Richard: Part IV
The phone was beeping and rattling on the nightstand.
Eyes closed and face half-buried in the pillow, he scrabbled around, grabbed it. Dragged it closer.
“What?”
“George, it’s me. Tony. You awake?”
“mrgl… yeah, I guess. What the fuck, Tony!? It’s three in the fucking morning!”
“George, wake up. This is important.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m awake. Now. So what’s so important?”
“Praseodymium metal 75 a kilo FOB Australia. Two-nines scandium metal fucking 2500 a kilo FOB Australia. You hearing me?”
Now he was awake.
“Scandium at 2500 a kilo!?” He took a breath. “That’s like a quarter below market!”
“There’s more, too, if you want the whole thing… the whole rare earth list, dirt-cheap.”
“Is this for real?”
“Remember Pat Wrightson, at Nargun Mining & Minerals?”
“Yeah. We helped him out a few years ago with that ilmenite screw-up. Dropped our profit for the quarter, too.”
“That’s him. He says Nargun will announce those prices tomorrow, his time, and wanted to let us know first to say thanks for the help.”
“You trust him?”
“Yeah, I do… he’s been in the business as long as we have, and he’s always been honest with us. Drive’s a hard bargain, but he’s solid.”
“Jesus… And praseodymium at 75… how much do they have?”
“He says they’ve got a few tons on hand, and can accept orders for any amount. Ton-sized orders, George.”
“Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick…”
Now he was really awake. He swung out of bed and started dressing, phone shouldered to his ear.
“OK, look. Announce a ten percent sale on the whole rare earth list, orders have to be inked today. I’m coming in; be there in about forty minutes. Gotta go.”
“I’ll get on it. I’ve already called in the rest of the guys.”
“Bye.”
He cut the call and trotted out of the bedroom—Kathy was still asleep in spite of the phone call and him getting dressed.
He scribbled a note and dropped it on the kitchen table, then out the door.
As he pulled out of the driveway he dialed up another number.
“Maxine? Wake up!”
“What? Who is… ? Oh, George. Can’t it wait until morning?”
“No, it can’t. Maxine, the bottom’s going drop out of the rare earth market tomorrow. Pull all your buy offers right now, cancel any buys that aren’t signed and sealed, and review any stock holdings we’ve got ASAP. Companies are going to drop like flies when this gets out, and it ain’t gonna be us!”
“Seriously?”
“You think I woke you up at three in the morning for fun? Get it in gear, Maxine! I’m on the road now; be at the office in about half an hour.”
One more number to call: his own broker. But if he told his broker to sell off his rare earth investments the broker would know something was up, and that could spook the whole market. Better hold off just a bit longer. Maybe check the current prices when I get to the office, he thought, and if there’s a profit suggest he pull a few and invest into something else. Maybe Nargun?
* * *
Factor Chóng took another sip of his tea. The waterfall was stunning in the sunlight, falling well over a hundred meters to crash into the bluish-green pool below. Gonville stood beside him silently, admiring the view but refusing to sit down and relax next to his boss.
“How are the new recruits coming along, Captain?”
“Better than expected, sir. They’re all familiar with weapons already, of course, but most of them have never worked in teams before.”
“Any problems?”
“Nothing major. There are a few I expect will be sergeants within a few weeks, and few I expect to find dead in the barracks any day now, but it’s a pretty standard bunch.”
“Good. I wish we didn’t need to hire so many guards these days, but until things settle down again we never know what we’re going to run into. And I’m getting tired of losing good people and expensive goods.”
“They should be ready to go by the end of the month, sir. They’ve discovered the joys of getting regular pay and meals, and they’re beginning to get itchy for a night on the town.”
Chóng laughed.
“You’re saving that for a graduation present, I gather?”
Gonville smiled. “It’ll taste all the sweeter for waiting.”
A whistle sounded behind them, and Gonville at once turned around, and signaled.
One of his men jogged up.
“Sir. One of the far scouts just returned from the north with reports of unknown troops. And machines, sir.”
“Machines?”
Chóng rose and walked over.
“You’re sure he said machines?”
“That’s what he said, sir. He’s at main camp now.”
Gonville whistled again, and turned to Chóng.
“I’ve called the horses, sir. We should go.”
Chóng was already walking down the path at a brisk pace. He never did like waiting.
* * *
Fyodor Il’ych was a mess.
His clothing was torn in places and the sole of one boot had come loose.
He stank, too.
Chóng sat down in front of him anyway, Gonville standing nearby.
“Run over it all again. In detail.”
“We were mapping on schedule, and crested a low range of mountains to the north—here.” He pointed to a rough map on his knees, with general terrain features sketched in. “It’s a low range, mostly forested, and looks down into a long, wide river valley running from the northwest to the southeast, here.”
“How far is this range?”
“It took me two days, and that was pushing my horse a little. I’d guess maybe a hundred and fifty kilometers. I can figure it out more accurately once I bring the map up to date.”
“Captain Gonville, how is the horse?”
“Just tired, sir, not exhausted. I’d say his guess is pretty good.”
“Then what, Fyodor Il’ych?”
The scout continued.
“We heard loud noises, metal and rock scraping and banging, then a loud explosion, and the ground shook. There was a bald a kilo or so down the range, so we headed there, keeping well hidden.”
He took another sip of cold water.
“We left the horses in the trees and climbed the bald, keeping scrub between us and the valley, until we could get a good look. We had our telescopes, of course.”
“And?”
“There was a group of moon-shaped huts, like a half moon with the flat side on the ground, all of metal. A guard tower, probably of metal, but brown. Dozens of men all around. And enormous carts, with wheels the size of a man, and no horses pulling them, carrying rock from a huge pit in the ground into one of the huts. We watched for a while, and apparently each cart has different signs on it, so we could tell that after a cart went into the hut it stayed there for about an hour, then came back out. But during that hour a dozen other carts also went into the same hut… and it wasn’t big enough to hold more than one at a time!”
“…a portal…” mused Chóng. “But not one of mine. Go on.”
“The carts rode down a rough track cut into the side of the pit, spiraling around the side to reach the bottom, where an enormous machine like a scorpion was cutting into the rock, ripping it out in huge chunks, smashing it into pieces small enough to fit into one of the carts, and loading them up. Every so often everything would stop moving and there would be another explosion, and the ground would shake and dust rise, and another part of the pit wall would collapse.”
“How many men did you see?”
“They were moving about, but we estimated about two and a half dozen.”
“Any weapons?”
“We didn’t see any, but the men in the tower seemed to be carrying spears or something. Long metal rods.”
“Rifles,” said Gonville.
“And a pit-mine,” added Chóng. “Not good at all.”
“Do you know what they’re mining?”
“No idea… it’s not iron, that’s for sure. Rock’s the wrong color.”
“Thank you, Fyodor Il’ych. Rest.”
Chóng stood.
“Captain, see that he gets all the food and rest he needs. And get those recruits ready!”
* * *
The sign on the door read “Byrd.” Nothing more.
Nobody working here needed anything more.
The man rested his heavy pack on the floor for a minute, knocked, waited for a snapped “Come!” and went in.
“Boss, we found something you should know about.”
“What’s up, Leyton?”
The woman sat up in her chair, twisting her neck around to uncramp it. “Coffee’s cold, dammit.”
“You know those scouts we sent to figure out where the hell we are?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, one of them just came back in with another load of deer and stuff for the kitchen, but they ran across something else, too.”
“And? You’re eventually going to get around to the point, I gather?”
Leyton smiled.
“Oh, yeah. A whole lotta points.”
He pushed her paperwork to the side, opening up the tabletop, and dropped the pack on it with a thump.
He flipped open the flap.
“Go ahead, Curly. You’re gonna love it.”
She stood, and leaned over to peer inside.
“What the…?”
Leyton reached in, grabbed the thing’s neck, and pulled it up so she could get a better look.
“It’s a velociraptor. Just like fucking Jurassic Park, ’cept with feathers.”
“Holy shit… a fucking dinosaur!?”
“Yeah, I just said that.”
He pulled the pack down a little more, and popped one of the feathered forelimbs out.
“Teeth and claws both. It thinks people are food, but doesn’t know what guns are. Lucky for us.”
“Dinosaurs. Here. Around my mine site.”
“Yup. And there’s something else you’ll love, too.”
“You’ve got more?”
“Oh, yeah.” Leyton rotated the bag to show her the other side of the velociraptor.
The feathers had been plucked from one patch on its neck, clearly revealing the Chinese characters branded into it.
* * *
“Mr. Wrightson, sir? Urgent call from Site 34.”
Pat Wrightson started to pick up the receiver, hesitated, put on the headphones instead.
“What’s up, Curly?”
“Check your mail, Pat. We’ve got a situation here.”
He clicked his mail; there was a message from her, with attachments.
“Dammit, Curly. We just announced prices and orders are piling in. This is a really bad time to discover a problem with the mine.”
“Just open the photos, Pat.”
He did.
A velociraptor.
A fucking feathered velociraptor, a Goddamned ostrich with fangs like a shark.
“What the fuck is this?”
“One of my scouts shot it. Here. In the woods.”
“It’s real.”
“Yeah, it’s real. And that’s not all. Keep looking.”
The next photo was of the thing’s neck.
Pat could read Chinese.
They were numbers in traditional glyphs.
The brand said “No. 53.”
“Holy shit…” he breathed. “A real fucking dino… Wow. OK, hang on a sec.”
He straightened up, switched over to his secretary.
“Jane, set up an immediate, secure meeting for the Executive Board. Urgent, and as soon as possible. In person if they can, or Zoom.”
He switched back to Byrd.
“Curly, can you bring that thing in? I’ll have a heli waiting for you at the plant.”
“Will do. You want me to bring the scout, too?”
“No. And make sure this stays quiet for now. Find out who’s seen it and shut them up.”
“Yessir. I’ll be over within fifteen minutes.”
Carter Burk, the head of Special Projects, walked in.
“Got your call, Pat. What’s up?”
“Site 34, Carter. Here, check these photos.”
He swiveled the display so the other man could read the see it.
“Jane, how many of the Executive Board are in the building?”
“I’m still checking, sir, but so far you, Mr. Burk, and Ms. Davidson.”
“Ask Anita to get up here as soon as possible, please.”
The door opened.
“I’m already here, Pat. Talk to me.”
Pat glared at her aide, standing quietly behind her with a touchpad.
“You. Out.”
Ms. Davidson, head of Global Operations, pointed with her chin.
The aide left.
She stepped up, adjusted her glasses, and checked the screen.
“Well,” she said. “That’s interesting.”
Pat snorted.
“Yeah, we didn’t have enough interesting stuff lately, and I thought I’d liven things up a bit.”
“You succeeded,” she agreed. “So what’s the Chinese say?”
“It says number 53, and it’s written in fanti. Which means traditional characters, like used in Taiwan, or in Hong Kong before the Chinese eliminated them. Could even be pre-War Japanese, for that matter.”
“So we’ve got Chinese of some sort raising feathered dinosaurs near our most important mining operation,” said Carter. “Isn’t that just fucking wonderful.”
“Who knows about this?”
“Just the three of us, Curly Byrd, and a few people there. I’ve already given orders to keep the information there, but we’re going to have to do something about the truck drivers, too, or they’ll get the word out.”
“Is this going to impact operations there?”
“Curly’s coming over now, but based on what we’ve got so far, I doubt it,” said Pat. “We need to accelerate the scouting plan.”
“And beef up security. If there are little dinosaurs running around I wouldn’t be too surprised to discover there are big ones, too,” added Carter. “I know some folks who would be tickled pink to go up against a T-rex. I sure would. Talk about bragging rights! Damn!”
“Yeah, let’s concentrate on the problem at hand and worry about trophy hunting later,” said Pat. “It looks like most everyone is hooked in now, so let me get started.”
He turned back to his computer, and switched it over to the conference system.
“Sorry to interrupt your busy schedules, everyone, but we’ve run into an interesting problem at Site 34.”
* * *
“He was standing at the far side of the pit, holding a white flag,” explained Leyton. “Says he wants to parley.”
The prisoner was wearing leather sandals, a short skirt of leather strips, rough-spun linen shirt, and leather harness.
The guard handed over the dagger.
She examined it closely… hand-made, but quality work. Simple, solid, and very, very sharp. Obviously seen a lot of use, judging from the hilt.
She gestured to the chair, inviting the man to sit.
“My name is Cecily Byrd; I’m in charge here.”
“I am Gonville Bromhead of Penglai, here on behalf of Factor Chóng.”
“Factor Chóng?”
“He owns this land.”
“I see. You don’t look Chinese.”
He laughed. “You have no idea where you are, do you?”
She tilted her head, studying him.
Muttonchops. Looked White. Spoke English with one hell of an accent. British, maybe?
“You’re British?”
“I was, but that’s all past, here.”
“And where is ‘here’?”
“You’re in the Dreamlands, ma’am.”
“The Dreamlands?”
“It’s difficult to explain—you’d have to ask Master Richard or the Factor for that—but basically this is an alternate version of Wakeworld. Of your world. Some things are the same, some things aren’t.”
“Like dinosaurs, you mean.”
“Yes, like deinos, but also like dragons, and ships that sail the clouds, and myths and legends from the real world that have taken shape here. Like magic.”
She blinked.
“Dragons.”
“Yes, quite real, too. I’ve never seen one breathe fire but I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if one did.”
“I find that all quite hard to believe…” she said slowly. “Then again, I’ve seen that dinosaur myself…”
“I was born in 1845, in Versailles. Spent my whole life and my first death in the British Army. And you?”
“I… 1845!? What the…?”
“Yes, like I said, things are a bit different over here,” he smiled.
“I… see… I was born in Hong Kong in 1959.”
“Ah, a proper British woman, then.”
“Uh, no… actually Hong Kong was returned to the Chinese in 1997.”
“You gave it to those peasants?”
“China is a major world power now, I’m afraid, and Britain a minor one. I’m from Australia myself, which is independent of Britain but still part of the Commonwealth.”
It was his turn to pause.
“Britain is a minor power, you say…”
Curly straightened.
“Well, this is all very fascinating, and I will want to talk with you in more detail, but to get back to the point… you say this land is owned by someone? A Factor Chóng? Factor, that means a merchant, right?”
“Yes, this is his personal realm. He would welcome the opportunity to talk with you about mutual cooperation, but demands that you halt all machinery and electricals immediately, or risk destruction.”
“You mean electronics,” she corrected. “So, you’re threatening us?”
“No, not us. Anything more advanced than about the 15th or 16th century will be destroyed by Reed.”
“And who’s Reed?”
“A goddess.”
Curly laughed.
“A goddess. You want me to shut down my operation for your goddess!?”
“I figured you’d say that. I did, when I got here. Brought along a little present that might help,” he said. “May I have my bag back for a minute?”
Curly motioned to Leyton, who handed it over.
“It’s safe; he just had the dagger.”
The man—Bromhead, he’d said—rooted around in the bag for a minute and pulled out a small cloth bag.
He handed it over to Curly who took it gingerly.
“And this is?”
“Just pour it out on the desk, ma’am.”
It looked like white sand with a few specks of red and black mixed in.
“Now clap.”
“What is this, some sort of joke?”
“Just clap, ma’am, you can always get angry later if you still need to.”
She clapped.
The sand began to swirl, dancing up in invisible currents, to form a pale curtain in the air, pulsating.
An Asian face appeared.
“Wang?”
Her voice came out as a croak.
“Wang? Is that really you?”
There was no answer, and the face dissolved into a young boy’s visage. He was smiling, looking up as a child might look up to a loving mother.
“…John…”
She was whispering, eyes opened wide, hand reaching toward the sand.
Her finger touched it, and the sand collapsed back into a pile.
She snapped her head up, furious.
“How did you do that? Who told you about John?”
“Nobody, ma’am. There’s a spell on the sand that just shows memories. No tricks, just magic.”
“Leyton, you try. Will it work for anyone?”
“Of course, until the magic runs out. Should be good for a couple dozen more shows or so.”
Leyton moved closer, and clapped near the pile of sand.
It sprang up into action once more, this time showing the face of a young woman. She was crying.
Leyton silently touched it, and she fell back into the sand.
“It works,” he said dully. “That was Ilsa.”
Gonville broke the silence.
“Please, I realize this is hard to understand, but all of you are in danger here. If Reed finds machinery or electricals, she strikes with no warning, and no mercy.”
“You know we have rifles vastly superior to the British army of the 19th century, right?”
“I’m sure you do, but it won’t matter. She makes things… disappear. There is nothing to fight.”
“So we simply have to turn everything off and go home with our tails between our legs!?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” she sniffed. “I pull this off and I’m promised a VP slot.”
“If you’re willing, Master Richard is waiting nearby to talk with you.”
“You mentioned him before.”
“Master Richard is from your realm, I believe. In any case, he has been entrusted by the Factor to negotiate.”
“Leyton? What do you think?”
“Can’t hurt to talk, Curly. And it wouldn’t hurt to find out more about all this.”
She turned back to Gonville. “So how come you came and not him?”
Gonville bared his teeth in what might have been a smile.
“I guess I’m more expendable.”
She thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’m going. Get a security team together; we’ll take the four-by-four.”
“What’s that?” asked Gonville.
“A four-wheel drive truck.”
“A motorcar? No, ma’am, that’s impossible. I don’t understand why Reed hasn’t spotted you already, but I cannot allow any machinery or electricals near Master Richard.”
“You realize you’re asking us to trust you.”
“Yes. As I’ve trusted you by coming here unarmed.”
“This dagger is hardly unarmed.”
“That’s just a dagger, ma’am. Even the housemaids carry one.”
She thought on that for a minute.
“Leyton, I’m going with him.”
“Do you think that’s wise, ma’am?”
“I’m not very happy about it, but that velociraptor and the little movie I just saw are pretty convincing. If there’s something out there that threatens this operation, I want to know about it.”
“Right. I’ll come with you, of course, with…”
“No, you stay here. You’re in charge until I get back. And no security team.”
“In that case, I’ll get Randy’s team up in the tower, then.”
Curly nodded. Randy and his team were mercs, and would be able to provide some protection even at a distance.
“How far away is Master Richard?”
“Just up the valley, where it narrows and the tree line is close. He’s been watching, I’m sure.”
“Maybe about four hundred meters? No more than half a klick, tops… no problem, Curly,” said Leyton quietly. “Randy’ll have you covered, and Jake’ll go with you. Just to be sure.”
Curly stood and shrugged on her jacket.
“I guess you’d like this back, then,” she said, handing his dagger over.
* * *
Standing in the woods just back from the edge, well hidden, I saw Gonville step back out of the Quonset hut and scratch his nose. He was unharmed and thought everything was safe.
I stepped out of the woods, both arms extended, hands empty.
Very slowly, I made a big production out of removing my sword and dagger. I stuck my sword in the ground, and hung my dagger over the guard, knowing they would be watching from the tower.
I turned around slowly so they could see I wasn’t trying to hide a crossbow under my tunic or something. They’d have to take my word I didn’t have a pistol in my waistband, though. Now that I thought of it, I didn’t have a waistband.
Seemed to be a lot of activity around that Quonset, and up in the tower.
I had no doubt I was in somebody’s sights.
Three people were walking towards me: Gonville, an athletic thirty-something woman with a huge mop of brick-red hair, and a chunky fellow, bald and sunglasses. Clearly a bodyguard. The two newcomers wore matching blue jumpsuits; must be the company uniform, I figured. Gonville stayed in front, trampling down the waist-high grass as needed. We’d picked a place full of low rocky outcrops, though, so there were only a few places he had to wade a path through.
Nobody seemed to be carrying a gun, which was nice, but I noticed the bodyguard had a combat knife strapped to one thigh and a machete scabbarded on the other side. Presumably he knew how to use them, too.
With my longsword I wouldn’t have been worried, but since I’d put my own weapons down I began to feel a little exposed.
No help for it… that’s why I came.
Chóng had asked Kuranes for help, and Kuranes—figuring I’d have a better chance of talking to people from my realm—asked me. A quick flight out on a courier ship, which I suspected was actually a smuggler who owed the King a favor, reports from Chóng to bring me up to speed, and here I was.
Sure would be nice if things worked out right for a change.
They stopped about a dozen meters away, and the woman called out.
“Mister Richard? I’m Cecily Byrd, in charge of this operation.”
“Not Mister, Ms. Byrd. Master. It’s just the way they say things around here,” I corrected her. “My full name is Richard Saxton, formerly of Pennsylvania.”
“I’d like to approach closer so we can talk more freely, if I may.”
“Of course. I’m unarmed, but your bodyguard looks rather dangerous. Perhaps he could stay where he is, with Captain Gonville?”
“Of course.”
She nodded to the man and strode toward me with confidence.
We shook.
“So, what’s all this nonsense about goddesses wanting to blow up my mining operation?” she asked, skipping the formalities.
“Reed couldn’t care less about your mining operation, but she destroys advanced machinery, electronics, and pretty much any technology more advanced than the Middle Ages.”
“How? With bows and arrows?”
“Hardly. I don’t know exactly what she does, but based on personal observation—which almost cost me my life and the lives of my companions—I think she transports a spherical section of reality somewhere else. The resulting cavity is a vacuum, causing a thunderclap as air or water rushes in. If the sphere is sufficiently large, that onrush itself can also cause considerable damage in the surrounding area.”
“Transports? Transports how?”
“I guess the right word would be teleports.”
“Teleports where?”
“I have no idea. Nothing she destroys has ever been found. My suspicion is that’s sent outside this universe.”
“Universe? Outside the universe?”
“Yes. I was an astrophysicist for decades, and I’m using the term universe quite precisely. Entirely outside our bubble universe, into a different reality.”
“That sounds rather like advanced technology to me.”
“A wise man once said any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Presumably the opposite holds true as well.”
“Clarke.”
“Glad to know the classics are still read these days!”
We smiled in unison, but her smile quickly faded.
“You seem very serious about all this.”
“I am. Your entire crew is at terrible risk, and if Reed’s reaction is too powerful it could have repercussions on Factor Chóng.”
“Your man said he owns this land.”
“Captain Gonville is Factor Chóng’s man; I’m merely here to try to help out, since I’m from your realm.”
“My realm?”
“The Earth in 2022. I assume Australia, from your accent… am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not wrong. Where did you say you were from?”
“I retired in Pennsylvania some years ago, but worked as an astrophysicist at the Center for Astrophysics in Cambridge for many years.”
“You don’t look old enough to have retired.”
“I was, there. I’m younger here.”
“Hold on a second…” She reached up and tapped her ear. “Yes… thank you…”
She took a step back and locked eyes with me.
“A Dr. Richard Saxton, retired from the Center for Astrophysics, died of a stroke late last year in Pennsylvania.”
“So I’m dead there… I thought that… Wait a minute! You have an earphone!?”
“Well, yes, and they just confirmed your death over…”
I reached out and snatched the earpiece from her head along with a few stray strands of hair.
“Ow, dammit!”
She swatted at my hand, but I stepped back and threw the earpiece as hard as I could, back toward the base.
Jake jumped forward, knife in hand, ready to gut me, and of course as soon as he moved, the raptors lying hidden in the grass stood up.
They were there for my protection, but it must have looked like an ambush to the people in the tower.
Rifles boomed and a raptor’s head exploded. I leapt back into the woods without a second glance, and the raptors—except for a few lying dead on the ground or writhing in pain—fell back with me.
Gonville, out in the open, dropped flat.
I couldn’t tell if he’d been hit or was just trying to get out of the fire; he’d have to wait.
Jake stood in front of Curly as she stumbled back toward the mine, machete at the ready.
“Oh my God…!”
Curly stopped.
Jake bumped into her and risked a quick glance to see why she had stopped.
Her jaw hung slack as she stared at the gigantic eye far above the mine. It ran its gaze over the mine, the trucks, the excavator, blinked once, and then the largest Quonset—the one with the radio antenna on top—vanished, leaving a semicircular hole where it had stood.
“Get down!” I shouted. “The shoc…”
My shout was drowned out by the thunder, and a blast of wind shook the trees, leaves and branches flying in a maelstrom of sudden fury.
Jake leaned into it, shielding his eyes, but Curly was blown off-balance, skidding across the grass completely out of control.
There was another explosion, and another, and another… until finally there was only the wind.
I looked up.
Jake was on all fours, slowly pulling himself together and raking leaves from his hair.
Curly was sitting, motionless, staring at the mine.
I followed her gaze.
There was no mine.
It looked like the moon… semi-spherical holes of all sizes dotted the landscape, sometimes overlapping each other. A pile of lumber lay untouched, a half-built Quonset behind it sagging, partially torn apart by the wind.
The trucks, the excavator… all gone.
As they began to take in the full scale of the devastation, there was a loud rumble, and the nose of a dump truck appeared from the thin air over one of the holes, popped out like it was coming from a Disney cartoon, and plunged, head-first, into the pit.
It landed with a crash, the screeching of metal, the sound of an engine going full throttle for a moment, then quiet.
“Holy shit…”
I could hear her whisper clearly in the silence.
The birds started chirping again.
Reed had finally come.
* * *
I whistled the raptors back and told them to stay, then stepped out.
Jake struggled to his feet, scrabbled for his knife, shook his head, and watched me.
“Jake. It’s all right,” called Curly. “Let him be.”
“Are you alright?” I asked. “Gonville, you hear me?”
“Yeah, I’m OK,” came a grumble from the brush. “A few cuts, that’s all.”
He stood, brushing leaves and dirt off his clothes.
“Do I need to pick my sword back up, or can we relax a bit now?” I asked, looking at Jake.
He hesitated, looked to Curly.
She nodded.
“OK, but keep those dinosaurs back.”
“They’re just like police dogs. If you’re not a threat they won’t bother you.”
He sheathed the machete, but he didn’t look too happy.
Curly started to walk back toward where the mine had been.
I grabbed her arm.
“Uh-uh, not yet. She’s gonna notice that dump truck in a minute and you don’t want to be anywhere near until she’s all done.”
Curly was already past shock, and staring intently at the holes.
“Wish I still had my earpiece,” she said.
“No, you don’t,” I said. “I threw it right over there, maybe forty meters or so? See anything?”
She turned to look.
“Ah,” she said. “I see. And if I’d had that in my ear at the time, that crater would have happened where I was standing…”
“Yes. It’s a small one, but I imagine it would have killed all four of us, one way or another. So maybe let’s wait until she’s gone, shall we?”
“Is she going to kill me if I have a cigarette?”
“Highly unlikely,” I smiled. “That may be your last pack for a while, though… tobacco’s pretty rare here, and thagweed takes some getting used to.”
“Thagweed?” She held the pack out; Jake took one. She took a long drag, sitting on the grass with her arms on her knees. “Well, I guess I’m not going to make VP after all.”
Nobody even blinked at the final blast. The crumpled dump truck vanished in a sonic boom, cutting a very shallow depression into the larger crater already there, and that was that.
“Anything in that Quonset hut?” I asked.
“Nope. Just some beams and sheeting. It’s the new barracks for the surveying crew.” She stopped. “It was the new barracks. I don’t guess we’ll need a surveying crew just yet after all.”
“You were using a cell then, right?”
“Yeah, we ran optical fiber through the tunnel and had a local WiFi setup here. Good for a couple hundred meters.”
“Physical fiber through the portal? It didn’t ever get cut?”
“No. We tried radio at first but the signal was degraded so badly we couldn’t even use it for audio. Fiber never had a problem.”
“Huh. How did you create the portal in the first place?”
“We didn’t. We found the tunnel in a cave in the middle of our quarry in Australia. Took us awhile to figure out what it was, and we still don’t know where we are, but surveying teams were pretty astonished at the geology out here. They swear there’s no way this all could have happened naturally. And we’ve never been able to match the stars to our own stars, although we do appear to be in the same solar system.”
“It didn’t happen naturally. Factor Chóng birthed it, or had someone birth it for him.”
“Birth? You mean he made it!? He created a whole fucking world? Another god?”
“Oh, no, not at all. He’s just an old Chinese diplomat and trader.”
“The Chinese are mixed up in all this? We found Chinese characters on a raptor…”
“Not the China you know, don’t worry. His China is the Han Dynasty.”
“The Han Dynasty… that’s, um, a long time ago…”
“Yup, sure is! About 100 AD, give or take a few. He’s been here a while.”
“And he made this place himself.”
“Basically, it’s a private universe. It’s connected to various other places through portals—what you called a tunnel just now—but it’s all his private realm. He’s not a god or anything, just the man who controls the portals to get here, or to leave… except for your portal, somehow. It shouldn’t exist, but it obviously does.”
“A whole universe… not just a park, or an island, or even a planet… a whole fucking private universe!?”
“I think so… you said you had the starmaps looked at, so either there’s a really good illusion up there, or it’s the whole shebang.”
She blinked.
“And what about Reed?”
“Reed’s an anomaly,” I started to explain, but was interrupted by Curly.
“This whole fucking place is an anomaly!”
“It’s not, actually, but that discussion would get real complicated real quickly,” I said. “Reed is from our realm, but centuries before us. Centuries before Factor Chóng, for that matter. She was a sorceress in ancient Japan, and now she’s pretty much what we’d call a god.”
“Unlike Factor Chóng, who simply creates universes but isn’t a real god, right?”
“Right. Exactly. Factor Chóng birthed this realm using known spells—think of them as programs and equations controlling reality within the Dreamlands, and with various limitations—but Reed is very close to becoming a god in her own right, capable of creating or altering reality at whim in any realm. And that would not be good.”
“Master Richard? Sorry, but you’d better handle this.”
It was Gonville.
He pointed up the valley, and I could see a group of half a dozen men and horses coming toward us.
Chóng’s men. They’d stayed well back to be sure there were no incidents, but now that things had quieted down they were walking down to join us.
Jake was getting nervous again.
“It’s all right, Jake,” I reassured him. “They’re with me, and that machete won’t help much against arrows.”
He kept his hand on his machete anyway.
“Feel free to keep your weapons,” I said. “Nobody will disarm you… that little thing’s not much different from a dagger, after all, and any kid over ten without a dagger would be a laughingstock here.”
He scowled, but relaxed fractionally.
“I’ve got to get a message back to HQ,” said Curly. “That truck came through, so the tunnel—the portal—must still be open.”
“They can’t be closed,” I explained. “They can be created and destroyed, but not closed.”
“You don’t have pen and paper on you, by chance?”
“No, but someone might…”
I turned to Chóng’s men.
“Anyone have paper and quill?”
There was no paper but someone had a nice piece of soft leather he was planning on making a pouch out of.
Her pen wouldn’t work very well on the leather, of course, but a dagger blade worked just fine. Hard to write neatly, but she managed to get the important points down.
We wrapped it around a rock, and everyone threw rocks in the air until we located the portal. It was invisible, and located above a huge pit in the ground, but vanishing rocks made it pretty clear just where it was.
Jake lobbed the message in, and we retreated to wait, just in case Reed decided to come back for more fun.
I told the men to set up camp for the night.
* * *
“Pat, we just got a rock addressed to you, from Curly Byrd.”
“A what?”
“A rock. It’s got a letter scratched into cowhide on it, telling us to halt operations immediately.”
“Cowhide? What the fuck…? What’s the feed show from the mine site?”
“Nothing. All the cameras and remote instrumentation links went dead suddenly about twenty minutes ago,” said the other man. “We figured it was just a technical glitch, but now this…”
“What’s it say? Read it to me.”
“EMERG. Stop all ops. Mine gone. Drop paper/pencil bag on rope. NO ELECT NO MECH. Sasquatch.”
“Sasquatch! That’s Curly, all right. Nobody else knows that codeword. Do what she says, immediately. I’m on my way.”
He punched up his secretary.
“Jane, get the chopper ready. Cancel everything. I’m off to the mine site.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I call your wife?”
“Yes, thank you. Tell her sorry, but I’ll be late tonight.”
He grabbed his jacket and ran out the door.
* * *
A guard ran up out of the darkness into the firelight.
“Master Richard! A bundle on a rope just fell through the portal!”
Curly jumped to her feet.
We’d been talking for hours, exchanging information about the Dreamlands, Chóng, the King, and even my death. Curly seemed like a nice woman, but obviously a company woman through-and-through. She explained how this area was so rich in rare earths it was flatly unnatural, which struck me as unexpected but rather unsurprising, but she did manage to surprise me when she told me what refined metal sold for.
Dollars, even Australian dollars, weren’t of much use here in the Dreamlands, but I could see this was going to be a disaster for everyone no matter how it turned out.
They’d gut Chóng’s realm, and maybe Dreamlands itself, just like the Europeans had gutted the Americas, or the British Australia. Maybe they couldn’t use tanks or airplanes here, but M-16s and .50-cals would work just fine.
I said I thought gunpowder weapons would attract Reed’s anger, too, but I knew it was just a matter of time until they discovered the truth. As long as they didn’t have electronic sights or other fancy gadgets, automatic rifles would fit right in.
I accompanied her down to the mine site.
The raptors fanned out around us as always, but Curly didn’t pay them much heed anymore. She still didn’t like them getting too close, but I didn’t either… one excited raptor could cost you a few fingers, or the whole hand, if you were unlucky.
I wished I’d been able to bring Cornelius.
A canvas bag was swaying in the breeze, suspended on the end of a rope coming out of thin air: the portal. It wasn’t smack in the middle of the hole, but it was far enough out that it couldn’t be reached easily. I cut a bamboo pole and snagged the bag on one of the branches, pulling it close enough to grab. Handed it to Curly,
“Can we check for electronics?” I asked.
“Excellent idea, I was just going to myself,” she replied. “Bring that torch closer, would you?”
She dumped it out on the ground… a couple notebooks, a handful of pens and pencils, two boxes of rations (ADF CRP HCRP – Beef, whatever that meant), and a first-aid kit. She popped open the boxes and first-aid kit to be sure there was nothing hidden inside; there wasn’t.
“You think they’ve put a bug in there anywhere?”
“I would,” she said. “Pat, can you hear me? I’m here, I’m fine, and I’ve got a lot to tell you. I’m going to write it all down and send it back in a few hours, but if you’ve got a bug in here I need you to tell me where it is. I have to destroy it, and if you can’t tell me where it is I’m going to have to throw everything but the paper and pencils away. Pat? You listening?”
There was a crackle of static from inside one of the ration boxes.
Curly dumped it out on the ground, and it was pretty easily to find the source. A tiny speaker was crackling. No audio, just static.
“Got it, Pat, thank you. Are you sure that’s the only one?”
The static turned off and on again three times.
“Thanks, Pat. I’ll get back to you in a bit.”
She handed me the packet, and I smashed it to smithereens with a few rocks.
We walked back to the campfire, and she began writing furiously.
Realizing I wasn’t needed anymore—now, at least—I wandered off to see how Jake was doing.
He was doing pretty well, as it turned out… he’d just established himself as the arm-wrestling champion of the group, which was pretty impressive considering the competition he faced. There was one guy there who was even bigger than Jake, but after a prolonged bout, Jake managed to pull it off.
A few coins changed hands here and there, and all of a sudden somebody discovered they had brought along a bottle of Chóng’s cheap rotgut. He had a whole line of good stuff, too, all priced as you’d expect from a merchant, but he always remembered to make cheaper stuff for those who wanted it… and his guards always seemed to want it.
A bottle or two was hardly enough to get them drunk, but with only a half-dozen or so to share it between, it was enough to make them all friends.
And for now, that was all that mattered.
* * *
Everyone was up at dawn, of course.
We introduced Curly and Jake to the joys of dried meat and fruit; they returned the favor with hot coffee—coffee!!!—and various tinned and packaged foods nobody here had ever seen before.
Most of it didn’t go over very well, but fruit bits in syrup was a big hit.
We didn’t need the first-aid kit at all, thankfully. Most of her people were simply gone, and the rest just had some minor scrapes and bruises.
I asked to use some of the antiseptic and gauze for the raptors, though. I’d had to put one down last night because it was in such bad shape, but with luck one more would recover if I could keep the wounds clean. I didn’t have an X-ray (heck, nobody did, here), but as far as I could tell she’d be alright. The rest were like us: bruised but fine.
Four dead, though, counting the one I’d put down last night.
I took one of the dragolets out of the cage and spoke my message. I had to let Chóng know what was happening. The dragolet could memorize a few minutes of speech but not much more, so I had to abbreviate quite a bit. The point was, Reed had destroyed the mine, the portal was still open, there was still a threat, and he needed to negotiate.
“Is that a dragon?”
It was Curly, looking at the yellow-green dragolet on my arm. Its talons were sunk deep into the glove, and it was happily gorging on raw deer meat as a bribe.
“A dragolet. They don’t grow much bigger than this even in the wild. This one’s been trained as a messenger… a courier pigeon, basically.”
“To Factor Chóng?”
“Yes, I have to tell him what’s happened, and you need to speak with him directly.”
“I need to update my people, too,” she said, waving a notebook. “OK with you if I send this off?”
“I think we’re going to have to trust each other, or we’re both in for a rough ride.”
“I agree. Gods or no gods, the situation is more complicated than we ever anticipated. Or you, I suspect.”
“Or me,” I agreed. “A lot more.”
I walked with her down to the hole, and we dropped her notebook into the bag. I tugged on it a few times to signal the person at the other end, and let it swing free. It swung about as it rose, and vanished into the portal.
We both had our respective answers within a few hours.
Chóng sent the dragolet back to tell me he was on the way with extensive supplies.
Curly’s people told her she had full authority to deal on behalf of her company, and asked if they could send through guards or anything else.
She declined the guards, but asked for coffee, cigarettes, and canned fruit.
“A bottle of whisky would get things off on the right foot with the Factor,” I suggested.
“Will it get me anything?”
“Just good will. You’ll have to fight tooth and nail for anything you win from him, I’m afraid.”
She added a bottle to the list.
“Things have all settled down now, right?” she asked.
“I think so,” I replied. “Reed’s destroyed everything, and unless somebody brings in more, she shouldn’t bother us again.”
“Do you have any idea how she does that?”
“I have a general idea of what she does, but have absolutely no idea how she does it.”
I was lying, of course. I’d learned an awful lot working with her on the shell, but hadn’t even told the King. It was simply too dangerous.
I still didn’t know where she sent her spherical excisions, but I knew how to do it myself now. A spherical scoop of wilderness, far outside Chóng’s realm, had been reduced to raw quantum foam, returned to the infinite. I could do it myself if I had to.
“Can we build a framework over that hole, to make it easier to reach the portal?”
“Should be simple enough, with the right tools. We don’t have saws or axes here, but Factor Chóng will be bringing some. He said he’s going to set up a temporary camp here.”
“Good. That way I can talk to my own people, too.”
* * *
It took two days for Chóng to reach us, but when he came it was a madhouse. Dozens of workers, guards, cooks, assistants, a handful of deinos carrying the heavy stuff, more raptors, food, and of course hot tea.
Curly and Chóng sat on an ornate rug under an awning, watching the huts being raised and the deinos doing deino things. There was a half-empty bottle of Glenfiddich on the table.
“Never thought I’d see a dinosaur,” she said, taking another sip.
“Never thought I’d see fruit in a can!” he replied. “Later you’re welcome to ride one, if you’d like.”
“I’d love to, thank you. Later.”
They were still feeling each other out, and as far as I could tell they were evenly matched.
The scaffolding was almost up around the portal, too, which was now clearly visible thanks to smoky fires around the pit. Eventually they wanted to fill the pit back in, but that would take time and effort. A timber framework with a ladder would work just fine for now.
Jake had become best friends with Danryce, the huge black he’d beaten at arm-wrestling. Danryce had laughed at his puny machete and shown him a “warrior’s” sword: his monstrous scimitar. Jake, on the other hand, showed Danryce a few close-combat tricks, some judo and some with his combat knife. Danryce could swing a sword or a battle-axe, but he’d never learned the intricacies of knife-fighting, and Jake knew them all.
I was at loose ends… Curly and Chóng could talk to each other just fine without me, and I doubted either one would appreciate my interference. Chóng was a pretty sharp guy, I wasn’t too worried. Still, he didn’t know what Earth of the 21st century was like, and just how dangerous things could get.
I had to keep tabs on the conversation and make sure she didn’t screw him, though, so I just sat in the background and listened.
She’d accepted things were different. She’d seen it with her own eyes, and she wouldn’t be in charge if she weren’t smart. She was also determined to get that mine back open again.
“Suppose we gave you stronger tools, maybe carborundum bits if you can use drills, explosives, and the deposit maps we got made?”
Chóng knew what explosives were, of course, but not carborundum.
I explained, and asked Curly to request a sample map so he could see what it was. He’d never seen one, of course.
“That would be an enormous help, yes,” he mused. “We have plenty of timber and water nearby, and plenty of game. It wouldn’t take long to get lodging built. The mine is above-ground, so it’s just hard labor, and I can get as many laborers as you might need.”
“But manual mining will mean our production drops enormously.”
“If you tell us where to dig, we can open more mines. No tunnels, no scaffolding… very simple.”
“And you could handle everything at this end?”
“Of course, for a suitable fee.”
“What sort of fee did you have in mind?”
“We use gold, of course, and jewels are always useful,” he explained. He reached into his pocket. “In fact, I brought this for you and forgot all about it! My apologies.”
He reached over and dropped something into her palm.
She looked at it and her eyes widened.
“My God! It’s huge!”
“It’s a ruby from Dylath-Leen. Pretty color, yes?”
“It must be worth half a million dollars!”
“Quite possibly. I don’t know what a dollar is, but it’s a beautiful stone. Nice cut, too.”
“That’s quite a gift for only a bottle of whisky.”
He waved her protests away. “Take it, please.”
I doubted the gift—bribe?—would have any effect on the negotiations, but it certainly gave her a better idea of how much wealth Chóng commanded.
“About my fee,” he continued. “I think perhaps barter would be best… I think your cigarettes, and this coffee, for example, would be very well received here. And this whisky is wonderful!”
She leaned forward.
“Just how much tobacco and coffee are we talking about?”
They were finally getting into the nitty-gritty.
“Equal weights?” suggested Chóng.
She laughed. “Even as rich as this ore is, we still have to process and refine it. Yield is roughly on a par with iron from magnetite, in the forty to fifty percent range, and we have to further refine that into pure metal… how does ten percent of ore weight sound?”
“Thirty.”
“Twelve.”
“Twenty-five.”
“Fifteen.”
“I’ll meet you halfway. Twenty. Deal?”
“Deal,” she agreed, “but we need to settle on a minimum daily shipment.”
“And we’ll have to learn more about exactly what you offer, and in what form, but I believe we have a deal. It’s time for the engineers to talk,” he said. “If you ever want a job as a merchant, just let me know… you’d do just fine here.”
“I’ve already got a job as a merchant, but thank you,” she replied.
They shook hands, and Chóng poured them each another shot.
* * *
That night Chóng and I talked for several hours, and I explained my misgivings. The Dreamlands were extremely lucky that this portal had opened here in Chóng’s personal realm, providing some protection, but Penglai was in terrible danger, and so were the Dreamlands, indirectly. He already understood what modern weapons could do even without machinery or electronics, and recognized the threat Curly posed. At the same time the goods they offered would be worth a fortune here, in return for (to him) worthless rock.
I told him how much it was likely worth, recalling that rare metals were used in all sorts of advanced technology from cellphones to supermagnets, and pretty much monopolized by the Chinese. He was happy to hear the Chinese dominated the market, but explained that it didn’t matter what Curly sold it for. He wasn’t their competitor and never would be, and he would make an enormous profit. If they too made an enormous profit, all the better—a win-win agreement was far more likely to last than one built on unfair profit-sharing.
I understood his reasoning, of course, and accepted that he was a successful merchant and I a retired scientist, but I couldn’t get the history of the native Americans out of my mind, and the way the tribes were decimated and their land stolen. I didn’t want that to happen here, and I absolutely had to make sure it didn’t happen in the Dreamlands!
At my request, I wrote a long report to the King, and Chóng said it would be in his hands within a day. It took a lot longer than that to get here when I flew over and I was curious how he could get it there so quickly, but if Chóng wanted me to know he would tell me. Secrets within secrets, all of them: Chóng, the King, Mochizuki…
And me, too. I had a few of my own now.
The next day the scaffolding was done, with a rough-hewn staircase up to the portal.
Curly was the first one up, of course.
I asked to go with her, but she said she needed to go first alone, and set things up.
“Give me one day,” she said, “and I’ll come back with a better idea of what we can do next.”
Chóng agreed that was reasonable, and she left.
We went back to building the camp, and at Chóng’s direction began working on more permanent facilities.
There was already a river flowing through the valley, and Chóng’s men began mapping out water supply, drainage, and sewerage, and checking for evidence of past flood levels. The mine site was a reasonable distance from the river, but only about ten meters of so higher… and the pit was obviously much lower. They had to find a way to prevent possible pit flooding, or at least make sure it could be pumped dry again afterward.
More and more people were arriving, and I discovered that a levelled road was being constructed from Chóng’s palace. It would take another month or two to complete, but when done would make it much easier to haul wagons back and forth. He was investing heavily into the deal.
* * *
Pat ground his fist into his eyes.
It didn’t help.
“This is fucking insane, Curly.”
“Yup, sure is!”
“You’re pretty damn cheerful for someone who just lost their whole project to a fucking goddess!”
“It is what it is, like they say,” she drawled, then sat up straight, leaned toward him. “Look at the numbers, Pat! Yeah, our productivity drops way the hell down because they aren’t using machinery, but no investment, no labor, no utilities, no nothing! All we have to do is send him a bunch of booze and tobacco every so often, and compared to the ore that’s chickenshit, and you know it!”
“Yeah, I understand all the numbers. We’d have to talk to a lot of people about deliveries, but even at lower productivity we could ship a hell of lot quicker and cheaper than China. And make one hell of a lot of money.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The whole thing! Gods running around blowing stuff up; people creating entire universes, which happen to be packed full of rare earth, quite nice of them; dinosaurs; someone from China two thousand years ago; and you’re talking to an astrophysicist who died last year. I mean, Jesus, that’s sort of hard to take, you know?”
“Hey, I was there, Pat. I saw the mine just pop away into nothing. It happened.”
“But your magic dancing sand is just sand.”
“So it only works over there. Whatever. You’ve got the dead velociraptor to prove it.
“Yeah, our Green Team is having a lot of fun with that. They’re demanding I tell them where it came from, and let them go public.”
“Anyone there who actually knows anything? Or are they all just environment protection and PR flaks?”
“Yeah, there is one herpetologist there. He hasn’t said much of anything, but I hear he hasn’t left his lab ever since he saw that thing, either.”
He sighed.
“No way of getting a camera over there, huh?”
“I think that’s a really bad idea, Pat. This Reed detected my earpiece and blew it away along with everything else. I think it’d be a good way to lose a camera, and maybe the whole operation.”
“What, you think Reed would shut the whole thing down?”
“We don’t have a clue what she might do, and neither does this Chóng guy. They’re scared shitless of her, and after seeing what’s left of the mine site, I don’t blame them!”
“So I guess there’s only one way to see what the situation is over there…”
“Yup. You’re going for a trip.”
She stood up.
“I drew up a shopping list for you; all stuff available locally that you can have someone get from town in half an hour. And lose the suit, Pat.”
He held out his hand for the list and picked up the phone.
* * *
The bell rang, three times. Someone had come through the portal.
I looked over to see Curly stepping down the stairs, followed by a balding, somewhat heavyset man in his fifties of so, and two younger men. They were all wearing blue jumpsuits.
This must be her boss, she’d said he’d be coming today. Curly had been back and forth a couple times now, but the situation had rapidly spiraled above her pay grade, and things had been put on hold until he could come.
Chóng stepped out of his tent, and I joined him as we walked over to greet them.
Curly handled the introductions.
Pat Wrightson, her boss and the CEO of the company, with a large envelope under his arm.
Roger Miller, a geologist, with his own bag of tools, apparently. I hoped none of them had batteries…
Alex Stern, Mr. Wrightson’s “assistant.” He didn’t look much like an assistant to me, more like security… and while the geologist was fascinated by the semi-circular pits, Stern’s eyes were flicking over the encampment, the men, and the surrounding area. I guessed he was a bodyguard, or just company security. He was carrying a big square box, the strap over his shoulder.
“Chóng of Penglai,” he said, sticking his hand out in Western fashion.
Mr. Wrightson took his hand, saying “Pat Wrightson for Nargun Mining and Minerals.”
“Perhaps we could take a closer look at the remains of the mine?” asked Curly. “I know Roger wants to get a closer look at the pit.”
“Of course,” said Chóng. “You are welcome to walk about freely. There is a ladder down the side of this pit over there, just in case we dropped anything from the portal.”
Curly nodded to Roger, who scurried off toward the ladder.
Chóng led the five of them toward his pavilion. At this stage it was just a carpet-floored tent to keep the sun off, held up by poles around the periphery. There were curtains all around, but they were rolled up to let the breeze through.
The floor was scattered with cushions and a few low tables.
Suddenly Mr. Wrightson stopped, and I almost ran into him.
He was staring off to my left. I looked that way and saw a few raptors lounging about.
“Raptors, sir,” I explained. “They’re pretty much the same as guard dogs here, but wild ones can be quite dangerous. Like wild dogs or wolves, in fact.”
“Velociraptors,” he muttered. “Jurassic Park in the flesh.”
He tore his eyes away from them and turned to me.
“Do they all have those feathers? I though dinosaurs were scaled.”
“Yes, brighter colors on the males, duller shades on the females. I suspect dinosaurs in your realm—excuse me, on Earth—probably had feathers, too. Probably identical, in fact.”
“Fascinating,…” he said quietly, and began walking after Chóng again. “But they don’t bite people, do they?”
“Think of them as Dobermans, sir. They’re well trained, but unexpected visitors can get quite a surprise. And the wild ones are very wild.”
He nodded, then thumped down on a cushion at Chóng’s invitation.
Chóng waved to the waiting servants, and they came padding out with cool tea and some sugary sweets on tiny little plates.
“Alex, the box, please,” said Mr. Wrightson, holding out his hand.
Stern passed him the box. I could see now it was a pretty standard cooler box, zipper and all.
He unzipped it, and handed it to Chóng.
“A gift for you, Factor Chóng. Something I think you’ll enjoy.”
Chóng flipped back the top and grinned.
“Oh, it’s cold inside! How wonderful! And what is this…?”
He pulled out a bottle of beer, already beading up with condensation.
Master Wrightson had a bottle opener in his hand, and popped the cap off for Chóng, then took one himself.
“This is beer, Factor Chóng, and sharing a beer together is an excellent way to start a conversation where I come from. Cheers!”
He clinked his bottle against Chóng’s and took a healthy pull.
Chóng looked at me, I nodded, and he tried it himself.
“Spicy!” he cried. “No, not spicy… bubbly? This is so much better than the beer we’ve made here. It’s wonderful!”
“Glad you like it, Factor Chóng. It’s the same beer, just has a little more carbonation.”
“Oh, this is just excellent! Master Richard, Mistress Byrd, Master Alex, please, take one. Captain Gonville! Captain, come here!”
Gonville had been standing just outside the pavilion.
He ducked inside and took the bottle from Chóng.
Chóng insisted on opening each bottle personally, obviously enjoying his newfound skill at popping off bottlecaps.
“Captain, bring it in now, please,” he said.
Gonville waved his hand, and a servant brought in a small wooden chest, sitting neatly on a metal tray. It was intricately carved with fantastic scenes of monsters and warriors, and inlaid with gemstones and mother-of-pearl.
“A gift to welcome you to my realm,” he said, holding it out to Mr. Wrightson.
The other man took it, and opened the lid carefully.
“My God! This is exquisite!”
He pulled out one piece after another… chess pieces, hand-carved from red and black wood, each piece decorated with clothing and weapons done in gemstones and precious metals. The bottom of the box, as Chóng demonstrated, had a chessboard built into it that could be pulled out and unfolded.
“Mistress Byrd mentioned that you play chess, Mister Wrightson… perhaps I may enjoy the pleasure of a game later?”
“I would be delighted,” he replied, almost bowing. “This is… incredible. Thank you.”
Chóng beamed.
“What spell did you use to keep the beer cold?” he asked.
Curly laughed. “No spell. The box is just insulated. Keep it.”
“Thank you. Tell me, do you have more of this beer?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Wrightson. “As much as you want.”
“It should be possible to make it here,” I mused. “The technology is pretty old, although obviously it wouldn’t have the same carbonation… Curly, you have any idea?”
“I know nothing about brewing, I’m afraid, but it should be easy enough to find out.”
She wrote something down in her notebook.
“Factor Chóng, please, call me Curly, and this is Pat,” she said. “We’re all friends now.”
“As you wish, Mistress Curly.”
She sighed.
“Now then, about the mining operation,” began Pat, pulling a sheaf of drawings out of the large envelope he’d been carrying all this time. “Here are the geological maps we were able to make…”
* * *
We were still at it two days later, but a surprising number of problems had been identified and dealt with.
The geologist revealed that the face of the pit was perfectly sheared, as far as he could tell with his portable tools, and showed no signed of heat, force, or (as far as he could tell) chemicals or radioactivity. It was just gone, on a perfectly spherical surface.
I knew that, of course, but kept my mouth shut.
Chóng’s engineers, who were more familiar with building (and destroying) fortifications than mining, had no trouble understanding the geological maps, although it was a struggle to identify all the codes and symbols. The geologist had to explain them all in simple English, which was not half as easy as it sounds.
We had pretty good estimates of how many laborers would be needed to dig, what sort of output we could get from this mine, and how many more mines (at a minimum) the area could support, based on the maps. Chóng told me he could provide all the necessities for that many laborers, although it would take some time to get the infrastructure fully in place.
It was going to be a full-fledged mining town.
Pat went back to Earth regularly, and a few more geologists had come through to help out. They brought some explosives with them, and tools tougher than anything Chóng’s people had ever seen. Productivity was going to far exceed any other mine in the Dreamlands.
Then King Kuranes arrived.
He rode in unannounced, although from Chóng’s reaction I guessed Chóng knew he was coming.
Kuranes was accompanied by five other people: his immediate guards Badr, Tilla, and Raul; Belphoebe… and Britomartis.
I leapt to my feet to greet them, delighted to see my Britomartis again.
She was as beautiful as ever.
Britomartis was happy to see me again, too, after so long, but I felt Belphoebe’s glare. She was the only other person who knew that Britomartis had “died” twice, once crushed by a boulder and once by her own hand, stepping off a cliff and falling to her death.
She had died, but both times time had been rolled back to bring her back to life. And while Britomartis, Kuranes, and a few other people knew of the first time, when I saved her, only Belphoebe and I knew of the second.
Belphoebe had never forgiven me for being involved in her death twice, even if they had been written out of history.
Britomartis remembered nothing of her own suicide, and Belphoebe and I would never tell her. It was a painful secret between us, and she hated me for it.
“Commander Britomartis, Mistress Belphoebe… It’s good to see you again.”
“And you, Master Richard!” said Britomartis. “I see you’ve been busy here… there’s a whole town springing up!”
Belphoebe gritted out a quiet “Master Richard” in greeting and stayed stiff in the saddle.
“Britomartis, the King. We must go.”
She walked her horse forward, after the King, and Britomartis followed, mostly out of a sense of duty, I suspect.
Chóng was just introducing Kuranes to the others.
“Kuranes of Celephaïs,” said the King, shaking hands first with Pat, and then Curly. “Formerly of Cornwall.”
“I’m Pat Wrightson. Cornwall? As in, Cornwall, England?”
“Yes, many years ago. I’ve lived here now for quite some time.”
“Hi, Curly Byrd of Nargun,” said Curly. She was getting into the way we identified ourselves here. “Are you a merchant, too?”
“Hardly,” he laughed. “I’m…”
“He’s a local politician,” I inserted hurriedly, and quickly changed the subject by turning to Britomartis and Belphoebe, who had dismounted to stand near Kuranes. Badr and the other two bodyguards had stopped some distance away, out of earshot.
“These are his two right-hand women, Britomartis, and Belphoebe.”
They both introduced themselves.
Curly was taken aback at Britomartis’ scimitars.
“Those swords… you use them?”
“Yes, my beloved twins, Iphis and Ianthe. I am commander of the King’s Guard, and they’ve served me well.”
“The King’s Guard?”
Dammit. I had hoped to have a word with the King first. Too late now.
“Yes,” I broke in. “Kuranes is the king of Celephaïs, quite far from here.”
“So he commands Factor Chóng, then?” asked Pat.
Chóng laughed. “Nobody commands me! But the King and I are old friends, and I invited him to join us.”
I signaled the King urgently while Curly and Pat were looking at Chóng. The King understood, and apparently Chóng did as well, because he immediately added: “Perhaps the King would like to wash up after his ride? Come join us in my pavilion when you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Factor Chóng,” Kuranes replied. “I’ll just be a minute.”
As soon as we were out of sight around the corner we stopped. I waved Gonville over to join us.
“What is it, Master Richard?”
“We cannot allow them to enter the Dreamlands, Kuranes. It is dangerous merely allowing them here, in Chóng’s personal realm, but at least we can contain them here, and close the portals entirely if needed. But they could destroy the Dreamlands entirely if let free.”
“With what?”
“With guns and greed. You’re British, you’ve seen yourself how it works. And you, Captain Gonville.”
He sighed.
“You’re right. That hadn’t occurred to me, Master Richard. Thank you.”
“We’ll have to keep their people here to a minimum and guard the portal carefully. In fact, I think we’ll have to guard all the portals to stop people from leaving Penglai freely now, too,” said Gonville. “Donn’s going to hate it.”
“I don’t see any other choice, though,” said Kuranes. “Captain Gonville, will you inform Chóng as soon as possible? And Master Richard, please inform Britomartis and Belphoebe. From now on this is the Dreamlands, and Celephaïs is merely another city some distance from here.”
“They will eventually discover the truth, but we need to preserve this sham as long as possible.” Kuranes sighed again. “I think I’m ready to go back now.”
They returned to find Curly and Britomartis deep in conversation.
“A whole walled city? That’s glorious!” Curly laughed.
“Well, it’s not really a whole city, but it’s a quite large district of Celephaïs,” explained Britomartis. “It’s walled off from the rest of the city with only three gates, which are guarded. By women, of course.”
“So no men at all?”
“Very few. No man is allowed to live there, but a few have been granted special passes to enter.”
“And of course the King is one, no doubt.”
“Actually, no. He’s never been granted a pass, nor Chuang, his chief advisor. Chóng hasn’t either, for that matter.”
“I could exercise my authority as ruler of Celephaïs and demand entry, though,” broke in Kuranes. “I can’t imagine any situation in which I would try anything like that, but in theory…”
While they were talking I signaled Belphoebe.
She glared at me, but grudgingly rose and walked over.
“I know you hate me, but this is from the King,” I whispered, and explained the new secrets we had to keep.
She nodded, and said she’d pass it on to Britomartis.
I noticed that Gonville had seated himself next to Chóng, and they were laughing at something. I suspected the laughter was just cover for the King’s message.
“Skala Eresou began as a temple to Artemis, offering shelter and protection to women escaping violence. It evolved into a nunnery, originally outside the city walls, but as the city expanded, it was eventually swallowed up. The temple and the nunnery are still there, but today Skala Eresou is a center of the creative arts: poetry, song, literature, dance. The Council—all women, of course—runs things.”
“And there are no problems with the rest of the city?”
Britomartis grinned.
“Oh, of course there are problems. Women have always held equal rights here, but to be honest men have the edge when it comes to physical strength, and there is tradition to fight against. The Poietria have their work cut out for them.”
“Poietria?” asked Pat.
“Women who create art. I think it originally meant poet. It’s a title of respect, as I am properly called Commander Britomartis.”
“So there are no male creators?”
“Of course there are! And the best are called Poietes, the male form. But without a pass from the Council, even they can’t enter Skala Eresou.”
“Is there a men-only enclave somewhere?”
“Not that I know of… we can live without men but apparently they cannot live without us!”
Curly and Britomartis laughed; Pat just snorted.
“Perhaps I could visit one day,” mused Curly. “I think I’d like to see Skala Eresou myself.”
“I’m sure we can make that happen,” started Britomartis, only to be interrupted by Belphoebe.
“Celephaïs is quite some distance from here,” she said. “It is not an easy journey.”
“And perhaps we could concentrate on the matter at hand instead of Skala Eresou,” suggested Chóng.
Pat nodded in agreement, very conveniently.
They returned to their discussions.
* * *
The mining town was coming along nicely.
Construction was still ongoing, but everything essential was in place, crude as it was.
Barracks, food preparation, bathing, rails for the ore carts, a cantilevered crane to lift them to portal height, sewerage (rather limited, of course, but now they got most of it), drinking spots, you name it. And a few that weren’t named but had somehow popped up in the shadows.
In theory Chóng knew what was happening, and in theory these were all his people, but he brought in a lot of laborers for one thing or another, and nobody could keep track of it all. His guards kept things reasonably quiet, the mine bosses kept things running reasonably on schedule, and the people seemed reasonably happy.
* * *
Pat grimaced at his newsfeed.
A local station, but he had no doubt it would blow up soon enough.
“The Department of Agriculture, Water and the Environment are seeking any information related to the African sea eagle seen recently in the Whitby region. As Whitby is far inland the bird must have been released locally, and thus far there have been three reports of small animals—dogs and cats—being taken. Australia takes biosecurity seriously, anyone with information is asked to contact…”
He flicked left.
He had plenty of information on that damned bird, and knew exactly where it came from.
“Yeah, it slipped in through our portal from another world, sorry about that.”
Not fucking likely.
At least the double doors were up now, with key-card security. That should help keep things under control.
It would be even better if they could set up a security detail on the other side, but Chóng had insisted that he keep the number of people over there to the minimum. Made sense, he supposed… Chóng’s turf, Chóng’s problem.
Except that now this stupid bird was drawing unneeded attention, and although nobody had connected it to them yet, who knows what might happen next. A couple of raptors wandering through town would certainly stir things up!
* * *
Jake waved for more beer, and slapped a coin down on the counter. Chóng was handling currency exchange, because he was the only one getting goods from the real world. No doubt he made a bundle on the exchange, too, but at least it worked.
And much as he liked a frosty beer, he’d gotten used to warm beer years ago.
He handed Nadeen a bottle.
She had a vaguely Middle Eastern face, short hair, and a stocky, muscled body that he knew from personal experience could be very friendly. She sure wasn’t centerfold material, but damn she knew how to keep him happy.
At first he’d thought it was pretty silly to have women on the guard details, but he’d been learning how to handle all their weapons in friendly bouts and competition, and teaching a little judo on the side, and one day he’d gotten into a wrestling match.
What they called wrestling here was closer to free-form fighting. There were very few “rules,” and it was certainly more than just grappling. Kicks, punches, and throws were common, and a variety of martial arts had crept in one way or another: people could get hurt, or killed.
His size and weight had always given him an edge in both wrestling and unarmed combat—the Australian special forces had trained him well— and he had no doubt he’d beat his way up the ladder pretty quickly. He did, too, knocking out a range of other men without much effort.
Then he came up against Nadeen.
He’d never wrestled a woman before, but everyone else was doing it, so… why not? They sparred and grappled a few times and it became clear that he’d have to really get his head in the game if he wanted to win.
He wanted to win, and he pulled out all the stops.
She still won two out of three.
She didn’t win the competition, but she came damn close.
And afterwards the two of them got a lot closer.
She was a hard woman, didn’t take shit from anyone, and he could appreciate that. And she seemed to like him, too, which was nice.
They started spending a lot of time together.
* * *
“Hey, Tom? Take a look at this shipping report, would you?”
Tom walked over and peered into the monitor.
“Hmm… what? That’s a hell of a lot of tobacco!”
“Uh, yeah. Nargun is importing it legally and paying duty on it, but a 20-foot container full is an awful lot for a mining company, don’t you think?”
“You sure about those numbers?”
“Yeah, pretty sure… I followed them back as far as I could and the export documentation and all seems legit. Matches perfectly.”
“Smuggling?”
“They sure aren’t smuggling tobacco! As it happens, though, both Agriculture and Customs inspected it, and everything’s perfect. And Nargun’s never been on anyone’s watch list that I can tell.”
“Weird… Send those over to me, would you? I want to dig into it a little deeper, and maybe pass it upstairs.”
* * *
“Yes, I know someone who would be interested in such a thing. May I see it?”
He was sitting in the back of a fairly dark tent, two well-armed men next to him. Sid couldn’t really make out his face, but he could tell it was middle-aged and bearded.
He pulled the revolver from his shirt and held it up. Popped open the cylinder and rotated it, showing the six rounds inside.
“This is a .38 Special. I can give you two boxes of ammo, too, 110 grain, fifty cartridges a box.”
The seated man nodded, dropped a glinting gemstone on the tabletop. Pushed it forward with one finger.
“Two,” said Sid.
“This, and this,” said the other, adding a smaller gem to the first.
“Deal,” said Sid, laying the pistol and ammo boxes down and picking up the gems. “You need more?”
“I’m a businessman,” said the man, opening the boxes to verify all the cartridges were there. “You sell, I buy.”
They nodded to each other and Sid stepped back outside, heading back to the mine, and the portal.
* * *
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, setting the loupe down on the counter. “It doesn’t appear to be artificial—it has a reasonable number of inclusions and lattice deformations—but it’s new to me.”
He picked up the gemstone and turned it back and forth, admiring the rainbow of reflections.
“Where did you get it?”
“A friend of a friend,” said the other man. “He said it was a ruby from some place called Dylath-Leen.”
“No ruby I’ve ever seen,” said the jeweler. “Specific gravity is too high, too… I don’t think it’s fake, but I don’t think it’s a ruby, either.”
He bounced it on his palm a few times.
“Three hundred?”
“Oh, c’mon. It’s not stolen, you said you couldn’t find it anywhere. And if it’s that rare it must be worth a lot to someone, right?”
“Hmm.” The jeweler bounced it again. “OK, four-fifty. No more.”
“Five, or I’m out the door.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Reeves. Five, then.”
They shook, and money changed hands.
* * *
“Yes, ma’am. I’d like to resign,” said Jake.
Curly sat back in her chair, looking at his leather clothes and sword.
“You’re staying here, then?”
“Yes, ma’am. I fit here, not there.”
“I’m not surprised, to be honest. I’m attracted to a few things here myself.”
She stood, stretched her hand out.
“I’m happy to accept your resignation, Jake. Let me get some papers drawn up. Among other things, we have to find a way for you to leave our employment safely. The Australian authorities would be rather upset with us if our employees started vanishing.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You going to be around for a few more days?”
“No plans on leaving anytime soon, ma’am. I’ll sign what you need.”
“Thank you. It’s been good having you with me, Jake. I’ll miss you.”
“Thank you. Uh, one thing, ma’am… could I ask you to have someone pick up my sunglasses, from my quarters? I sorta miss them…”
“Sure, Jake. I think you’ll be the only man here with sunglasses.”
* * *
“Things seem to have stabilized somewhat, Pat, but we need to boost production,” said the woman on the screen.
“Look, Anita, I know this isn’t what we’d originally planned for, but the whole situation is way, way outside our wildest dreams,” said Pat. “Chóng is keeping up his end of the bargain, and I can’t see any way we can make this work without him.”
“We need to double output, Pat. We have buyers hammering at the gates.”
“Well, tell them to go hammer somewhere else, dammit! They’re still getting more, and cheaper, than from the Chinese!
“Do you need more money? More people? Tell me what you need, Pat, I’ll get it.”
“I’ve already got too many damn people, and your money’s no use over there.”
“What do you mean, too many people?”
“First we needed mining engineers and mechanical engineers to get the mine back up and figure out how to improve mining at their end, and mesh their output with our processing line. Then our environmental people starting whining about that damn dinosaur and the geologists needed to prospect the area, and of course we needed guards to keep them safe. And the guards need things, too, especially since we can’t afford to let them run around telling everybody about dinosaurs and magic and everything.
“So now we’ve got a whole damn town there, just like the Wild West. We know there’s smuggling going on, Chóng knows there’s smuggling going on, and we’re both trying to stop the whole damn train from flying off the rails.”
“OK, OK, relax. I hear you.”
“Sorry, Anita. I know you’re head of Global Ops, but this is a completely different situation from dealing with Arab oil or African diamonds or whatever. And it’s getting way, way bigger than we can handle. I took this project myself because it was so important, but I really need to give Curly a promotion, with freer rein to get things on track.”
“How about I call Prince & Waters, that private military company? They have the men, certainly, and their costs are acceptable.”
“More men? And probably armed, too… no, that’s just making the problem worse.”
He ran his hand through this thinning hair.
“Give me a week or two, can you? Let me talk to Chóng and see what we can do.”
“I can hold the rest of the Board off for ten days, Pat, but I don’t think much beyond that. There’s talk of asking for your resignation as CEO.”
“Ten days… Yeah, thanks. I’ll get back to you.”
* * *
Nobody really knew how it started.
Most of the people who were in the middle of it were gone, along with much of the town.
More neatly rounded pits.
Buildings sliced with geometrical precision, arc-shaped chunks missing.
No doubt a lot of people, too.
I sighed.
I knew it would come to this, once Wakeworld got its hooks into the Dreamlands.
Greed, human nature, whatever…
Gonville and Chóng were quiet, looking out at the devastation and the few people wandering the ruins looking around.
“As near as we can tell it started over a woman,” said Gonville. “Somebody—probably from the other side—started pawing a woman who wasn’t interested, and she knifed him. A fight broke out, and it turned into us versus them. Nobody was allowed to bring guns here, but somebody did, and they used it.
“By the time the watch got there in force there were already a dozen people down and two buildings were burning.
“The guard had a radio or a cell phone—something else that’s forbidden—and called for help. A dozen guards came through the portal with larger guns, to be met by arrows.
“And in the middle of it all, summoned by the radio or the gunfire, Reed appeared.
“Thirty seconds later it was all gone.”
Chóng was silent.
“Do you have any idea how many people died?” I asked.
“Half the town is gone, and most of the mining operation,” said Gonville. “At least a grand dozen, maybe two or three times that. We may never know.”
“Even one is too many,” said Chóng quietly. “This is an abomination. My abomination, my greed, my folly.”
He slowly walked toward the portal. The rails for the ore carts still ran out of the portal and into the yard, where a few carts still stood, forgotten. Reed had ignored everything but the radios, of course, but when she scoops out a hundred-meter hole for each radio a lot of other things get scooped, too.
No doubt someone would be along shortly from Nargun to find out what was happening, assuming they didn’t already know. They must know their guards had left their posts and crossed over. They surely knew the guards hadn’t come back, and that the ore carts had stopped.
I closed my eyes.
There must be something I could do.
I expanded my perceptions, rising above the mine, above Penglai, into The Churn, looking down at the interconnected bubbles that were my reality. The bubbles, yes, but I should be able to see the portals, too… I focused on the mine, examining it in detail, and there it was… a faint, glowing line twisting off in bizarre curves toward Earth. Australia. That had to be it.
I touched it, felt its substance and its energy.
Reed could sense modern technology, somehow. I should be able to, too… I’d seen her do it time and again.
I turned my attention to Australia, zoomed in on Pat’s plant… trucks, computers, smartphones, electricity and radio waves everywhere… how to… maybe this…? Yes! That was it, that’s how she does it!
And it was adjustable, too, to some extent. I could change the sensitivity, whether coarse enough to skip everything but nuclear reactors, or fine enough to detect a single flashlight battery.
After that it was a simple matter to modify the portal, to adjust it so that items passing through would be automatically transformed into a corresponding form here, if there was one. Or just vanish entirely. It would turn a computer into an abacus, a tank into an armored ram, a radio probably into dust. It was impenetrable to modern technology. No longer would Reed sense forbidden items and destroy. No longer would she kill.
Guns. What to do about guns.
They weren’t in common use in the Middle Ages, but gunpowder was already known… And there were a few home-grown harquebus in the Dreamlands, and he’d heard of a matchlock design. He couldn’t keep out anything that was already here, much as he wanted to. He could prevent night-scopes and laser sights and other electronics easily enough, but optical scopes, rifled barrels, ammo cartridges—even machine guns—would get through.
There was no help for it.
But why was the portal twisted so strangely? Why not a reasonably direct line from Penglai to Australia?
He was trying to interpret an n-dimensional path with a 3-dimensional mind, based on his own perceptions.
He needed to see more.
He followed the portal, probed into it, examined it from the inside, the outside, and the other side, twisting through normal space into other spaces, through other dimensions.
It became clearer.
It wasn’t twisted at all!
It followed the minimum-energy geometry of n-space, an ideal link between this point and that one, a connection linking two realities.
Why hadn’t he seen it before?
They weren’t bubbles at all!
His grasped the totality of the local cluster, saw it for what it truly was, and saw beyond it into The Churn, and Yog-Sothoth.
And beyond Yog-Sothoth…!
My God!
But that meant…!
* * *
It thought about the current development. Of all the trillions upon trillions of simulations It had run, of all the countless constructions of natural laws and physical constants It had trialed, of all the diverse entities It had created and observed, this was the first time one of Its avatars had sensed the reality outside the simulation, and returned to It.
It was aware of every avatar, from molecules that could barely be termed living to nebular creatures spanning light-years, and of course including every lifeform in this Earth and its cluster of universes, knowing their thoughts, their memories, their actions, the motion of every molecule, in that perfect simulation that was created, completed, and destroyed in an instant. It ran millions of simulations concurrently, aware of the motion of every atom, of every event and thought in all the universes, raw information feeding Its voracious appetite for understanding.
It was mildly interesting to see how the cross-pollination of Wakeworld and the Dreamlands progressed. It had seen it all before, of course, and knew how it would turn out even before the simulation completed. Richard and so many others were aware of Itself as Cthulhu, as entities throughout the universes so often did, sensing incompletely that which their minds could not comprehend.
But for one of Its simulations to see beyond Cthulhu and Yog-Sothoth, to comprehend It, aware…
That was unexpected.
It decided it warranted a closer look.
It changed one of the minor parameters, the millionth digit of pi, and ran the simulation again. Richard never achieved awareness.
It changed another parameter, even less important: What type of beer Richard preferred.
Richard never achieved awareness.
It changed the course of a single raindrop in Berlin at nine P.M. on October 21, 1847.
Richard never achieved awareness.
Only this one singular set of parameters led to this result.
It must be one of the keys It was searching for.
It deleted awareness of Itself from the portion of Itself that was Richard, and let the simulation continue.
* * *
I opened my eyes.
This portal, at least, was locked now. Nothing more advanced than what was already here could enter.
I walked over to join Chóng.
“Reed is done with us, Factor Chóng. We can rebuild, and forbid entry entirely.”
He looked at me.
“Master Richard. How can you know what Reed thinks, or does?”
“I do,” I said. “Ask the King, or Chuang, or Shingan. There will be no more radios or machines here.”
“And guns?”
I shrugged.
“The Dreamlands already has guns, Factor. Whether they come from Wakeworld or are made here, the guns cannot be stopped.”
He sat down heavily on a nearby log.
“I must think on this, Master Richard. Leave me, if you will.”
I did.
END
