Mobius (34 page)

“Very well,” I said. “But you must hurry with your modifications. Our companion, Morion Morpheme, has been keeping one of the Fume’s goliath beasts occupied. There’s no telling how long he’ll stay ahead of the game.”

JarNay nodded, acknowledging the urgency of the situation. “First, one of you must volunteer to receive the quantum control plexus at the base of your biolinguistic lobe.”

I raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “I thought us lowly double-helixes couldn’t think in tandem with a quantum control plexus.”

“That’s why I’m programming it to resonate with the proper coordinates to guide the transportation carapace.”

I stepped forward. “You can implant me.”

“It may take a few minutes to construct a properly calibrated quantum control plexus,” said JarNay. “Orsteen, you should stand guard at the front door, in case the Fume’s beast returns.”

“Can do,” said Orsteen, who left the room with Stimple on his shoulder.

As JarNay worked at a console, inputting the specifications of her design, I laid stomach-down on the table, preparing myself for the procedure.

“It’s ready,” said JarNay, removing a red glowing node from a chamber. She then retrieved a sliver of metal from the counter. “Using this probe I’ll insert the quantum control plexus through the back of your skull. During the process, I recommend you calm your body and mind.” JarNay put on an ocular device. “It’ll take a moment to analyze the pathways of your brain and biolinguistic lobe to determine the exact placement of the quantum control plexus.”

JarNay applied an anesthetic and began. I felt a large pressure in my head as JarNay pushed the probe into my brain.

“It’s done,” said JarNay. “The quantum control plexus will automatically establish the proper neural linkages. I must now tend to the modifications of the transportation carapace.”

“Are you coming with us?” I asked.

“It’ll be best if I remain here, since there’s no one of authority left on this sphere.”

“Then you should tell me about our destination.”

“The world’s called Fallgate,” said JarNay, continuing to work on the transportation carapace. “It’s in the Crux Galaxy and sits among a cluster of backwater worlds spaced many light years apart. Due to the moral decay of this region, as well as the general acceptance of a lawless society, there are no dimensional archways by mandate of the Guardian Army. However, these planets do command the use of spaceships, thus there’s trade done between them. Since each of these worlds has maintained their own unique physiology, you won’t be met as oddities regarding your appearance.

“Once you arrive, you must seek out a Guardian named Fanbert Manderwall. He’s worked many years as an observer on this planet, and maintains residence in the port city Neubius. Though he won’t look it, he’s very old. Such a post is considered his retirement, for there was little chance that anyone in this technologically primitive region would ever gain the means to contact Earth or the Fume. Not to mention the fact that these planets have long since forgotten the truth of the Fume and the temporal displacement of the Brahman Station. In all likelihood, they’ve evolved their own fictitious account of their origins. Keep this in mind when you’re locating Fanbert and come into contact with the local inhabitants.”

“And when we find this Fanbert Manderwall, what do we tell him?”

“Speak my name, and tell him you seek the forgotten world where the Prophets sleep. Inform him their waking is overdue.”

“These Prophets can lead us to Nara-Narayana?”

“Indeed. They’re the only beings in the Brahman Sprawl who know her location.” JarNay put the final touches on the transportation carapace. “My modifications are complete, but I must warn you, you may find yourself in the cold darkness of space. These modifications are the best I could do in such little time.”

“I understand,” I said. “Your best is good enough for me.”

JarNay touched the transportation carapace. “You and your company need only to gather around the unit and trigger this switch. Now, let me confirm that the quantum control plexus successfully melded with your brain.” She again put on her ocular device, which made a fuss of noise. “Strange.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Your brain... it’s being pervaded by filaments of energy. From what my oculars can perceive, the filaments are lengthening at a rate of one one-hundredth of a millimeter an hour. They’ve just recently found their way to your new biolinguistic lobe.” JarNay went to the compendium. “It’s impossible!”

“Tell me what you’ve discovered!” I demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

JarNay’s slight figure became rigid. Her findings, whatever their significance, seemed to have dissolved any trust I had thus far gained from her. She was on the verge of calling for help.

I sprang to my feet and seized her by the arms. “What frightens you?”

“You’re seeded with the Fume’s exotic energy. And this I can’t explain, since the Fume cannot manifest himself beyond the realm of his outpocketings in our universe. It would be no different if I cut out a piece of my brain, cast it into the ocean, and expected it to return with the secrets of the deep. A mind, no matter its nature, must remain whole in order to function properly.”

“I promise you, I’m not the Fume. I’m Theron Mobius.”

“Promises are uttered by desperate men and liars.”

I remembered when I asked the Fume why I was burdened with his memories. The Fume had replied: ‘There’s some of me in you.’ He was speaking quite literally. The memories were now explained. I felt a great anxiety.

The Fume’s inside me. Like a disease, I’m infected.
I repeated my mantra in silence:
I am Theron Mobius. I am myself. My mind is my center...

“Get it out of me! Please!”

JarNay pulled away from me. “Stand back!”

“Won’t you help me?”

“Help? How?”

“You have devices that can send people across the universe with a thought. You’ve built ships the size of planets. You have twenty-one million years of technology and you can’t help me? I’m just one man with something in his head.”

“Those are usually the most dangerous of men. You’re now the enemy.” JarNay started to call out.

I grabbed her, pressing my hand tightly on her mouth. She struggled, but I contained her. “I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you.” I dragged her to a back room, where I found an empty stasis chamber. I pushed her inside and shut the door. My fingers hit random buttons, apparently a successful combination since JarNay became still. “Forgive me.”

As I considered how to deal with the others, Orsteen entered the room with Morion limp in his arms. Orsteen set him on the table.

“We discovered him a ways down the boulevard, collapsed from exhaustion. He’s not hurt.”

Morion came to his senses. “I defeated the beast, Theron.”

“You’ve done well,” I said.

Morion drew a long breath and stood. “Despite my triumph, we shouldn’t remain here. The clamor of our battle no doubt echoed throughout the corridors of the Guardian Sphere. It was such a battle that if I mentioned the details, you might think I was prone to embellishments and self-glorifications.”

“A true hero is always humble,” I said impatiently. “As for our departure, everything’s ready. We should leave immediately.”

Orsteen retrieved three bags from the hallway and handed them out. “I found weapons for our trip.”

“Well done,” I said.

Stimple walked into the room and looked around curiously. “Where’s JarNay?”

I didn’t know what to say. “Uh... she said something about disabling the dimensional archways in the Antechamber, so to stop the migration of the Fume’s beasts to the other Guardian Spheres. She was confident in her plan and, citing time as an issue, left through a back passageway. Before she left, she wished us luck on our journey. So, let’s go.”

I stood beside the transportation carapace and was joined by all but Stimple, who spoke: “A person of my unique characteristics doesn’t do well in remote lands. I’ll stay here, where the surroundings are to my advantage, in that I know all the best hiding places.”

“Take care, little man,” I said, glancing nervously toward the back room.

“Do me a favor,” said Stimple. “Get revenge for Fandoral’s murder.”

“We’ll do our best,” I replied sincerely. In a gesture of farewell, I extended a finger.

Stimple placed his tiny hand upon it. “Goodbye, Theron Mobius.”

CELESTIAL

PHENOMENON

We found ourselves on the world Fallgate
, in the middle of a junkyard. The wrecks of old spaceships were scattered around us like the giant skeletons of old sea monsters.

“Amazing,” I said. “I’ll never get tired of dimensional travel. I still don’t know why I can perceive the journey and the two of you can’t.”

“For me, it was again instantaneous,” said Orsteen. “Across the universe in the blink of an eye.”

I looked skyward and saw a monolithic construct floating in low orbit—a space station of breathtaking proportions.

“Beautiful,” I said.

Orsteen glanced to the surrounding hulks. “Probably built to escape a devastated planet.”

I removed a scanner from the supply pack Orsteen retrieved from the armory. I couldn’t get it to work until I realized it was voice activated.

“Are the surroundings safe?” I asked.

The scanner responded: “Ambient radiation levels are safe. The atmosphere is breathable for common double-helix species.”

“I’m becoming tired of these double-helix stereotypes,” said Morion. “Even the computers are racist.”

The scanner continued: “There is an unidentifiable energy signature a half-kilometer ahead.”

We moved forward and discovered a pipeline of flowing liquid hovering twenty feet off the ground. The fluid was contained by a tubular energy-field being emitted from rings spaced every hundred feet. I asked the scanner to identify the liquid.

“The fluid in question is ninety-nine percent deuterium,” replied the scanner.

“Where’s the port city Neubius?”

“My database does not include topographical information for this planet.”

Orsteen threw a piece of metal debris at the pipeline. It vaporized on contact with the energy field. “Spaceships need deuterium. Let’s follow the flow of the pipeline.”

“Agreed,” I said. “First, help me hide the transportation carapace under that pile of garbage.”

We moved forward with determination, only occasionally slowing our pace to allow Morion to catch his breath. Darkness soon fell and stars blossomed in the sky. We came upon a small shack built from the hull panels of old spaceships.

“It appears to be abandoned,” said Morion. “Let’s rest for the night. I can’t go any farther.”

“Not so fast,” I said, noticing a wisp of smoke coming from a metal chimney. I inhaled deeply. “Someone’s cooking their evening meal inside.”

Orsteen put a hand on his belly. “A bite of food would be nice.”

“You can’t be serious?” I said.

Orsteen shrugged his shoulders. “What’s the harm in asking?”

As we contemplated the thought, the front door creaked open to expose the silhouette of an oddly-shaped man. Between bowed legs drooped two plump buttocks, giving the man an unwieldy, underslung appearance.

“Who are you?” called out the man. “Why do you loiter at my doorstep?”

“I apologize,” I said. “We’re travelers in need of shelter and food.”

“Come closer, so I may be certain you’re not rogues.” We did so and the man carefully examined us. “You’re off-worlders?”

“We are,” I responded.

“Excellent! I’m always willing to accommodate off-worlders. Your timing is perfect. I’ve just prepared a sumptuous meal. It’ll now be in your honor. Come, join me.”

Morion moved forward excitedly. “I didn’t expect such hospitality, considering the rumors of lawlessness on this world.”

I grabbed Morion, bringing him to a halt.

“What are you thinking?” exclaimed Morion. “Release me!”

“There’s a blade concealed behind his forearm,” I whispered. “It glistens under the starlight.” I turned to the man who eagerly awaited us. “On second thought, we should continue to our destination. Can you direct us to the port city Neubius?”

“It’s bad judgment to travel tonight. There’s no moon to protect you from lurking cockatrices and rotmouth chimeras. Moreover, a strange celestial phenomenon hangs in the sky like a phantom.” The man pointed to the sky, where a glowing haze was barely noticeable.

I tilted my head up. “It looks like a nearby nebula, nothing more.”

“So it wants you to believe. Come, you’d be safer inside. As will those overstuffed bags that hang on your backs.”

“We’ll take our chances,” I said.

The man responded with a snarl and disappeared within the shack, slamming the door shut.

Disappointed, we continued following the pipeline. An hour had passed when Orsteen pointed up at the stars with excitement.

“Do you see them!”

I looked into the sky and noticed what seemed to be an occasional star descending. “Ships! Your instincts to follow the flow of deuterium were right, Orsteen. Judging the distance, it should take us a half-day to get there.”

During our travels, I found Morion at a standstill, looking off into an oasis of trees, appraising something in silence.

Orsteen and I joined him.

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

Morion pointed among the trees and I spotted a young girl tied to a tree trunk. At first, she appeared dead, but soon enlivened, struggling against her bonds and screaming for help.

Orsteen moved to assist the girl, but Morion held a hand in front of his chest. Orsteen angrily pressed the hand away.

“Why do you hesitate, Morion?”

“Who are we to judge her situation?” said Morion. “For all we know, she’s a murderer serving her sentence. As far as I’m concerned, we have no business interfering. We’re foreigners, ignorant of the ways of this world.”

“I agree with Orsteen,” I said. “She needs our help.”

As we approached, the girl looked at us timidly. “Your generosity is a credit to all strangers.”

“It’s truly nothing,” said Orsteen. “Have you been hurt in any way?”

“Not at all, I’m fine. In fact, I’ve never been better.”

As we untied the girl, three large metallic-mesh sacks suddenly fell from above, trapping us. I struggled to free myself from the sack. I heard cheers of triumph from all around. Moments later, a crushing blow took my consciousness.

I woke up, no longer inside the metallic-mesh sack. A hood made of similar material was now pulled over my head. It had three holes in it—two for my eyes and one for my mouth. I tried to pull it off, but it was secured at my neck by a metal ring, clamped and padlocked.

I peered through the holes and found myself imprisoned in a cage hanging from the ceiling of an exquisitely decorated dining room. Its walls were lined with a cherry-brown wainscoting, and the ceiling was opened to the stars by means of a large skylight. Beside my cage hung two others, containing Orsteen and Morion, who both wore matching hoods and seemed unconscious.

Orsteen stirred. “I’ve been faking sleep so to assess our situation and our captors. The Masters of the house, as they’re called, are three fellows in ridiculously tall top hats. They’re currently refreshing themselves before the evening meal, which is being prepared by a lumbering oaf called Palook. Unfortunately, this is all I’ve learned. Why they’ve taken us captive, I don’t know.”

In the corner of the room, I noticed four lifelike statues sitting in chairs holding stringed instruments at the ready. “They seem prepared to pluck the first notes of a great masterwork.”

Orsteen nodded. “Bizarre, aren’t they? I’m still not sure if they’re real or wax.”

“They’re a creepy quartet,” I said. “If they are real, they command a remarkable muscle control to maintain such a pose.”

“They look sad and tortured,” said Orsteen.

“Agreed.” I focused on their faces. “They have no eyes, only hollow spaces. And there are electronic implants at their temples.”

The door leading to the kitchen swung open and the oaf Palook came lurching through. He set the dining table with fine porcelain plates, crystal goblets, clean linens, and an array of silverware.

“We’re on an important mission,” I announced, watching Palook light a pair of candles. “Do you understand me?”

Palook looked at me dumbly, blinked, and then, with clumsy footwork, went back to the kitchen. He promptly returned carrying three metal bowls, which he fit through feeding slots in the bars of our cages.

“Butterbeans. Eat!” Palook grabbed a sharp piece of silverware from the dining table and poked Morion awake. “Eat!”

Morion pulled frantically at his hood. “I’m being smothered!” He at last aligned the holes for his eyes and mouth. Once calm, he ate the bowl of butterbeans, stuffing handfuls of the gummy porridge through the hole of his hood and into his mouth.

I pushed my bowl away defiantly. “I won’t eat your slop. I want answers!”

The oaf Palook didn’t respond verbally, instead, he went to the far wall of the room, where a panel of switches was located. He pointed to each as if counting them, and then flipped one on.

My cage conducted a powerful current of electricity, sending shocks through my body. “I’ll eat! No more! I’ll eat!”

An hour passed and the Masters arrived for the evening meal dressed in fancy suits and tall top hats. They walked with a hobbling gait apparently typical for their race, given their bowed legs and underslung asses. They took their seats and the quartet of musicians came to life, plucking and strumming a serene melody.

Morion clanged his empty metal bowl against his cage. “Is this how you greet strangers to your land? Let us go, you bastards!”

“I apologize,” I said. “What my friend intended to say was that there must be a way to negotiate our freedom. You look like a civil group of gentleman, who—”

“Silence!” exclaimed one of the men, holding up a hand. “You’ve broken etiquette by interrupting our evening meal.”

I tried to further reason with the men, but the most offended of the three signaled Palook, who, standing by the panel of switches, administered punishment.

Fearing further shocks, we remained quiet as Palook began serving the three Masters course after course of culinary delights.

Five small courses were consumed before Palook rolled out a long cart carrying the final course, which was covered by a white cloth.

“Main course is served,” said Palook. He pulled away the cloth with a sweeping flourish, making the presentation ever more dramatic.

Upon an oversized platter lay the body of a man cooked to a golden-brown crisp. His chest cavity had been split open and filled with aromatic vegetables, roots, and spices.

From the sight of the main course, I now knew why we were captured. “You plan to eat us? You’re animals!”

One of the Masters pulled a crisp of skin from the carcass and ate it. “A misguided classification. We’re not animals, but simply people who enjoy the flavor and succulence of other people.”

“I do admit,” declared Morion, “these bones of mine probably bear many delicious and tasty cutlets.”

All in attendance waited, expecting Morion to beg for his life or give some such appeal, but Morion had come to the end of his announcement.

Orsteen looked to Morion as if he’d lost his mind. “Morion’s not only delusional, he’s an idiot. We’re from a polluted land of many toxins. Our bodies have become tainted, and are probably poisonous. I doubt we’ll be appetizing.”