Proteus Unbound (30 page)

Bey put all his strength into standing upright and walking smoothly forward. When he was five paces from the group, he gave them a curt nod. "Busy?"

"No, sir." The reply was prompt and respectful. "Not particularly."

"Good. There's an important message going out from Com Central, and I don't want anything to disturb it. I want you to go there and make sure there are no interruptions until I return."

It sounded feeble—
he
sounded feeble. But all he saw was a deferential nodding of heads. As the men moved past him, Bey risked his luck one more time. He reached out to take the hand weapon from the last man's belt. "Let me borrow this. I'll return it to you."

He had gone too far—he was sure of it. But the man did no more than nod, say, "Yes, sir," and hurry along after the others.

Bey stood without moving until they were all out of sight, then allowed himself to sag against the wall of the corridor. Standing erect and talking had been an enormous drain on his energy. He took one step forward and felt in midpace a shock go through his whole body. It was an internal vibration, a tremor of catabolism from every muscle and every nerve. Some inner barrier to destructive change had suddenly crumbled.

He set his mind on the turn in the corridor, twenty meters farther on, and thought of nothing beyond that point. He took one step. His body responded reluctantly and imprecisely to his will—but it moved. Another. One more. One more . . .

He was at the turn. How long had it taken? The next goal was . . . what? A change in color of the corridor, thirty paces away. He had to get to that; there was nothing beyond that. Another step, and then another.

He guided himself along the wall with one outstretched hand. There at last. His eyes sought out and recorded the next objective.

One more effort—twenty steps. Surely he could do that much?

And then one more. Don't think, just move.

On the final approach to Ransome's personal quarters, Bey caught sight of his own reflection in a silvered wall panel. He thought at first that he was facing a distorting mirror. His limbs hung stiff and awkward from his body, his eyes started bloodshot from their sockets, and there was a gray, pasty look to his face. He tried Ransome's confident and commanding smile, and it was a madman's leer.

He stepped closer to the shining surface. It was perfectly smooth and flat, producing no hint of distortion. And the closer he came, the less he looked anything like Black Ransome. He stretched his arms wide and flexed his shoulders. There was the click and crack of frozen joints. His muscles were on fire, and every sign of mobility was leaving him. More and more, he was a poorly made, ungainly scarecrow hung on a misshapen frame. He staggered on.

He had been prepared to bluff, lie, or fight his way into Ransome's quarters. Now he was sure that he had passed the point where he had the strength to do any of those things. Fortunately, they were unnecessary. Perhaps Ransome was so confident of his own power to command loyalty that he scorned protection, or perhaps the area was protected only when Ransome was there; whatever the reason, Bey was able to pass unchallenged through the entrance.

Aybee had told him about the rococo style of the first chamber, with its great water globe filled with exotic fish. Otherwise, Bey would have added that to his growing list of hallucinations. He went on toward the inner suite of rooms. He had no idea how much time had gone by since he had left Sylvia and Aybee. They needed every minute he could give them. In the back of his mind he still held an unvoiced hope: If somehow he could capture or neutralize Ransome himself, the chance of escape from Ransome's Hole still existed. He knew they could not wait for reinforcements. That would take weeks, even with an instant response to Aybee's signal from the fastest ships of the Inner or Outer System.

At the door of the inner chambers he hesitated for a moment. Surely the message would have been completed. In any case, he dared not wait. He could feel the changes coursing through every part of his body. His long training allowed him to compensate for some of them, but he was close to the limits.

The weapon he was holding was set at the lethal level. He raised it, opened the door, and stepped through—and saw, no more than twenty feet from him, not Ransome but Mary.

Typically, she had ignored the standard dress code of Ransome's Hole. She was wearing a dress of russet velvet with puffed shoulders and a choke collar, and on her head she wore a broad-brimmed green hat. She turned slowly at the sound of the sliding door, an imperious look on her face.

Mary was certainly playing a part—but which one? None that Bey recognized. He lowered the gun so that it was no longer trained on her midriff. Mary ignored it, anyway. She moved right in front of him and reached out to put her hands on his chest.

"Bey!" So much for the idea that he still resembled Ransome. "My poor sweet, what happened to you."

"Where is Ransome?" His voice was failing, curdled in his throat.

"Bey, what are you
doing
here? I wanted to come and see you last week, but I was told you were no longer on the habitat. When did you get back?"

"I never left. Where is Ransome?"

"My poor love." Mary was holding him away from her and inspecting him closely, touching beneath his eyes with a gentle finger. Bey realized for the first time that he was crying. "I don't know what you've been doing to yourself, but I know what you have to do next. You look so sick. We've got to get you to a form-change tank—right this minute."

"Soon. Not yet. Where's Ransome?"

"Bey, you shouldn't even be thinking of Ransome in your condition." She was supporting him, holding him close. "You're shivering all over. I have to look after you."

"Where is Ransome?"

"I don't—" Mary began. She was interrupted.

"If you are so interested in my whereabouts, Mr. Wolf, you might at least look at me." The casual voice came from Bey's left, from a shadowed part of the room. He jerked to face that direction. Ransome was standing there. As Bey raised the gun, the black-clad figure took two steps forward.

"No closer," Bey said. "This is on maximum setting."

"So it is. How very unfriendly." Ransome sounded as calm and rational as ever. "Come now, Mr. Wolf, can we not dispense with these posturings of violence? We are both civilized men, and we have much to talk about."

"Not true. You're a murderer. We have nothing to talk about."

"Let me persuade you otherwise. Do you realize, Mr. Wolf, that this is the third time that I have underestimated you? Really unforgivable on my part. But it makes me more convinced than ever of your value to my operations. You could do wonders for our security systems."

"I'll do nothing for you." Bey waved the gun at Ransome. He was feeling increasingly dizzy and unable to talk. "Move back."

"You will feel differently once you understand my mission." Ransome moved another step closer to Wolf. "You regard the two of us somehow as 'enemies,' people on opposing sides of an argument. But we are not. You will surely admit that you owe no allegiance to the Inner System—they dismissed you after a lifetime's work. As for the Outer System, those people have nothing in common with you. You and I can work together very well. So why not be practical? The old order of the Solar System no longer applies. It will soon be gone forever. Put away that gun and sit down. It is more dangerous to you than it is to me. And you and I must talk."

"I'm past talking."

"No, listen to him, Bey." Mary clutched his arm, but she did not try to interfere with his aim. "He's right. I've followed the reports from the Inner System. It's a total mess there."

"Sure. Because he—" Bey tried to gesture at Ransome and found his arm taking on a spastic movement of its own. "—has been doing his best to
make
it a mess. Can't you see, Mary? He's the
cause
of all the trouble." Bey waved his arm again at Ransome. "I don't have the time or taste for talking to you. Get back up against that wall."

"Don't be silly, Mr. Wolf." Ransome advanced another step. "You escaped from your quarters. An unusual achievement, and one that I am quite willing to recognize. But beyond that you are powerless to influence events. You are in desperate physical shape, and you do not seem to understand reality. I can have a hundred people here to overpower you in a few minutes. So put away that gun."

"Get back! Last warning."

But Ransome was still coming forward, still smiling. And Bey was at the end of his strength.

It was now or never. With shaking hands he pointed the gun squarely at Ransome's head, groaned, and fired.

There was the usual dazzling flash of blue. Bey sagged against the wall. Ransome had given him no choice—too many lives depended on stopping the man—but Bey was sick at what he had done. Would Mary forgive him, understand that he had had to do it?

As the Cherenkov radiation pattern died away, Bey raised his head. Unbelievably, Ransome was still moving. He had walked right through a high-intensity beam. That was totally impossible!

Cherenkov fringes appeared. As Bey watched, Ransome's face turned yellow and began to bubble. The skin evaporated in bursting pockets of light, exposing the wall behind as their color swirls faded.

The bubbles of Ransome's face were bursting in Bey's own brain. He dropped the gun and sagged against Mary. "Field interference effects—a holograph!"

"Of course." The image of Ransome was beginning to fade, and only his voice seemed to hover clear in the air. "How else could I appear to you when I am far away? And what a simpleton you must be, Wolf, if you imagine that I would not have taken precautions against both death and discovery!"

Ransome's uniform was becoming transparent. His smile showed a black mouth, black teeth, as he turned to face Mary. "Leave this idiot now. He deserves to die. And from the look of it he hasn't long to wait."

He glared at Wolf and shook his head rebukingly, his face filled with contempt.

"I'm afraid I sadly overestimated you, Wolf. You're a fool, no more intelligent than any of the others. Did you seriously believe that I would expose myself to possible death when my life's work is unfinished? If you had agreed to cooperate, I could have saved you. But you tried to kill me—and that means your own death. Your life is finished. For me, and what I am going to do, it is just beginning."

"No." Bey's throat was tightening. He had little time for more words. "You're crazy, Ransome. You're the one who doesn't know reality.
You
are finished. A message was sent from here a few minutes ago. All circuits, to the Inner and Outer Systems. People know where you are, what you are, how many your actions have killed. You're done for, Ransome, even if you don't admit it. No matter where you run to, where you hide, you'll be found and caught and brought to trial."

The distorted image of Ransome's face flared with anger and astonishment. "That was a truly intolerable act. And quite a futile one. I am not finished—I have scarcely started! And I have tools available to me beyond your imagining. I would say wait and see, but you will not live long enough for that. Die now, Wolf. Your time is over."

Was it true? Did Ransome have more secret fortresses, other resources? Bey did not know, and he could no longer attempt analysis. If there were to be new battles with Ransome, others would have to fight them.

Black Ransome,
Bey thought distantly. The air around Ransome was turning black. Or was it Bey's own failing consciousness?

"Leave this ignorant fool, Mary, and follow me," a curt voice said. And then even the dark shadow was gone.

Bey struggled to stand upright, to lean away from Mary. She was staring at him, holding him, her eyes wide and her face close to his.

"Bey! Can you hear me?"

Grim, grinning king. Ransome is gone, Ransome is gone.
The words drifted through Bey's mind. Ransome's head was dissolved, faded to black.
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget . . .
Bey tried to nod, failed, and felt his legs lose all their strength.

"Bey!" The voice was Mary, his Mary, infinitely sorrowful and far away. "I'm here." He could no longer see her. He tried to grip her hand, but as he did so, all feelings withered from his fingertips.

Mary, dressed in white and strewing flowers.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance.
As he watched, she grew, thinned, paled, became Sylvia, frowned at him in disapproval.
Too little, Bey Wolf, too hairy. Hideous.
Without warning her features flowed and became those of Andromeda Diconis. Her lower lip was full, her face flushed with passion, her red hair—red hair? Mary's hair, Mary's husky voice saying, "There's beggary in the love that can be reckoned," a pale face beneath flowing dark hair and an elaborate headdress. He had seen
that
costume before, many times.

Bey's mind was a chaos of quantum states, transitions without warning or control, words and fragmented images intertwined.

I am dying, Egypt, dying; only I here importune death awhile, until of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay upon thy lips. In his mind be heard Mary speaking, saw again the cotton robe, the dark coiled hair, the tall headdress, and he fought against her grasp. But you're not, Mary. I'm the one that's dying.
I have a rendezvous with death, at midnight on some flaming hill.
But that's not quite right, I'm remembering wrong. And this isn't Earth. I'm dying here, far from Earth. Far from eve and morning, and yon twelve-winded sky.

I was always sure that I would die on Earth. In the evening, at the end of some perfect summer's day.
Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me.

He felt Mary's arms tightening around him, holding him in the world. Then that sensation too was going. In the end there was nothing left, nothing to hold on to. The whole universe was blinking out of existence.

Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall And universal darkness buries all.

Bey was gone.

CHAPTER 29

"Nothing endures but change."
—Heraclitus

Bey had fought hard against it, but the pressure was at last irresistible. He was driven up, reluctantly up—up to life, up to consciousness, up to discomfort, up as firmly and finally as a cork in a tidal wave.