Attanasio, AA - In Other Worlds

.Carl's heart became a paperweight. "Maybe well get out of here before they show up."

His hopefulness cowed before Zeke's stare. With his head and face shaved, Zeke had. the sober demeanor of a monk.

"You can't avoid them, Squirm," he said with certainty. "But you don't have to fear them. You didn't destroy more than half of Galgul. Your armor did. Let it' protect you."

Carl spun about and ran both hands through his hair.

That gesture usually reassured him, reminding him that he had been remade, that life was new. But now he felt closed in, and he went to the tall sliding window gazing west over the Hudson and opened it. The winter air cleared his sinuses.

The dark sky seemed empty: in the direction his armor told him to look. The lynk of his lance to the Werld manifested in the space of his immediate vicinity and in a larger probability zone a mile above his head, tilted twenty-six degrees toward the north magnetic pole. The lynk space around him was big enough only for human-sized transits like blood beetles, which his lance could easily disperse as they appeared.

The jumpships and needlecraft would come in above him where they could scatter quickly and avoid his lance fire-until their own light lancer armor came through. His armor did not know if it could match the zotl armor. .

The wind turned, and the air smelled of burning leaves. A new feeling glided in under his fear and elation, elusive as an unwritten poem. It was -awe. "Geezus, Zeke," Carl said in a slow voice. "It's strange."

"It's always been strange," Zeke confirmed, "only now it's gotten weird enough for you to notice." He sat up. One hand tugged at the ghost of his white beard before finding his chin, and he gazed at Carl, ruminative as Moses. "Carl, I've got to talk with you."

Carl turned from his window reverie. Zeke had never appeared as composed as this before, and the poise in his stare drew Carl closer. "What more can you possibly have to say?" he asked, sitting in the plush chair beside the sofa.

"Ever hear of Egil Skaldagrimson?" Zeke asked.

'An uncle of yours?"

"He was ancient Iceland's most original poet," Zeke said.

"But in his own day he was better known as a ferocious manslaughterer called a berserkir. One day late in his life after earning the fierce respect of his people as a warrior, a poet, and an autocrat, he was out for a stroll. As he passed one of his men who was bending over, adjusting a sandal, Egil swiftly drew his sword and--zockl-cut the man's head off. The reason

he gave for doing it is famous: 'He posed so conveniently for a blow."'

Carl looked at his friend more closely to see if he was launching into one of his ."surges." The strong face was as sensible as the Buddha's. "Okay. So what about it?"

"You're like Egil's soldier," Zeke replied. "You're picking your toes. You carry a sword, but you've lost the spirit of the sword."

°` I'm not sure I follow you, old buddy," Carl confessed in a piqued tone. "If you're worried about the zotl's surprising me, dolt. My imp has a warning tone."

"The enemy I'm worried about is you. You're in some kind of trance."

"Me?" Carl was surprised. "This is the first day since I got here that I've seen both of your eyes working together."

"Sure, I've been chemically pummeled. But you've been adamized. You're supposed to be perfect."

"I'm nowhere near it."

"That's for sure. But to the urg, you're perfect. A perfect gofer. It's got you locked into its strategy, friend. You have the power, but your will has been castrated so that it won't interfere."

"Aw, cut it out, Zee." Carl sank back in the chair. "Caitlin's been trying to save my soul. Sheelagh wants to make love to me. And you think I'm a will-less zombie."

"Not a zombie, just a sleepwalker." Zeke's bushy white eyebrows, lifted. "And why don't you make love to Sheelagh?"

Carl sat back as if slapped. "I'm in love, Zeebo.

Remember that feeling? It's a little ways north of lust."

"Love has blinded you."

"Blinded me to what?"

"To power." Zeke's hand flashed out, and he picked up the lance -from where Carl had placed it on the coffee table.

"This is powerl" He waved it under Carl's nose: "When are you going to use it?"

"When I have to," Carl answered softly.

"If you don't use the power you have, the will weakens,"

Zeke said, returning the lance.

"Hey, keep in mind whose weak will uncanned you last month."

"I'll never forget it." Zeke smiled briefly. "But that was last month. What've you done since?"

"What's to do? I mean, the eld skyle didn't send me after the Golden Fleece or the Grail. We're just waiting for the lynk to convert some pig stool and then we're gone. Unless the zotl stop us."

"Forget the zotl." Zeke's gaze pressed into him. "If you're just waiting for the lynk, why'd you come back for me? And why'd you spill the beans to Caitlin and Sheelagh?"

"What the hell are you driving at?"

"Don't get excited." Zeke was glad to see that Carl could get excited.

"Just what are you trying to tell me? That I'm loose-tipped?"

"That you're talking in your sleep. The urg has put you in a trance, and you're not seeing things clearly. If you're loose-tipped it's because there's some of your old self left that wonders what's going on. That's why you sought out your old friends, to connect with your past and the old meaning of your life. You've lost that, and now you don't know what's-up or down."

"And you do?"

"I know only one thing for sure." He leaned closer.

"We're made out of light. And light is action."

"Huh?"

"Light is action." Zeke looked amazed. "Come on, Squirm, you remember quantum theory: Light is trans

mitted in whole units. Those units are called quanta of action. They're photons: Don 7t get me started on this subject. The point I'm trying to make is this: All creation acts. Continuously. There is no stillness. Even the void between galaxies buzzes with Field particles.

Action is reality. For a human, that reality is choice.

You have to act positively, and by that I mean your choices have to be creative, not historical."

"All right, already ZeeZee. I get the idea. You think I'm lazy"

"Well, when's the last time you worked out?"

"I don't believe this."

"The urg gave you an adamized body, but how do you expect to keep it strong without using it?"

Carl was on his feet. "Riding a fallpath is a workout and a half, believe me." He strode back to the window and slammed it shut.

"The only fallpath here is down."

Carl shrugged. "My heart isn't here, Zeke. Working out's too much of a pain. I'd just as soon wait till I get home."

"That's a negative choice. Soon you'll be as flabby as you ever were. You've got to stop avoiding pain, and you've got to stop seeking your pleasure in some faraway future."

"Why?"

"It's been done to death, billions of times already. Those are the historical choices. After all that's happened to you, you can't just react. You've got to be creative."

"But why?"

"Because you've got the power, man." Zeke was standing up. As he spoke, he wended his way around the coffee table and over the gutted TV to Carl. "What's happened to you is now. It's a mandate to be original, despite the pain. You've got to use your body till it hurts. Use your brain till it's exhausted. Don't seek

pleasure for its own sake. That's the game that trips up almost everybody. Let the pleasure come to you on its own-and when it comes, take it. And when it's gone, keep it a memory, not a hope.

Don't look for it. Keep your focus on what you can give to others from the hurtfully alive center of yourself."

"Spare me your philosophy," Carl asked in cold exasperation.

Zeke looked down into him. "I would if there were any other way to live without 'regrets."