Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

“Only if you failed to cooperate. I would prefer you as an ally. I have something I wish to hide and your realm would be perfect.”

“Tell your minions to hold and I will listen to your proposal. If we cannot agree, we can pick up the battle with little lost.”

Abruptly, the screams and wails, the thumping of the tree trunk drums that had been the backdrop to their converse, ceased. In the silence, one of Markon’s long-tailed darters broke into song.

“You will do nothing to continue the attack?”

“I thought to heal some of my creatures. They are sorely wounded.”

“Then I shall do the same.”

“As you wish. Consider using your powers on mine as well, Earthma.”

“Why should I do that?”

“You wish my realm to serve your needs. How can it do so if you have ruined it, or if I must exhaust my resources to mend my programs?”

Earthma laughed. “As a gesture of good faith, I will do as you ask.”

“Speak your piece, then.”

“Tell your companion to lower her weapon.”

“Virginia, please do as she asks.”

The rifle barrel diverted to one side, but Virginia held it ready.

“I will not let her harm you without fighting back, Markon.”

“I would not ask you to do so.”

Earthma rolled her eyes. “Such devotion! Veritean, I have no desire to harm Markon. Only to have him do me a service.”

Virginia shrugged. “I’m just the hired help. He’s the deity.”

“Hired help? I think not, but have it as you will. Markon, I wish to conceal something within your realm. If you agree to take it in and guard it until I am ready for it, then I shall restore your site, remove my minions, and even give out that you are so powerful that I am inclined to respect—even to promote—your claim to neutrality.”

“Clever,” Markon said. “If I am established as neutral none will look for your—whatever—here. What do you wish me to keep for you? Is it a weapon?”

“Perhaps, but not against any of those on Meru.”

“You intrigue me. Pray, continue.”

“I bear a child—a child with fine lineage, for Seaga is its sire. When it has come to strength I plan to install it in a realm that I believe has been too long independent of the authority of those on High.”

“What realm is this?”

“Deep Fields.”

“Then you wish to supplant its lord?”

“That is correct.”

“And you wish me to harbor…”

“Yes, the new Death of Virtu. The new Death, if all goes well, of both Virtu and Verite. I am certain that my offspring would be grateful to its foster father.” Earthma glanced sarcastically at Virginia. “Or I should say to its foster parents? What is your answer, Markon?”

Markon gestured and a stony cradle shaped itself from the rock nearest to Earthma.

“That is my answer. I will consider the ‘child’ a hostage against your adherence to the agreement you outlined.”

“But of course. That has ever been the way with foster parents.”

Virginia Tallent set her rifle aside, placed her hand within the green flame of Markon’s aura. It caressed her, unburning. Earthma began to groan. To divert herself, Virginia Tallent recited:

Ten centuries of stony sleep were broken by a rocking cradle What rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?

Although Dr. Hazzard’s patients were normally residents of Verite, she had no trouble getting a recommendation for a consultation with one of the staff of the Donnerjack Institute concerned with Virtuan medical considerations.

At the appointed time, she and Wolfer Martin D’Ambry shifted site coordinates and found themselves in a neat room furnished with three comfortable chairs positioned equidistant from each other on an oriental rug in which muted tones of rust, amber, and rose dominated. As they seated themselves, a third person joined them.

His white coat and stethoscope identified him as a doctor. The badge pinned above his right breast pocket said “SID.” His hair and short beard were ash blond and the expression in his warm brown eyes was friendly.

Lydia rose. “I’m Lydia Hazzard. Thank you for making time to see Ambry.”

Sid extended a hand, shook hers firmly, turned to Ambry and repeated the gesture.

“Delighted to be of service. I’m on loan from the Center for Iatropathic Diseases. Things there have been—I’m pleased to say—slow. Now, Ambry, would you explain what has been troubling you?”

Tersely, obviously ill at ease, Ambry explained his situation. Sid took occasional notes, but mostly he listened.

“Could you describe the device you found yourself studying?” he said when Ambry finished.

“Well, it was attractive in an Escheresque fashion. Silver and platinum I would guess, with long crystals… hexagonal, maybe octagonal. It occasionally spat sparks or glowed with lights of rather anemic pastel hues.”

Sid leaned his chin on his hand. “Earlier you mentioned that you have no real memory of your site of origin. Do you think it is possible that you originated during the Genesis Scramble?”

“It’s possible.”

“What site do you reside in now?”

“I’d prefer not to say. It’s one of the wild sites.”

“I assure you, whatever you tell me here is confidential.”

Ambry frowned. Lydia interjected a comment into the awkward silence.

“It isn’t that we don’t trust you, but Ambry has been having difficulties with an old enemy.”

Sid raised his eyebrows. “Could your enemy be responsible for these memory lapses?”

Ambry hesitated. “It is possible.”

“I think so, too. Without knowing more, I can’t be more specific, but I would guess that in forcing you to take actions against him or her—”

“Him.”

“—that your enemy is awakening some alternate or base program. This could be an escape routine, but it also could mean eventual sublimation of your current persona proge to one of these secondary routines.”

Lydia interrupted. “Are you saying that Ambry could effectively cease to be himself and become someone else?”

“Yes.”

“Would he know who he had been?”

“Judging from the amnesia he has already experienced, I would say not.”

Lydia turned to Ambry. “I couldn’t bear to lose you again. The first time was hard enough.”

Ambry nodded. “Not only for you, my love. Dr. Sid, what do you suggest?”

“That you trust me. Tell me why you are fleeing. I may be able to suggest alternate ways for you to protect yourself—ways that will preserve your base integrity.”

“The knowledge may endanger you.”

“I can accept that. I’ll even admit to rank curiosity. You see, the name of Lydia Hazzard is familiar to me through one of my other areas of interest.”

“Oh?”

“The study of the phenomenon where virt participants become lost in uncharted territory. I saw some of Dr. Hamill’s early, unpublished notes on your case—notes from before the court decision was handed down and forced him to refer to you as Patient F17.”

“Ah

“And I can deduce that Mr. Ambry here may have had some role in that disappearance.”

Lydia glanced at Ambry. He nodded.

“The probability is high.”

“And the interesting question of your daughter…”

“Parthenogenesis.”

“Of course. What else could it be?”

“What else?”

The three studied each other. Sid with hands folded in his lap, Lydia somewhat anxious, Ambry guarded—even dangerous. After a long silence, Ambry nodded sharply.

“Very well. I will trust you. I only hope that you will not regret your choice.”

Sid smiled. “Me, too.”