Mobius (37 page)

“You make a compelling point.” Clerk Bodel paced back and forth for a moment. “Since you’re not a space pirate, I see no danger in letting you go quietly. However, I don’t want to see you at the spaceport again. Understood?”

“Absolutely!”

Clerk Bodel disengaged the great metal hand, which retracted back to the ceiling to again look like a chandelier. “I’ll now graciously accept your coin purse.”

“As promised.” I tossed it in his direction.

Clerk Bodel’s pinched-face momentarily relaxed into a smile.

I started to leave but stopped short. “Would it be inappropriate to ask about the children of Fanbert Manderwall?”

Clerk Bodel, more cooperative with the coin purse weighing down his belt, went to his view-screen. “He’s survived by a grandson named Adel Manderwall, who resides in a loft above the Drunk Bird Saloon.”

With the sun on its downward journey and a cool breeze in the air, I decided to walk back to the hotel. On the way, my thoughts echoed with questions.

What am I becoming? Am I even the same person?

Fear and uncertainty played upon my mind. The weak telekinetic power I had developed indicated the Fume’s energies were stirring within me. The one thing that seemed clear was that Nara-Narayana, if as wise and powerful as told, might be the only person able to help me.

I stopped short on the road and was compelled to look to the sky. I was confronted by that strange celestial phenomenon I’d observed earlier. Even with the light of the sun veiling the heavens, it still managed to be seen as a faint haze.

I can feel it,
I thought.
A deep drumming within me... but so far away. Why does it beckon me?

I felt like a wild beast with the urge to howl at the moon. I tried to look away, but was unable. I slipped into a powerful trance and stood frozen.

When I finally snapped out of it, I found myself alone in the dark. The sun had set and the celestial phenomenon loomed above me. It was larger than I remembered from previous nights.

Aggravated by the loss of time, I moved quickly back to the hotel.

I found Orsteen and Morion asleep. “Wake up! It’s time to leave.”

Morion’s eyes opened. “You’ve interrupted the flow of a pleasant dream. Now I’ll never discover its end.”

“We were worried,” said Orsteen. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

“I think I’ve found Fanbert Manderwall.”

Morion splashed his face with sink water. “Can’t we rest longer?”

“Do what you want,” I said. “I leave now with the possibility of never returning. Orsteen, are you coming?”

“What’s wrong with you, Theron?” said Orsteen.

“Nothing,” I said defensively. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a strange air about you.”

He knows,
I thought.
He can sense the change within me. I should tell him. He’s my friend.

“Well?” asked Orsteen.

“I’m tired, weak, and worried about Allienora.”

“You know what I’m talking about,” said Orsteen. “The Fume.”

“I’m still in command of my faculties. I promise, my friend. Shall we go?”

Orsteen stood silent for a moment and then nodded. “Lead the way and I’ll follow.”

I glanced to Morion. “Are you coming?”

Morion groaned. “I’m right behind you.”

From the hotel’s front desk, we got directions to the Drunk Bird Saloon, which took us three blocks down the main strip.

“This is the place,” I said. “The grandson of Fanbert Manderwall is said to live in the loft above.”

Orsteen poked his head into a dim alleyway at the side of the establishment. “There’s a staircase which may very well lead us to our man.”

We climbed the staircase and knocked on the door. After no answer, Orsteen thrust his shoulder at the door and the bolt broke free.

We entered cautiously, finding only a small cot, a chair, a toilet, and a hotplate.

“The place is extremely clean,” said Orsteen, “but the air is stale, as if no one’s lived here for some time.”

I threw up my hands in frustration. “This seems to be the way our luck’s running.”

“All isn’t lost,” said Morion. “We’re only steps from the Drunk Bird Saloon. We could use a drink and a bite.”

“You’re right,” I said. “We can also ask about the loft.”

The Drunk Bird Saloon was filled with a colorful lot of spacemen from many different planets in the Crux Galaxy. They flushed their organs with the local rotgut, and entertained each other with the tales of their travels, grandly exaggerated.

I led the way to a magnificent wooden bar, where we awaited the notice of a serving girl, who tolerated the drunken ramblings of a petite man.

“I used to be an important man,” the drunk informed the serving girl, who returned an empty gaze. “However, the times change and the progress of the universe can’t be stopped. Now, I sit here obsolete and unemployed. Some may soon be calling me a relic or even a timeworm, and maybe they’re right, maybe I’ve become nothing more than a cinder of the past. It’s unfortunate my memories can only be appreciated by myself.”

The serving girl at last saw us and moved away from the petite man, who continued talking to himself.

“What’s your pleasure?” she said.

I looked to the mugs of the surrounding patrons. “We’ll have three of your house drinks, and a word with the owner.”

“I can help you with the drinks, but as for the owner of the Drunk Bird, he’s away on an errand.”

“Then maybe
you
can help us. We’re seeking the tenant who lives upstairs.”

“Sorry, but I’ve only worked here a few days. The previous serving girl may have been a greater help. They say she vanished one late night on her way home. A common occurrence when young girls work around so many drunk and lusty-eyed spacemen. I, however, have devised a method for dealing with such perverts.” She pulled a blade from her pocket. “This fillet knife will quickly relieve any man of such urges.”

My jaw dropped. “We’ll take our drinks now.”

The petite man turned to me and scooted a stool closer. He spoke loudly, as if to ensure he was the center of attention. “You and your friends are mismatched with the rest of these space bumpkins!” His comment caught the attention of a group of spacemen whose eyes flared in his direction. “In fact, I’ve never seen your kind before, and I’ve traveled far and wide, to each and every inhabited planet in the Crux Galaxy!”

Before I could respond, one of the nearby spacemen approached. At his sides hung two enormous arms like restrained dogs.

“I’ve never heard such large words from such a pathetic wisp!” announced the spaceman. “Your claims of travel are absurd. You insult the real adventurers who surround you! It would take a lifetime to visit every world in the Crux Galaxy. You’re a gas bladder venting a vile bilge!”

The petite man tilted his mug to a vertical position, and then slammed it to the bar. He inspected the monstrous spaceman with apparent difficulty, as his vision must have been blurred from intoxication. “Let me reassure you, big fellow.” He nudged a finger into the spaceman’s chest. “I’ve even been to your planet, and can confirm that the females of your race are the most ugly in all the Crux Galaxy. Their stench, if I were to guess, is from the practice of bathing in fish guts.”

The spaceman’s face flushed and his hands trembled. He swung his fists at the petite man, but with each swing, the petite man successfully, but clumsily, moved aside at the last moment.

“Is this your best?” taunted the petite man, who just then was struck by an unexpected punch to the back of his head by one of the spaceman’s companions. He hunched forward with hands on knees, stunned by the impact.

The spaceman stood above him preparing to deliver one final blow to the back of his head. “Your words have killed you, small fellow.” He dropped his fist with full force.

A wail of pain was released, not from the petite man, but from the spaceman, whose fist shattered upon the petite man’s head.

Everyone in the Drunk Bird Saloon was witness to the petite man and the armor that had blinked into existence around him. The petite man stood upright and presented the spaceman with the single fiery eye of a Guardian.

The spaceman and his companions fled the saloon.

I turned to Orsteen and Morion. “I think we’ve found Fanbert Manderwall.”

Fanbert disengaged his armor, sending it back to its unseen realm, and then, as if nothing had happened, returned to his position at the bar. He signaled the serving girl. “I’ll have another drink, darling.”

She bowed nervously and fetched his flavor.

I joined him. “Fanbert Manderwall?”

Fanbert raised a crooked eyebrow of puzzlement. “You speak of a past life. I now go by the name Adel Manderwall. Although, I suppose that name, too, describes a past life. You see, I now dance to a new music. One that’s carefree, unrestrained, and possibly reckless.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so... coarse.”

“And who are you to pass judgment on me?”

“You’re a Guardian, aren’t you?” I said.

Fanbert’s eyes became sober as he looked suspiciously at us. “You yourselves aren’t Guardians.” He touched a finger to his temple. “I would detect the distortion of space around you if you commanded a dimensional transporter carapace and the Guardian armor. Who are you and why are you looking for me?”

Orsteen looked harshly to Fanbert. “I’m disturbed that you, a Guardian, sit drunk in a bar and neglect your duties as a protector of the Brahman Sprawl. Don’t you know what’s happening beyond these walls?”

“Apparently you know something I don’t. As far as I know, the threat of paradox has passed and the Brahman Sprawl no longer requires my services.”

I ordered a second drink. “I assume you’re aware of the Fume, and his presence in the Seven Galaxies.”

“I haven’t drunk myself stupid yet.”

“Then let me be the first to inform you that the Obelisks have failed to push the Fume out of our universe. Furthermore, the Fume has sent an army of beasts onto the Guardian Spheres. The Guardian Army is in ruin.”

“Impossible!” cried Fanbert. “I would’ve been called into action if such were the case.” Again, Fanbert tapped at his head. “I’m directly linked to the trans-dimensional Guardian network.”