Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

“You want me to go there, then.”

“Yes. Your task will be threefold. First, find and recover, if possible, the elements of Warren Bansa’s device. Secondly, bring back any information you can on the armies that are massing on Meru and in its environs.”

“Armies?”

“So I said. Thirdly, find me proof of who stole Warren Bansa’s device from my realm. The more solid the proof, the better.”

“Solid? Like a signed confession?”

“I doubt that is possible. However, a recording would do, a fragment, a witness…”

Dubhe had begun to laugh. “This is the game, the game you mentioned so long ago, isn’t it?”

Death nodded. “A game that has taken more twists than I imagined when I spoke so lightly of ‘play,’ Dubhe. Those on high Meru mean to warp the fabric of reality and take Verite as their playground. What they have stolen from me may make this possible.”

“Why do you care?” Jay asked. “If Virtu gets bigger, so does your realm, right?”

“Too simple, child,” Death said. “If you survive the task I have set you, we will discuss metaphysics further.”

“Promise?”

“You dare extract a promise from me?”

“I want to know. I feel like a pawn on a huge chessboard.” Jay held his hands out in appeal. “Give me a shot at being a knight.”

“I like your attitude. Very well, Jay Donnerjack. I shall continue your education when you return from the journey I have set for you.”

“Can I ask one more question?”

“I reserve the right to refuse to answer.”

“You always do. Will you tell me why you want to know who trespassed here? If the ones on Meru are immune to your powers, what good will it do?”

“But they are not immune to my powers, Jay Donnerjack. When they depart the protection of Meru, the lesser ones fear me as any mortal does. Only the highest three are completely out of my reach, and if one of them is among the trespassers, well then, that one (or two) is now within my power. The shadow of Deep Fields has touched them once and I can bring it to bear once more.”

Jay shivered. Death’s cracked voice became supple, almost choking as he concluded his reply.

“You see, Jay Donnerjack, it is a truism that I am always in the right place at the right time. I mean to prove that… even to the death of the highest gods.”

Once upon a time, the acreage in California had been part of greater Los Angeles. Then the states to the north and east of the sprawling, irrigated desert had put an end to the piracy of resources they felt they had more right to use. Virtual reality, in the form of catalogs, commutes, and social events had reduced the demand for residing in close proximity to important cities—and virtventure had greatly reduced the movie industry.

Someday, water mining in the asteroids might bring in chunks of ice to seed a reservoir or two, or transportation technology might be employed to bring the by-products of an eastern flood to the dry west. Perhaps there would come again a day when people would learn the pleasure of watching a stage production or visiting an amusement park where the risk (however minimal) was real, not virtual. For now, however, Los Angeles was a much smaller city than it had once been.

The infrastructure of roads, utilities, and communications networks still existed, however. There were ample materials to scavenge for building and the cachet of a Hollywood premiere still remained. Thus, the Church of Elish came to California to set the stage for their second Celebration.

Randall Kelsey came in at the end of his shift to find a message from Ben Kwinan on his virt terminal. He did not answer the call at first, preferring to shower, eat, glance through a magazine. It was not that he was avoiding Kwinan, he told himself, it was simply that his virtual colleague could be exhausting company.

Despite their open desire to share the freedom of both universes that Veriteans demonstrably possessed, not many of the natives of Virtu could honestly comprehend the limitations of a physical body. The closest they could come was when they exceeded the restrictions of their personal programming. And if that programming was thorough—as Kwinan’s must be—they hardly ever experienced their equivalent of fatigue.

Eventually, Kelsey rigged for a second-level interaction and signaled Kwinan that he was available. Kwinan appeared with such alacrity that Kelsey suspected he must have made response to the call a primary priority. Not certain whether he should be pleased or suspicious, Kelsey nodded greeting.

“Hi, Ben. How is the work going on your side?”

Kwinan shrugged. “Tickets are selling. Otherwise, it’s hard to say. So much depends on whether the gods will cooperate and you know how arrogant they can be. I’m more interested in developments on your side.”

“We’ve cleared the site now and the ziggurats are going up nicely. The traffic routes are pretty much in place and Aoud is doing amazing things in preparation for crowd control.”

“I still find it astonishing to think of a site being constructed by physical labor rather than by program design,” Kwinan said. His grey eyes were lit with almost religious fervor. “It must be wonderful!”

“If you like grit in your eyes, in your hair, in your mouth… if you like a headache from the pounding of construction machinery,” Kelsey laughed, “and needing to worry about the laws of physics for real, rather than if you can convince the resident aion to change them to accommodate your design… No, I’d rather be in charge of a Virtuelle construction project. I thank the gods that I’m an assistant, rather than the boss of this one.”

“Maybe so…” Kwinan did not sound convinced. “Can you come through via stage three? I’d like to talk with you about something… personal.”

Kelsey frowned. His first intention was to refuse—a need to be at the site early tomorrow, fatigue, any excuse. His second was to recall that Kwinan was still his superior within the Church and that Kelsey should not discourage any willingness to confide.

“I’ll need to see if any of the dorm’s rigs are open.”

“I’ll make certain that one is,” Kwinan promised. “Come by my residence. You still have the coordinates?”

“I do.”

“Great! And thanks.”

Kelsey hummed to himself as he shut down his second-stage link. He donned a light cotton robe and slippers, combed his hair, and walked down to the virt transfer unit set up in the basement of the dormitory that had been constructed for on-site workers. As Ben had promised, a couch was empty. When he placed his hand on it, he found it was slightly warm. Someone must have been evicted.

Stripping, he worked the links into place, assisting his hands with touches from his virtual telekinesis. Then he gave a command and a grey mist rose. As the network aion took over, he gave it the coordinates for Kwinan’s place, stepped into a violently violet cab, and leaned back to enjoy the ride to the site where many of the Church’s Virtuan members maintained dwellings.

Although in theory space within Virtu was infinite, in reality the average complex proge or aion could not maintain its own site and have memory left to divert to other projects. Therefore, they “rented” space from a genius loci and tailored it to suit their personal tastes. Some of these sites had the equivalent of “zoning regulations” to maintain a particular theme. Others, such as the one Kelsey’s cab was now entering, were eclectic.

The decor of Ben Kwinan’s residence was always changing, usually reflecting Kwinan’s latest fascination. Today it resembled a Navajo ho-gan—a rounded structure with log and mud walls and a softly curved mud roof. It contrasted oddly with the staid brownstone on one side and the miniature Moorish palace on the other, less because of the primitive materials of its construction than because it was aligned so that its entryway was on side to the street rather than facing it.