Pathspace: The Space of Paths (27 page)

So what had Xander meant? He concentrated on
the cup and imagines the pathspace bending around it. Nothing
happened for a second, and then the cup began to fade away.

Frustrated, he stopped what he was doing.
The cup stopped fading. But it remained transparent. Some, but not
all, of the light was bending around the cup, so that he could see
the floor behind it. But that didn't help him to move the cup. No
progress.

Or was it? Suddenly he had a ridiculous idea
that he had to try.

Pathspace, Zander had told
him, was the space of
all
paths.
Not just the ones he could imagine. It included directions he could
not even sense.

He stood in front of the door to the cell
and reached out with his mind to embrace the pathspace and imagine
a new configuration...

And the door began to fade! He stopped, and
the effect remained. The door was now transparent. He knew it was
there, but he could see out into the hall, as if it were made of
glass.

By using pathspace,
he
could see through things.
Evidently, matter did not occupy all of the dimensions of
space. No matter how solid an object looked, even a wall, there
were paths that went
around
it in
unseen directions.

Now
this
was progress. All by himself, he had found a way
to do something Xander had not even hinted at. His surge of pride
soured, however, when he wished he could tell the wizard and then
remembered that he couldn't , because the old man was
dead.

Move past that,
he
told himself. He tried to imagine what Xander would have told him
if he were here right now.
Forget the past. It can't help
you or hurt you. Concentrate on the present.

He still had to find a way out of this cell.
He looked at the door. It was still transparent. After a moment he
realized what was bothering him about that. Why was it that
sunlight was blocked by a roof, it there were paths, somewhere,
around the roof? He decided that sunlight, after traveling so far
from its source, had to be moving in a straight line. Hardly any of
the photons were able to wiggle around a roof, in the normal
pathspace configuration.

But he could change that. And now he could
see when a guard was coming. This was already an advantage: he
could practice his skills without being caught at it.

A nameless attendant darted forward to
replenish his snifter. He smiled a thanks to the man and returned
his attention to the Honcho. “Yes,” he said, “quite smooth. They're
doing marvelous things with springs and things these days. But you
don't need us to tell you that, your Excellency. We're sure your
new imperial coach is even better.”

The Honcho smiled. “The craftsman are always
improving their craft,” he agreed. “I'm sure one day their artifice
will rival the best that the Ancients contented themselves
with.”

Enrique nodded, but in his own mind he heard
disagreement and agreement both to this statement. Part of him
heard it with gladness, hungry for the luxuries the Ancients had
known: medicines to cure and prevent disease, music captured and
recorded in patterns of obedient lightning, and machines that
conveyed images and sound across the world, making face to face
meetings redundant and far-flung empires and enterprises
sustainable. Yet part of him regretted the incessant need to
improve the state of technical prowess. It always led to disdain
for religions such as his own based upon the pronouncements of
primitives. When today's advances make last week's best work seem
inadequate, how will the words of men who lived a thousand years
ago be viewed, but irrelevant? No one fears the god of thunder once
lightning rods are put in place.

He sipped the Balcones from the snifter,
taking care not to show his amusement at sipping whiskey from a
brandy snifter. According to his sources, the pseudo-cognac
produced in Californ was more appropriate for such full-bodied
glasses than the Texas-made whiskey. It was more aromatic, for one
thing. According to records he had seen, actual cognac, no longer
available in the Americas since the collapse of civilization, had
been produced according to amazingly rigid laws and procedures.
Only certain grapes, grown in certain areas, could be used, the
fermented juice then double-distilled in copper alembics, and aged
at least two years in Limousin oak barrels before sale to the
public.

Californ “cognac”, which he obtained through
his unofficial sources was, by all accounts, a fair imitation of
the original, although of course the grapes were grown there, and
not in the same soils and climate found in old France. Likewise the
oak in which it was aged was not Limousin oak. Nevertheless, it was
made from grapes, as the Texas whiskey was not, and was aged in
oaken barrels. It was popular in Mexico. It also had a lower
alcohol content than whiskey. He kept that in mind as he sipped
Peter's rye. Peter and his son, by contrast, appeared to toss the
stuff down as if long used to surviving and coping with its
effects.

“
But I am certain,” Peter
was saying, “that you did not come to compare conveyances. We do
appreciate the honor of your presence, Holiness, but is there
something we need to discuss?”

Enrique set his snifter down. “Indeed there
is, your Excellency.” He was surprised at the Honcho's formality,
given their earlier familiarity, but presumed that it was for the
benefit of the Runt. “You remember that earlier, you mentioned a
certain cache of confiscated materials which could prove to be of
assistance to your efforts to expand the borders of your
dominion.”

“
Yes,” said the Honcho.
“As I recall, your Holiness, you stated that the objects in
question, being under Papal ban, could not possibly be examined or
utilized. Did I misunderstand you, or has something come to light
which could modify that situation?”

Enrique smiled and
shrugged. “It is possible that we overstated the case. While the
so-called 'gifts' of the Tourists have been proscribed as a matter
of Church law, that proscription was never actually an
infallible
proclamation, since it was a
matter of mortal opinion among the College of Cardinals, and not,
in actual fact, an article of divinely received wisdom. It is
therefore possible that exceptions could be made, in situations of
need, given appropriate caution and conditions.”

The Honcho leaned forward a little.
“Interestingly put, Holiness. And how might these conditions be
satisfied? I trust you have something in mind, something that Texas
could do for you and the Church in return for granting us
access?”

“
It is possible,” he
admitted, “that some quid pro quo could be agreed. But I must warn
you, Excellency, that even within the Church, there are
practicalities to be considered. In order to satisfy...certain
elements...we might have to ask for something you might be as
reluctant to relinquish as we are to let these demonic tools fall
into human hands.”

“
I see,” said the Honcho.
“I have heard it said that a compromise is an agreement in which
neither party is happy, yet both are satisfied. I already know that
you would be unhappy to set the precedent of letting the Empire
make industrial-scale use of swizzles and everflames from your
storehouse. Tell me, Excellency, what is it you fear will make me
equally unhappy? How can we trade our miseries for the betterment
of both of us?”

Enrique took another sip of the whiskey from
his snifter before he answered. It wasn't bad stuff, even if it
wasn't Californ cognac. “Excellency,” he said, “I have heard that
you have recently acquired a new prisoner. A wizard, in fact. Are
my sources correct?”

Peter glanced at Jeffrey.
The frown on the Runt's face was transparent, and spoke as loud as
words.
How does this guy know about the prisoner? You're
not going to turn him over, are you?

“
Nearly correct, Holiness.
I must congratulate you on your
sources
, but they have not got it quite right. The young man in
question is a mere apprentice. I believe his teacher was,
regrettably, terminated in the fracas which led to his
capture.”

“
Nevertheless,” Enrique
responded, “he is a practitioner of the forbidden arts, is he
not?”

“
Yes, I suppose so,”
admitted the Honcho. “But hardly a powerful one. He is, after all,
our prisoner, unable to escape from his cell, let alone threaten
either our security or that of the Church.”

“
Are you certain of that?
Granted, if he is young he probably knows less than the older
wizard. But he might surprise you. Were he to escape, it would not
speak well of your security.”

“
True. What is your
interest in him? Are you hoping to convert him? I can see how it
would be helpful to the Church if you were to persuade him to
change, and tell others that he has seen the error of his
ways.”

“
Perhaps,” Enrique
conceded. But we both know that his status as an apprentice, in
itself, is proof that the people in Rado are trying to raise more
wizards. We both know such people are dangerous. I'm told the older
wizard captured a group of your scouts all by himself.”

“
So what are you
suggesting, Holiness?”

“
A public execution,” said
the Pontiff. “To discourage others from such a path.”

His holiness departed as quickly as he had
arrived. Jeffrey peered out the window of the building, watching
the street far below, and saw the papal coach departing before he
spoke. “The man is insane. A public execution?”

His father finished his whiskey. “It's not
without precedent. In Mexico ordinary people have been burned as
heretics, just for refusing to 'donate' lands to the Church
there.”

“
Yes, but those 'ordinary
people' you're referring to were wealthy landowners who worked the
poor like slaves. I'm not saying it was right to execute them
without a real trial, but their hands weren't exactly clean. This
apprentice you have, he's done nothing. Are you really going to let
Pope Ricky burn him at the stake just for being who he is, a raw
apprentice?”

The Honcho poured himself another glass.
“It's not what I would prefer to do, no. But we need what they
have. I don't like it, but it's as simple as that.”

Jeffrey slammed his hand down on the table,
making the bottle jump. “No it isn't! It's not the only way. They
can't have found every bit of alien tech in Texas. And if they
have, maybe that apprentice can learn how to make what you need.
Have you considered that? He must have talent, for Xander to
recruit him. Maybe all he needs is time. But we'll never know if
you let the TCC turn him into a human candle.”

The Honcho stared into his glass. “Killing
the old wizard didn't help his attitude. Lester doesn't want to
help us, certainly not against his own country. And he's not eager
to let us know the true extent of his abilities. As far as he
knows, his best move is to convince us he's harmless. I'm not sure
I know how to change his attitude fast enough for him to be useful.
Do you?”

Jeffrey mulled it over. “I don't know. He
wants to live. Why don't you give him a piece of pipe and see if he
can make a swizzle out of it? Don't tell him what it's for, just
make it a test. If he can't do it you can always trade him for the
gear you need, but if he can it's a start. Then you can start
getting your oil.”

Three days and still no word. She was
beginning to fear her operatives in Dallas had been discovered. It
weighed on her mind as she approached the infirmary. And not only
her mind. If they couldn't tell him something soon, Xander was
likely to attempt another escape, and if this kept up they'd be
passing him his meals through a slot in the door. The problem with
mounting an armed guard on him was he knew she didn't want him shot
again.

There had been no more scouting sorties
either. Had the Honcho learned what he needed to know? Or had he
decided to postpone the invasion until Spring?

She pushed the door open
and looked in in on him. Xander was sitting up in the bed, a book
open in his hands, his angry eyes flicking left and right as he
scanned the lines. She tilted her head to read the title on the
spine:
The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.
“Where did you get that one?”

His eye flicked up, then back down at the
page. “I had Aria fetch it for me from my quarters.”

“
Why the ancient history?
Don't tell me Hitler is one of your heroes.”

“
Very funny,” he grunted.
“It's been a long time since I read it, and I thought it might be
helpful to review, considering our situation.”

And maybe it helps distract you from the
fact that your apprentice is in the hands of our enemies.
But she didn't say it out loud. “Helpful
how?”

“
Hitler was the first to
realize the possibility of a new kind of war that his motorized
divisions made possible. Up until his time the automobile had been
largely viewed merely as a replacement for horse-drawn vehicles.
But Hitler saw that the ability of the motorized vehicle to cover a
lot of ground rapidly without resting, as horses and men on foot
have to do, made possible an entirely new kind of war: the
blitzkrieg
, or lightning-war. Before him,
armies moved a few miles per day. Hitler did what Caesar was famous
for – advancing more rapidly than expected – and did it even
better, thanks to the gasoline- and diesel-powered vehicles. His
lightning-swift advance into Poland surprised everybody, especially
the Poles, whose old-fashioned horse cavalry (that had been
effective in the wars prior to WWII) were useless against Hitler's
motorized divisions. His war was the first in which modern
transportation was more important than gunpowder or
swords.”