Paradox Alley

25

It felt good to be back on the road again.

We'd decided to take our chances at ground level. The spacetime ship was still on the mend, and there was no telling when it would heal itself. (Strange how easy it was to think of the process in these terms). Besides, there was no guarantee that we'd be safe in the ship. There were other reasons. I didn't like being a passenger, being chauffeured about. It made me feel vulnerable; I hate being helpless and not in control. Moreover, as we were now down to two enemies — Moore and his puppet-mistress-I decided that keeping to the ground was a calculated risk we could afford to take. It might even be the best way to go…

… I thought, grinding my teeth.

Of course, we all knew very well that it wasn't over. It was only a matter of time before our enemies would move against us once again.

The train let us off in an unusual region of Microcosmos — unusual in the sense that we'd not seen terrain like this before. It was mostly flat grassland, relieved here and there by sharp low ridges proliferating in networks like wrinkles in a bed sheet. Visibility was unlimited, and the master portal was a vast gray smear on the "horizon."

"Well, we'll be able to see 'em coming for kilometers," Sam said.

"Miles and miles," I said.

Sam looked at me askance. "How much time did you say you spent back in 1964?"

"About a month and a half, maybe less."

"Sure rubbed off. `Miles' indeed."

This wasn't exactly sparkling conversation, but it filled in the lulls. We were nervous and trying to make the best of it. It is profoundly disquieting to know that somewhere out there is an all-powerful deity who wants to cancel your season ticket. We talked about this. It was a way of relieving the psychological discomfort.

"But if she's that powerful," Sam argued, "why can't she just swoop down any time and pound us into hash?"

I said, "You should have been a theologian. John, this is right up your alley, isn't it?"

John said, "My suspicion is that Prime is somehow inhibiting the Goddess from making an overt move. I think that's why she finds it necessary to work through human agents."

"Makes sense," I said, "until you try to speculate as to why the Goddess has it in for us in the first place. And what is it she wants to do, exactly? Wipe us out, or just prevent us from going back? Or both?"

"That's a good one," Sam said. "You say she originally asked you for the Black Cube?"

"Yeah. But now she has it. Or one of them, anyway."

"Maybe it was the wrong cube."

"There's only one cube, Sam. You've got to understand that basic fact."

"Oh, I understand that basic fact, all right. I just don't want to deal with the sucker."

I thumbed the intercom switch. "Arthur, old buddy! How's it going back there?"

"Please, I'm nauseated."

"Now, just hold on a minute. Tell me how a robot can get motion sickness. You're really not a robot, are you?" I had suspected as much all along.

"Of course I'm a robot. Why can't a robot get motion sickness?"

I grunted out a derisive laugh. "It just doesn't make sense." "Nonsense. I feel pain, discomfort, the whole thing. In a somewhat subdued form, though. Don't ask me to explain."

"For pity's sake, why? Why would your makers go to the trouble of wiring you with pain circuits?"

"For the same reason you got wired with 'em. Excellent mechanism for automatically protecting the organism. You instinctively avoid pain, ergo anything that would tend to damage you. Quod erat whatever. Wake me when we get there."

It was Arthur who had insisted on coming along. He maintained that he was responsible for us and wouldn't feel as though his obligation had been properly discharged until he'd seen us safely through the correct portal. Besides, the spacetime ship might come in handy at some point, if and when it cured itself of its ailments.

We were about two hours from the portal. I wasn't rushing, just maintaining a steady speed. There was no use in hurrying. They were out there, and would make an appearance at some point. Count on it. For now, it was simply a matter of watching the road and waiting, keeping one or two extra eyes on the sweep scanners, wondering when some innocuous gray dot swimming in the murky stuff at the extreme range of vision would suddenly turn into something wickedly sharp and welldefined, move in at you and strike. No telling what it would be: an armored car, perhaps, or a shimmering cube or other shape, or maybe something you could barely comprehend, some monstrous mind-denying unreality. It didn't matter. We were dead no matter what. Because I had the feeling that we had long ago scraped bottom, run out of tricks. We had dodged one too many bullets. I was very worried.

Something else was bothering me.

We had already located the portal that led back to T-Maze, and mapped a route to it through the congeries of highways that twined among the forest of towering cylinders. But judging from what Arthur told us and from what we had learned from the map, this portal would not send us back in time. We would not arrive back in T-Maze paradoxically before we left. This was not a "backtime" route, as Skyway travelers were wont to say.

"The system's just not built that way," Arthur told us. "It was designed to eliminate the possibility of a paradox."

"How was it done?" I asked.

"Dearie me, I couldn't give you specifics, but I do know this. There is a sort of standard, objective time observed along the entire length of the Skyway. It works so that the `present' always moves with the traveler. You'll never get ahead of it or behind it. When you retqrn to the place you left, the stretch of time that has passed there is equal to the time you spent away. Don't ask me how it's done. Actually, if you really want to get technical about it, the time flows aren't exactly equal. There is slippage, for some esoteric reason, but it amounts only to nanoseconds. Due to quantum uncertainties, I think."

After all this time, after all the legends, the tall tales, the stories told about me, the fact was that the way back still was not clear. When I'd first laid eyes on her, Darla had acted as though we'd met before, a meeting I knew very well never occurred. She'd stuck to that story ever since. I'd come to believe her, and my belief wasn't based entirely on my growing love for her. Other facts, other observations had persuaded me. But now doubt gnawed again.

But no. How could it be? The Paradox, a creation of one woman's harebrained scheming? I couldn't accept it.

Fine. So what was I telling myself? Were we headed for an alternate reality, a universe where I didn't do my time loop, my temporal backward somersault, where Darla and I had never met the "first" time… a place where none of this had ever happened…?

Or were we never going to make it back at all? I gritted my teeth. No, damn it. I would not permit myself to think that way. It was up to me. Somewhere up ahead, one of those roads led back through time. I had come here by way of the Red Limit Freeway, and now I would have to find the shortcut, the little side street that led directly back to where I started. I would have to find Paradox Alley.

Red lights yelled at me from the instrument panels. "Looks like we're suffering high radiation losses in the plasma," Sam said. "Bremsstrahlung reading is way up, and electron temperature is dropping."

"Kink instability?" I asked.

"Looks more subtle than that. Just guessing, but we may have a software foul-up here."

Which meant that, although the engine was probably fine, there may have been a problem somewhere in the megabytes of programming that controlled and monitored the engine. Software difficulties can arise from any number of causes, indigenous bugs in the original coding being only one of them. However, as we had just flushed out and reloaded the entire operating system, I was more inclined to suspect that we may have screwed up somewhere.

I pulled off the road as the engine groaned and complained. By the time I stopped, we had lost controlled fusion entirely. "No cover," Sam said looking around. "Well, it probably makes no difference anyway. They'll know where we are no matter what."

I said, "How 'bout we fire up the auxiliary engine, shoot up that side road, and hide out among those pyramids out there?"

"What pyramids? Oh, those. Looks to be about five kilometers." Sam studied them. "By God, those look familiar."

"I was going to say that they looked like Egyptian pyramids. The ones at Giza."

"Yeah, and right next to it… is that the Sphinx? Little too far away to tell."

"Darla and I have seen other earthly structures here, so maybe they're the genuine article."

They weren't. Close, but no papyrus scroll. The pyramids had a four-sided base and went up at an angle that looked right, but they were constructed of some off-white seamless material, not stone block. The sphinx was properly enigmatic; it simply wasn't the famous Terran one. The nearby mortuary temple, though, provided us with cover. It was big enough to hide a fleet of trucks.

"Let me try to wrestle with this," Sam said, flipping down the computer keyboard terminal.

"I can't think of anyone more qualified than you," I told him, "seeing as how you used to be a computer." I looked at Sam and he looked at me. "Are you still a computer?" I asked.

Sam seemed a bit concerned. "I don't know. I don't feel like a computer. Do I look like a computer?"

"You don't look like a computer. Can you do ten million arithmetic operations per second like you used to?"

He squinted his eyes and looked far away. Then, with some relief, he said, "No. Definitely not. I'm no longer a math wiz. I can't tell you how glad I am of that. Never really took to being a computer."

"Well, I always thought of you as sort of living in one," I said, "rather than being one."

"But the real question is this: Am I the same person who was your father when he was flesh and blood?"

"Sure you are, Sam."

"Am I? I don't have one cell of that body in me."

"I don't see what that has to do with it."

"No? Am I really Sam McGraw, or am I only an Artificial Intelligence program that's putting on a good show?"

"Both."

Sam rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Interesting notion."

"Here's the way I see it," I said. "When you get right down to it, a human being is not a physical entity. A human being is a piece of software. Body cells are constantly dying and being replaced. Over a period of time, there's a complete changeover, right?"

"Brain cells, too?"

"I don't know. Doesn't matter, because the essence of what you are is really just information. The body dies one cell at a time, and is replaced at the same time. But the information stays, and that information can be stored any fiumber of ways and in any number of different containers."

"You may have a case," Sam said. "Still, I often wonder if I've died and gone to heaven and don't even know it."

"Maybe you're lucky. Maybe you didn't go to heaven."

"Oh, ye of little faith. Well, we're wasting time."

An hour went by. By this time Sam was deeply annoyed, swearing under his breath and stabbing at the terminal with his long fingers.

"Why do they insist on making things unnecessarily complex?" he was muttering. "Who the hell coded this crap? Goddamn Egyptologist couldn't decipher this."

In the meantime, I had checked the engine and found nothing I could see, which is usually how it goes. I got out what testing equipment we carried and attached leads all over the damn place, but got told nothing. Sam was right-it was probably a software glitch. That wasn't good. It might take forever to find it.

I got restless and went back to the trailer. I opened the back door, let down the ramp, and walked down it to the floor of the temple, thinking to take a quick walk and study the architecture of the place. I didn't wander very far. It would be a quick dash back to the truck in the event of trouble. The place was shadowy, though, and made me a little nervous. I was just about to go back when I heard sounds behind me-a shoe against stone, the intake of breath. I froze.

"Jake?"

I whirled around and went into a crouch.

"It's me. Roland."

He came out from behind a column. He looked the same, dressed in his shabby survival suit and scuffed hiking boots. He looked very calm, almost detached.

"Roland," I breathed. "Where the hell did you-" I stopped myself, and chuckled. "You shouldn't oughta do that."

"Sorry. I couldn't think of a way to announce myself without startling you anyway, so… How have you been? I didn't get a chance to say good-bye."

"I'm fine. Just fine. How are you?"

"Great. You ought to know."

I put the gun on safety and put it away. "I did know," I said. "Hard to remember… to recall the experience of what it was like."

"You've forgotten completely. You wouldn't be able to go on living if you had to carry the memory around with you."

"It's that powerful," I asked, not really asking.

"Of course."

"I have… some memory of it, though. I mean, I haven't blanked out any of it. The mountains… the way the air smelled:. the different landscapes. The heights."

"You only remember the outward forms, not the substance of the experience."

"I guess." I took a deep breath. "So what's up?"

Roland crossed his arms and began to pace slowly. "We've given it a lot of thought. We must help you. There's no other way."

"Thanks. We need it. Can you fix the engine?"

"That's really not an area where we could have much input."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Difficult to discuss details at the moment. You'll be doing most of it, Jake. But you need a slight nudge, an encouraging word, maybe."

"I don't want to sound unappreciative, but I'd rather have a hot engine," I said.

Roland stopped pacing and gave me an impish grin. "I enjoy sparring with you, Jake. You give as good as you get. Better." He chuckled again. "You're really a very remarkable chap. Did I ever tell you that?"

"You never tell anybody anything, Roland."

He nodded. "You're right. I do play it close to the vest. But-" He dismissed the subject with a wave. "We don't have time to discuss Roland Yee."

His use of the third person didn't quite leave the impression that he was speaking of someone else… but there was a hint of that.

"Jake, I really can't give you details, but we will help. In fact, I'm coming along with you. If you don't mind."

"You're going back with us? Giving up the Culmination?"

"Oh, no. Not at all."

I shrugged. "You're welcome, of course."

"You're probably a bit confused."

"A little." I slapped him on the back. He seemed substantial enough. "Come on. Darla will be glad to see you."

We walked back to the trailer and mounted the ramp. I stopped to look at the Chevy once again. We had disposed of Darrell's remains. A bit unceremoniously, but then, he hardly deserved better.

Mysteries concerning Carl's magical vehicle still remained. Here-again! — was one of its many doppelgangers. This edition was, ostensibly, the one Carl had arrived on Microcosmos with, the one that had been stolen out of the truck. Prime had taken it, probably because he was curious about it, and had put it back. For the sake of my sanity, I decided that this was the best way to explain why Carl's automobile was still in my truck. For the sake of my sanity, I would avoid dealing with the notion that, after all, there really was only one Chevy. But if I took this one back to Terran Maze…? Well, really, I didn't want to think of that either.

Carl, or the design chief, had really gone overboard with the antitheft mechanisms. I wondered how we were ever going to get it out of here. Would using a crane or a winch activate the booby traps? Possibly, though they didn't seem to be especially touchy. Darrell had jiggered the lock for quite a while before incurring the lethal penalty.

Gingerly, I put my hand on the door handle.

The door came open. And I heard Carl's voice: "Jake. You'll hear this if you try to get in when the door is locked, so listen up…"

I clambered in, listening.

"… this is kind of strange," Carl's voice went on. "I'm recording this as I look at you. You're stretched out, asleep, here in the Ideation and Design Facility. I thought about it, and I figured I had to find some way of allowing you to use the car while making sure it's otherwise theft-proof. The design chief says it'll be simple. If anybody other than you tries to steal this car, or even just fiddle with it, it's curtains. Deathsville. That's if they try to break in. If they do get in somehow and try to hot-wire it, or even start it with the key in it… or get this-even if they try to drive off when the motor's running, they won't get far. That device isn't deadly. I don't want a goddamn mess in the front seat. I just makes you want to get out of the car in a hurry."

As I well knew. I had tried that once.

"So, listen. You're right here, so we can get readings on you, and feed them into the design specs. The car will know you, Jake. It will let you get in, start it, and drive it. Without a key, too, since I won't give the key to anybody. In fact, if anybody other than me tries to start the car with the key, it'll trigger the nonlethal mechanism. I figure, if they've got the key, they've killed me to get it. Okay. I hope I've covered everything…"

It seemed to me that he had overlooked a few possibilities, which possibly explained why I was able to steal the car with the motor running, yet got zapped with the nonlethal device when I tried to start it with the key. Why had the Chevy refused to recognize me then? Possibly because Carl had made the proscription against unauthorized key-starting a blanket one, just to be safe.

"… but if I haven't, well… hell, I can't think of everything. I'm not sure I understand what the hell this is all about, or all the flip-flops and crazy reasons for everything, but I do know that at some point you've got to steal my car. And maybe you'll need it if anything happens to me. But nothing's going to happen to me, so you'll never hear this." He laughed. "This is nuts. I'm nuts. Getting a little daffy, anyway. Okay, that's it. I hope you never hear this, but if you do… oh, hell, I guess I should erase this and just tell you. I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't. When you get right down to it, maybe I don't trust anybody. Not even you, Jake. I've learned, believe me. You can't trust anybody in this stinking world. Universe. Yeah, the whole universe is pretty undependable, when you get right down to it. Okay. I'll decide later whether to tell you. See ya."

And that was it.

Sitting beside me in the front seat, Roland chuckled. I couldn't recall him opening the other door and getting in.

He said, "I remember us sitting here, trying to figure out how this insane vehicle worked. Little did we know it had been designed by a paranoid teenager from the distant past, who had the help of some of the most advanced technological intelligence of the far future."

"Funny how things work out," I said.

"By the way-there was a reason for my suggesting you try the lock."

I looked at him. In my version of reality, he hadn't said a thing.

The key beeped in my pocket. I took it out.

"Jake, something coming. I think it's that dust-devil business that chased us a while back."

Roland was smiling as though he'd just brought off an elaborate practical joke.

"I see what you mean," I said.