A Game of Universe (32 page)

“Only the physics you know,” Setebos said.

The pistol on the floor crushed flat, and Quilp’s hand above it stretched, elongating like wax dripping from a candle.

“Setebos, that’s enough,” I said. “Let him go.”

The wave function unfolded suddenly, multiplied, and expanded; Quilp’s limbs creased in the same manner. His bones snapped. He deflated, torso flattened, gases expelled, and his internal chambers popped, compacted by his own weight. His face held a distorted terror.

Quilp’s body lost cohesion. It changed from purple bruises and blood to black, changed into something not solid, but not a liquid either—a paste that dribbled to the floor. It boiled for a second, then stopped and hardened. The Grail, however, sat in the chair, whose frame was bent. The stone cup was unblemished by the tons of added mass.

“Setebos, I gave you an order to stop.”

“There existed a high probability that Quilp would have murdered you, Master. Besides, he was an annoyance. Resuming course to Golden City.”

There was a moment of silence, then Setebos added, “Do not concern yourself with the mess. I shall clean it up.”

“I bet you will.”

Setebos said nothing the remainder of our journey. Was this what happened to his last crew? Crushed into pellets of tar? Lily seemed to think Quilp got what he deserved, and took a bubble bath to prove her indifference. I thought differently. The creep got greedy, sure, but to die like that. Medea would have done it cleaner, a cut through the spine or a shot to the head. There was no need to make him suffer.

The sparkling ball of lights that was Golden City appeared: hot pink neon hearts, turquoise clubs, silver moons and stars, a flash of lightning that froze into seven winning keno numbers, and a virtual Ra who steered an artificial sun in a barge of gold, waved hello to us tourists, and directed parking. It never looked so good to me.

Setebos landed in a public hangar, sliding between two tourist buses large enough to hide us from a casual search.

I slipped into a tuxedo, tucked the empty left sleeve in, and escorted Lily to the front desk, avoiding the casinos, much to the gambler’s disappointment. A royal suite was available, so I rented it. The room had a staff of cooks, masseuses, maids, entertainers, dealers, bodyguards, and prostitutes on call. If you were bored, there was an Olympic-sized pool, three gardens, virtual theaters, and drug dens—all to keep Lily busy while I betrayed her.

Three bellboys came for our luggage, ready to be tipped. All I had was a Gucci bag. Within was the Grail and a kilogram of crystalline explosive. I carried it myself. The bag was rigged to detonate if opened incorrectly. If there were any other Grail champions lurking nearby, or if Erybus planned a double cross, at least I’d have the satisfaction of taking them to Hell with me.

We went to the top floor of the hotel, and I paused at the suite’s entrance, telling Lily that I wanted to take care of the Grail business first.

She spoke only four words to me: “You have my trust.”

This, loosely translated, meant, “You have my trust, my darling husband, but if you sell the Grail, and fail to return with a cure for my curse, then I shall turn your bones to salt and laugh while you try to scratch the insides of your flesh.”

So we parted, and I still didn’t know what I was going to do.

Back to the front desk, and I asked the receptionist, “Where might I find Mister Erybus?”

The hostess’s white smile evaporated. “I am sorry sir, but Mister Erybus never sees his guests. Perhaps the manager can help you?”

“No. Mister Erybus expects me, Germain of Earth?”

“Oh,” she said and the smile reappeared, “of course, Mister Germain.” Her eyes flicked across the display. “Please forgive me, sir. I did not recognize you. Escorts shall be here immediately.”

“Escorts? I can find my own way. If you would just point me in the right direction I can—”

A shadow fell over me, something large. Two cyborgs, half tank, half human, stood and blocked the glitter from the casinos. Power blades and gun barrels and force-field projectors adorned their torsos. Sensors on their shoulders sniffed the air, eight mirrored eyes watched in every direction, and I was certain they heard every heartbeat in the lobby—especially mine. Their right arms were cannons.

The one on the left stretched his face into what passed for a grin, then from the speaker in its throat came: “Mister Germain, we are here to protect you. Please, sir, follow us.”

“I think I can—”

“Please, sir, follow me,” it repeated, and the smile dropped.

“I get the idea,” I said, then trailed chrome boy number one, while the second brought up the rear. I followed through a baccarat arena, dark, smoke-filled, players in tuxedos carelessly throwing thousands away. The gambler had an irresistible urge to test his luck, but even he knew there would be no reasoning with my chaperons, so he didn’t try. Number one parted a curtain, plugged into an outlet, and a door appeared. Number two turned around and looked for trouble. There was none.

The three of us filed into a small chamber, and the door reappeared. They instructed me to sit on the black velvet bench while they passed scanners over me.

Number two said, “Please, sir, place your copper band in this.” It held a lead box, and this time there was no smile.

I shrugged and looked dumb.

It pointed a cannon to my head, and I suddenly comprehended. Inside the box my concealing charm went.

They ripped my tuxedo apart and took my knife, then started for the Gucci bag.

“That will not be necessary,” said Erybus’s voice. “Allow him to keep the bag. Mister Germain, I appreciate your caution. You have my assurance there will be no need to detonate your explosive device.”

“Thanks.” I took a deep breath and tried to stay cool. The wall faded, and alone I stepped into a smaller chamber. There was a slight acceleration down, then all four walls melted, and I was in Erybus’s inner sanctum.

I walked over liquid patterns of cherry and teak, swirls of ebony. High overhead, the only illumination in the place was a kinetic sculpture. Light like dust, a captured Aurora Borealis, revolved about a black crystal. It was entrancing to watch. The energy swept and shimmered, all shifting hues and trembling chromatic, to the sound of my footfalls.

“You find the light pleasing?”

Erybus sat behind a mahogany desk at the far end of the chamber, past four high arches carved with serpentine figures and eight recessed alcoves containing
Winged Victory
and a collection of Erté serigraphs,
The Seven Deadly Sins.
His black eyes had not diminished in power, and they caught me unprepared, startled me. While he looked to be the same man I saw in the Turquoise Room, he seemed larger in person, more vital. Even his hair had more color to it, not all silver gray but streaked with black. His gaze released me and he remarked, “The master craftsman, Oblina, assured me this light sculpture is an accurate model of our galaxy. He went mad after he made it. Curious, no?”

I marched forward ten steps, then Erybus held his hand up and said, “Germain of Earth, ranked nineteenth within Umbra Incorporated, born on Hades, trained by Abaris of Sandsport, and now in possession of the Holy Grail. You are the sole survivor of the quest. Congratulations and welcome.”

A small bow, and I asked, “I am the only one to survive?”

“You are. Five dead by accidents, and the other seven killed each other. Yourself responsible for three fallen champions. Outstanding.”

I started to explain, but he shook his head and continued, “No. Do not bother me with the details. I am delighted that you are the one to survive, Mister Germain, since you took the initiative to sign my escape clause of your own accord—uninvited. It is the mark of a true hero.”

“You know of Omar then?”

“That you killed him twice? I applaud the effort. You deserve my reward—provided you possess the genuine Grail.” He set both manicured hands on the desk and leaned forward.

I opened the bag—careful not to let him see the detonator in the handle—and tilted it so he might see within.

“Yes,” he murmured. “That is it.”

“You have seen the Grail before?”

“No,” he said, and eased back. “I meant it was as I thought it would be.”

He lied. He
had
seen it before. As surely as Cassius had his Grail database, Erybus had seen the relic. I had a hunch he was just as close then to getting his hands on it. I shut the bag and rearmed the bomb. Suddenly, I felt vulnerable, and sensed eyes watching from the shadows, and for a moment, I smelled brimstone. “If you don’t mind, Mister Erybus, my payment?”

“Greed,” he said, and slid a disposable across the desk. “It suits you, my boy.”

I blinked and saw an open Atherweb node accessing the Golden City bank and my new account there, R-999. Before I examined the contents, I opened another node, to the Corporation on Earth. My password still worked, so they hadn’t discovered yet that I was responsible for the theft from Golgotha and the release of their traitors. Good. Three messages flashing urgent were there, two from the Board of Directors, numbers Six and Four. They could wait. From the Earth, I connected to the Swiss pleasure planet of Yen where I had a secret account.

I stopped.

Once I took the money, the Grail was Erybus’s, and Lily would remain cursed. What else was I to do? Take it for myself, and find a way to cure her? Have my soul dragged to Hell? Osrick’s passion for Lily was strong, but not as strong as the memory of the devil who came for number Eight, the one who lapped up his soul with a black snake’s tongue. With a shudder, I transferred the account, then waited while both banks took their dear sweet time.

TRANSACTION COMPLETE, flashed across the display.

Within me, Osrick wept.

I took a look at what I had bought with my deception—there were many zeroes.

The gambler whispered in awe,
That’s enough money to buy Golden City.

Life extensions
, remarked Fifty-five,
and bribes for the Board of Directors. We can run the whole damn Corporation!

The title to the binary star system of Erato was there for me, too. I quickly amended my will; opened a third node and cut and pasted a list of charities. If I died, they would divide my estate equally. I didn’t want Umbra Corp coming after me to get their paws on my fortune.

I sighed, smiled, then pushed the disposable back. I was safe, one of the wealthiest men in the galaxy. So why did I feel lousy?

Erybus cleared his throat, and asked, “If you will? The Grail?”

I opened the bag and set the stone chalice on his desk. He grasped it, and I saw his well-manicured hands become frail with smoke-stained nails. They trembled when they lifted the Grail. He transferred the cup onto an ivory pedestal in the alcove behind him. As soon as he released it, his hands again appeared normal. A slight hum, and the space about the pedestal filled with a pale yellow glow, a death field to protect his prize. It made the Grail look sickly green.

“If you do not mind me asking,” I said, “what do you plan to do with it now that your soul is safe?”

“My soul?”

“The impossible task clause in your contract,” I reminded him, “it has been fulfilled. Your soul is yours again.” There was something wrong. He should have been more pleased to know his soul was safe. Had he lied about the impossible task? Was his soul ever at risk?

There was a sinister glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “I shall use it tonight before my contract expires. I intend to drink from it and live forever.”

“The Grail makes you immortal?”

“For some, yes, that is one of its powers. Undiluted, it has unlimited power to cure, or harm.” He smiled. “As you have no doubt seen.”

Indeed, I had. Osrick. He used it to crack the Bren world. He used it to hold Castle Kenobrac frozen for two centuries, perhaps forever had I not come along.

“And diluted?”

“It protects one’s life against danger, renders one immune to all of nature’s little tricks: insanity, disease, and decay.” He paused and considered my face, looked deep within me as if he saw something that enticed him. Again I saw stars in his dark eyes. “May I offer you a drink?” he inquired. “I mean a drink from a normal glass?”

“No, thank you,” I replied, stood, and took a step back from his desk. “Did you smell brimstone a moment ago?” I looked about for any sign of the devil called Nefarious, but saw nothing. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mister Erybus.”

“Call me Alexander. Of course, you must have many things to attend to. But visit me again, and soon. We have much in common, much to discuss.”

I smiled halfheartedly, bowed to him, then left his inner sanctum. As walls of the elevator resolved around me, I heard music, Wagner’s,
Tristan und Isolde.
I heard Erybus laugh.

I had been at a casino bar,
The Lusty Lady,
for the last half hour, sipping cocktails of fruit and tequila and salted rims, when I decided I wasn’t getting drunk enough, fast enough, so I bought a liter of quantum ice and dragged myself to the
Grail Angel
for some privacy. I had to drink. I had to think.

I had to decide what to do with the woman I had married, the woman who depended on me to cure her. I also had a few things to straighten out with Setebos, namely, erase him.

How long would Lily wait before she came looking for me, before she loosed one of those curses of hers? Maybe if I set up a trust for her, that would be a sufficient bribe to quench her anger. Who was I fooling? Nothing would stop her revenge—not after waiting two hundred years for a prince in shining armor to save her. Maybe I could hire another muse, a better one than I, one to protect me from her magic.

I mulled all the possibilities over while I poured my first shot of the frigid quantum ice from its vacuum-sealed bottle, then drank it: cold, boiling down my throat, chilling my insides, and making me blush. I exhaled smoke.

Osrick made my guilt well to the surface.