Ruins

CHAPTER 23 Murder

To kill a man isn’t something you decide lightly, Rigg knew. But he also understood that there were times when you had no choice.

Rigg had discussed it with Loaf long ago, during the time they spent in O, waiting for a banker named Cooper to convert a jewel into money they could spend. Rigg and Umbo had only begun learning how to use their talents together. Alone, Umbo could only go back a little way and appear to someone, like a ghost, and give them a brief message. Alone, Rigg could only see the paths that people made as they went through the world.

Together, though, they could actually change things. Rigg could fix on a particular path; then Umbo could send him to that time, and bring him back. Rigg was in the past time, but Umbo, who was still in the present, could also see him; he was in both times at once.

That was how Rigg got the knife—he stole it from an utter stranger, someone whose path he fixed on. “I could have taken his knife and killed him with it,” Rigg had said to Loaf.

“Why would you even think of that? From stealing to assassination in one quick step.” Loaf looked contemptuous.

“You were a soldier,” said Rigg. “You killed people.”

“Yes,” said Loaf. “It was war. They were trying to kill me, I was trying to kill them. I didn’t always succeed in killing them, but so far they’ve always failed at killing me.”

“So I guess you don’t think it would be fair for me to go where I know an enemy soldier was, and then go back in time and kill him when he had no way of knowing I’d be there.”

“Fair?” asked Loaf. “There’s no ‘fair’ about killing in war. If you can kill the other man, without any danger to yourself, then you do it.”

“But you just said it was wrong for me to—”

“Enemy,” said Loaf. “War. He knows he’s at war, he knows he has enemies, and suddenly out of nowhere an enemy kills him. That’s war. If you know how to kill the enemy without putting your own troops in danger, then you do it. You save the lives of your own, and take the lives of the enemy.”

“I would never just kill a stranger on the street,” said Rigg.

“But that’s what you said. You robbed him, and then you talked about how easy it was to kill him.”

“I said it would be easy,” said Rigg, “not that I would have killed him.”

“You’re wrong, though,” said Loaf. “It might be safe, it might be impossible for him to stop you. But if it’s ever easy for you to kill a man, then something has already died inside you.”

“So you can kill a man in a war,” said Rigg. “Any other time? What if someone was attacking Leaky?”

“Leaky would kill him without any help from me,” said Loaf. “Don’t argue, I know the point you’re making. You and Umbo, you can do this thing with time. So you know a man is going to kill somebody because he did it. There’s the person, dead. So you go back in time, and just before he kills the other guy, suddenly you appear and slit his throat.”

“That’s all right, isn’t it?” asked Rigg.

“You’re so eager to kill? You want to find out what the rules are, so you can do it?”

“I’m just asking a simple question,” said Rigg. “But if you’re afraid to give me an honest answer . . .”

“I gave you one. You’re too eager to kill. Go back farther. Before he ever reaches out to kill. Trip him on the way in. See if that stops him.”

“Trip him? He’s a murderer!”

“Do you know why he kills the other guy?”

“I’m making this up, how would I know why?”

“Was it a plan? Was someone else making him? Does he think this man wronged him terribly? What if he finds out later that the guy didn’t do it. He’s so grateful then that he tripped on the way into the roadhouse or the bank or wherever it was. Now both men are alive, and you didn’t kill anybody.”

“So you think all the murders in the world are done because of mistakes?” asked Rigg.

“I’m saying that not everybody who kills is a murderer. Sometimes killers are idiots. Sometimes they’re just boys. Sometimes they’re idiot boys.”

“Stop bringing me into this,” Umbo had said from the other room, where he was reading something. Rigg didn’t remember what. He just remembered that Loaf finally came around to saying, Yes, this power you have, it can be used to kill, and there might come a time when you have no other choice.

This was that time.

Rigg didn’t leap to that conclusion. It came on him gradually. It began with all the lies. The Odinfolders were sure they had all the information from the chat among the expendables and the ships’ computers, and yet some of the information they had was false, and things were missing. The clincher was the fact that the Odinfolders and the mice had said that there was nothing from Larex about the Larfolders—but instead, Larex met with them all the time and was aware of what they were doing every step of the way.

“We all lie to Vadesh.” What did that even mean? Why Vadesh in particular? Yes, he had lost all of his humans, but now it turned out that Vadesh had actually left his own wallfold to visit Larfold.

What would it mean if he were told the truth—why would they bother lying to him?

So who was really lying? Had the Odinfolders lied to Rigg? Or did they tell what they believed was the truth, and the mice lied to the Odinfolders about what they had learned from their interception of expendable communications?

Who ordered the killing of Param in the library in Odinfold? Was it the mice, acting for their own self-interest, and they blamed it on the Odinfolders? Or did the Odinfolders order it? And if so, why? Who was served by it? Was it to try to kill Param, or to try to get Rigg and Umbo and the others to do exactly what they did—go on to Larfold and take ten thousand mice with them?

Who was in control of all this? Whose plan was being served? What if all the living creatures—human or part-human—were being lied to by the expendables and the ships’ computers?

Which led to yet another round of questions. What if the expendables had gone rogue? The ships’ computers hinted at the possibility; certainly Rigg had gotten different results from giving orders to the ship from the orders he gave to Vadesh.

Yet Vadesh had claimed that he had to obey the owner of the jewels, right from the start. The ships assured him that he was absolutely in control of everything. And yet they were all doing things that had nothing to do with anything he ordered, and sometimes that completely contradicted what they had told him they had done or were going to do or even could do.

How can machines lie? Were they lying when they said they had to obey him? If so, how did they get programmed to be able to tell that lie? In other words, who had ordered them to be capable of disobeying orders?

Ram Odin had ordered the killing of all the other Ram Odins so that the computers and expendables would not be forced to deal with contradictory orders. Yet one of the Ram Odins had lived, and the computers and expendables all knew it, because there existed both Ramfold and Odinfold, named for the founder of the colony.

The kind of lying that was going on—what if it wasn’t lying at all? What if everything that every single expendable and computer ever said to Rigg was true. No, not true, but honest—that is, they were conveying exactly the information they had been ordered to give him.

When they told him he was in command of everything, it was true. But what if shortly afterward it stopped being true, and they were ordered not to tell him that?

Or they were ordered to tell him that he was in control when in fact he was not, so they were lying, but not by their own choice.

Who could possibly give such orders? Rigg was in possession of the jewels, the ships’ logs, and by all rights he should be in command.

But only if the previous commander was gone. Dead.

What if the previous commander was unavailable, so Rigg took command; but then the previous commander became available, and so Rigg was not in command anymore. Or he was in command, but in a subordinate way, the way Umbo was in command in Odinfold because he had the copies of the ships’ logs that were on the knife—but he still served under Rigg and could not countermand an order of Rigg’s.

What if Rigg was also subordinate to another human commander, and the expendables had been ordered not to tell him?

Then it all made sense. All the lying by machines stopped being lies and started being a systematic plan of deception by a commander who didn’t want his existence to be known.

This is the way Father had taught Rigg to think. If things don’t make sense, then question your assumptions. When your assumptions all seem to be wrong, then think of ways that they might be right after all. Find new possibilities.

Here was the possibility that nobody ever talked about, yet it seemed obvious once it occurred to Rigg.

Ram Odin was still alive.

Eleven thousand years later, still alive?

Every starship had that room where sleeping colonists were revived and awakened from stasis. That’s where Vadesh had brought Rigg and Loaf, pretending it was the control room, but really intending to slap a facemask on one of them. Rigg had always assumed he meant to do it to him, not Loaf at all. But now he wondered: Vadesh had put the facemask on one of the two men in their group who had no power over time.

That was when Rigg realized that if he had the enhancements to his senses that Loaf had received, he might be able to use his power far more effectively. Wouldn’t the facemask also enhance his ability to see paths, the way it had enhanced Loaf’s sight and hearing and smell, his quickness, his memory, his mental acuity?

There in Vadesh’s revival chamber, Rigg had all the answers in front of him if he had only known the right questions. This was a room that was still in use. Not for the facemask—Vadesh didn’t have to bring him there to put the facemask on someone, he could have done that in any room in the starship.

So why did Vadesh choose that room? Because then Rigg would know what it was. What it was for. That it existed.

Vadesh was trying to tell him the truth even though he had been forbidden to tell it. Someone is still being kept in stasis. Someone who gets revived from time to time, then goes back to sleep. Someone who has slept his way through eleven thousand years of human history on Garden, only waking up for a few days here and there to give orders, to make tweaks in human history.

Ram Odin. Only he was not in Ramfold, where he had founded a colony and left his seed behind. He was in Vadeshfold, where Vadesh had tried to create a symbiosis of humans and native organisms.

“We all lie to Vadesh”—that was their code, their desperate attempt to signal Rigg, against all of Ram Odin’s orders, that there was something in Vadesh’s starship that they all were trying to resist as best they could.

This was the conclusion Rigg had reached when he heard the story of the mantles of the Larfolders, the tale of how they went under the sea. The contradictions had become too great, the web of lies too complicated. So he thought and thought until he made the leap that brought him to this conclusion: Ram Odin is alive, and Ram Odin is manipulating everything.

Then he made one more leap: It is not the Visitors who trigger the destruction of Garden. It is Ram Odin.

In the Future Books, the dying Odinfolders spoke of Destroyers from Earth, but did they know this was true, or had they been told this by the ships’ computers, by the expendables? Here was the key point: the Destroyers worked through the orbiters—the satellites from the original nineteen starships that circled Garden in stationary orbits.

The satellites obeyed their programming by threatening to destroy any wallfold that developed dangerous weapons. But those dangerous weapons were actually thwarted by the expendables, who forestalled any experimentation along those lines. What weapons were considered too dangerous to allow?

Any weapons that could threaten the starships’ control of this planet.

There were terrible slaughters in the wallfolds. The humans of Vadeshfold had made themselves extinct. There was apparently some kind of terrible plague that affected all the wallfolds early on. Many horrible wars and massacres and famines and genocides had happened, but it never triggered any reaction from the orbiters.

But then the Visitors come and a year later the Destroyers activate the orbiters to destroy every single wallfold.

Nine times the Odinfolders had tried various ways to placate these vengeful, terrible gods, remaking themselves, unbuilding their society, leaving everything, even their own bodies, in ruins; devolving all their powers and knowledge upon sentient mice; even contemplating the slaughter of the human race on Earth in order to prevent the destruction of Garden.

What if it wasn’t the humans from Earth who did this?

What if it was Ram Odin?

The Visitors came. They got complete access to all the ships’ logs. Then they went away.

What if they studied those logs and realized what had happened. The whole system was under the control of the man whose first act upon discovering the accidental nineteen-copy, eleven-thousand-year time-shift event was to order the murder of all other copies of himself, and then the destruction of almost all life on Garden to make room for his colonies. The man who used Garden as a means of creating people with his own strange time-shifting powers, only enhanced, clarified.

Now this same Ram Odin saw the people of Earth returning. Maybe they even got near enough to send an order to the ships’ computers, taking command away from Ram Odin.

Only Ram Odin had already programmed in an automatic response to this move. The result of any order that took command away from Ram Odin was the immediate destruction of all life on Garden.

If Ram could not rule, he would destroy.

The humans from Earth had tried to save Garden from its secret god, and the god had wrecked all rather than let his own power be curtailed.

Now it all made sense. No matter how many times the Odinfolders tried to make a better impression on the Visitors, nothing would ever work because the Visitors had always gotten a good impression and had never turned against the people of Garden.

All the lies were part of Ram Odin’s mad or evil plan to keep control over Garden while creating a race of time-shifters who were subservient to him without ever knowing it was him whom they served.

Speculation—all guesswork. Rigg knew this.

He also knew that with mice listening in on everything said among Rigg’s little company of five, and no doubt relaying the information to expendables or computers that passed it along to Odin, he couldn’t discuss his conclusions with anybody.

But there was a way that he could figure it all out. He could go to the starship where Ram Odin lived—in Vadeshfold. He could look for the path of Ram Odin. He could see how often he had been revived.

More to the point, Rigg could enhance himself the way Loaf was enhanced. It was possible that Ram Odin would forbid it—he might already have forbidden it, which would explain why Loaf got the mask, and not Rigg. It was also possible that Rigg would not have the strength of will that had allowed Loaf to overmaster the powerful forces that the facemask used to try to control its symbiote.

Either way, the world would not be any worse off than it was before. Rigg blocked from access to a facemask, or driven mad by a facemask, or even dead—how would that change the world for the worse?

But if he could get those enhancements, he could find out the truth, and if his suppositions turned out to be right, he could set the world free from this godlike monster who was set to destroy it in only a few years’ time, in order to prevent being called to account by the humans from Earth, who had the power to override his control of the computers and expendables.

Only when Rigg actually had those enhancements would he know how it would affect his time-shifting. Everything depended on his being able to get to Ram Odin at a time when there was no way an expendable could save him. No way that Ram Odin could command the mice to send some kind of object into the past that would prevent the assassination.

Or Rigg might find out that he was wrong, that Ram Odin was not alive, that the expendables were simply capable of lying, that the situation really was as chaotic and unknowable as it seemed. Maybe this brilliant guess of his was just wishful thinking. Maybe there was no theory that could unify and explain everything.

So Rigg tried to keep himself calm during his flight to the Wall. But then, he didn’t really need to conceal his trepidation, his excitement. After all, whatever changes in his behavior and vital signs the flyer’s sensors picked up could be completely explained by Rigg’s stated decision to go get a facemask. Who wouldn’t be tense, flustered, fearful, excited?

The flyer landed and Rigg got out.

Waiting on the other side of the Wall was Vadesh, looking so much like Father.

Rigg’s first thought was to wave him over. Don’t pretend you can’t go through the Wall, because I know you can.

But no, better to just go along with the way the expendables pretended the world worked.

Rigg walked into the Wall and felt the frisson of distant dread and anguish, the rekindling of language. In both the jewels and the knife, the ships’ logs would be updating. Rigg kept his attention focused on Vadesh.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Vadesh said when Rigg was close enough.

“No,” said Rigg. “You weren’t right. You let all your people die. You’re a failure. But I don’t want to be a failure like you. When the Visitors come, I need to have the enhancements that Loaf has, so I’m better able to assess them and figure out how to prevent the destruction of Garden.”

It was a long speech. It sounded rehearsed, even though Rigg had not known what he was going to say. How would Vadesh interpret it? Or, more to the point, how would Ram Odin, listening, interpret it?

Am I defending myself when nobody has challenged me? Probably. But will the expendable conclude from this that I’m deceiving him? Probably not. Humans always defend themselves when they think they might be wrong. And anyone about to receive a facemask who doesn’t wonder if his decision is wrong must be an idiot.

“In other words, I was right,” said Vadesh. “But it’s perfectly understandable that you don’t want to admit it. Ego plays such a strong role in the self-deceptions of human beings.”

“With a facemask, will my self-deception be even more effective?” asked Rigg.

“Oh yes,” said Vadesh. “But so will your ability to see right through your own self-deceptions.”

Even now, knowing what he knew, suspecting what he suspected, Rigg couldn’t help feeling a closeness to Vadesh, especially when he talked in conundrums and paradoxes the way Father always did.

He also felt as much loathing for Vadesh as ever.

Any human who is guided by his emotions is a fool, thought Rigg. Because we can feel absurdly opposite things at the same time.

“Did you bring a facemask to me?” asked Rigg.

“No,” said Vadesh. “You don’t want to take on the struggle for dominance here, where there is so much outside stimulation to distract you. You’d be swallowed up.”

“You found that out by seeing people go mad?”

“Of course,” said Vadesh. “There’s such a steep price for failure.”

“But you never pay it,” said Rigg.

“I’m a machine,” said Vadesh. “And the Pinocchio story is absurd. Machines don’t want to be real boys. Real boys are so corruptible, so easily distracted, deceived, killed.”

“And no one deceives you?”

“Many think they do,” said Vadesh. “And I pretend that they’ve succeeded.”

“So you’re the deceiver.”

“We’re all deceivers, Rigg Sessamekesh,” said Vadesh. “I’m just better at it.”

“So is there any point in my asking you whether you have prepared a facemask for me that will be too powerful for me to master?”

“No, there’s no point in your asking, and no, I have prepared nothing different to what I prepared for Loaf.”

“So you did prepare it for Loaf.”

“I prepared it for whoever chose to accept it,” said Vadesh.

“Loaf took it to save me.”

“He chose to be a hero. Who was I to refuse to allow him to play the role?”

“But you weren’t going to force it on me?” said Rigg. He found that hard to believe.

“I don’t force anyone to do anything,” said Vadesh. “I explain and let them decide for themselves.”

“You didn’t explain anything to Loaf,” said Rigg.

“He didn’t give me time.”

Rigg searched back in his memory. Did Loaf really cause the facemask to leap onto his body, or did Vadesh flip it up into place? Human memory was so unreliable. As soon as Rigg tried to imagine either scenario, each seemed equally real and equally false.

“Did you bring a flyer, or were you going to carry me to the starship?” asked Rigg.

“Do you want a flyer? You merely asked me to meet you.”

Rigg shook his head. “Bring the flyer and take me there. Or don’t, and I’ll walk. I enjoy solitude and I know my way around a forest.”

Of course the flyer was close by—expendables could move faster than humans, but not fast enough to get to the Wall without using a flyer, not in the amount of time Rigg had given Vadesh to comply with his orders.

“Why did you decide on my poor primitive facemask instead of those wonderful Companions of the Larfolders?” asked Vadesh.

Rigg did not answer.

“Are you going to leave me in suspense?” asked Vadesh.

Rigg wanted to retort, Why would a machine feel suspense? But instead he did not answer at all. Why should he pretend that the normal human courtesies applied in a conversation between a man and a machine? Especially when the man was the one who supposedly commanded all the ships and expendables.

Man! Rigg inwardly grimaced at his own vanity. How I strut. I’m not a man, I’m a boy, trying to do a man’s job.

Or commit a monstrous crime.

One or the other.

The flight was without incident. They landed, not at the city, where they would need to take the high-speed tram through the mountain, but at a structure inside the crater made by the ancient impact when the starship collided with Garden. Then there was an elevator ride down to the starship far below.

But they crossed the same bridge from the wall of the stone chamber to the outside door in the starship’s side. All the starships dwelt inside an identical wound in the stone of the world, because all those wounds had been shaped by the forcefield that protected the starship and its passengers from all the effects of collision and sudden changes in inertia.

Rigg followed Vadesh carefully, trying to be aware of any new hazards, trying to notice all kinds of things he had overlooked before.

But the main thing Rigg searched for was the path of Ram Odin.

It was surprisingly easy to find, now that he knew it might exist. It was the oldest path in the starship. It was also the newest. It led again and again from the control room to the stasis chambers and then to the revival room and then back to the control room.

But in the past eleven thousand years, Ram Odin had not left the starship. Not since he crossed through the Wall from Ramfold.

Interesting. The Ram Odin that had been on the Vadeshfold copy of the starship had been killed by his expendable. And yet his path was here in the ship. A path markedly older than the already ancient passage of Ram Odin from Ramfold into Vadeshfold.

For a moment, Rigg wondered if that meant that the Ram Odin of this starship had not been killed; maybe all of them had lived, the way the Ram Odin of Odinfold had lived.

But no. That most ancient path moved throughout the ship, and then abruptly ended in the control room a few decades before another version of Ram Odin came through the Wall.

Thus Rigg learned the answer to a question that had bothered both him and Umbo ever since they learned about the starships. Paths were tied to the gravity of planets, and moved through space with the world where the paths were laid down. But when people were in space, their paths stayed with the ship transporting them. Unlike boat passengers on the Stashik River, whose paths stayed in the same position relative to the river, and not with the boats, the path of Ram Odin during the starship’s voyage stayed with the starship, even after the ship impacted with the planet’s surface.

I can see it all, thought Rigg. When the time comes, I can watch Vadeshex murder the Ram Odin of this starship.

But no. Being there as an observer would be hard to conceal from the expendable, who would then know there were such things as time-shifting humans from the future. It might cause the expendable—all the expendables—to behave differently. It might utterly change the course of history.

It couldn’t erase Rigg, of course—he and Umbo had settled that long ago. The agents of time change could not be undone by the shifts they themselves caused. They called it the “conservation of causality,” like the conservation of matter and energy. As causers, they had to remain in existence, even if the future they came from was otherwise erased.

But I’m not the only one whose existence I need to protect.

Rigg followed Vadesh to the revival chamber. “I need to do it here in case you have an adverse physical reaction,” Vadesh explained. “Loaf was robust and needed no life support. You might need to be sustained during your struggle for control.”

“When will you know if I’ve failed?”

“I’ll know,” said Vadesh.

“Tell me the symptoms that will lead you to that conclusion,” said Rigg.

Vadesh said nothing.

“I think I gave you a command.”

“I don’t have an answer,” said Vadesh. “I don’t know the symptoms that would lead to that conclusion, because you’re only the second person to receive one of this particular genotype of facemask, and the first one did not fail.”

“You’ve seen failure with early genotypes.”

“They were so different that they could not be the same.”

Rigg didn’t believe him. But should he show that, or would it lead Ram Odin—who was no doubt giving orders to Vadesh from his current location in the control room—to suspect that he knew too much?

“What concerns me,” said Rigg, “is that you might conclude that I had failed when I don’t think I’ve failed.”

“Here’s a simple test,” said Vadesh. “If you think, from my actions, that I have concluded that the facemask is in complete control, all you have to do to avoid my actions is to jump into the past and out of my reach.”

“Here’s a simpler test,” said Rigg. “I order you not to take any action at all concerning me and the facemask for three years, and even then you have to tell me what you’re planning to do.”

“In three years,” said Vadesh, “the Destroyers will be here.”

“That’s why I chose that number,” said Rigg.

Vadesh paused a moment, then said, “I will obey your command.”

“How nice of you. Did you have any choice?”

“I don’t have to obey a command that cannot take effect until after your death. But my programming does not permit me to regard facemask domination as death. Rather it is temporary disablement, so I will follow those rules instead of the death rules.”

“How nice of you,” said Rigg.

“You asked,” said Vadesh.

Rigg sat on the edge of the revival table. “Get me my facemask now,” said Rigg. “I assume you already have one picked out?”

“I have several dozen facemasks. I have no criteria for choosing one over another.”

“ ‘Several dozen,’ ” echoed Rigg. “You know an exact number. Say it.”

“One hundred and seventy,” said Vadesh.

“You have quite a supply of them. Expecting that many visitors?”

“It was to avoid that false conclusion that I used the term ‘several dozen,’ ” said Vadesh. “The large number is because that’s how many happened to survive and remain viable in stasis.”

“So you keep the facemasks in stasis,” said Rigg. “Like the voyagers in flight.”

“Someone’s been researching the starship,” said Vadesh.

“Yes, Umbo. And then he talked about what he learned.”

“Stasis and revival work almost identically for humans and facemasks, which is not a surprise, since these facemasks have been genetically designed for compatibility with humans.”

“Please get my facemask,” said Rigg. “Now.”

Vadesh left the room at once, and returned within the minute. “This one is as healthy as any other.”

“Then let’s . . .”

Rigg didn’t get to say “do it,” because the facemask flew out of the basin containing it. Did Vadesh fling it, or did the facemask somehow propel itself? Or had Rigg, without realizing it, bowed his head over the basin to look inside? He had only a split second to contemplate this question, and then there was agony and panic as his face was covered, his breath choked off, and tendrils inserted themselves with brutal irresistibility into his nostrils, his mouth, his ears and, most painful and frightening of all, his eyes.

This is irrevocable, he thought. My eyes are gone.

Then the tendrils reached through otic and optic nerves into his brain and the struggle began.

It was not like a tug of war. Not like a wrestling match. It was more like being lost in a maze. He could sense that his body was feeling things. Doing things. Yet he could not find his body, could not find the way to control his body.

It was as if the maze were constantly being changed so that nothing was in the same place twice, and barriers popped up where there had been no barriers before.

Pains came and went. His body needed to urinate. Then it did. It got up and walked, but not at Rigg’s command. It acted for its own reasons.

No, not its own reasons. The facemask’s reasons.

A rush of rejection swept over him; the feeling of hostility Rigg had seen in the faces of the people of Fall Ford when they gathered outside Nox’s house, intending to kill him in punishment for the death of Umbo’s little brother, whom Rigg had tried so hard to save. It was as if the facemask knew such a memory was there, and now used it to overwhelm Rigg with feelings and memories from his own past.

Rigg decided that this sudden emotional rush came because the facemask recognized that Rigg had somehow attempted to assert control over his own body. When it got up and moved at the facemask’s command, there had been no resistance from Rigg. But Rigg’s thought that his body was moving at the facemask’s command must have felt, to the facemask, like resistance.

My thoughts are my weapons in this war. What did Loaf say? Something about its being pointless to try to give orders to his own body, at first anyway. So the resistance is in my thoughts. In making my brain hold the thoughts I put there, and not letting them be swept away in the feelings and desires the facemask forces on me.

Easy enough to think this thought; hard to hold on to it when every desire of his body cried out for his attention.

It was like the Wall. Only instead of anguish and despair, what threatened to overwhelm him was thirst and hunger and lust, the urges of elimination, the inchoate yearnings of an adolescent boy.

In the end of this silent war, it turned out that the vulnerability of the facemask came from the sheer sameness of its weaponry. Once Rigg was swept by all the desires of his body, over and over, he began simply to get used to them, and through it all his mind remained his own, and it held the thoughts he reached for.

He opened his eyes.

He knew that what was opening were not his eyes at all, but the new eyes created by the facemask. But it was his nerves that controlled them, his brain that received and interpreted the signals from those eyes.

Whatever the facemask was, it was now part of himself.

Did that mean the facemask had failed?

No, it meant that the facemask was broken to his will, like a horse to its rider; it was still itself, and its needs would still be met. It would be alive. It would reproduce and continue, which was the goal of every kind of life. The native fauna of Garden was alive in this facemask, and had become a part of Rigg. It was Rigg’s servant, yes, but Rigg would now see the world through its eyes, and its needs and desires would form a part of his decision-making. It would not die until he died; he would never remove it; it had found a home embedded in his flesh.

But I am still Rigg Sessamekesh.

No. Not Sessamekesh. Simply Rigg. Rigg the pathfinder. Rigg the man of Garden. Rigg the keeper of the ships’ logs.

His eyes were open. He saw the entire room at once. He wondered how long he had been trapped in the struggle for control and without even trying to calculate, he knew: seventy hours and thirty-two minutes. In that time he had drunk water that Vadesh had brought, but it had been the facemask that made his body drink. Now he looked at Vadesh, who stood nearby, and said, “I’ll have more water now.”

“I’d suggest cleaning yourself as well,” said Vadesh.

“All in due time,” said Rigg.

“Welcome back.”

“Thank you.”

But already Rigg was testing something else: He was finding out what the facemask had done with the paths.

Immediately his mind was flooded with information. He almost lost himself in it, for the onslaught was as great as anything the facemask had thrown at him before.

He saw every nearby path, but not as a path. He saw each path as a person. He knew their faces, he knew where they had come from. Without conscious effort, he knew the whole path of each life, from beginning to end.

There is no way my mind can hold so much information about each of these people. Yet when he looked for it, there it was.

There was Ram Odin, again and again, path after path. Going into stasis, coming out. Into stasis, out again. Sitting in the control room making decisions, giving orders. As he was doing now.

And there was Ram Odin, eleven thousand, two hundred two years ago—how clear the time was now, without thought or calculation or uncertainty.

And Rigg knew another number: His age. With all his skipping around in time, he should have been confused, for he had repeated several stretches of time because of going back, to live them over again. This was the year in which Rigg had turned fourteen, but he had lived through nearly a year in Odinfold before going back again, so he was sixteen now, regardless of what the calendar year might be.

But there were other tests he needed to perform. For instance, while Rigg could connect to any path in the past and go to it, he could not rebound into the future without Umbo anchoring him there.

Did he still have that limitation?

It was simple enough to test it. He slid a half-meter to the right, and then jumped a minute back in time.

Then he shifted forward. It was a sensation he had felt many times, when Umbo pulled him back, but now he could make it happen as an act of will.

When he went back in time, he could see himself sitting beside him; when he jumped forward again, that self was gone, because he returned to the exact moment when he had jumped back in time. He could go back, then rebound himself.

Another test yet to perform. Could he move forward the way Param did, slicing time and skipping over bits of it? He had felt that sensation, too, when he held her hand and she sliced her way into the future at a speed much faster than the natural world.

Now, because he had the facemask’s enhancements to his brain, his body, he could slice his way forward. Slowly at first, the time differential very slight. But then more rapidly.

Vadesh came into the room, holding a carafe of water. He did not see Rigg.

Rigg waited until Vadesh went outside to see where he had gone, before he stopped slicing time. He did not want Vadesh to know that he could duplicate Param’s ability. Let him think that Rigg had shifted backward and then returned, and that’s why he was gone. Let Vadesh think that Rigg had only an enhanced version of abilities that he had possessed already.

Rigg went to the door and found Vadesh walking in the corridor. “There you are,” Rigg said. “I’m so thirsty.”

Vadesh hurried with the carafe. He said nothing about Rigg’s absence. And if Rigg had really been gone into the past, and then returned, he wouldn’t know that Vadesh had come into the room in his absence. So he simply drank the offered water.

There was one more ability to look for, and this was one that he had never directly experienced: The ability of the Odinfolder mice to move an object in both space and time. He had no idea how it would feel to do it. He had never even seen it done, though he had seen its effects—the metal cylinder in Param’s exploded throat; the knife that he took from the sheath at the waist of a passerby.

Rigg did not make the conscious decision to use Vadesh as the object he would attempt to transport. He simply felt the will to move something and Vadesh was near at hand, Vadesh was the thing that Rigg was looking at, and so Vadesh moved. Only a finger’s width, but he moved without passing through the intervening space. One moment he was a meter and fourteen centimeters away, and in the very same moment he shifted to a meter and fifteen centimeters away, plus a quarter of a centimeter to the right.

It had been so smooth that Vadesh didn’t even change his stride, and if he noticed the difference in his location he gave no sign of it.

He must have thought through what giving a facemask to me might mean, and so he’s looking for signs of what I can do now, and how I’ve changed.

“Well, Vadesh,” said Rigg, “don’t you think it’s time I met Ram Odin?”

Vadesh turned to him. “Of course,” he said. “I assume you already know the way?”

“I’ve seen him walk the route a hundred times,” said Rigg.

“Should I come with you?”

If I say no, will Ram Odin suspect something of my intention? “Whatever Ram Odin tells you to do,” said Rigg, “is what you’ll do, and nothing I say can change it.”

“He leaves it up to you, as the keeper of the logs,” said Vadesh.

“Then come with me,” said Rigg, “and let’s meet the master of this ship, and of all the ships.”

Rigg led the way, reveling in the total awareness that the facemask delivered to him. He could sense all the paths he was passing through, experiencing them as people; yet their presence didn’t interfere at all with his ordinary light-based vision, which now had extraordinary clarity. He could see each fleck of dust in the air, the whole surface of the walls and floor and ceiling, and yet none of them distracted him from his purpose. It was as if he was now joined with an autistic mind, hyper-aware of detail, and a normal human mind with its ability to focus on one thing and let all other things fade to unnoticeability. He was aware of all things and focused on one thing at the same time.

And why not? He was two minds at once, an alien beast and a human, both functioning at peak effectiveness.

Ram Odin was an old man. Rigg saw every crease in the skin of his face, every wattle of his neck, the sparseness of hair, the droop of eyelids. There was a pallor to him. He was a man who needed to be outdoors, and had not been.

“I have a proposition for you,” said Ram Odin. “Now that you’ve joined with the most interesting native creature of this world.”

“I was just about to say the same thing to you,” said Rigg. “After greeting you as the founder of our world.”

“All the colonists were founders,” said Ram.

Rigg walked around the control consoles; Ram swiveled in his floating seat to stay facing him.

“But you were the one,” said Rigg. “The one who shaped the world while they were all asleep.”

“Come here and stand with me,” said Ram. “I want you to see my view of things, from this console. I want you to see the world through the orbiters’ eyes. If they can be said to have eyes.”

Rigg could sense tension in the man. Old and weary as he was, he was on edge right now.

He is afraid of me, thought Rigg. He made me, and yet he’s afraid of what I’ll do.

Rigg did as Ram requested, and came between two console stations to stand beside Ram Odin’s chair.

“Here,” said Ram, pointing at a three-dimensional display, a view from space of the ring of cliffs, the forests, the crater that marked where the starship had entered the crust of the planet in this wallfold. “I think of you as something like a son—you don’t mind if I think of you that way, do you? I’ve longed to show this view to a son of mine. Look how we can zoom in closer to see.”

As he spoke, he made the image larger, as if they were plunging downward in a flyer.

Rigg knew that this move was designed to draw his full attention to the display, and it worked. He was, as a human, fully engaged in the bright moving object that attracted him.

But as a facemask, he was also completely aware of the knife in Ram Odin’s hand, the hand that was darting forward to plunge it into Rigg’s kidney.

Rigg, by himself, could never have dodged the blow.

But Rigg-with-a-facemask easily slid to one side, whirled, caught the hand, and twisted it, forcing the knife free.

The knife dropped, but Rigg, quicker than thought, had his hand under it. He had planned to use the jeweled knife that he and Umbo had obtained on that first deliberate trip into the past. But since Ram Odin had so thoughtfully provided a different weapon, it would be ungrateful of Rigg to refuse it.

In the very moment he caught Ram Odin’s knife, Rigg shifted half an hour back in time, to a moment when Ram was focused on the display in a different console, one that put his back to Rigg. That was precisely why Rigg had chosen that moment in Ram Odin’s path.

Ram Odin had not equipped himself with a facemask. He was not aware of Rigg’s silent appearance directly behind him.

You have not yet tried to kill me, Ram Odin, but you will, and so I kill you first.

He flashed his hand forward. Because of the speed and accuracy of the thrust—for the facemask had not yet had the time to build up Rigg’s physical strength enough to make a difference—the knife easily passed between the ribs of Ram Odin’s back and pierced his heart. A little flicking motion and both ventricles of Ram Odin’s heart were split open. The blood of his arteries ceased to pulse. He slumped over and, without time even to utter a sound, he died.

Rigg dropped Ram Odin’s weapon, then took the jeweled knife from his belt and held it in the field where the ship’s computer could recognize it.

“Is there any other living soul who can take the command of these ships and computers from me?” Rigg asked.

“No,” said the ship’s computer.

“Is there anyone in stasis who can take command away from me?”

“No,” said the ship’s computer.

“Is there anyone in the universe who can take it?”

“No,” said the ship’s computer.

But this could not possibly be true. Then Rigg realized what he had actually asked, and phrased the question in another way. “Is there any person or machine that can take control of the ships against my will?”

“Yes,” said the ship’s computer. “Upon synchronizing with any starship authorized by the admiralty, I must surrender complete control to that computer.”

That was the thing that Ram Odin must have feared. But Rigg did not fear it. And so Rigg would not have to destroy the world to prevent it.

Only when he had this information did Rigg Pathfinder put out his hand to touch the shoulder of the man that he had killed.

Ram Odin fell forward onto the console.

Rigg could sense, as clearly as by sight, the eleven-thousand-year-old path in which a different copy of Ram Odin also slumped forward in this very chair, onto this very console, his neck broken by the expendable that stood behind him.

“Kill or be killed,” murmured Rigg.

How many animals had he killed when he found them still struggling in his traps? A number immediately came to his mind but he ignored it. Sometimes accuracy at facemask levels was simply not appropriate. Rigg had killed again and again. He knew the feel of life giving way to non-life. He knew the slackness of the empty body.

But this time, this time, it was a man. It was this man. It was Ram Odin. And, his hand still resting on the dead man’s back, Rigg wept.