, "This was a peaceful world before you

humans arrived."

I asked, "Was anything at all going on before we arrived?"

"No. And that's just the way I like it."

"Sorry, but coming here wasn't our idea."

"I know, I know," he acknowledged grudgingly.

PARADOX ALLEY              225

We had come to a full stop inside another station, and
another crane lifted us off the track and deposited us on a high
ramp. I started the engine and drove off, again following Ar-
thur's directions.

"How the hell can you see outside?" I interrupted.

"I told you, I'm partially hooked into the ship's sensorium.
Seeing through walls is child's play."

"Oh, sure," I said.

"Never mind. Make the first right."

I did, running up a wide ramp that went through a large
rectangular opening. We entered an area that looked like a
loading dock, and something about it was familiar.

"We should be here," Arthur said.

"I am in contact with the plant foreman," Bruce said.

"Put him on," I said.

There was a pause. "Some difficulty in audio reception,"
Bruce informed us. "Possibly due to our position. I suggest
proceeding directly to the Display Area."

"Urn... Jake?" It was Arthur.

"Yeah?"

"Is there—" The intercom went dead.

I tested the intercom switch, found nothing wrong with it.
"Bruce, do we have problems here?"

"Yes, Jake, a short in the circuit. It will take a few minutes
to locate it."

"Not important. Just get me to the showroom."

A huge sliding door was opening to our right. "That way,"
Bruce said.

A few more turns and we were back where Carl and I had
first seen our respective dreams made real. Still no plant fore-
man, though.

"Bruce, what's going on?"

"Sorry, Jake. We seem to have sustained some damage to
our communications hardware."

"You should have reported it before this," Sam said, his
eyes suspicious.

"First opportunity," I ventured. "Right, Bruce?"

"Don't make excuses for him," Sam snapped. "He doesn't
need them, anyway. He can't—"

"Sam, hold it," I said, cocking my ears. A sound was con-
ducting through the bulkhead, faintly.




226

John DeChancie

"I guess that's the foreman," I said. "Jesus, Bruce, are the
outside mikes dead, too?"
"I'm afraid so, Jake."

"Damn it, anyway." I groused, popping the hatch.
"Jake, wait a minute!" Sam shouted, too late, as the hatch

hissed upward.

"Don't twitch a muscle," said the man who was pointing
the gun at my face. I recognized him as Geof Brandon, one of
Zack Moore's gunsels. "Not one move, mate," he growled,
climbing up one more rung of the mounting ladder and shov-
ing the gun barrel under my chin. "I owe you," he rasped.
"I'll pay you back later for sure, and I'll bum your fucking
face off right now if you blink a bloody fucking eye."

Zack Moore himself walked into my field of vision. He
smiled. "Hello, Mr. McGraw. I do believe we have you."

And from the computer's vocal synthesizer came the voice

ofCoreyWilkes.

"That's right, Jake," he laughed. "And this time it's for

good."

(T^W^l

23

TiffiRE WERE FOUR left out the original band of nine men.
Krause had told me about the two who had succumbed to the
hardships of the grueling trip to Microcosmos, and Moore
now informed me that three, including Krause, had perished
in the road battle. Of the survivors, I knew Brandon, of
course; him I had shoved through the access port of an out-
house back on Talltree. Apparently he was still rather miffed
about that. The other two I recognized from the little tussle we
had had on the Roadbug Garage Planet. Zack Moore was the
leader. He was a big man, large-boned and tall, thick-limbed
and unyielding, like the massive trees of his home planet. His
roots went deep; they were like braided iron cable, and they
were tough, and mean. He looked as though he'd lost some
weight. His face was thinner, paler. It made his eyes more
intense, two motes of fire in a pale cinder of a face.

Arthur was outside—Moore had asked him to leave, and
Arthur was only too willing to oblige, with the proviso that he
be allowed to take the collapsed spacetime ship with him.
After examining it, Moore scratched his head and reluctantly
agreed.

Arthur was apologetic. "This is a strictly human affair,
Jake. It's not my place to interfere."

"I understand," I told him.

"No, you don't, but I don't blame you."

Sadly, Arthur left through the rear door. It closed behind
him.

This was a reunion of sorts. Everybody who wanted a
piece of my carcass was there, including the late Corey
Wilkes. He attended by proxy, of course—that being a rogue
Artificial Intelligence program imbued with his memories and

227




228

John DeChancie

personality traits. A while back it had invaded the rig's on-
board computer, at one point managing to wrest control from
Sam himself. Sam had fought back and eventually prevailed,
but apparently with Sam out of the picture there had been
nothing to prevent the Wilkes program from breaking out of
its restraints and regaining control, this time disguising itself
as the A.I. operating system that had come with the com-
puter's software package. "Bruce" had played his role well,
biding his time, fooling the hell out of me.

Joining in on the fun was another nonhuman being who
wanted a pound of my flesh, Twrrrll the Reticulan, former
leader and sole surviving member of his Snatchgang. A tall,
gaunt nightmare in pale green chitin, he stood in a far corner
of the trailer, his zoom-lens eyes focused on me. After all this
time, he was still hot on my trail, and wouldn't give up the
chase until either or both of us were dead.

A cozy bunch. We'd been through a lot together. Old

friends.

Moore whirled and hit me across the mouth hard with the

back of his hand. "That's just to start," he said.

Tasting blood, I tugged at the cuffs binding my hands at
my back. I hadn't gone down, and could have kicked at
Moore's crotch, but I didn't, for fear he might have killed me

right then and there.

"You can have the cube," I said.

"Decent of you to offer," Moore said. "We accept."

A dull, hollow thud came from inside the cab.

"That'd be Murray blowing the safe," Moore said.

"I would have given you the code," I said.

"And have us set off a booby trap? Not likely. Besides,
you'll have no further need for the safe. Or this lorry. In fact,
you won't have much need for anything at all, by and by."

"I don't understand you, Moore," I said.

"How so?"

"All this trouble, all this effort. All for a dead Corey
Wilkes—or is it George Pendergast who's calling the shots

here?"

"I'm not quite dead," the voice of Corey Wilkes said

through the trailer speakers.

"Corey, you died years ago," Sam said, shifting his weight.
He and the others—John, Zoya, Daria, Oni, and Ragna—

PARADOX ALLEY              229

were sitting cross-legged in a circle at the front of the trailer.

The voice giggled. "Sam, I'm still not used to addressing
you in the flesh. I assume that is flesh, or some reasonable
facsimile. When I first saw you like that, I nearly blew my
cover. Quite a shock. But to answer your accusation, Sam—
no. I didn't die years ago. We simply began to think differ-
ently. Rather, I did. My woridview diverged radically from
yours. And, of course—"

"We don't have time for this," Moore barked.

"I think we do," Wilkes said evenly.

"Guv!" Murray came crawling through the connecting
tube. "Guv, there're two of the buggering things!"

Zack eyed me, then looked at Murray. "What are you
blathering about?"

"There were two cubes inside the safe. Here!"

He threw one out, and Moore caught it. Then he threw an
identical cube. Moore caught the second, dropped the first,
picked it up, and stood staring at both.

"I'm buggered and damned," he said.

I laughed. It hurt, so I quit.

"What's the meaning of this?" Moore demanded.

"Two cubes," I said, my fattened lip moving painfully.
"One I came with, one I created here, in this industrial facil-
ity."

Moore snorted. "You don't say." He tossed them both to
the third gunsel, then sidled between two crates and walked
over to where the Chevy, in one of its many incarnations, was
parked. He grabbed one of the door handles and yanked. The
door didn't give. He thumbed the little cylinder on me lock,
pushing it in and out.

"Now, this thing," he said. "You wilt be kind enough to
give us the key."

"Don't have it," I said.

For that I got a whack on the head with something hard but
not too damaging. I turned to see Geof Brandon brandishing a
length of thin, hollow titanium pipe—a tent pole, probably. It
had stung.

Moore smiled pleasantly. "Want to amend that answer?"
"No."

I ducked this time. Geof missed, but got me on the
backswing.

230

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

231

"Sure?"

"Yes."

Geof whipped me across the backs of the thighs.

"Look, you can have the car. God damn it, but I'm telling

you I don't have the key!"

Moore raised a hand to stay Geof's. "Forget it. Murray,

take a look at this lock."

' Murray rummaged through a tool kit he'd brought on
board, selected a flex-torque wrench and a long thin metal rod
that looked good for picking old-fashioned mechanical locks,
then sidestepped his way to the Chevy.

"You never answered my question, Moore," I said,

"What question was that?"

"Who's pulling your strings?"

That got me another whack across the cranium.

"Nobody pulls my strings," Moore said mildly. "Or hasn't
that been clearly established? I have been misled, though." He
scanned the trailer and caught sight of one of the computer's
camera eyes. "Misled. Hoodwinked. Led down the garden

path."

"If I had ears," Wilkes' voice said, "they'd be burning."

Moore snorted.

"Then what's your motive, Zack?" I persisted, my ears
ringing from the last blow. "Don't tell me your beef against
me was what made you chase us to the end of the universe."

"Why not? I've been known to bear a grudge for far less
than what you did to me... but you're right. My motives
were strictly patriotic. We had to get that map from you, or the

Outworids are sunk."

"Oh, bullshit." Another stroke of the tent pole creased my
back. Wincing and blinking back tears, I rasped, "Moore,
listen to me. Hasn't it sunk in yet? The cube isn't a map. It

never was!"

"Of course it's sunk in. It's branded in my hide, advertising

me as the biggest fool in the cosmos. But now I need the
blasted thing—both of them, I guess, though I don't under-
stand that part of it. I need the cubes to buy off this insane

planet."

"So you've got 'em. So get the hell out of my truck!"
Before Geof could lay on another stroke I pivoted sharply,

brought my knee up waist high, and struck out with a kick to

his chin, leading with the side of the foot. It caught him
squarely, and he went flying into a pile of loose junk, out
cold.

The third gunsel swung his weapon around to me but held
off firing. I could tell by his eyes that he was very close to just
letting me have it, but I'd frozen immediately after delivering
the kick, and was far enough away to give him time for sec-
ond thoughts.

I stood, unmoving, looking at him. A chuckle from Moore
broke the tension, and he relaxed.

"Very good move," Moore said. "I was wondering when
you were going to get a belly full of old Geof." He sighed.
"Poor Geof. Dim as they come, I'm afraid." His expression
turned wistful. "I wish Jules* heart hadn't given out. Jules had
a head on him." He sighed again, and turned toward Murray,
who was probing the lock with the metal rod. "How goes it?"

"It looks simple," Murray complained, "but it isn't."

"Zack," I said, "do you really want that vehicle, or will
you settle for an exact duplicate?"

"Eh?"

"This factory can turn out a thousand copies of that auto-
mobile in ten minutes—will, if the plant takes a liking to you.
That thing was designed and produced here."

"What are you talking about?"

"Didn't the Goddess tell you? This is where we got the car
in the first place."

Moore scowled. "But you had it before you ever reached
Microcosmos. How could it have come from here?"

"It's a paradox. Ask the Goddess."

Moore grunted. "Try to get a straight answer out of her.
You haven't had to deal with... with that thing."

"You don't need the cube, either. I know a way back. I
have a map. The real map. It's yours if you leave the others
out of it."

Moore gave me a level stare. "Where?"

"In the computer."

Moore slowly turned his gaze toward the camera. "True?"

"Absolutely," Wilkes' simulacrum said.

Moore smiled thinly. "You were waiting for the perfect
moment to tell me—is that it?"

"Of course."




232 John DeChancie

"Of course." Moore walked slowly, arms akimbo, toward
the tiny box-and-cyiinder affair of the camera, looking into the
lens. "It's painfully obvious that you want something, Wilkes.
But for the life of me, I can't understand why you think you're
in a position to bargain for it."

"Think again."

"I can just take that map. Murray knows computers."

"I'll erase it before you can pull my plug."

Moore stopped and stamped his foot. The trailer shook.
"Damn you! You're dead. I saw them bury you. And here you
are, scheming your way through eternity—"

The Wilkes program laughed.

Moore sighed again. He looked tired, very tired. "What do
you want?"

"Well, this is a little embarrassing... but I don't quite
know. Um, let me put it this way—I know what I want, but I
don't know who exactly to bargain with. That is to say, I have
an idea of who to dicker with, but the notion won't—"

"What do you wanfl" Moore said tightly.

"Why, a fine new body, like Sam's."

Moore was exasperated. "/ certainly can't give it to you!"

"No, you can't. But maybe Jake can."

Moore's eyes grew wary. "Oh?"

"Sure. I know the plant, what it can do. It can manufacture
almost anything. It surely could fabricate me a body as good
as Sam's. I'd be willing to bet that Prime had Sam's built
here. Now, I don't think the plant would do it for me—in
fact, I'm fairly sure they wouldn't. But Jake's got a rep as
something of an artiste around here. Right Jake? They'd do
anything you'd tell them to do."

"Why not?" I said. "Sure, Corey. It's a deal."

"Wait just a bloody minute here," Moore said. "There's no
deal unless I'm in. Now, is that understood?" He waited. "I
said, is that underst—"

There came a flash of light and a loud crackle from the rear
of the trailer. Moore jumped back and dropped to his knees,
gun drawn. A column of blue smoke rose from where Murray
had been standing. I looked. A pile of carbonized matter lay
on the deck—a blackened thigh bone, a rib, a shard of skull.
There was nothing else but a heap of ash.

PARADOX ALLEY

233

Moore rose slowly. He stepped cautiously toward the car,
peering at the charred remains of his employee. The stench of
burnt flesh filled the trailer. Moore's face drained, then filled
with cold anger. He turned his gun on me.

"God damn you," he breathed, then screamed, "God damn
you!"

He drew a bead on my forehead.

"No."

The word fell between us like a carcass dropped from the
ceiling. The voice that had uttered it was not human.

Twrrrll stepped out of the shadows. He held a small hand
weapon, and it was trained on Moore.

"No," he repeated. "The Sacrrred Quarrry cannot be dam-
aged."

Moore didn't move, keeping his deadly aim.
"Don't, Zack," Wilkes' voice warned. "Wouldn't be wise
...just now."

Time passed, a short eternity or two.

Slowly, Moore let the gun drop. "Tie his feet, Darrell," he
told his only conscious helpmate. "Then see if you can bring
Geof around."

Darrell had me sit. He was very careful not to give me an
opening for a move. He tied me with more of the plentiful
rope they had brought.

Geof finally came to. I hadn't broken his neck, much as I
wished I had. Rubbing his chin, he picked up his gun and
stood up shakily.

"Bring her over here," Moore then instructed, pointing at
Darla.

I strained against my bonds. There was nothing I could do.
"She's pregnant, Zack," Darrell said uneasily.

"So?" Moore thundered. "If you haven't the balls for

it..."

Darla didn't look at me. Her face was grim, but resolute. I
was glad she didn't look at me. It would have been worse.

They had her down when something happened outside.
There was a light so intense that, somehow, it seeped into the
dark of the trailer.

Moore rose, cursing. "It's her," he said.

Suddenly the back door flew up and white light flooded the

234 John DeChancie

place. To me it was a divine presence, a deliverance.

"SHOW YOURSELVES, MORTALS," came an amplified
voice. I recognized it.

Moore debated with himself before taking only one of the
cubes. His face was pale, but he steeled himself and moved
forward, squeezing around the Chevy. When he reached the
opening, he dropped to his knees.

"We hear. Great Lady," he said, shielding his eyes from the
source of divine light high above. "We have the object you
desire."

There was a slight hesitation before the voice answered
sharply. "YES. YES, VERY GOOD. IS THAT FT?"

"Yes, Great Lady."

"GOOD. TELL YOUR COMPANIONS TO COME OUT,
I WISH TO SEE THEM. NOT YOUR CAPTIVES—THE
OTHER ONES IN YOUR BAND."

Geof and Darrell began moving, but Moore waved them
back.

"See here... Goddess," Moore said tentatively.

"WHAT IS IT?" The voice was impatient.

"We had an agreement. Here is the cube, the object you
told us to obtain for you. We did so, at great peril... we paid
a dear price." He grunted in discomfort, and rubbed his eyes.
The light was much too bright to bear. "I... can't see you,
Great Lady," he said.

"NEVER YOU MIND. I GAVE YOU AN ORDER, AND
I EXPECT IT TO BE CARRIED OUT. PRONTO. ER,
RIGHT NOW."

"What order?" Moore said suspiciously.

"I TOLD YOU TO COME OUT OF THAT TRUCK,
THAT'S WHAT ORDER. AND LEAVE YOUR WEAPONS
BEHIND, TOO."

"What? I—" Moore strained mightily to see through the
blinding glare. "Look! If you'd cut out the bloody theatrics for
a moment—"

"DON'T USE THAT TONE OF VOICE WITH ME,
SLIMEBALL! WHEN I SAY RABBIT, YOU HOP. UNDER-
STAND? AND FURTHERMORE—"

Moore was beside himself. "Just a bloody minute!"

Sam chose that moment to move. I didn't have time to
wonder how he'd gotten free of the extra-sturdy lumberjack

PARADOX ALLEY

235

rope, because things started happening very quickly. He came
running out of the front of the trailer, slamming into Geof
after delivering a neck chop en passant to Darrell, who fell
over. Sam and Geof tussled on the floor for a moment, then
the gun popped out of their combined grasp and hit the floor.
They both dove for it. Next thing I knew, John was cutting me
free; I hadn't seen where he'd come from. As I clawed free of
the ropes I heard the sizzle and saw the flash of energy dis-
charge. John ducked. I crawled over to Darrell to look for his
gun. The voice was still booming outside. Inside, shouts and
general commotion. Glancing up, I saw Zoya on her feet,
wielding a hunting knife. I found the gun and rolled toward
the back of the trailer, coming to my knees beside the right
rear tire of the Chevy. I popped to my feet, saw Moore aiming
over the automobile's roof. I raised Darrell's machine pistol
and let loose about ten rounds at him, then fell to my knees
again. It was quiet toward the front of the trailer. I glanced
back. Everyone was down. I could see Daria—she was hud-
dling behind some empty food cartons; she was okay.

"Sam?" I called.

"He's hit, Jake," I heard John say.

There was no movement at the back of the Chevy. I de-
cided to risk it and charged to the rear door. Moore wasn't
visible. Outside, the light had dissipated.

"John!" I yelled. "Can you see him on the other side of the
car?"

"No, he must have jumped out."

I heard running feet out in the showroom. I poked my head
out the rear opening and looked toward the front of the truck.
Moore was running full tilt across the glossy blue floor. I
brought the pistol up and got off a few rounds just as he
disappeared through the entrance to a tunnel leading to one of
the main factory buildings.

I went back inside.

Sam's eyes were closed, but he was breathing, which was
miraculous in light of the massive chest wound he'd sustained.
The energy bolt had seared a twisted black bum from his
abdomen to the base of his neck.

"Do what you can," I said to John quietly. "I'm going after
Moore."

Daria was at my side, her grip tight on my upper arm.

236

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

237

"Don't go, Jake," she said. "Let's get out—let's leave."

I took my jacket off and covered her. I kissed her.

"He must die," I said.

Zoya was standing over Geof. There was a hunting knife in
his back. I put one arm around her and hugged. She was stiff,
unyielding. "Good work," I said.

"I have never killed before," she said.

"How did you get the knife?"

"It was right next to me, under a loose piece of paper. They
didn't bother to check. And they sat us so that we could pass
the knife back and forth." She ran a hand through her chestnut-
brown hair. "Stupid of them."

Daria said, "Our last joyride really messed up things back
here. That's Sean's knife, I think. I remember putting it inside
this tool case. See? It fell and popped open."

I hugged Zoya again, then checked Darrell, who hadn't
moved since he'd gone down. His neck was broken, and he

was dead.

"Where's the Reticulan?" I asked, suddenly remembering.
Ragna said, "The beast left in all hastiness when the shoot-
ing is commencing." He pointed to the access tube.

"Damn. We'll have to check out the cab and aft-cabin."
"Hi, there!" came Arthur's voice from the back of the

trailer.

I went back and lowered the lift for him. He stepped on

and came up.

"Did you see the Reticulan out there?" I asked.

"That ugly one in the chartreuse chitin? He took off after
the other one. Did you like my little show?"

"Show?"

"I thought my performance was especially brilliant in light
of the fact that I've never really heard the Goddess speak in

person."

"That was you?" I said in astonishment.

"Sure was. Tell me I'm not a true thespian."

"You're a genius."

Arthur feigned protest. "Oh, really, it was nothing."

"Thanks," I said.

"Thank the plant people. They handled the special ef-
fects. ..."

"Only too happy to oblige," the plant foreman said, its
voice as usual coming out of thin air. "Issue was debated, and
was decided that some form of indirect intervention was re-
quired."

"Again, we owe you," I said.

"Small matter."

I went back to check on Sam.

"Strangest thing," John said. "The wound is healing. See?"
He ran his hand very lightly along Sam's wound, brushing
away crumbs of fried, charred flesh. Underneath was whitish
scar tissue. "Remarkable. He's still out, though. Pulse good,
and—"

Sam's eyes fluttered.

"Sam!" I said, kneeling beside him.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. "Yeah?"

"You okay?"

"Feel okay." He began to scratch his chest, but John
stopped him. "Itches like hell," he complained.

"I think you're going to be fine," I said.

"Would you believe I tripped over some junk and let him
grab the gun? If you'd clean up this damn place once in a
while—"

"Sam, shut up."

"You talk to your father like that?"

"Rest up and you can chew me out later. Moore got away
—I'm going after him."

"Don't be a fool."

"I do believe he's left the plant by now," Arthur said.
"Their vehicles were parked in a loading dock not far from
here."

"What about the Reticulan?"

"The security systems are reporting that two 'life-units'
have 'exited facility,'" Arthur said, apparently hearing a re-
port on the electromagnetic wind.

Sam got to his feet, John helping. "There's something I
have to do, Jake. No, I'm okay."

He crawled through the access tube. I followed. When I
got to the aft-cabin, Sam was standing at the bulkhead, undo-
ing the plate over the CPU housing.

"Hello, Jake," said Bruce's voice. "Sam here seems to




238 John DeChancie

think that we need a complete reformatting of auxiliary stor-
age. I was trying to explain to him that that action would
necessitate—"

"Forget it, Wilkes," I said. "We're not falling for it."

"Jake, I don't think you understand. The mole program
you call Corey Wilkes has relinquished control to me. There is
no need—"

"SHUT UP!" I said, then took a deep breath. "It's over,
Corey."

A pause, then: "Sam, please." It was Wilkes' voice.

"No, Corey," Sam said, lifting the protective lid over the
RESET switch. "Time to call it a day."

"I see," Wilkes' voice said quietly.

Sam stood, poised with his finger over the red switch. "I
should hate you, Corey. But I don't. I've always felt sorry for
you. I don't think you've ever enjoyed one minute of your
life."

After a long silence: "Push it, Sam." There was a sound
not unlike a sigh. "I'm... I'm really very, very tired."

Sam pushed the switch. A few red lights appeared on the
CPU.

And another human life ended. Somehow, it's always sad,
no matter what.

(T^W^T)

24

WITHIN AN HOUR, Sam's wound had reduced itself to a long,
thin white crease. A little later, you could barely see it.

"Damned efficient body you got there," I said.

"Isn't it, though?" Sam concurred.

It took some time to get the computer back into shape. We
had to load all the software back in, using the master pipettes,
then run checks and so forth. We called up the real Wang A.I.
and set it to work. It takes a fully sapient and very versatile
computer to monitor and control a vehicle such as the one we
drove. I didn't give the A.I. a name this time. Didn't much
feel like it. "Computer" was good enough.

Arthur told us that the spacetime ship still wasn't function-
ing. "Oh, it's repairing itself, but the job is going very
slowly," he said. "It really got messed up. Don't worry. You
can take the train to within three-hundred kilometers of the
master portal."

"That's not close enough," I said. "We have at least three
enemies left on this planet—Moore, the Reticulan, and the
Goddess, if she's still bent on our destruction. Pretty formida-
ble alliance, there. I think I'd like to wait for the spacetime
ship to get itself squared away."

"Perhaps you're right. Okay, we'll wait."

"Anything the factory can do?"

Arthur shook his head. "I doubt it. This is a manufacturing
facility, not a fix-it shop."

Even though we'd completely erased all data in auxiliary
storage, we hadn't lost the Roadmap. I still had the pipette the
Goddess had given me. I hadn't even bothered to put it in the
safe; it had been in a storage box all the time. It was a job
loading it back in, but we did have some time to kill.

239




240

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

241

A day passed. Then we got a report that a "life unit" had

entered the plant.

"Does Security have any idea who?" I asked Arthur.
"They say that this life unit is one of the same sort that left
yesterday—beyond that they don't say. I don't think they're
really equipped to tell the difference between life forms. The
plant is very light on security. After all, it's a showcase opera-
tion, not a top-secret project sort of thing."

"It's probably Moore," I said, feeling my stomach tighten.

"I'm going after him."

"No, you won't," Sam declared, "even if I have to hog-tie

you."

"There's no other way," I said. "He has an all-powerful
ally, along with an armored van and who knows what else.
He'll harass us all the way to the portal. I've got to deal with

him now."

"Why do you have to deal with him? I'll go." He put up a

hand. "Okay, okay, we'll both go."

"Arc you insane? No way I'll leave the truck with only

John to defend it."

"Then stay here," Sam suggested.

"No. I have to go and settle this once and for all."

John said mildly. "There's no dilemma if I were to go with
you, is there? That way the lorry will be in good hands and
you'll have at least some backup."

I winced. "Sorry, John. I didn't mean it the way it

sounded."

John smiled, his light-brown face looking tired and drawn.
"I understand. You're quite right, too. Sam can handle it. And
you're doubly right on our going out to meet him. I don't
relish sitting and waiting for the next lightning bolt to strike.
No telling what Moore's doing, skulking about the place. We
must take the offensive."

"Then it's settled," I said.

Sam nodded, shrugging. "I'll have to admit, John has a
point or two." He crossed his beefy arms and sighed. "Oh,
God. Right, go ahead. And for my sake, at least, be careful.
I'm an old man. This constant excitement is bad for my con-
stitution."

"What, is your atomic-powered heart beating too fast?" I

scoffed. "Look at him. He's twenty-five if he's a day. Has
more hair than I do."

We devised a foolproof plan. Arthur would keep a line
open to Security and relay the intruder's position to Sam, with
whom I'd stay in radio contact. I took the last of our supply of
button transponders along; a few of those placed strategically
at various points along our planned route of attack would sat-
isfy our signal-bouncing needs.

John and I armed ourselves and set out into the plant. We
had the intruder pinpointed. He had entered the building hous-
ing the Monomagnetic Mirror Array and had stayed there.
John and I planned to surprise him, chase him into a blind
alley, and get him in a cross fire. When we got as far as the
Submicron Fractionating Assembly, we split up.

The place was quiet once again. It had buzzed and howled
for us, but now there was no one to work for, no new designs
to think through, no prototypes to test and evaluate. Had the
plant ever operated on a regular basis, or had it always been,
as Arthur had said, a showcase, a world fair (universe fair?)
exhibit? No matter; it was silent now, and would be, possibly,
for the rest of its existence. Or until more candidates arived on
Microcosmos. If any. I wondered about that. Were we indeed
the first? Nobody had said for sure. When were more intrepid
explorers expected? Week after next... or in two million
years? But time wasn't an element on Microcosmos. It didn't
matter. They would come, surely.

I walked through the quiet and the shadows. There was a
dry, clean, industrial smell in the air. A shaft of light from a
lone high window speared the gloom, and where its end
touched the shiny green floor, an array of monoliths sat in a
pool of sunlight. On banks of control instruments, a few lights
glowed—all this equipment on standby, ready at a moment's
notice to come to life, to work, to get out the product, fill the
quota, produce.

I stopped and put what used to be Sam's key close to my
lips. It was now just a computer terminal, but it could be used
as a walkie-talkie as well.

"Intruder still stationary," Sam said. "Where are you?"

"I'm just about to cut through the machine shop that abuts
on the north wing of the Mirror Array. Once I get through




242 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 243

there, I'll be practically on top of him. John should be coming
through the Diffusion Ring complex now."

"Check. Be careful."

"Will do. Over and out."

I walked on. Robot arms, poised to do someone's bidding,
reached out of shadow at me. They would work at blinding
speed to make anybody's dream a reality, if they were given
the right instructions. I passed a mobile worker-robot—a sub-
system engineering supervisor, probably—dormant, standing
by, waiting silently at its station. Farther on, a tall shadow in
an alcove startled me—but it was only a maintenance robot.

The key's call light blinked. I answered.

"Jake, intruder is moving. Repeat, intruder is moving."

"Acknowledged," I said. "Which way?"

'Toward you."

"Great. I'm keeping the channel open."

I proceeded slowly, staying in shadow and moving as si-
lently as possible. I stopped, listened. Nothing. I moved on,
pausing every few meters, ears cocked.

Suddenly, a beeping tone. Somewhere behind me. Then
another. A faint whirring sound. I froze. No. Just some ma-
chine clearing its circuits, draining off a buildup of static
charge. Besides, wrong direction. He should be coming from
the north. I wondered where John was.

The key again. "Still moving toward the machine shop,"
Sam informed me. "Where are you?"

"I ducked into the little workshop or whatever it is adjacent
to it."

"Wait a minute... here it is on the map. Okay. Hell, looks
like the intruder is vectoring there."

"Then that's where I'll get him," I whispered.

"Stay put until you see him. He'll have to pass by the door
if he wants to get to the showroom."

I waited, watching, listening.

A few minutes later, Sam called again. "Anything?"

"No," I said whispering. "No sign."

"He should be on top of you."

I waited a few more minutes, then got impatient. "Are you
sure about intruder's position?" I asked.

"Yes,"

I looked around. Silence formed a wall around me. "I'm

moving to get a better angle on the doorway."

I crawled down a narrow aisle between two gigantic ma-
chines. There was only one door to the place, the one I'd
come in. Poking my head into the clear, I brought the machine
pistol up and aimed. I wouldn't fire when I saw him, but when
he passed, I'd move out and follow him. He wouldn't get
away. If he got anywhere near the truck, Sam would bum him
down. Good. We had all the angles covered. We'd thought of
everything.

Wrong. I hadn't thought that there might be an another'
entrance to the workshop. And there was one, high up in the
wall, through which a suspended ramp passed. The ramp con-
tinued its way into the shop, winding amongst the rafters,
overhead beams, and the clutter of suspended machine tools. I
craned my neck. A ladder. There was a ladder connecting it to
a lower ramp, this one passing directly overhead.

I sprang to my feet, tried to run... too late. Something
slammed into my back and sent me sprawling. The pistol skit-
tered across the floor and disappeared under a workbench.

I rolled, sat up. I was cornered, nowhere to run. Twrrrll
stood blocking the way. He wielded his ceremonial dagger,
with its black curving blade and jade-green hilt.

"Jake-frrriend," he trilled. "Sacrrred Quamy. I bid you
grrreeting."

I got up slowly. I had no weapon, but I would have to fight
him. This would be the second time I would be forced to fight
a largely ceremonial battle with a Reticulan hunter. I had won
the first round, defeating two opponents, Twrrrll's compan-
ions, in hand-to-hand combat. I didn't think I would be so
lucky this time. He could just shoot me, of course. His gun
was hanging from the leather harness he wore over his thorax.
But that wouldn't be honorable. He had to do me in with the
dagger for it to be an honorable kill. Rather, the usual tech-
nique was to hamstring the quarry, then gut it while it still
lived. Vivisect it. Flay it alive. The more the victim screamed,
the prettier the sacrifice.

"Long have I stalked you, Jake-frrriend," Twrrrll said.
"The trrrail was long and anrduous. Many times the spoom-
was lost, then found again."

I looked past him, hoping to see John at the door. No such
luck. Where the hell was that tall skinny black guy?




244 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 245

"Okay, Twr—" I spat. "Twer... Twrrrll." It was hard to
say his name under any circumstances, let alone when I was
scared witless. Never could trill the R just right. But then, I
was always terrible at languages. "Okay. I just want you to tell
me one thing."

"Yes?"

"Why do you do this?"

"Hunt? Because the... you would say, the blood. The
blood tells one."

"But you're civilized. Intelligent. Very intelligent. You
speak our languages well, while we can barely manage yours.
You have a technological civilization, advanced science, the
whole bit. Why can't you overcome the need to kill in this
manner?"

The big alien took a step forward, moving his huge bare
feet slowly. "Humans have no need?"

"Well..." It was hard to concentrate on winning debating
points.

"Do not humans kill theirrr own kind? This is something
we almost neverrr do."

"Bullshit."

"A denial? No, it is not usually necessarrry."

Maybe he was right. Reticulan societies were very rigidly
stratified and very stable, though top-heavy with useless no-
bility, of which Twrrrll was probably a sterling example.

"Your race is very unpopular. You spread ill will, resent-
ment toward your people."

"That is the way it has been, and must be."

He took another step forward. The smell of his phero-
mones—turpentine and almonds—filled my nostrils. I gagged.

There was nothing to do but rush him, try to duck through
those thin legs of his. No possibility of tangling with him; his
strength was phenomenal.

He stepped forward.

"You have become the most Sacrrred Quarrry of all, Jake-
frrriend. Thrrree times the nets caught you, thrrree times you
fought and escaped. The hunted has vanquished the hunterrr.
So be it."

I stood there with my mouth open. The alien was offering
the dagger to me, presenting it to me.

"Take this weapon. It now belongs to you. You have surr-

vived, and I have failed. I ask only that you turrm it against
me, hunted against the hunterrr. It is the only honorrr of which
I may still be worrrthy."

I overcame my shock and took the dagger.

"Does this mean I won't have to fight you?" I asked.

"The time for combat is past. Time now to end the hunt,
and the hunterrr." He crossed his forelimbs; it was a sign of
submission. "Do honorrr to me."

I stared at him.

His eyes—cylindrical camera-lens affairs—rotated back
and forth. Presently he said, "You will not do me the hon-
orrr?"

"Yes, I will," I said.

I approached the alien, knife in hand, looking for an ap-
propriate spot on the shiny chitin of his abdomen. I had no
doubt as to his sincerity. Stabbing underhanded, I plunged the
blade of the knife into his body and yanked upward. The
exoskeleton was tough, but capable of being cut; however, I
was in a bad position for leverage.

"Difficult?" the alien asked. "May I assist?"

I nodded. Twrrrll took the hilt in both hands and jerked the
knife upward. The carapace split like thin plastic. He ran the
knife up to the middle of the chest, pink froth oozing from
the wound.

Suddenly his head exploded in flame. An energy bolt had
come from the direction of the door. I looked.

It was John. He got off another shot, this one missing, just
as the alien fell. Then he came running over.

"You got him," he said breathlessly. "Thank God. And
with his own knife, too. Dreadfully sorry, but I looked all over
for you. How did you manage to comer him in here?"

I told him of Twrrrll's surrender. He could scarcely believe
it.

"Incomprehensible," he said, gazing at the alien's prostrate
form. "We'll never fathom the alien mind. Never."

"I'm not so sure it'd be a good idea if we did," I said.




(TW^)

25

IT FELT GOOD to be back on the road again.

We'd decided to take our chances at ground level. The
spacetime ship was still on the mend, and there was no telling
when it would heal itself. (Strange how easy it was to think of
the process in these terms). Besides, there was no guarantee
that we'd be safe in the ship. There were other reasons. I
didn't like being a passenger, being chauffeured about. It
made me feel vulnerable; I hate being helpless and not in
control. Moreover, as we were now down to two enemies—
Moore and his puppet-mistress—I decided that keeping to the
ground was a calculated risk we could afford to take. It might
even be the best way to go...

... I thought, grinding my teeth.

Of course, we all knew very well that it wasn't over. It was
only a matter of time before our enemies would move against
us once again.

The train let us off in an unusual region of Microcosmos—
unusual in the sense that we'd not seen terrain like this before.
It was mostly flat grassland, relieved here and there by sharp
low ridges proliferating in networks like wrinkles in a bed
sheet. Visibility was unlimited, and the master portal was a
vast gray smear on the "horizon."

"Well, we'll be able to see 'em coming for kilometers,"
Sam said.

"Miles and miles," I said.

Sam looked at me askance. "How much time did you say
you spent back in 1964?"

"About a month and a half, maybe less."

"Sure rubbed off. 'Miles' indeed."

This wasn't exactly sparkling conversation, but it filled in
the lulls. We were nervous and trying to make the best of it. It

248 John DeChancie

is profoundly disquieting to know that somewhere out there is
an all-powerful deity who wants to cancel your season ticket.
We talked about this. It was a way of relieving the psychologi-
cal discomfort.

"But if she's that powerful," Sam argued, "why can't she
just swoop down any time and pound us into hash?"

I said, "You should have been a theologian. John, this is
right up your alley, isn't it?"

John said, "My suspicion is that Prime is somehow inhibit-
ing the Goddess from making an overt move. I think that's
why she finds it necessary to work through human agents."

"Makes sense," I said, "until you try to speculate as to why
the Goddess has it in for us in the first place. And what is it
she wants to do, exactly? Wipe us out, or just prevent us from
going back? Or both?"

"That's a good one," Sam said. "You say she originally
asked you for the Black Cube?"

"Yeah. But now she has it. Or one of them, anyway."

"Maybe it was the wrong cube."

"There's only one cube, Sam. You've got to understand
that basic fact."

"Oh, I understand that basic fact, all right. I just don't want
to deal with the sucker."

I thumbed the intercom switch. "Arthur, old buddy! How's
it going back there?"

"Please, I'm nauseated."

"Now, just hold on a minute. Tell me how a robot can get
motion sickness. You're really not a robot, are you?" I had
suspected as much all along.

"Of course I'm a robot. Why can't a robot get motion sick-
ness?"

I grunted out a derisive laugh. "It just doesn't make sense."

"Nonsense. I feel pain, discomfort, the whole thing. In a
somewhat subdued form, though. Don't ask me to explain."

"For pity's sake, why? Why would your makers go to the
trouble of wiring you with pain circuits?"

"For the same reason you got wired with 'em. Excellent
mechanism for automatically protecting the organism. You in-
stinctively avoid pain, ergo anything that would tend to dam-
age you. Quod erat whatever. Wake me when we get there."

It was Arthur who had insisted on coming along. He main-

PARADOX ALLEY              249

tained that he was responsible for us and wouldn't feel as
though his obligation had been properly discharged until he'd
seen us safely through the correct portal. Besides, the space-
time ship might come in handy at some point, if and when it
cured itself of its ailments.

We were about two hours from the portal. I wasn't rushing,
just maintaining a steady speed. There was no use in hurrying.
They were out there, and would make an appearance at some
point. Count on it. For now, it was simply a matter of watch-
ing the road and waiting, keeping one or two extra eyes on the
sweep scanners, wondering when some innocuous gray dot
swimming in the murky stuff at the extreme range of vision
would suddenly turn into something wickedly sharp and well-
defined, move in at you and strike. No telling what it would
be: an armored car, perhaps, or a shimmering cube or other
shape, or maybe something you could barely comprehend,
some monstrous mind-denying unreality. It didn't matter. We
were dead no matter what. Because I had the feeling that we
had long ago scraped bottom, run out of tricks. We had
dodged one too many bullets. I was very worried.

Something else was bothering me.

We had already located the portal that led back to T-Maze,
and mapped a route to it through the congeries of highways
that twined among the forest of towering cylinders. But judg-
ing from what Arthur told us and from what we had learned
from the map, this portal would not send us back in time. We
would not arrive back in T-Maze paradoxically before we left.
This was not a "backtime" route, as Skyway travelers were
wont to say.

"The system's just not built that way," Arthur told us. "It
was designed to eliminate the possibility of a paradox."

"How was it done?" I asked.

"Dearie me, I couldn't give you specifics, but I do know
this. There is a sort of standard, objective time observed along
the entire length of the Skyway. It works so that the 'present'
always moves with the traveler. You'll never get ahead of it or
behind it. When you return to the place you left, the stretch of
time that has passed there is equal to the time you spent away.
Don't ask me how it's done. Actually, if you really want to get
technical about it, the time flows aren't exactly equal. There is
slippage, for some esoteric reason, but it amounts only to

250

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

251

nanoseconds. Due to quantum uncertainties, I think."

After all this time, after all the legends, the tall tales, the
stories told about me, the fact was that the way back still was
not clear. When I'd first laid eyes on her, Daria had acted as
though we'd met before, a meeting I knew very well never
occurred. She'd stuck to that story ever since. I'd come to
believe her, and my belief wasn't based entirely on my grow-
ing love for her. Other facts, other observations had persuaded
me. But now doubt gnawed again.

But no. How could it be? The Paradox, a creation of one
woman's harebrained scheming? I couldn't accept it.

Fine. So what was I telling myself? Were we headed for an
alternate reality, a universe where I didn't do my time loop,
my temporal backward somersault, where Daria and I had
never met the "first" time... a place where none of this hod
ever happened... ?

Or were we never going to make it back at all? I gritted my
teeth. No, damn it. I would not permit myself to think that
way. It was up to me. Somewhere up ahead, one of those
roads led back through time. I had come here by way of the
Rsd Limit Freeway, and now I would have to find the short-
cut, the little side street that led directly back to where I
started. I would have to find Paradox Alley.

Red lights yelled at me from the instrument panels.

"Looks like we're suffering high radiation losses in the
plasma," Sam said. "Bremsstrahlung reading is way up, and
electron temperature is dropping."

"Kink instability?" I asked.

"Looks more subtle than that. Just guessing, but we may
have a software foul-up here."

Which meant that, although the engine was probably fine,
there may have been a problem somewhere in the megabytes
of programming that controlled and monitored the engine.
Software difficulties can arise from any number of causes,
indigenous bugs in the original coding being only one of
them. However, as we had just flushed out and reloaded the
entire operating system, I was more inclined to suspect that
we may have screwed up somewhere.

I pulled off the road as the engine groaned and complained.
By the time I stopped, we had lost controlled fusion entirely.

"No cover," Sam said looking around. "Well, it probably

makes no difference anyway. They'll know where we are no
matter what."

I said, "How 'bout we fire up the auxiliary engine, shoot
up that side road, and hide out among those pyramids out
there?"

"What pyramids? Oh, those. Looks to be about five kilo-
meters." Sam studied them. "By God, those look familiar."

"I was going to say that they looked like Egyptian pyra-
mids. The ones at Gjza."

"Yeah, and right next to it... is that the Sphinx? Little too
faraway to tell."

"Daria and I have seen other earthly structures here, so
maybe they're the genuine article."

They weren't. Close, but no papyrus scroll. The pyramids
had a four-sided base and went up at an angle that looked
right, but they were constructed of some off-white seamless
material, not stone block. The sphinx was properly enigmatic;

it simply wasn't the famous Terran one. The nearby mortuary
temple, though, provided us with cover. It was big enough to
hide a fleet of trucks.

"Let me try to wrestle with this," Sam said, flipping down
the computer keyboard terminal.

"I can't think of anyone more qualified than you," I told
him, "seeing as how you used to be a computer." I looked at
Sam and he looked at me. "Are you still a computer?" I asked.

Sam seemed a bit concerned. "I don't know. I don't feel
like a computer. Do I look like a computer?"

"You don't look like a computer. Can you do ten million
arithmetic operations per second like you used to?"

He squinted his eyes and looked far away. Then, with some
relief, he said, "No. Definitely not. I'm no longer a math wiz.
I can't tell you how glad I am of that. Never really took to
being a computer."

"Well, I always thought of you as sort of living in one," I
said, "rather than being one."

"But the real question is this: Am I the same person who
was your father when he was flesh and blood?"

"Sure you are, Sam."

"Am I? I don't have one cell of that body in me."

"I don't see what that has to do with it."

"No? Am I really Sam McGraw, or am I only an Artificial




252 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 253

Intelligence program that's putting on a good show?"

"Both."

Sam rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Interesting notion."

"Here's the way I see it," I said. "When you get right down
to it, a human being is not a physical entity. A human being is
a piece of software. Body cells arc constantly dying and being
replaced. Over a period of time, there's a complete change-
over, right?"

"Brain cells, too?"

"I don't know. Doesn't matter, because the essence of what
you are is really just information. The body dies one cell at a
time, and is replaced at the same time. But the information
stays, and that information can be stored any number of ways
and in any number of different containers."

"You may have a case," Sam said. "Still, I often wonder if
I've died and gone to heaven and don't even know it."

"Maybe you're lucky. Maybe you didn't go to heaven."

"Oh, ye of little faith. Well, we're wasting time."

An hour went by. By this time Sam was deeply annoyed,
swearing under his breath and stabbing at the terminal with his
long fingers.

"Why do they insist on making things unnecessarily com-
plex?" he was muttering. "Who the hell coded this crap? God-
damn Egyptologist couldn't decipher this."

In the meantime, I had checked the engine and found noth-
ing I could see, which is usually how it goes. I got out what
testing equipment we carried and attached leads all over the
damn place, but got told nothing. Sam was right—it was
probably a software glitch. That wasn't good. It might take
forever to find it.

I got restless and went back to the trailer. I opened the back
door, let down the ramp, and walked down it to the floor of
the temple, thinking to take a quick walk and study the archi-
tecture of the place. I didn't wander very far. It would be a
quick dash back to the truck in the event of trouble. The place
was shadowy, though, and made me a little nervous. I was just
about to go back when I heard sounds behind me—a shoe
against stone, the intake of breath. I froze.

"Jake?"

I whirled around and went into a crouch.

"It's me. Roland."

He came out from behind a column. He looked the same,
dressed in his shabby survival suit and scuffed hiking boots.
He looked very calm, almost detached.

"Roland," I breathed. "Where the hell did you—" I
stopped myself, and chuckled. "You shouldn't oughta do
that."

"Sorry. I couldn't think of a way to announce myself with-
out startling you anyway, so... How have you been? I didn't
get a chance to say good-bye."

"I'm fine. Just fine. How are you?"

"Great. You ought to know."

I put the gun on safety and put it away. "I did know," I
said. "Hard to remember... to recall the experience of what it
was like."

"You've forgotten completely. You wouldn't be able to go
on living if you had to carry the memory around with you."

"It's that powerful," I asked, not really asking.

"Of course."

"I have... some memory of it, though. I mean, I haven't
blanked out any of it. The mountains... the way the air
smelled .•.. the different landscapes. The heights."

"You only remember the outward forms, not the substance
of the experience."

"I guess." I took a deep breath. "So what's up?"

Roland crossed his arms and began to pace slowly. "We've
given it a lot of thought. We must help you. There's no other
way."

"Thanks. We need it. Can you fix the engine?"

"That's really not an area where we could have much
input."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Difficult to discuss details at the moment. You'll be doing
most of it, Jake. But you need a slight nudge, an encouraging
word, maybe."

"I don't want to sound unappreciative, but I'd rather have a
hot engine," I said.

Roland stopped pacing and gave me an impish grin. "I
enjoy sparring with you, Jake. You give as good as you get.
Better." He chuckled again. "You're really a very remarkable
chap. Did I ever tell you that?"




254 John DeChancie

"You never tell anybody anything, Roland."

He nodded. "You're right. I do play it close to the vest.
But—" He dismissed the subject with a wave. "We don't have
time to discuss Roland Yee."

His use of the third person didn't quite leave the impres-
sion that he was speaking of someone else... but there was a
hint of that.

"Jake, I really can't give you details, but we will help. In
fact, I'm coming along with you. If you don't mind."

"You're going back with us? Giving up the Culmination?"

"Oh, no. Not at all."

I shrugged. "You're welcome, of course."

"You're probably a bit confused."

"A little." I slapped him on the back. He seemed substan-
tial enough. "Come on. Daria will be glad to see you."

We walked back to the trailer and mounted the ramp. I
stopped to look at the Chevy once again. We had disposed of
Darrell's remains. A bit unceremoniously, but then, he hardly
deserved better.

Mysteries concerning Carl's magical vehicle still remained.
Here—again!—was one of its many doppelgangers. This edi-
tion was, ostensibly, the one Carl had arrived on Microcosmos
with, the one that had been stolen out of the truck. Prime had
taken it, probably because he was curious about it, and had
put it back. For the sake of my sanity, I decided that this was
the best way to explain why Carl's automobile was still in my
truck. For the sake of my sanity, I would avoid dealing with
the notion that, after all, there really was only one Chevy. But
if I took this one back to Terran Maze... ? Well, really, I
didn't want to think of that either.

Carl, or the design chief, had really gone overboard with
the antitheft mechanisms. I wondered how we were ever going
to get it out of here. Would using a crane or a winch activate
the booby traps? Possibly, though they didn't seem to be espe-
cially touchy. Darrell had jiggered the lock for quite a while
before incurring the lethal penalty.

Gingerly, I put my hand on the door handle.

The door came open. And I heard Carl's voice: "Jake.
You'll hear this if you try to get in when the door is locked, so
listen up..."

I clambered in, listening.

PARADOX ALLEY              255

"... this is kind of strange," Carl's voice went on. "I'm
recording this as I look at you. You're stretched out, asleep,
here in the Ideation and Design Facility. I thought about it,
and I figured I had to find some way of allowing you to use
the car while making sure it's otherwise theft-proof. The de-
sign chief says it'll be simple. If anybody other than you tries
to steal this car, or even just fiddle with it, it's curtains.
Deathsville. That's if they try to break in. If they do get in
somehow and try to hot-wire it, or even start it with the key in
it... or get this—even if they try to drive off when the
motor's running, they won't get far. That device isn't deadly. I
don't want a goddamn mess in the front seat. I just makes you
want to get out of the car in a hurry."

As I well knew. I had tried that once.

"So, listen. You're right here, so we can get readings on
you, and feed them into the design specs. The car will know
you, Jake. It will let you get in, start it, and drive it. Without a
key, too, since I won't give the key to anybody. In fact, if
anybody other than me tries to start the car with the key, it'll
trigger the nonlethal mechanism. I figure, if they've got the
key, they've killed me to get it. Okay. I hope I've covered
everything..."

It seemed to me that he had overlooked a few possibilities,
which possibly explained why I was able to steal the car with
the motor running, yet got zapped with the nonlethal device
when I tried to start it with the key. Why had the Chevy
refused to recognize me then? Possibly because Carl had made
the proscription against unauthorized key-starting a blanket
one, just to be safe.

"... but if I haven't, well... hell, I can't think of every-
thing. I'm not sure I understand what the hell this is all about,
or all the flip-flops and crazy reasons for everything, but I do
know that at some point you've got to steal my car. And
maybe you'll need it if anything happens to me. But nothing's
going to happen to me, so you'll never hear this." He laughed.
"This is nuts. I'm nuts. Getting a little daffy, anyway. Okay,
that's it. I hope you never hear this, but if you do... oh, hell,
I guess I should erase this and just tell you. I don't know.
Maybe I shouldn't. When you get right down to it, maybe I
don't trust anybody. Not even you, Jake. I've learned, believe
me. You can't trust anybody in this slinking world. Universe.

256

John DeChancie

Yeah, the whole universe is pretty undependable, when you
get right down to it. Okay. I'll decide later whether to tell you.

See ya."

And that was it.

Sitting beside me in the front seat, Roland chuckled. I
couldn't recall him opening the other door and getting in.

He said, "I remember us sitting here, trying to figure out
how this insane vehicle worked. Little did we know it had
been designed by a paranoid teenager from the distant past,
who had the help of some of the most advanced technological
intelligence of the far future."

"Funny how things work out," I said.

"By the way—there was a reason for my suggesting you

try the lock."

I looked at him. In my version of reality, he hadn't said a

thing,

The key beeped in my pocket. I took it out.

"Jake, something coming. I think it's that dust-devil busi-
ness that chased us a while back."

Roland was smiling as though he'd just brought off an

elaborate practical joke.

"I see what you mean," I said.

(T'^W^S

26

I SPOKE INTO the key.

"Sam, I'm in the Chevy. I'm taking it out against that
thing."

"What?" Sam came back. "How did you— Never mind.
All right, I guess it's the only superweapon we've got."

"It's the only weapon we've got. Over and out."

The ignition lock was set into the instrument panel on the
right-hand side. There was no key, of course. "Damn it,
Carl," I muttered, "you forgot to tell me how to start this thing
without a key."

"I'd suggest putting your hands on the wheel," Roland
said.

I did. And the engine roared to life.

"Roland, how did you know that?"

"If the Culmination's good for anything, it's good for
knowing things. Most of it's useless, but now and then..."
He laughed.

I depressed the clutch pedal and fiddled with the floor-
mounted "four on the floor" gearshift until I felt the transmis-
sion settle into reverse, then craned my head around and
backed out of the trailer. The Chevy hit the temple floor with a
slam and a jolt. I jerked the gearshift lever around again, this
time finding the top of the left upright on the semi-imaginary
H, and rammed it into first gear, my arms and legs and re-
flexes quickly remembering all the coordinated movements.
Once you learn to drive a standard transmission, you never
forget.

I peeled out around the truck and weaved in and around the
many supporting columns, heading for the outside. I slid into




258

John DeChancle

second and popped the clutch, and the tires gave a short
chirping screech like a yelp of pain from a small animal. I
swerved around a sacrificial altar, dodged a partition, and hit
an open area of polished salmon-pink floor that led to the
vestibule. The place was immense, and there was plenty of
room to maneuver. By the time we hit open air the Chevy was
screaming for third gear, which I gave it, prematurely, because
now I had to slow down to make the turn onto the side road. I
downshifted, wound out of second gear, shifted to third.

"There," Roland said, pointing to the left.

The Tasmanian Devil was coming at us, following the
broad curve the side road took from the highway. It had lost
no energy; the pale orange fire and luminescent yellow smoke
of which it was made still swirled furiously about its spar-
kling, molten, ever-changing center. Shadows moved within
it, the suggestion of a living thing, its shape constantly shift-
ing, ephemeral, now a manlike form, now a winged demonic
thing, now something else, some nameless terror, a shape out
of the night, out of the deepest core of the ancient mind of
man. My stomach coiled and quivered, and the taste of iron
sat bitterly on my tongue.

Roland was busy with the car's weapons control panel,
which had materialized automatically on the dashboard.

"Roland," I said calmly, "Carl never showed me how to
fire it, but there's a weapon on this buggy he called the Green
Balloon."

"That's exactly how he marked it," Roland said, peering at
the board. He pressed a switch.

A spherical object whooshed out from under the car—it
was green, about a meter across, and it sparkled like the
Fourth of July. It streaked directly toward the approaching
tomadolike phenomenon.

The Tasmanian Devil came to a full halt, still spinning. It
seemed to sense what was coming, moving quickly to one
side, scooting off the road and up a grass-covered hillock. Its
course unchanged, the balloon went flashing out over the
plain, missing its target by a wide margin.

"Interesting," Roland said.

"At least we know it's afraid of the balloons," I said, not
very thankful for small favors. "Damn. I would've thought
they could seek out a target."

PARADOX ALLEY              259

"Maybe the devil is doing something to confuse it."

"Maybe. Try it again."

Roland launched another glittering green ball. The devil
retreated again, this time ducking behind the hillock and dis-
appearing for a moment. When the balloon was gone, it came
out of hiding, rolled down the hill and got back on the road.

"I wonder who or what it's programmed to kill," I said.

"Go off-road and see," Roland said.

I steered to the right and ran up a shallow grade, bumped
down into a trough and ran up onto level ground. The devil
crossed the road to follow us.

"So, it isn't the truck, and it isn't the spacetime ship," I
said. "I was hoping it was the ship."

"No, Jake. I'm afraid it's after you and you alone."

"Fine. Why should it be different from everyone else?"

I floored the pedal. Streamers of dust trailed from the back
tires. I ran the car up another gentle grade, this time turning
sharply to follow a ridge that paralleled the road and eventu-
ally curved back toward it. I didn't know the top speed of that
thing, but I was willing to bet the Chevy could outrun it,
providing the race were run over the highway. Off-road, all
bets were off. That horrible whatzis didn't have wheels and
didn't need them. If we could dodge around the thing, though,
and make it back to the road, we might have a chance.

But what about Sam?

Roland seemed to be reading my thoughts. "Sam's coming
out of the temple," he told me, looking back through the rear
window. "I don't think the devil will give him any trouble."

But it was giving us a truckload, racing to cut us off. I
floored the pedal and immediately hit a rough spot that
wrenched the wheel to the right. I countersteered, but saw that
we'd never make it. I wheeled right again, and we rolled
down a little hill, hit bottom and bounced. I bounced, my
head hitting the mercifully padded roof. Roland lost his seat
and wound up on the floor. I stood on the pedal, aiming up the
opposite slope. The devil came over the ridge behind us. The
slope was steeper than I had thought; the rear tires started
spinning and throwing dirt; the back end began to fishtail. We
made it to the top and rolled onto level ground, but the devil
had gained ground and was now sniffing at our tail. It was all
I could do to keep ahead of it.

260 John DeChancle

"Jake, did you know that it was possible to drive the Sub-
stratum as well as walk it?"

"Um... no," I said. "I get the message, though."

And so I turned the wheel so that the front tires were
aligned—as my friend Dave Feinmann would have put it—
with a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. I
floored it, and we went somewhere. It was a sort of shortcut
between here-and-now and there-and-then, with a stopover in
hither-and-yon. Angry clouds appeared above, and a spatter of
rain hit the windshield, briefly—then bright stars came out
and something trilled a night song in a wood off to the right.
Quiet. The smell of autumn leaves... And then all that disap-
peared and we came out into bright sunlight back on Micro-
cosmos, back to the here-and-now, only now we were here,
on the side road, racing for the main highway. The devil was
far behind us, whirling its dervish and wondering what the
hell had happened.

"Neat trick," I said. "How did you do it?"

"You did it, Jake."

"Yeah, I know. It makes me feel creepy."

"Better creepy than dead."

The speedometer read over a hundred miles per hour,
which was just cruising as far as the Chevy was concerned.
We could outrun the devil, beat it to the portal, but Sam
wouldn't be able to keep up. And I wouldn't be able to find
the right portal without Sam. That meant it was best to deal
with the devil now. I had no reason to doubt that it could
follow us through a portal. But how to deal with it?

My mind raced furiously. Maybe I could lead the devil a
merry chase until Sam caught up, then... But any ploy would
call for close timing.

The side road diverged. I took the right branch, which
swung us back onto the main highway.

"Roland, what the heck is the Substratum, anyway? In
twenty-five words or less."

"It's the metaphysical base of the universe. It underlies
everything."

"Who discovered it?"

"No one. It was agreed upon."

"Thanks, Roland. That helps a whole hell of a lot."

He guffawed. "You're welcome."

PARADOX ALLEY

261

"No, really. You mean to tell me"—I glanced at the rear
view mirror and saw that the devil was still well behind us,
but keeping pace—"that consciousness can create a new uni-
verse?"

Roland looked at me; his eyes were limitless. "It's a good
universe, Jake. But it could be better. Lots better Don't you
think?"                                               '

"I think it could be a whole shitlood better, Roland. But
that don't mean..." I checked the mirror again. The truck
was a gray dot way back up the road.

Metaphysics 101, three credits, Monday, Wednesday, Fri-
day, 1500 hours. Kantian rationalism. Jesus, mercy, let me out
of here.

"Why did you guys build the Skyway?"

"For those who're dissatisfied with the way things are, a
path to follow."

I nodded. "And why the bloody hell did you make that path
so difficult to follow?"

"You know the answer to that. A quest is never easy. Al-
though there is a more mundane reason. If we'd handed out
roadmaps, we would've had the biggest traffic jam in the uni-
verse on our hands. The real candidates would have been
trampled in the rush."

"And that's why the White Lady wants me to have the
Roadmap."

"Oh, that's part of it, I suppose. She has her reasons."

"Roland, answer me one more question. Will I ever under-
stand it all?"

"No."

"Thanks, Roland."

"No problem. Why don't we try to deal with the Tasman-
ian Devil now?"

I said, "Suggestions?"

"The first devil we saw was generated by this automobile."

"Are you proposing we fire a devil at a devil?"

"Precisely."

"Oh, good. I always wanted to find out what happens when
the proverbial irresistible force meets your average immovable
object. They probably sign a nuptial contract and invest heav-
ily in tax-free provincial bonds."

Roland bent over the weapons panel. "I have it set up here.

262                 John DeChancie

It might be best to lure the things away from the road. There's
the chance Sam might get in the way."

"Looks like suitable terrain up ahead," I said.

The creases had been smoothed out of the land. The road
ran straight over a world-sized tabletop landscaped in cropped
grass. This part of the planet had the look of extra space set
aside for expansion. It was raw and undeveloped. The portal
was ahead, its hundreds of black cylinders taking form out of
the gray mist of distance. They looked like impossibly tall
skyscrapers, a ghost city on the plains.

I veered off the road and onto the turf. It was smooth
going; we hit only an occasional bump. The TD followed.

Roland said, 'There is the chance that when the two devils
meet, there'll be a terrific explosion."

"You don't know for sure?"

"It's never been done before, so there's no way of know-
ing."

"You guys are timeless and eternal. Why can't you look
into the future and see?"

"We did," Roland said, "but it has to happen first."

"Huh? Whaddya mean?"

"Well, if we knew what happens when one of these things
meets another, then there'd be no reason to try it and see. In
which case, when we looked into the future, we wouldn't find
out anything. Would we?"

"Oh."

There are some days when it's useless to argue. This was
one of them.

"Well," Roland said, "here goes nothing... and I don't
mean that in the phenomenological sense."

He jabbed a switch, and a gout of orange fire leaped out
from the underside of the Chevy, immediately coalescing into
a twin of the phenomenon that was showing as a fuzzy purple
splotch on the aiming device of the weapons board. The new
devil rotated in place for a second, revving itself up and emit-
ting a howl the likes of which are not heard in places where
mortals dwell. Then it shot forward.

I yelled, "Go get 'im, boy!"

Roland said, "I'd suggest getting well away from them."

I was already doing that enthusiastically, heading back for
the road. When we got there, Sam was nowhere in sight. I

PARADOX ALLEY              263

slowed, stopping completely when I got back on the pave-
ment. I looked back through the rear window.

"I gotta see what happens," I said.

The devils met. They appeared to absorb each other, blend-
ing into one cyclonic cloud that stood still but rotated twice
as fast. Then something began to happen at its center. The
writhing shadows faded, supplanted by an ever-brightening
star of white-hot intensity. The nova grew and grew until it was
impossible to look at. I shut my eyes, then opened them again as
the light began to fade. The star collapsed in on itself as the whole
structure fell apart into streamers of fire, swirling about the
dimming nucleus. Then, slowly, the Devil began to reform,
finally solidifying into a cloud twice as big as either of the
originals, this one darker in color. It wasn' t stable. Parts of it kept
radiating away in flaming auras, and chunks of energy flew off
constantly, dissipating into the air.

"It's not going to last long," Roland said. "The resulting
explosion might wreck the planet."

I whacked my forehead. "Great idea you had there, Ro-
land. When you looked into the future, was there any future at
all?"

Roland rubbed his chin. "I think what we have to do is give
it something to focus all its destructive force on. Something
almost indestructible that will absorb most of the devil's en-
ergy before being destroyed."

"Not the Chevy," I said, hoping against hope.

"I'm afraid so."

So I turned Carl's magical horseless carriage around and
steered for the gates of Hell itself.

The devil met us halfway. The boiling cloud enveloped us,
and we baked in radiation until the windows darkened and cut
most of it off. It was like sitting in the middle of a nuclear
fireball.

I said, "I presume you have a way of getting us out of
this."

"We'll have to leave the car," Roland said, putting a hand
on my shoulder. "Get ready."

It got awfully hot inside the Chevy. Very hot. The seat was
beginning to bum the backs of my legs when Roland slapped
my shoulder.

"Now," he said. "Get up and walk."




264 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 265

I did. The car was gone. We were walking down a country
road. It was dusk, late winter. The road was red and cold,
lined with the dried stalks of last summer's weeds. There was
a bare-limbed forest off to the right, to the left a meadow of
browned grass with half-buried smooth gray stones sticking up
here and there. The sky was gray. It was Pennsylvania.

"Very nice," Roland said. "But a little too cold for com-
fort."

A chill wind blew through my jacket. Brown leaves lay
trampled in the gravel underfoot. The sun was an orange
smear behind the clouds on the horizon. There was the smell
of an early spring in the air. The call of a blue jay came from
the hills beyond the meadow as the wind stirred the tall brown
weeds.

"You've never walked a specific part of the Substratum,"
Roland said, "just your wants and desires. It's endless, you
know. Not like the 'real' universe, which has limits. But you
can walk the real one, too."

"Yeah? Isn't this Earth? It looks like it to me."

"Maybe, but it's probably a generalization of many places
that you knew at one time."

"You may be right. This looks like Pennsylvania, but not
any specific part that I remember."

We continued walking. For some reason, I felt obliged to
keep moving. The air was pure and I filled my lungs with it.

"This is great," I said, "but I want to get back to Sam."

"We have all the time we need," Roland said. "Don't
worry. Find the road you want. If this isn't the one, find an-
other."

I found roads, all right. Roads that led through places I
didn't want to see, let alone spend a weekend in. It seemed as
though we walked for days.

We came to a wide highway of silver metal sweeping over
a plain of blue rock. I looked up and down it. I didn't know
where it came from or where it was going.

"Roland, where the hell are we?"

"Don't know. Find another road."

I found more. None of them were of any earthly use to me.

I found another, and it was fine, except that it didn't go
anywhere I wanted to go. Another, and I left immediately.

"I give up," I said.

"What about over here?"

It looked promising, so I followed it, and it turned into
something that looked like the Skyway, but not much, so I
changed it, and it looked a little closer. Then, all of a sudden, I
understood how to do it and we were there, back on Micro-
cosmos, and the truck was braking hard behind us. We moved to
the shoulder. Sam brought the rig to a crackling stop and popped
the hatch.

"What happened?" he asked as I climbed up the mounting
ladder and got in. He got up and gave me the driver's seat.

I turned around to see Roland walking away, looking back,
waving.

"Good luck, Jake. Stay well," he called.

I watched him go. He didn't disappear. He just kept walking.

"I wonder if he'll be all right," I said, closing the hatch

"Who?" Sam asked.

"Roland."

"What made you think of him?"

"What made me— Are you telling me you didn't see him?"

"Didn't see anybody out there but you."

"But he's right over—"

He was gone. Or was that moving dot out there him? The sun
was low, and I couldn't tell.

"Never mind," I said.




(T^W^T)

27

I TOOK THE controls and got us moving again.

"Anyway," Sam said, "you're just in time. We're tracking
a blip on curtail."

"No flying cubes, no wild stuff?"

"Looks like your average road buggy."

I picked up the hand mike and switched the radio to the
skyband. "What's wrong, Moore?" I said. "Had a fall from
grace? Tough luck. That Goddess is one harsh mistress. Never
came through with doodly squat for you, did she?"

After a moment of silence, the radio sputtered once, then:

"No, she's not been especially benevolent."

"What's the game now, Moore?"

"Game? No game. I'm going home."

"Oh? And just how do you propose to accomplish that?"

"Follow you," Moore said simply.

I threw the mike down. "Not if I can help it," I said. "Sam,
got any ideas?"

Sam shook his head. "We can't outrun him on auxiliary
power, and this isn't exactly the sort of terrain you can lose
somebody in."

"So all he has to do is tag along and get a free ride home.
That sticks in my craw. I want him to rot here. Or better yet,
to shoot a portal that'll send him to some horror of a planet six
billion years from last Wednesday, with no way home."

"We can turn and fight."

I thought about it before I said, "No. We'll have to deal
with him on the other side. Wherever that is. Computer? Oh,
hell, what's the warm boot command?"

"Ticonderoga."

"Hello," came the flat, colorless voice of the A.I. "I am an

267

268

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

269

artificially intelligent, high-performance multiaccess operating
system, and I am at your service for a variety of data process-
ing functions—"

"Shut up. Sam, find out exactly how we get to the portal,

will you?"

"Will do."

Sam set up the run, the A.I. did its table lookup function,
and some lines on the map lit up in yellow.

"This is going to be tricky," Sam said. "The aperture is
right in the middle of this big mess here." He pointed to the
tangle of intersecting roads on the screen. "We'll have to walk
on tippy-toes every step. Cylinders every which way in there.
, In fact, I don't understand how we're going to do it. I didn't
think you could put cylinders this close together without hav-
ing them all mush into one another."

"I hope they behave themselves until we get through."

Sam grunted. "I'm not worried about that. What bothers
me is shooting any portal, let alone this monster, on an auxil-
iary engine. It's good to have extra power if you need it."

"No luck tracking down the software problem?"

"I was on to something when that business with the dust
devil started. And that's what I should get back to." Sam
flipped down the terminal. "We might be able to lose our
friend Mr. Moore if I can coax this rig into squeezing hydro-
gen again."

"That remark about your being the best qualified still

goes."

"Thing is," Sam said ruefully, "to err is human, and the
more time I log in this new body, the more human I get. Just a
few days ago I think I could have solved this thing in a min-
ute. But now... hell, I never even liked computers."

"Do your best."

Daria had come up and was standing behind my seat, her
hands on my shoulders. "Jake, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, darling."

"We saw flashes up ahead—and then there you were.
What happened? Where's Carl's buggy?"

Just as she spoke I saw something about a quarter klick off
the road. I pointed. It was the burned-out hulk of the Chevy,
its shape still recognizable. Thin black smoke rose from it.
There was no sign of the Tasmanian Devil.

"There," I said. "It's come to the end of this cycle of the
loop. Now it all begins again, somewhere in time."

"But what happened?"

Sam said, "I've stopped asking him that. He goes off into
Neverneverland, then comes back and asks if it's lunchtime
yet, like nothing's happened."

"You'll read all about it in my memoirs," I said.

"I'll stick to whodunits. Those I can figure out. Bingo!"

"What is it?" I said.

Before Sam could answer, all the gauges went green and
the main engine kicked in with a whine and a surge of power.

"Hooray," I said. "Now let's see if we can lose our dead-
head passenger."

"I can take a hint!" Arthur yelled from the aft-cabin.

"Not you, Arthur dear," Daria said as she went aft to strap
herself back into her seat.

"Thanks, sweetie."

I floored the power pedal. The main engine was operating,
but somehow it didn't feel quite right. A brief image came to
me; inside the engine, atoms whacking into each other with
astonishing violence—but they were hitting off center, not
head-on.

Nevertheless, it was too much for Mr. Moore. He began to
drop back.

I laughed. "He's on auxiliary power. His Goddess won't
even fix his wagon for him."

On the rearview screen, Moore's battered armored vehicle
dwindled to a gray dot.

"He can still track us," Sam said. "He may be able to tell
what portal we shoot."

"Not if we get far enough ahead of him," I said, reaching
to switch the auxiliary engine back on. I watched the velocity
readout edge up.

"There we go," I said. "Even if he's at full power, we'll
lose him completely."

We watched Moore's vehicle become vanishingly small.

"Good," I said. "Good."

Sam bent over the computer terminal. "Getting back to the
map—Jake, it looks like the minimum speed requirement for
this portal should be a little higher than average. Just guessing
from the number of cylinders and their placement, the con-




270

John DeChancie

dieting stresses should be horrendous. Shooting this thing is
going to be like trying to walk an elephant over a rope
bridge."

"What do you figure?"

Sam's long fingers darted over the keyboard. "I'm estimat-
ing over fifty meters per second. Say fifty-five to be safe.
That's 198 kilometers per hour."

"High," I said, "but we can make it. As long as there're no
hairpin turns."

"Well, that's exactly what I'm looking at here."

"Oh."

"No problem for a Roadbug, probably, but for us—tricky,
to say the least. Going to call for some fancy driving. Com-
puter assistance, maybe."

"Piffle."

"Piffle, is it? Hey, Arthur! Why the hell is this portal so

screwed up?"

"How should I know?"

"I don't know who else to ask."

"Well, neither do I. I do know that washouts don't usually
shoot this portal all by themselves. They go back with a
Roadbug escort."

Sam was astounded. "What do you mean, 'usually'? You
mean to say there've been other washouts?"

"No, you're the first. You were also the first group of can-
didates. What I meant to say was that it was my understanding
that a Roadbug escort through the portal would become stan-
dard procedure."

I said complainingly, "Why the hell didn't you ever tell us
that we were the first? And if you say we never asked, I'll
dismantle you with a rusty powerdriver."

"You're not giving me much choice, are you? Okay, I
never told you because I'm a rotten s.o.b. Satisfied?"

Daria said, "It's true. We never asked him."

"Thanks again, honey," Arthur said.

"How come we don't rate a Bug escort?" Sam wanted to

know.

"Nothing with you people has gone according to standard

procedure."

"I believe that," Sam said. "If it weren't for bad luck, we

PARADOX ALLEY              271

wouldn't have any luck at all—"

"Alert," the computer said offhandedly. "Incoming ballistic
object. Take evasive action."

I wheeled hard to the left and went into the grass, taking
the rig in a wide parabolic arc away from the road. It wasn't
wide enough. There was a hollow explosion to the rear, fol-
lowed by a steady rumbling, scraping sound.

"What's the damage?" I asked as I steered back toward the
road.

"Looks like an encore of the last performance. Rear door is
sprung, no pressure seal..." He bent forward to peer at a
readout. "Jesus. Looks like the lift is down. Blast must have
activated the servo."

"That's bad," I said. "I can feel it. It's dragging and mak-
ing it difficult to steer." I looked at the velocity readout.
"Well, it won't hamper us too much."

"I'll go back and crank it up. Can't have that thing banging
around back there."

"Sit tight a minute, Sam. He may have a missile left."

Daria said, "Moore wants us dead, even at the price of his
own life." There was a disturbing sense of fatalism in the way
she said it.

I was worried. If Moore was doomed to be stranded here,
he'd try his damnedest to see that we never made off the
planet either. I hadn't helped the matter any by rubbing his
nose in it.

The portal was coming up fast. A forest of black towers
thrusting at the sky, it looked like the skyline of a city of dark
gods. Not exactly the kind of place for a getaway weekend.
But I just wanted to pass through, if they'd let me.

Then, suddenly, the main engine died again and our speed
dropped precipitously.

Sam slammed the terminal down and frantically jabbed at
it. "The program's looping," he said grimly. "My quick fix
didn't fix."

"What a time," I said, looking downroad and seeing our
doom. Two solid white lines began demarcating a lane in the
middle of the road. It was the guide lane, the safe corridor,
and once we got into it, we were committed. Once committed,
straying out of that slot was a very bad idea.

272

John DeChancle

PARADOX ALLEY

273

But stopping was worse, and there was no time to avoid
committing, even if Moore hadn't been back there. I looked at
the readouts. Our speed was still dropping, and at this rate, we
would soon fall below minimum speed. It was the dragging
lift platform. The auxiliary engine wasn't powerful enough to

compensate.

"John!" I yelled. "Do you know where the manual crank

on the load lift is?"

"I'm afraid not," John said as he unstrapped, "but I'll find

it."

"On the right-hand side at the rear," I said. "There's a

panel, and there's four toggle bolts."

"He'll need me," Daria said.

"No, Daria—" I began, but knew unmechanical John
would need help. "Be careful!"

Even though we had passed the commit point, the portal
proper was still some distance away. I hoped that meant that
we had a bit of leeway, that speed and direction wouldn't be
hypercritical until we neared the edge of the forest of cylin-
ders. But this was a portal unlike any of the Skyway. No
telling what it demanded in the way of portal-shooting exper-
tise. I knew that it was not for amateurs.

"Sam, how's it coming?"

He didn't answer.

Side roads began shooting off to the left and right with

increasing frequency.
I said, "Computer!"

"Acknowledged," the A.I. answered.
"Display planned route, show present position."

"Done."
"Assist navigation, stand by to take control in the event of

emergency."

"Orders acknowledged."

Even though its voice was a little too cold-blooded, I was
glad that Sam had shut down most of the A.I.'s "personality."
I, for one, was a little tired of disembodied intelligences,
friendly or otherwise, hanging out in my truck.

"Prepare to bear left," the computer warned as we ap-
proached a fork in the road.

I bore left. We were well into the maze of roads now. An

array of cylinders stood off to the right, the road I had taken
skirting them by an ungenerous margin. The sky was murky
now, and it seemed that the sun's light had dimmed. There
were no clouds—the darkness was a result of the intense and
focused gravitational fields distorting and refracting the space
around us.

"Keep left," the computer instructed.

I chanced a fleeting look at the small monitor that showed
the trailer interior, but couldn't see anything. Then I noticed
that our speed was still dropping, but not as fast as before.
Nevertheless, accelerating or decelerating whilst shooting a
portal were not recommended procedures.

"Sam?"

"Almost," Sam answered.

"Alert," the computer announced. "Incoming projectile.
Possible missile. Take evasive action. Defensive firing has
commenced."

Which wouldn't do us much good, as Moore's missiles had
been too tricky even for Sam. And I couldn't take any evasive
action, none at all. Unless the computer got in a very lucky
shot, we would have to eat that missile. As soon as the warn-
ing came, I was on the intercom to the trailer.

"Daria!" I screamed. "Take cover! Incoming missile—get
to the front of the trailer and get down! Repeat, get—"

A horrendous explosion sent shudders through the rig. The
trailer yawed to the left and I did everything I could to keep it
from wandering out of the guide lane. I could see smoke
streaming from it and pieces dropping off.

I was on the intercom as soon as I regained control. The
trailer monitor was showing nothing but noise.

"Daria! John!" I yelled. "Report!"

No answer. I looked back. Zoya was on her feet.

"I'll go back," she said.

"No! Strap in!"

She did, and it was all I could do not to countermand my
own order. But I didn't want to lose Zoya, too.

"Airborne object tailing," the computer announced.

"What?" I croaked. "Another missile?"

"Negative. Unidentified object, possibly hostile."

I didn't know what it was talking about, and didn't have




274

John DeChancie

time to look. The blast may have played hell with the scan-
ners.

Sam's face was drawn into thin, grim lines, and beads of
sweat had sprung to his forehead like a sudden dew. His
fingers worked furiously yet efficiently, accurately.
"Prepare for tight turn to right," the computer droned.
If I slowed for the turn we would drop below the minimum
speed, so I took it with fully juiced rollers, hoping the trailer
wouldn't slide out and end it all for us. It didn't. I checked the
speed readout again. We were holding steady. Maybe the blast
had ripped the lift completely off. A bit of luck if it had.
"Daria, answer!" I shouted into the mike. "Report!"
Again no reply. I didn't want to think about it now.
I checked the sweep scanners again. Moore was gaining. I
could see nothing that could account for the computer's warn-
ing about an airborne bogey. The forest of cylinders grew
thick. I drove among them, my heart a ball of ice, the gloom
of the distorted spaces around me reflecting my fear, my de-
spair.

The Paradox Machine was working fast; its wheels had
sharp, shiny blades that whirled and whirled, and they were
coming straight for me.

We were in the heart of the black city now, and light was
scattered and dim. The road was lost in the murk, but the
white guide lane was still visible. The rig's running lights had
come on automatically, but there was almost nothing to see
except the guide lane and a fuzzy patch of road. The cylinders
were vast walls of blackness in a landscape of gloom and
obscurity. And... quite suddenly, a crazy funhouse appari-
tion, a view of the land surrounding the portal, refracted and
distorted wildly out of shape as if by a fish-eye lens ... then,
darkness again. Gone. Nothing left but gritty road rolling un-
derneath us, a circle of light leading us farther into a strange

dark night.

"Extremely sharp left turn ahead," the computer told me.

It was, but I made it.

"Estimate ETA to aperture," I instructed.

"ETA three minutes thirty-two seconds, at present speed.
Stand by to bear to extreme right at next intersection."

Ahead the road branched off at weird angles. The extreme
right was almost too sharp a turn to make without slowing

PARADOX ALLEY

275

down. But you can't slow down in the middle of a portal, so I
juiced up the rollers, swung the control bars hard to the right,
and prayed. We almost tipped over.

"Sam, we have to get our speed up." I figured I had
enough time here to increase speed slowly enough to avoid
surging, which made a vehicle unstable when in the grip of
extreme tidal forces.

"Almost, almost, almost," Sam breathed as he continued to
punch madly at the keyboard.

So I drove on through the streets of the dark city.

Then came a hand on my shoulder, unexpected, improba-
ble, a calm hand, and a calm voice, saying, "Jake."

I knew who it was. For some reason I wasn't surprised.
"Yuri," I said, without looking back.

"Think of it, Jake," he said. "Each comer here a gateway
to different eras of the history of the universe."

"You think of it, Yuri. I'm busy."

"Of course. But you'll be needing the Substratum again."

"Sure could use it."

The rig lurched as something smacked into us from the
rear.

"Jesus," I said, "he's gone completely nuts. Trying to kill
us all."

Moore's buggy gave the rig a further nudge, backed off,
then smashed into the back end. The trailer gave a shudder,
slid out a bit, then swung back into line.

"Sharp left ahead," the computer said phlegmatically.
"Very dangerous under present circumstances." It could have
been giving a weather report.

"Not just yet, Jake," Yuri told me gently.

"No?"

"GOT IT!" Sam shouted as the main engine kicked in.

I surged, preferring to take the awful risk rather than let
Moore keep trying to knock us into a cylinder. But I lost the
gamble. Something took hold of the rig, lifted us right off the
road...

... then had second thoughts and let us drop. Part of the
trailer landed outside the safe lane, and the cab set down at a
forty-five-degree angle to the trailer. I fought at the controls as
every safety servo in the rig struggled to straighten us out. The
rear of the trailer floated up again like a paper in the wind, set

276 John DeChancie

gently back down, this time within the guide lane, but
jackknifing to the right. I wrenched the control bars to correct.
The trailer wafted back into line, then rebounded to the left,
which I corrected for as well.

The rig was squirming now like a snake wriggling out of an
old skin. It wouldn't stop. Every correcting maneuver seemed
to generate an unexpected new counterforce, offsetting and
negating the correction. It seemed there was nothing I could
do to make the rig stop swaying, swerving, shaking, buffeting
this way and that, nothing I could think of doing that I hadn't
already done.

"You have missed the left turn," the computer informed
me.

We were not going back to Terran Maze. We would never
go back.

"He's coming alongside!" Sam shouted, looking out the
port to the left.

I couldn't see, but felt Moore banging his armored buggy
against the rig as he edged his way toward the front. There
must have been at least some space to squeeze through on the
side. I had no control over the rig, and couldn't make a move
against him.

"He's not in the safe lane!" Sam said. "He's—"

Then I saw Moore's rig as it rose from the road, lifted by
an unseen gravitational hand. And for just the barest instant, I
saw Moore's face through the small front port of his doomed
vehicle. He looked right at me, and his ghastly smile chilled
me to the core.

/'// see you in Hell.

Then the vehicle was gone.

"Cover your eyes!"

Strange thing to say to a starrigger while he's operating his
vehicle, but I knew why. The atoms of Moore's vehicle, after
being torn one from another, would make a few orbits about a
cylinder before being sucked into it, and would in the process
release synchrotron radiation, along with a lot of light.

The flash didn't blind me, but it left sparkling dots chasing
each other in front of my eyes. Perhaps that's why I didn't see
that the road made a sharp right up ahead. The computer saw
it, tried to warn me, too late. Sam leaped out of his chair and
tried to take the controls.

PARADOX ALLEY              277

Too late. We were out of the safe lane, off the road com-
pletely, but still on the ground. Giant fists batted at us, and
invisible forces pushed and pulled at us. I became increasingly
amazed that we were still alive, still traveling. I was still in
my truck, my rig. My senses were heightened now, here in
these last moments of my existence. I was still where I wanted
to be, doing what I wanted to do, what I had always wanted to
do. Sam was with me, and we'd had a good run.

Then Yuri said to me, "You're about to make history, Jake.
In a very real sense."

Suddenly the rig was airborne, rising into the dark sculpted
spaces of the portal like some ungainly, impossible aircraft on
its first and last flight, hurtling through the darkness toward a
hole in the sky—a hole with blurred edges, and as it loomed
near, about to suck us up, I remarked to no one in particular
that it looked like an aperture—the hole in space that a portal
creates. And it did, it did look like an aperture; I made a
mental note to someday look into the mystery of what an
aperture would be doing this far off the road's surface, as they
were usually lower down, like right off the road, so vehicles
could drive into them. I was thinking this as the rig somehow,
miraculously, straightened out and entered the aperture in a
more or less head-on manner.

And then there was nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.




(T^W^T)

28

John DeChancie

280

interior space surrounding us. A vast hall, dark, its features
black-on-biack, unseen, yet somehow felt. The roof soared
kilometers above. Our footsteps echoed.

"Is this my show?" I asked.

"Partially. I like the sense of space you've conjured up."

"Big place," I said. "What is it?"

"A meeting place. Perhaps. Perhaps something more."

"I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"It's rather mundane. It's about portals. Do they create
more than one aperture?"

"Oh, are you referring to the one you're in the process of

shooting?"

"As a matter of fact..."

"Yes, there usually is more than one. A cylinder array
creates a whole host of distorted spacetime effects. Most of
the secondary apertures are not penetrable. Not usable. That's
been known for some time. The research hasn't had much
circulation among the general public, of course. As you know,
the Colonial Authority censors all scientific publications. The
secondary effects are rather difficult to see if you don't know
exactly what to look for."

"Oh. Thanks."

I saw something in the distance. We approached, and saw
that it was Prime, or some oversized statue of him. If the
latter, it spoke.

"Now we come to the conclusion," it said, its voice sound-
ing like Prime's. The image must have been two kilometers

high.

"Indeed," a voice answered, and it sounded like the God-
dess.

Prime said, "Are you satisfied with the construct? Do its

logical elements still offend you?"

I turned and looked. The form of the Goddess came to us
from across a distance so vast that I could have reached out

and touched her.

"Not so much its logic as its lack of elegance," the God-
dess answered.

"What is more important, then? Elegance or actuality?"

"Both are supreme."

PARADOX ALLEY              281

"There is truth in what you say. Yet I find fault in the color
of your volitional thought-branching."

I leaned toward Yuri's ear. "The who and what of your
which?"

"Not every concept can be rendered linguistically, I'm
afraid," Yuri said in something like a whisper. "Well, not eas-
ily, anyway."

"Generally speaking, what the hell are they gabbing
about?"

"You."
"Oh."

Again, Prime's voice rose in the dark hall. "Is the resolu-
tion so difficult to accept?"

"Absurdity is unpalatable."

"So is inflexibility, rigidity, and blind refusal to let the
waters flow where they must." (This last was probably lin-
guistically fudged.)

"So, too, is unregenerate profligacy. The strength that
flows through our minds yields to the channels that contain it.
The strongest stem bends in the wind." •

I leaned and whispered, "I know what she means. The
force that through the green fuse drives the flower drives my
trailer truck every other weekend."

Yuri winced. "I'm sorry this isn't better. It is fairly awful,
isn't it?"

"Oh, this isn't my show any more?"

"Well, not entirely. At least not the content. Perhaps..."
The apparitions faded.

"So, what's it all about, Yuri?"

He laughed. "That's the question, isn't it? Perhaps it's
about the universe coming to grips with itself. As for the Sky-
way—my own personal preoccupation—suffice it to say that
in a universe of mysteries, here is one more. The Skyway
didn't exist, and it was necessary to invent it. Millions of
intelligent races spread throughout the universe, separated by
unimaginable distances and immutable laws which rendered
those distances unbridgeable. The loneliness! An impossible
problem, which the Road creatures solved with science that
took ten billion years to develop, a science that bent those
unalterable laws to the breaking point, that—"




282 John DeChancie

"Yuri," I said, "let me tell you something. I've had it with
metaphysics. Totally uninterested. What I want to know is:

What happened to Daria?"

"I'm sorry, Jake. I feel your grief."

I wanted to punch him. "Do you feel my anger, too?"

"Yes, of course. But..."

Yuri's face became indistinct, then came into focus again.
"There is no need for either, Jake. Can you believe me?"

"What? She's okay?"

"Let me use an expression that is, I think, American in
origin. 'It will all come out in the wash.'"

"That's comforting. I'll ask again: What happened to
Daria?"

"That's all I can say for now. Jake, have a little faith. A
little. If you have a fault, it's that you can't believe anything."

I nodded. "I'm like that. I also pick my nose and flick the
snot onto the ceiling."

"You also lack a sense of reverence."

"No, life is holy to me."

"Of course."

"Another thing. If I didn't believe that existence was to-
tally meaningless, I think I'd go crazy."

"That's very interesting," Yuri said. "Few people think like
that."

"I do. Now, listen. I have a life to get back to—rather, a
death. I was just about to cash it in when you dropped by.
Now, I hate to be rude, but I really have to get back to busi-
ness."

Yuri smiled cordially, offering his hand. "I wouldn't think
of keeping you. Best of luck, Jake. It's been a pleasure know-
ing you."

I shook his hand. "Thanks, and write when you get work."

I turned, walked away. But there was nowhere to go.

There was nothing at all out there.

The truck was not moving, not a centimeter, nor an inch,
either. There was no sound except a faint throbbing coming
through the floorboards. The engine, I guessed.

"What the hell happened?" Sam asked. "Where are we?"

I turned around. "Is everybody—"

PARADOX ALLEY              283

And there was Scan, of all people, sitting in Daria's seat.
He grinned at me.

"We're fine," Zoya said. "A little shaken."

"Was great fear, there, for the moment," Ragna said. Be-
side him, Oni nodded. "But now, okeydokey."

I couldn't take my eyes off Scan. No one else seemed to
acknowledge his presence.

"Yeah," I said. "Fine. Um... good."

"You forgot me," Arthur called from the aft-cabin.

"I can't figure it out," Sam said, pushing his face against

the port and trying to peer out. "I can't see a damn thing out
there. Nothing."

"Are you okay, Arthur?" Arthur asked himself, and then

answered with mock cheer, "Fit as a fiddle! Don't worry about
me!"

I tried looking out. I could only see my reflection. I doused
the lights in the cab. It didn't help. The strange stars glowing
out there were only reflections of the instrument lights.

Sam said, "Well, we've done it. We shot a portal to no
damn where at all."

"There have always been road yams like this," I said.
"Shoot a portal the wrong way and you wind up in nonspace,
or somewhere in between universes. Something like that."

"Yeah, something. Trouble is, where do we go from a
place that isn't even here?"

I shut my eyes—and only because I really wanted to, I saw
a road in front of me.

"That's it, Jake," Scan encouraged.

But before we left that nonplace, that nowhere, a furiously
intense pinpoint of light sprang into existence somewhere out-
side. The light flooded the cab—a blinding actinic flash, a
burst of transcendent radiance, I ducked my head, pushing my
face into the soft leather of my jacket. Then I felt the wave of
heat ebb, and looked up. The nothingness was gone...

... and we were on a road like no other I'd seen. It was
wide as a dream, and silver—all silver—shining in the light
of ten billion stars. It was a world of silver night under the
most breathtaking sky of any planet in the universe, and the
road ran straight and true through a pass between two black
mountains silhouetted at the edge of the heavens, out there at




John DeChancie

284

the rim of infinity. I floored the pedal, and eons flowed be-
neath the rollers.

"You've found it, Jake," Sean laughed. "The Backtime

Route."

"I love it," I said.

Strange omens streaked across the skies—comets, motes
of fire. The cycles of the universe beat in phase, pulsing out
the years, the centuries, the millennia, marking off the ending
of things from the beginning of things, keeping a steady

tempo.

I was looking out at all this. Sam wasn't. Ever the practical

sort, he was checking instruments.

"Jesus, did we all get a dose," he said. "The dosimeter is
way up. Not lethal, but we'd all better get some sulfahydrite
in us." He unstrapped and got up.

"Sam, get back to the trailer. See if—"

"That's where I'm going right now. Son, you've got to
prepare yourself for the worst. You can't see most of the dam-
age from your side. It's a mess back there."

He left me to drive through time, which I did. I didn't
think to ask Sam about Sean, and I didn't want to look back
now. I just drove. And drove. It seemed like a long time. Then

Sam returned.

"John's alive," he said. "Second-degree bums, concussion,
but he's basically okay. Jake, Darla's not back there. She's

just not in the trailer."

I nodded. "It was meant to be, Sam. From the beginning.
Written in those stars out there."

"No, no, you got it all wrong. It was my fault," Sam said.
"Don't blame the stars. I—"

"No, Sam. I blame no one."

He didn't know what to say. I didn't either. I just kept

driving.

Presently I got the feeling that I had driven as far back as I
wanted to go, as I needed to go. I needed a new road, so I
tried to put the Skyway out there, but it was no go.

-"You know where the Skyway is, Jake," I heard Sean say.
"It's your home, the only home you feel at home in, or on.

Find it."

I looked. I searched here and then there, this highway and
that byway, high road and low, but none of them were it. I

PARADOX ALLEY              285

riffled through a million landscapes, seascapes, starscapes,
one after another, flashing onto them, discarding them in one
smooth mental notion. Universes flickered by. Roads di-
verged, and I took both of them.

Finally, I found it. The impossible Skyway, eternal mys-
tery, as hard and as real as the doorjamb you stub your toe
on—there it was, out there, whizzing by underneath the
rollers. But I wasn't through changing worlds. I had one in
mind, and I had certain chronological coordinates pinpointed,
and I drove until I reached that world and that time.

"You surprise me, Jake," Sean said. "I think I know, but I
don't think I like it."

The world was Talltree, Sean's world.

Sam injected me with the tickler, then looked out. "This
place looks mighty familiar," he said.

It was a forest world, the trees immensely tall, their foliage
brightly and strangely colored.

"Well," Sam said, "with the Roadmap, we can get home
from here."

"I don't need the Roadmap," I said.

It was near dark. The planet's sun, a bronze-colored star,
had left pink and purple streaks along the horizon. A few
kilometers farther down the road, a dirt trail intersected the
highway, and I turned off and followed it. I had followed it
before. But now I had to be careful, because my former self
was here, my past self. I was now a time-traveling doppel-
ganger, a ghost from the future. Perhaps from a future that
never would be—if I had anything to do with it.

John was fine, really. He remembered nothing after the
missile hit, but he could tell us this: he had started running
toward the front of the trailer when my warning came, turned
around and saw Daria still struggling with the lift crank. He
yelled for her to get back; she started running, and that's when
the missile hit. It blew off the back door and tore a huge hole
in the left bulkhead, right where Daria had been standing. As
it was, she must have been blown out of the trailer, or had
fallen out. We had been traveling at a speed in excess of two
hundred kilometers per hour. There was no question of her
surviving, even if the blast had not killed her instantly.

I parked the rig in a clearing which I estimated to be about




286                 John DeChancie

a kilometer from the Frumious Bandersnatch, Moore's inn and
restaurant. I went back and inspected the damage, then went
to the aft-cabin and rummaged for a change of clothes. There
wasn't much, but I did find an old pullover sweater, a ratty
thing with leather shoulder patches, and some blue jeans. Pos-
sibly Carl's.

I wanted a disguise, of sorts. I pulled out a knitted long-
shoreman's hat, this from under the cot, dust balls clinging to
it. I looked and looked, and in the bottom of the clothes locker
I found a pair of polarizing goggles—it makes the fuzzy
nothingness of an aperture easier to see when shooting a por-
tal. They're rather useless, really, because if you're not al-
ready dead on target by the time you can see the aperture,
being able to pick it out isn't going to do you much good. But
now these specs would suit my purposes nicely.

I chose a gun, a twelve-shot burner, from the ordnance

locker.

"What are you up to?" Sam wanted to know.

"I'll be back in two hours. If I'm not back in four, you
have the Roadmap."

"Jake, I think you're insane."

"Possibly. I'll be back, Sam."

Arthur looked at me strangely. "I can't imagine what
you're up to."

"I'm Master of Time and Space."

Arthur slowly nodded. "Uh-huh." He looked to Sam for

help.

He didn't get any. I went through the cab, climbed down
the mounting ladder, sealed the door shut, jumped down and
walked off into the woods.

I remembered these woods well, remembered well the
cries, the noises, the night sounds. I heard them now. The first
time had been a little frightening. More than that, I must con-
fess. Some snarling horror had chased me—I got away, but
never saw the thing. But that had been in deep woods, on a
back trail. This was a good logging road, probably well trav-
eled.

And I wasn't alone. I grew aware of Sean walking beside

me.

"Ah, Jake. You've got the divvil in ye."
I said nothing.

PARADOX ALLEY              287

"You'll be havin' to go to confession this Saturday, for
sure."

"I hate to be curt with a demigod, Sean, but punk off,
okay?"

"Ah, Jake, Jake, Jake."
I left him behind.

It seemed a very short walk. It was dark now, but the warm
lights of the Bandersnatch glowed ahead. I could hear sounds
of partying. I stopped, hid behind a tree, and looked out over
the parking lot. And there was the truck. My truck. This was
the night, our first night on Talltree. Sam was in that truck, in

his second incarnation, as an arrangement of magnetic im-
pulses. What was he now?

I skirted the lot and went around back. There had been a
window....

Someone was coming out the back door of the place.
Lori! And Carl! And Winnie, too. I ducked behind an im-
mense tree trunk. They walked by, hand in hand. I leaned out
and watched them. They stopped while Winnie examined a
leafy bush. I stared at them. The old saw about staring at the
back of someone's head proved true—Lori abruptly turned her
head. I leaped back behind the tree, cursing myself, then re-
membered that it was dark and I was in semidisguise.

I remember that Lori and Winnie had gone off foraging for
vegetation that Winnie could eat, but that had been earlier, if
memory served. Later on in the evening, the three of them had
been jumped and Winnie kidnapped. Well, if I could do what

must be done, that would never happen. I went to the back
window of the bar.

Just a look, just a peek. I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Couldn't force myself to look at her. She was in there—
drinking, having a good time, watching me go through the
good-natured nonsense of the initiation rituals of the Brother-
hood of the Boojum. She was probably stifling a giggle right

now. Or had she gone upstairs by now? Or had Moore al-
ready. ..

Maybe I didn't want to look, for fear of seeing myself. For
fear of becoming the demon that glares at you from the other

side of the looking glass. I didn't feel real. This couldn't be
happening.

Exactly. The whole of my experience since this paradox

288 John DeChancie

thing had started had been the longest nightmare on record. I
could not believe in any of it. It could not be part of the stream
of existence—it was a bubble in the continuum, a glittering,
shimmering bubble that threw back false reflections from its
prismatic surface. Prick it anywhere, and it would burst into a
billion sparkling motes and vanish into the void.

Kill Moore here, now, interrupt this turning of the cycle,
and it all would end. Daria was gone—no way to retrieve her.
But she wouldn't have to die if she didn't meet me—if she
never met me. And that's what I would do. It was the first
time in my life that I was gripped by such a terrible resolve. I
wanted to see Moore's blood, and I would before the night
was through.

I stalked through the shadows at the rear of the
Bandersnatch. I found a door with an exhaust fan over it,
cooking smells coming from within. The door was unlocked,
and I opened it quietly and stepped in. A man in an apron and
cap was chopping cabbage at a counter along the far wall. He
was preoccupied and didn't turn around as I walked through
the kitchen. I stopped at the swinging door and looked out
before I went through into a corridor that eventually led me to
the lobby of the inn. The place was empty, and no one was
behind the desk. Shouts and general jubilation came from the
bar. I went behind the desk and saw a door, slightly ajar, at
the end of a little hallway through an open door against the
side wall. Voices within. I crept down the corridor, flattened
myself against the wall, and listened.

"... Pendergast..."

It was Moore's voice. I strained to hear, inched closer to
the door.

"... on the ship, but they got away. Says the monkey-
looking animal has the Roadmap—has it or is it, I couldn't
understand which. At any rate, he wants our help. Big money,
possibly. Very big."

"And he's right under our noses?" Another voice.

"Checked in this afternoon. Answers to the description."

"The cops—they'll take him, then?"

"Not if we can help it. We might have to keep him on ice
for a while. Thing is—there's seven of them. We can't bag
them all...."

Someone was ringing the bell at the desk. I stiffened,

PARADOX ALLEY

289

<a»s

brought the gun out of my pocket and flicked off the safety.
Now was the time. But—

"I'll get it, Zack."

"Forget that," Moore said. "This is important. I want you
and Geof—"

The bell rang again.

"Forget it, I said! Listen to me. He'll be going through the
Brotherhood ceremony. When he's out in the brush..."

I crept away. Better get rid of the customer first, then go
back and do the deed.

I came out from the doorway. "The clerk's busy now," I
said. "You—"

It was Darla. "I just wanted to ask—" Her mouth sagged
open as the recognition slowly grew on her. "Jake! What..."
Bewildered, she looked back at the door to the bar, then at
me. Her mouth closed, and she looked at me soberly, a little
fearfully. "Jake," she whispered. "It's.. .you."

I had frozen. Time stopped for the briefest quantum mo-
ment, and all I could see was her face, which seemed the most
beautiful thing that had ever been created.

I unfroze, jumped over the counter, took Daria's arm and
led her back out through the kitchen. The cook noticed this

time, and muttered something about this place not being a
tram station.

Outside, I crushed Darla to my chest and kissed her. She
was surprised at first, then responded.
"Darla... love," I said.

Her eyes grew fearful again, and she drew back. "You are
Jake. You're him—I mean, it's you. You're traveling through
time, somehow. Like the stories say." She glanced back to-
ward the inn again, then said, "It has to be. I just saw you in
the pub. I walked out, and fifteen seconds later there you are,
in different clothes. I almost didn't recognize you." She shook
her head, and leaned against the trunk of the tree we stood
under. "It's almost impossible to believe."

"One thing—remember," I said. "You can't say anything
to—" I didn't know how to phrase it.

She nodded. "I understand. No. He wouldn't believe it,
would he? How could he, now, after I lied to him... so many
times. But you know, Jake. Don't you? You know so much
now. You must. And..."




290

John DeChancie

"And I love you."

She smiled and embraced me. We kissed again.
She clung to me. "Jake, I'm scared. We're lost, Jake. But
we will get back, won't we? You're back, you came back. We

will get home again."

"We're almost there, Daria, my darling."

"Jake, dear. So short a time. I love you. I loved you from
the first. You know that, now. We're caught up in this awful
thing, and it just seems we'll never get free."

"We will, we will," I said.

"I believe you. I can't imagine how it will happen, but I

believe you."

We stood there in the enchanted night, holding each other,

not speaking.

There were footsteps behind me. "There you are," some-
body I didn't recognize said. "Well, this is cozy. Who's this

cobber?"

It was somebody vaguely familiar. Another lumberjack—
possibly one Daria had been talking to in the bar. I really
couldn't be sure. I had been so drunk that night... this night.

"I'll be back in just a minute," Daria said to him. "See you
back in the Vorpal Blade."

"Take a walk, mate," the guy said to me.

I punched him squarely in the chops, and he went over
backwards into the weeds. But I should have looked the other

way.

That's always been my problem.

(TW^S

29

IT WAS LIAM who picked me up and shook me awake.

"Been in a punch-up, eh, Jake?" He laughed.

My head hurt like hell. I said, "Wha?"

"You all right, man?"

"Yeah," I said, leaning against the tree, holding my head. I
couldn't believe it. This was the second time that I'd been
knocked cold, on this planet, on this night. Good thing Liam
had come along—what would Moore had done with two
Jakes? That would have disrupted the cycle in a way that I
didn't want at all. Good thing. But hadn't Liam just come
.from the bar? Hadn't he just seen me in there?

"Looks like it was a good whack on the head," Liam said.
"Are you sure you're all right, Jake?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute."

Maybe they'd already taken the other Jake out into the
woods on the snipe hunt, and Liam just figured I got lost and
wound up here. But how to explain the different clothes?

Suddenly it dawned on me.

I looked at him. He smiled back and I knew.

"You're Liam of the Culmination, aren't you?"

"The same. Sean thought I could give you a hand. I chased
Moore's lads away. I don't think they recognized you. It's
dark back here."

I nodded. I had been lucky.

Liam chuckled. "Have you had your fill of tampering with
the warp and woof of the universe?"

"Yeah. I'm leaving that warp and that woof the hell alone."

He laughed. "There was no need of it. All's well, Jake.
All's well."

"But you can't say how all's well."

"Not really. I couldn't give you the specifics."

291




292

John DeChancie

I straightened up. "Well. Listen, thanks."

"Are you going home now?"

"Yeah, if I can get back. Have to drop Ragna and Oni off,

though."

"You still might need help."

"I might. If we go ahead and shoot the portal to their
world, they'll get back before they left. That business again.
Can't have that, can we? I'm the only one who has the Pope's

dispensation."

"I'll send someone, if you like," Liam said.
"Fine. Appreciate it. Good-bye, Liam."
"Good luck, Jake. Be well."

I got away from there. I felt remorse—not for wanting to
kill Moore, but for not thinking. Pricking the bubble would
have meant undoing Sam's good fortune, canceling his new
life. Had I thought of that? No. And Carl? Disrupting the
cycle would have spared him, but what about Lori? She had
been an orphan here in the Outworlds. A hard life. But now
she was... No. Now she was long dead, wasn't she?

I walked on through the woods, small things greeping and
forking at me from every bush and weed.

I really didn't know. What about Daria? Would her fate
have been different as a fugitive from the Colonial Authority?
Would she have died in a shootout with the Militia, died for
her cause, the dissident movement? I didn't know.

To say nothing of Susan, Scan, Roland, Liam, and Yuri.

And what about you, Jake? What about the person who
experienced all this, who lived inside the bubble for a brief
moment or two. What would become of those memories?
What would become of your love for Daria? Would the slate
be wiped clean? Would the moving finger erase a line and

move on?

How the hell should I know. I'm no goddamn demigod.
I did know that Daria and I were possibly the only human
beings in the history of the race actually to have communi-
cated across the chasm that separates the living from the dead.
In that sense, our love was immortal.
A small voice in the forest: "Jake?"
I recognized it, but I could scarcely believe it. "Winnie?"
It was she, stepping cautiously out of the shadows. "Hello,

PARADOX ALLEY

293

Jake," she said in the clearest voice imaginable. Not a trace of
her usual garbled enunciation.

"Hi, Winnie," I said.

"Can I walk with you?"

"Of course, honey. My, you've changed a great deal."

"I'm still me, Jake. How are you?"

"Still having problems, Winnie. Still having problems."
"I grieve for you, Jake."

Her double-thumbed hand in mine, we walked along the
moonlit path.

I asked, "Tell me about the Guide Races."

"They were seeded along the Great Road to act as guides
and travel companions. An individual of these races does not
know himself for what he is until he reaches Home."

"I see. And you reached Home."

"With your help, Jake. Thank you very much. George
thanks you, too."

"You sound like Winnie, even though I can understand you
now," I said.

"But I am Winnie, Jake."

"I think so, but I think you're something more."

"That is also true."

She took her hand away and stopped. "I will help you later,
Jake, if you need it. I will be there."
"Thanks, Winnie."
"Good-bye, Jake."
"Good-bye, Winnie."

When I got back to the truck, Sam greeted me with a
frown.

"That pink and purple spook took off after you," he said.
"Arthur?"

"Yeah, he fretted and fretted, then said he couldn't let you
upset the apple cart, in so many words, so he lit out into the

woods. Without a flashlight, either. Nothing I could do to stop
him."

I knew exactly where he'd gone. And I didn't know if I
wanted to stop him. But I took a torch and dashed back toward
the Bandersnatch, hoping the warp and the woof would toler-
ate a little more tampering.

A half hour later I was creeping through the undergrowth,
the torch doused. Familiar voices all around. I was somewhere

294

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

295

near the 'Snatch, but I didn't know where.

I knelt under a sapling and listened. There was some

thrashing off to my left.

I waited. More thrashing in the bushes.

Then I heard, "Oh! Dearie me! Goodness gracious!"

A short commotion in the undergrowth, then something big

came running down the trail at me. I turned on the torch,

briefly.

"Yawp!" Arthur yawped.

"Ssh!"

"Jake? Is that you? I mean, the real one. I mean—"

"Yeah, it's me. Shut up. This way."

We got away from there. When it was safe enough, I

turned the torch on.

"Oh, dearie me, that was horrible!" Arthur wailed. "I

thought it was you, and it turns out to be your double! I knew

my mistake the moment I got close to him! You left in that rag

of a sweater and that tatty cap—"

"Are you kidding? This is the new look for fall."
"Oh, my. Do you think I screwed it all up? I mean, he sew

me."

"Forget it. I saw you. I remember."
"Well, of course, you should remember it, but what I mean

is—"

"Forget it. I have."

"You found him," Sam said, his tone implying that he
maybe wished I hadn't.

"Let's blow this mudball," I said.

We drove all night and blew that mudball, which left us
still in the Outworlds, where we didn't want to be, so we left
by a potluck portal and used the Roadmap to find Ragna's
planet. Before we shot the portal, I got back in the driver's
seat—Sam had been relieving me and conjured up the
Backtime Route again. As I drove, I sensed Winnie's presence
in the truck. I didn't turn around to look.

We arrived in bright desert daylight.

"Is best to be playing it safely," Ragna said to me. "There
is an alternate entrance to our caves which we should be
using. I, for one, am not fond of meeting myself and passing
the time of day withal."

"Withal?"

"So to speak. Be making a right up here, if you please,
Jake."

I went off the road onto loose sand, and had some trouble
until the ground firmed up. Then we hit rock and everything
was fine. The alternative entrance was at the base of a sheer
cliff. You could hardly see it, but Ragna picked it out. He said
that he knew the route back to the main Ahgirr living areas,
and I believed him. There was a problem, though. We had no
idea what time frame we were in. Ragna couldn't come up
with a way to find out without going up to somebody, tapping
them on the shoulder, and asking the date—and that would
involve the risk of paradox.

"We will stay in the lower caves for a good while, then will
come up and risk."

Sam suggested we drive to the local fain and find out the
date—but that might have been a risk for us. We'd had trou-
ble the last time we'd visited one of those immense desert
arcologies. No, Ragna felt more comfortable in his caves. I
couldn't help, because my time traveling was purely intuitive.
I had no accurate way of measuring how far forward in time
we'd gone. The slippage factor involved, if memory served,
was only a matter of a month or so. We'd left Talltree a few
days after our troubles there, spent a day or so traveling, then
had come here and stayed five weeks. It turned out that I still
needed some practice driving the Backtime Route.

Sam stayed in the truck with the recuperating John while
Arthur and I entered the caverns with our Ahgirr friends, car-
rying what supplies and equipment we could. We walked for
kilometers, it seemed, but it was pleasant. The caves were
cool and quiet, and as beautiful as I remembered them to be.
Susan and I had spent some pleasant times in this subterranean
world.

Susan. I missed her sorely.

Ragna chose a charming little grotto near one of the under-
ground streams that flowed through these caverns. We set up
camp. There wasn't much to do, but there were two army cots
to put together—they came in the box disassembled. (They
must have belonged to Scan and Liam, as those two had taken
along just about all their worldly possessions. They'd cleaned
out the farm. The trailer was still full of their junk.) After I




296

John DeChancie

got them put together, I noticed that Arthur wasn't around.

"The creature is going off in that general direction," Oni
said. "But it is not taking a light with it."

"It's really a robot, not a creature," I told her. "He can
probably see in the dark pretty well. I wonder why he took
off." I scratched my head. "Oh, well. Ragna? What about
these emergency food stores you were telling me about?"

"They are being hidden in various parts of caves. Is old
custom among Ahgirr in case cave is invaded by unfriendly
sorts—retreat and survive."

"Oh. And you know where these stores are?"

"Assuredly."

"Good. Well, I hope you'll be comfortable here."

"We will be jim-dandy, and we will be thanking you."

I laughed and took Ragna's smooth-skinned hand. I had
come to know and love these aliens, and I would miss them,

too.

We hard a squawk. Turning, I saw Arthur rushing out of

the darkness. He looked flustered.

"I don't believe it happened again!" he shouted.

"What?" I said.

"You're here. You. Again, it happened. He saw me."

"Yeah, I know," I said. "I remember that, too."

"Well, for pity's sake, this is getting ridiculous."

"Why did you go wandering off like that?"

"Just wanted to explore. This is the first vacation I've had
in six million years. I'm loving this little jaunt, and I wanted
to see the sights."

"Well, you saw another ghost. Consider yourself lucky.
Hard to book a tour with those on the itinerary."

Ragna and Oni accompanied us back to the entrance. They
now knew exactly how long they would have to lay low.
When they finally showed themselves, they would have some
explaining to do, though.

"Everyone will be listening politely," Ragna said, "then
will be thinking, Ragna has finally attained craziness. But Oni
and I will be writing our memoirs and be selling them to
publishers for big bucks."

We said our good-byes. They cried, I got a little damp-
eyed.

What could be more human?

(T^X^Tl

30

THERE ISN'T MUCH left to tell.

Among the loose ends, there was the matter of rescuing
myself from the Colonial Militia on a planet called Goliath. I
remembered seeing someone who had my face standing over
me in the cell, administering a shot of a drug that would bring
me out of the quasihypnotic state I was in.

Here again was an opportunity to mess things up. We could
simply decide not to do it. That would, theoretically, snap the
whole chain of events that led up to and proceeded from the
rescue... but no. I couldn't resist thrusting a hand through
the glass to help my mirror twin. After all, he was in a bind,
and he just might be in a position to do the same for me some
day.

But there were problems. I didn't know how we could do it
at all, much less do it quietly, efficiently, and without causing
unwanted paradoxes. We had the means: the Reticulan dream
wand, the mind control device that I'd taken from Corey
Wilkes aboard the Laputa, which still lay almost forgotten in
the glove box under the dashboard. It was a good guess some-
one had used the wand, or one like it, to knock out everyone
in the Militia station.

But just how were we going to juggle all the balls?
The answer came when Arthur announced that the space-
time ship had completed its repair work.

"It's fine now. I've run some tests, and it's working very
well."

We discussed the rescue operation, and Arthur had plenty
of suggestions.

"Well, adapting the ship's auxiliary systems to duplicate
297




298 John DeChancie

the effects of the wand wouldn't be a problem at all," he said,
"if you want to do it that way."

"That'd be swell," I said. "There're a few problems. We'll
have to be in the vicinity, and we'd be vulnerable to the effect,
too. The only antidote I know of is a good dose of a moderate
tranquilizer—and the medicine chest is just about empty."

"Oh, that's no problem. I said we could duplicate the ef-
fects, as you've described them. That doesn't imply we have
to use the same means, although they'll probably be similar.
I'll just tune the beam so that it won't resonate with your
particular brain scan. You'll be immune, and you can go in
there and do your duty."

"Well, that's fine I guess," I said, then snapped my fingers.
"No, it isn't. Then my double will be immune, too. And his-
tory says he succumbed to the effect."

Arthur shrugged his negligible shoulders. "So, can't his-
tory give us a little break? The universe won't miss a few
historical facts here and there."

"I dunno," I said, scratching my beard stubble. I was also
running out of razor blades. "I really have no idea."

"Arthur," Sam said, "you must tune that gizmo to my
brainpan and I'll go in and do what has to be done."

"No, Sam. It won't work. I didn't see you at the station."

"Wait a minute."

He went into the aft-cabin for a moment, then came back.
He had done something to his hair, parted it differently,
combed it to the side, something. I couldn't tell exactly what.

Zoya studied him, then looked at me. "You could pass for
twins."

I conjured up the memory of the rescue, tried to see the
mysterious face hovering above me. How could I have not
recognized my father's face? Or was it that I could not bring
myself, at the time, to believe it? Perhaps the explanation
simply was that my recollection wasn't very clear. After all,
the memory was half concealed in a hypnagogic fog, and
always would be. So be it.

"What about the tranquilizer?" I said.

"We won't need it," Sam said.

I said, "Then why do you have to go in at all?"

"Oh, your double will need something to pep him up,"

PARADOX ALLEY              299

Arthur said. "I don't know about that dream wand gadget, but
my technique is going to call for some chemical relief, if you
want your double to be up and about, doing things."

• And he would have things to do, to be sure. We did have
one ampoule of amphetamine sulfate left. That would do
nicely.

Still, there was the problem of getting there, and getting
near enough to the station without causing no end of paradox
problems. Arthur suggested we make the trip in the spacetime
bus, and we took him up on it. I did not feel up to trying the
Backtime Route again. Besides, I felt my connection with the
Culmination growing ever more tenuous.

On a dusty planet with no name, Arthur unloaded the
spacetime ship and inflated it. I drove the truck in, and we
took off.

We had spent some time giving Arthur the most accurate
temporal data we could, and with the help of the Roadmap.
we were able to pinpoint the spatial coordinate exactly. Goli-
ath was part of Terran Maze, and the planet's star was known
to Terran astronomers, albeit only as a catalogue number. It
was enough; by the time we'd locked up the truck and gone to
the control room, we had arrived.

"That fast?" I said in some amazement.

"Well, the ship makes all transitions—jumps—in zero
time. What takes time is making successive jumps and setting
up for them. However, Goliath wasn't all that far away, and I
did it in one clean transition." Arthur looked proud.

I gazed at the dun-colored world turning below. It looked
huge, untamable, and cruel; a big sprawling monster of a
planet.

"Now I have to search for that city," Arthur said, his
stubby plasticine fingers feeling the control box. "Oh, there it
is." He laughed. "Well, of course. It's the only one on the
planet. What's it called?"

"Maxwell ville."

"A real cultural mecca, huh? Okay, here we go."

The dun-colored ball rushed to meet us, then became the
vast arid world it was, its sky coloring to hazy blue, the var-
ious shades of its surface separating and becoming features,
the most salient of which was a high plateau ringed by dark




300 John DeChancie

jagged mountains. Maxwellville sat up here in the cooler air.
The surrounding plains were uninhabitable. We could attest to
that—we'd nearly died out there.

We were a little hazy as to what time of day we were
aiming for. As I remembered, I was interrogated sometime in
the early morning, made an escape attempt, and got thrown in
the jug around dawn. I spent maybe two hours in there before
blacking out, and I estimated I was out for only a few min-
utes.

We seemed to have hit it right on the button. Goliath's
fierce sun was still low in the sky. Maxwellville came into
view, a raw, ugly little burg of quickie buildings and pop-up
domes. It looked like any pioneer settlement. It took us a
while to pinpoint the Militia station. The city was bustling
with early-morning traffic, and there were a good number of
pedestrians up and about at this hour. Everything would have
to be done in broad daylight and in front of witnesses.

"Can the ship be seen?" I asked.

"Only if you look real hard," Arthur said. "Don't worry.
Sam's going to raise a few eyebrows when I levitate him
down, though."

"Can you extend the effect to cover a few blocks?"

"You mean so it will affect people outside the station?"

"Yeah, the less witnesses, the better."

"Well, sure. Any way you want to work it. But everybody
is going to wonder what the hell happened."

"Let 'em wonder. I just don't want them to see anything."

"Can do, dearie."

I was ready to draw a map, from memory, of the inside of
the station, but Arthur magically produced a piece of flimsy
material on which was inscribed what looked like an archi-
tect's floor plan.

"The ship's probing devices don't miss much," Arthur
said.

Sam familiarized himself with the layout. Then he crum-
pled the clothlike artifact, which had been extruded from the
bottom of the control panel, and shoved it in a pocket.

"Well, I'm ready. Do I need burnt cork on my face? How
'bout I just take a bottle?"

"Wait a minute," I said. "Arthur, don't human brain scans
change over time?"

PARADOX ALLEY                301
"A little. Why?"

"Can't you tune the effect to exempt me but not my dou-
ble?"

Arthur scowled. "Can't make it easy for me, can you?
Well, I'll see."

Sam was eyeing me dubiously.
"I'm going along, Sam," I told him.
"Whatever for?"

"Something tells me I should. Darla's down there."
"Okay. I guess you know what you're doing."
"Oh, sure," I said, wondering what the hell I was doing.
Arthur found that he could indeed do what I had asked. We
were ready.

Sam and I went out to the cargo bay and stood in front of
the puckered valve that was the door. I held the communicator
up and spoke into it.

"Any time, Arthur."

The door dilated. The city spread out before us, bright and
busy in the morning sun. The smell of brewing coffee came to
my nostrils on a fresh, cool breeze. We were about a hundred
meters above the Militia station.

"We gottajump, don't we?" I said.

"That's what the spook said."

We jumped. It was a fast trip down, and I nearly swallowed
my heart. But we hit gently enough to take the impact with
nothing more than a bend of the knees. I looked around. We
were in the parking lot behind the station. Three pedestrians
were sprawled on the near sidewalk. There were two Militia-
men passed out in a parked police vehicle. Another constable
had wrecked his bubble-topped interceptor into a heat pump,
apparently having succumbed as he was driving into the lot.

We dashed in through the garage.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked when we were
inside.

I looked around at the blue-uniformed bodies slumped over
desks, lying on the floor, collapsed in swivel chairs. "Go do
it, Sam. I'll meet you here in five minutes."

I walked through the white, aseptic hallways. I knew
where I was going, and didn't tarry. I had seen this movie
before.

Daria was there, in Petrovsky's office. But there was some-




302 John DeChancie

thing different. She was seated, her head down on the desk,
her outstretched right hand seeming to reach for something in
Petrovsky's left. It was Sam's key.

Details, details. Now I knew what I was here for. I took the
black and orange plastic box from Petrovsky and slipped it
into Darla's pocket. I lifted her head and held it in my arms.

"Hello again, darling," I said, after kissing her flushed
cheek. Her eyes were open but unfocused. I looked into them,
and they looked through me. Except for the briefest instant.
Her lips moved almost imperceptibly. She moaned softly.

I looked at her for a while, then kissed her again. I rested
her head on the desktop, trying to fashion her body into the
position I had found her in, but her body seemed to have gone
slack, and she wouldn't stay up. I checked my watch. I was
running late, so I stretched her out on the floor in front of the
desk, face down, head resting on her right arm.

"We'll meet again, darling," I said.

I left. Sam was waiting for me.

"C'mon! H. G. Wells I ain't!"

We ran out into the lot. And there, standing almost where
we'd landed, were two strange beings whom I knew to be
members of a race called the Ryxx. It's a sort of combination
whistle, chirp, and click.

"Greetings, Roadbrothers," one of them squawked through
his translator box.

Sam tweeted a greeting, then said to me: "I guess Arthur's
gadget doesn't work on nonhumans."

The other was holding a strange-looking weapon on us.

The first looked up at the sky, its two round sad eyes
searching. Finally its eyes fixed on something—the ship, pre-
sumably. I looked up and saw a shimmering in the air, nothing
more.

"Superior technology," the first one said. Its fat ostrichlike
body seemed to heave a sigh. "Very, very superior. We are
puzzled and vexed."

"It's pretty hard to explain," Sam said. He whistled some-
thing.

The second birdlike creature said, "I am of her nest, al-
though I am not an issue of her egg."

"Well, please convey my warmest compliments to (chirp-

PARADOXALLEY              303

whistle-click) for me. Tell her that the straw of my nest is
always fresh for her visit, and that I hope the issue of her egg
will be many and prosperous. That comes from Sam
McGraw."

This seemed to impress the hell out of them.
"So, it is true," the first one said. "The many strange tales

told of you and your egg. Is it true that you have the Road-
map?"

I said, "It is true. But hear me. You will never get it. No
one will. / will never give it up, not to anyone in the universe.
It is mine, and I will keep it."

"Hello?" came Arthur's voice from the communicator,
which I held in my hand. "Hell-o-o?"
"Yeah, Arthur?"

"Um... want me to make fried chicken out of them?"

I glared at the two ungainly bird creatures. Their faces
were impassive behind transparent atmospheric-assist masks.
The one holding the weapon lowered his winglike arm.

"No," I said.

"Upsy daisy."

We rose into the air. On the way up, Sam said, "I've
always wanted to start a religion, and God forgive me, if this
keeps up, I just might."

We tacked against the wind of time once more. The dis-
placement was about eight months this time. We directed Ar-
thur to a farm planet on the outskirts of Terran Maze. People I
knew and trusted lived here.

Arthur landed on a deserted road, and I backed the rig out
of the ship.

'Time to say good-bye," Arthur said. "It's been interest-
ing, to say the least."

"Yeah," I said. "Thanks for everything. Art, old boy."
"Boy? You know I'm sexless. They say I'm missing a lot,
but what the hell. Anyway..." He put his absurdly small hand
on my shoulder. "Listen, I'm sorry you lost so much. There

wasn't much I could do about it...." He seemed to drift off
into thought.

"Here," I said, handing him the communicator.
"Uh, no. No. You go ahead and keep it. The ship has




304

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305

plenty. Keep it as a souvenir. Besides, you might want to call
me someday."

I shrugged and put it in my pocket.

We watched the ship rise and become an olive drab dot in
the sky. Then it was gone.

Sam slapped me on the shoulder. "Let's go see if Gil To-
masso is home. I hope his heart is strong."

Gil's heart was plenty strong, but he fainted when he saw
Sam.

Our next few months weren't very busy. It was just a mat-
ter of laying low and waiting for the paradoxical crease in our
universe to work itself out. Right now my double was on our
farm back on Vishnu. On or about the fourth day of April, he
would pick up a small shipment of astronomical equipment
from an importer on Bamard's III and set off on a trip to
deliver his cargo to Chandrasekhar Deep Space Observatory
on a planet called Uraniborg. He would never deliver that
equipment.

Actually, that was wrong. We would deliver it for him,
more or less on schedule, and we would do that when my
double disappeared through a potluck portal on Seven Suns
Interchange.

I had a duty to perform as soon as possible, though. I had
to get rid of the cube. I still had it. (Was there a single person
who coveted it now? Depends on what now means.)

Daria said that I had given the cube to a member of the
Colonial Assembly by the name of Marcia Miller. She said I
had simply walked into her office and plopped the cube down
on the assemblywoman's desk.

I disguised myself, borrowed Gil's four-roller, got on the
Skyway and drove to Einstein, the capital planet.

The Assembly Office Building was big and neoclassical
and cost too much money, just like every other governmental
barn in the cosmos. I strode down a carpeted, marble-walled
corridor, looking at nameplates on doors. Most of the names
were eastern European, a few oriental, one or two or three
Anglo-Saxon.

"The Honorable Marcia B. Miller, Member of the Assem-
bly," I read aloud, then opened the heavy blond wooden door.

There was a human receptionist, a young woman. I smiled
as I stepped past her desk.

She looked up from her console and did a double take.
"Kamroda? Sir? Do you have an appointment?"

"Honey, I've had an appointment for ten billion years."

"Sir, you can't go in there!"

I was through the inner door before she could extricate
herself from her huge work station. I clucked at the lack of
security in the place.

An annoyed Marcia Miller looked up from the screen she
was reading. "Who the devil are you?"

"Does the name Daria Vance Petrovsky mean anything to
you?"

Her face tightened, then slowly relaxed.
"Marcia, I'm sorry!" the receptionist wailed. "I've called
Security!"

"No! No, cancel the call."
"But—"

Miller rose from her desk, still looking at me. "It's okay,
Barb. Cancel the call."

Mystified, Barb retreated, closing the door.

Miller sat back down. "Of course I know of Daria Vance
Petrovsky. Why shouldn't I recognize the name of the life-
companion of a high-ranking Militia officer?"

"One who is a subversive and a fugitive from justice?"

"That is none of my—"

"Listen," I said, "I'll make this short. You'll think I'm a
crank at first, but in time you'll know I'm not. I'm Jake
McGraw, and I've lived what most people dream. I've driven
to the end of the Skyway and met the Roadbuilders. They
gave me a map. Here it is." I drew the cube out and held it in
my hand. "It's the key to the Skyway system. You'll be hear-
ing about it, and me. Roadbuzz, road yams, stories, rumors.
They're all true. You'll hear my name spoken in bars and
roadhouses. They'll say I drove into the fireball of the birthing
universe, and they'll be right. It's true, and I even got a bit of
a sunburn doing it. Everything they'll say about me will be
true—so damn true it'll drive you crazy. And here's what I'm
going to do, I'm going to give you this map, and I won't be
doing you a favor. What you'll have to do is see that the




306

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

307

dissident network protects Daria—Daria—at all costs. She is
the key to this whole affair. Exactly how, I can't say. But you
must do all in your power to protect her."

She began to lose patience, and I silenced her. "I know all
about the dissident network," I went on, "and I know all about
your involvement in it. Don't worry, I was told this office is
debugged. It makes no difference if it isn't. I'm just a crank,
right? So, forget it. Here."

I dropped the cube on her desk. "Happy birthday, honey."
And then I left. The security guard at the front entrance
smiled at me on my way out.

It was a pleasant few months. Gil Tomasso was a gracious
host, and then Red Shaunnessey offered to put us up, so we
drove over there. Sam and I passed the time repairing the
trailer. John recuperated from his bums, and Zoya fell in love
with Sam. It was inevitable, I thought. I remembered how
well they had hit it off thirty years ago.

But eventually it became time to perform another duty, one
I both dreaded and craved.

The trailer was fixed. I climbed in, and Sam saw me off.

"Do you know where?" he asked. "Exactly?"

"No, but there are only a few places on the starslab where
hikers can hope to get a ride."

"True. Well, good luck."

"There's no such thing, Sam."

I found her on a planet called Monteleone. She was stand-
ing in front of a Stop-N-Shop on the Colonial highway, look-
ing very pickupable. She was wearing her silver Allclyme
survival suit and stood with her backpack parked at her feet.
She was beautiful, young, thin, unpregnant, and I was a total
stranger to her.

I slid back the port. "You look like you're going some-
where," I said.

But she knew who I was. In fact, she was here for the
specific purpose of getting picked up by me. I had acquired a
shadow two days back, a blue-seater driven by a dark-haired
young man. One of Darla's dissident comrades, probably. The
dissidents were probably very confused by now, because they

were getting conflicting reports that made it look as though I
could be in two places at one time. They were also following
my double. But I made it easier to follow me. And so I had
swung by this Stop-N-Shop a few times over the past few
days. And sure enough...

"Matter of fact, I am," Daria said, picking up her pack.
"Are you going where I'm going?"

"Where is that?"

"To the other side of T-Maze. Here, there... everywhere."
She smiled, and my heart melted.

"Sure. Hop aboard."

There was nothing strange about it. It was something I had
to do. I had to meet Daria, for we had never been properly
introduced. And she had to fall in love with me, because she
said that she had, once, a long time ago, but I never remem-
bered it, because I wasn't around at the time. It makes sense
to me.

We drove around, not aimlessly, just unhurriedly. We
toured Hydran Maze, then came back, spent some time on a
park planet, camping out in the trailer.

Daria met "Sam" for the first time. "Sam" was the result of
my dad's fiddling with the Wang A.I. He tuned up its person-
ality programming and gave it a voice that pretty much could
pass for Sam's former computer voice (which never sounded
like Sam himself). It was a pretty good approximation—it
spooked me. Mostly, the computer kept quiet.

We fell in love. I don't know where we were when we first
made love. "Sam" was driving. You ought to try this some-
time.

There was one planet... it was green, and it looked like
Earth (but not really; they never do), and the sky was
scrubbed so squeaky clean that sunlight just slid right down it,
spilling into the clearing of a forest of quasioaks and maybe-
maples and making the fuzzy seedpods on the tops of tall
weeds look like a cloud of ectoplasm at the tip of a magic
wand—or halos on angels—steeping the grass and trees and
Daria and me and our love in the light of a faraway star, a
warmth and a power that has lasted five billion years and will
last five billion more. It was a nice place to eat a picnic lunch.

And there were motels—cheap ones (I was just about




308

John DeChancie

PARADOX ALLEY

309

broke), the kind that have the state-of-the-art entertainment
gear and beds that squeak and smell of mildew and faintly,
ever so faintly, of urine. And have bad water. And a broken
ice machine. And a robot desk clerk that nearly pokes your
eye out when it hands you the lock pipette. If I had a nickel
for every one of those I've stayed in, I could go back to 1964
and spend them. But we made do, and made love. Mostly we
kept to the truck, and kept on the road.

Soon, the time drew near to when we would part. She said
nothing about it, but I knew. Her mission was not to fall in
love with me, but gather information. Roadmap? Cube? Find
out. On at least two occasions I heard her rummage through
the cab and aft-cabin as I feigned sleep in the bunk. She asked
"Sam" leading questions when I was supposedly out of ear-
shot. She did her best, but got nothing. She would have to
duck out, her mission a failure. But she would be back for a
second try, that I knew. However, next time "I" would not be
here.

Last chance, Jake, a voice said. (The divvil's, as Sean
would say.) Last chance to smash the bubble. Take her, tell
her, even if she doesn't believe. Point the rig toward the near-
est potluck portal and put the pedal to the metal. Exit hero
with heroine.

But I couldn't. Because, somewhere out there, there was a
kid in a '57 Chevy who was lost and needed to get home.
Because somewhere in the Outworlds there was an orphan girl
who worked for coolie wages on a strange ferryboat and who
would fall in love with the kid in the Chevy. Because Sam was
right now lying in bed with a beautiful woman who loved
him, and you can't do that sort of thing when you're merely
coughing up a little blood, much less when you're dead,
which is what Sam used to be, but isn't now... and because if
I did, the whole damn universe just might blow a converter
manifold and wind up having to be towed home. And some-
where, somewhere, there were five gods who used to be
human beings. What would they have to say about upsetting
the whole apple cart? Bolts from Olympus I could do without.

But mainly I didn't because I had faith. Where I got it, I
don't know. Faith in... what? I don't know. I think it was just
an unspoken certainty that the universe has a purpose, despite
all the reasons for insisting that it can't, and that this purpose
is a good one. It was absolutely absurd of me to think that.

I didn't know exactly when she would leave. So I couldn't
linger in a last kiss, a last embrace, couldn't know when such
was happening. And I didn't know until one morning I got up
and she wasn't there. Her pack was gone.

And so was Daria, gone for the last time.

Sam must have done more than he knew, because the com-
puter kept saying "There, there, son." It said it over and over
as I cried.

At last, we could go home. There were still a few loose
ends, though. Gil Tomasso and his driving partner, Su-Gin
Chang, would be at Sonny's Restaurant on Epsilon Eridani 1
to back my double up in the confrontation with Corey Wilkes.
(God, Corey, you never die!) So would Red Shaunnessey.
That would take care of... that.

Before we went to Vishnu, we delivered our load to Chan-
drasekhar Observatory. We were only a day late.

There was a problem with John. He was fine physically,
but emotionally he was foundering in deep water. Guilt was
the obvious ballast, and he had a ton of it. Even confession
didn't do him any good.

"You've known that I've been an Authority informer," he
said to me in Red's kitchen before we left.

"Really?" I said.

"Yes. Of course. You knew that. I reported regularly on the
activities of the Teleologists."

I told him that I really didn't know that.

"I made my report to Colonel Petrovsky on Goliath, the
night our camp was raided. I had to. No choice. I've never
had a choice. It's my brother. Did you know he was a political
prisoner?"

I told him I hadn't known that.

"Didn't you ever wonder why the Militia let us go that
night?"

"Yes, I've wondered."

He stared at the plank tabletop for a full minute. "I'm a
fraud, Jake."

"Because you gave into fear?"

"Because..." His face had tightened into a knot,of pain.
"Because I—"

"Take it easy, John. You were under no obligation to be-
come a light of the universe."




310 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 311

"After a life of seeking the truth, trying to find some an-
swer. .."

"Forget it."

"And now what? The Militia will want my report! And I'll
have to tell them you have the map!"

I laughed so hard I nearly choked on the sandwich I was
eating.

It got to John; he laughed in spite of himself, then faded to
depression again.

"You'll have to kill me," he said.

I shook my head. "John, give it up. Go home, make your
report. Tell them that your group disappeared through a pot-
luck portal on Seven Suns. That's the truth. Or tell them I
have the map. It really doesn't matter, John. It never really
has mattered."

It didn't help him. He rose slowly and went into his room.

The next day he was gone. His clothes, his toilet kit,
everything was still there. We never found him, never saw
him again.

Home.

The farm was fine. After all, we had just left.

There was work to do; the fish tanks were foamy with
algae, the paddies were dry, the reactor was on the fritz—
everything I had been putting off for a year or so.

Sam was in disguise, so as not to terrify the neighbors. A
pretty good one, too. Rumors were thick, though. The stories
about us were at the peak of their circulation—but they would
eventually die down. We hoped, but didn't know.

"Time to get off this mudball," Sam said. "Time to pick up
and move."

"You're right, Sam," I said. I called a real estate agent the
next day.

And one day I got the strangest, most miraculous letter of
my life. The cover letter was from one Ernest P. Blass, Esq.,
of the firm of Dolan, Musico, Shwartz, and Blass. It read:

Dear Mr. McGraw,

As I am informed that you are primarily an Inglo
speaker, I will write this in English instead of Intersys-
tem (which I must confess I prefer myself).

The enclosed letter, addressed to you, will no doubt
cause you as much bafflement as it has to us. It was
discovered among the assets of a holding company
which a corporate client of ours has just acquired. To
trace the long history of this letter, and the long and
circuitous route by which it came into our hands, and
thus into yours, would be tedious and time-consuming
at best. Suffice it to say that, on the face of it at least,
this letter had been held along with other papers and
instruments in a fiduciary trust, which itself can trace its
history back at least over a hundred years. Now, Mr.
McGraw, let me tell you straightaway that what I be-
lieve we have here is a hoax, pure and simple, for there
is no possible way for...

Inside the manila pouch was a yellowed envelope with my
name and address on it. I tore it open and saw it was a
handwritten letter. It was from Carl Chapin. It was dated No-
vember 6, 2005.

Dear Jake,

There is no possible way I can ever know if you'll re-
ceive this, of course, but just writing it is giving me
chills along with a warm feeling of nostalgia for a time
long past and an experience that I've often suspected
might have been just a momentary hallucination. But
no. Deborah remembers, too, so it must have been real.
Our life together has been overall a pleasant one, and
we owe to you the fact that we are together. We have
been married for over forty years. We had four children,
three boys and a girl, and they are all grown up now,
and two are raising families of their own. I don't want
to bore you with statistics or a recitation of the events of
our lives, but we do want to assure you that we are fine,
and that the decisions we made back then have proven
out pretty well.

Shortly after the last time we saw each other, I went
to college and majored in electrical engineering. The
years ahead saw a growth in computer technology (I
still think of Sam even to this day!) and that's the field I
chose to go into. I did pretty well, and wound up man-




2                 John DeChancie

aging my own company for a while, until we were
bought out, and then I went into consulting. Well, I said
I wouldn't bore you with details. I'd love to ask how
you are, if only I could believe that there was even the
slightest chance that you could answer. But I still think
of you, Jake. You were a hero to me. I was young, and
looking back, a pretty stubborn kid. I must have been
hard to handle at certain times. But you helped me,
Jake. You took a lost kid and helped him get home. And
I'll never forget you. Debbie has something to say to
you, too, so I will turn this over to her.

Hi Jake!

Carl said everything I wanted to say, except for this.
Over the years I've sometimes stood out on the back
porch looking up at the stars, on summer nights, just
looking, wondering. Are you out there somewhere,
Jake? Or was it a dream? So many years and miles
separate us, but I'll never forget the crush I had on you.
Carl was my age, and I loved him from the very first,
but you were a knight in shining armor. Oh, I guess
that's as romantic as you can get, isn't it? But I look up
and I think and I wonder. Will he get home? Will he
and Daria be happy? I hope you are well, Jake. I'll
always love you. Good-bye.

And then, again in Carl's hand:

Me again. I guess that's it. Nothing more to say, except
that over the years I've kept asking myself this question:

What was it that we found at the end of the Skyway? I'll
never know, but I'll never stop thinking about it. Good-
bye, Jake, and good luck.

Carl W. Chapin

P.S.—My lawyers have devised a pretty fancy scheme
for seeing that this letter has a chance of getting to you.
They think I'm crazy, but I pay them enough money to
build several mental institutions.

313

PARADOX ALLEY
Hail and farewell, Carl. Hail and farewell.

Home. We sold the farm very handily, turning a nice profit.
After thirty years of sweat and strain and broken backs. So we
packed up the truck and made ready to move. We would stay
well away from Terran Maze for a while; maybe for good. I'm
not political, but on a bad day my opinion of the Authority
was about as low as it could get. Governments just don't come
much more odious. Well, with any luck, the dissident move-
ment would one day change things for the better.

But there is always hope, as I found out on the hay we
were to leave. Sam was out in the truck with Zoya, going over
our itinerary (we were going to take a little vacation, visit a
few nice spots), and I was in the farmhouse looking for things
that we may have left behind. It was a nice day, and I was sort
of taking my^ime saying good-bye to the place, when I heard,
of all things, Arthur's voice coming from the cutlery drawer in
the kitchen. I opened the drawer and saw an oblong piece of
olive drab material. The communicator, and I had forgotten all
about it.

"Jake? Come in, Jake. This is Arthur! Can you read me?"

"Arthur!" I yelled. "What the hell? Where are you?"

"Oh, good," Arthur said. "I have someone here who wants
to see you, Jake. I'm hovering at about half a kilometer.
That's your house down there? The tacky yellow one?'

"Get down here this instant!" I shouted.

I raced outside just in time to see the ship land. "Daria!"

"Jake! Jake, darling!"

And again she was real in my arms, warm and real and
alive. And not pregnant any more.

"You'll be wanting this," Arthur said, handing me my in-
fant son.

I couldn't speak. Sam said, "The spitting image of some-
body."

"Well, it was like this," Arthur said, "I was on my way
back to Microcosmos, and I said to myself, you big idiot, here
you are with a time machine—"

"The airborne bogey that was tailing us when the missile
hit!" I blurted.

"Yeah, that was me. I got back a little before I left, is all.
Nothing unusual. But what a mess! Daria was in bad shape,




314                 John DeChancie

and I very nearly lost her to the cylinders! You can imagine
what it's like flying near those things! Why, I almost lost the
ship. Would Prime have been pissed! Anyway, so I snatch
Daria up, and I streak back to the plant, and those darlings
whip up a minihospital cum maternity ward in a blink of a
gnat's eye, and..." Arthur slumped against the ship. "I'm
pooped."

The road shot over brown sand and pink rocks, bisecting
the plain and racing toward the potluck portal. The cylinders
rose against the yellow sky like dark angels on judgment day,
and through them lay all of eternity.

"How's our speed, Sam?"

"Don't ask me, I'm diapering a baby."

"Daria?"

"Warming this bottle, Jake. Just a minute."

"Hey, you people know I can't drive and read instruments
at the same time. Zoya?"

"Thirty meters per second, Jake, and holding steady."

"Good. Can't you keep that kid quiet, Daria?"

"He takes after his father."

"And his grandfather," Zoya added.

"Son, we shoulda never allowed womenfolk aboard this
vessel."

"Yeah, you're right, Sam. I've always said—" I took a
better grip on the control bars. "Commit markers coming up.
Everyone strap in! Now!"

Everything was right. The board was green. This was
going to be the longest trip, and the best. The markers shot
past—I looked back to see that everyone was strapped in
tightly, even the baby, Samuel Jacob, in his little crash seat.

We shot into the portal, and the gates of eternity
opened....