The Last Protector (29 page)

They continued along the trail, with Scrornuck in the lead. After about ten minutes, Nalia's curiosity got the better of her. “Okay, there really are other worlds. How'd they get there?"

"You don't want to know,” Scrornuck said. “It's all full of math."

"I know math,” she said proudly. “I can even do fractions!"

"I learned how to do fractions when I was four,” Jape said. “Then I spent twenty years learning the math I'd need to understand how to travel between worlds.” He took a stick and scratched a complex equation, full of integral signs, exponents and Greek letters, into the dirt. “This is one of the simpler parts."

She stared, recognizing only a few symbols. Scrornuck put a hand on her shoulder. “I warned you: if you try to understand this stuff, you'll just end up with a headache."

"I guess,” she said glumly.

"But I can answer your question without the math,” Jape said. “Suppose you could travel to the past—say, this day, one year ago, or ten years ago, or a hundred."

"Sounds like magic to me."

"Magic, math, what's the difference?” Scrornuck said. “You just have to believe it works."

"Well, I guess I can pretend for now."

"Good enough,” Jape said. “Now suppose you took a trip into the past, and on that trip you killed your grandfather. What would happen?"

"I'd go to jail for the rest of my life, that's what,” she said firmly.

"Well, I suppose you would. But consider this: if you killed your grandfather before he got married, then you'd never have been born. And if you were never born, then you couldn't have gone back into the past and killed him, so he would still be alive. But if he's alive, then you'd have been born, and when you went into the past and killed him..."

"Ooh.” She rubbed her eyes. “This is giving me a headache."

"It gives Mother Nature a headache, too,” Jape said. “And she gets rid of this headache by creating a new world. We call it splitting the time stream. The world in which you were born doesn't change; your grandfather lived to a ripe old age and eventually you were born, because these things have already happened. But because you did kill him, a second time stream—a whole new world—splits off at the moment of his death, and its story picks up at the instant your grandfather died. That world is free to develop in its own way, and may have a much different future."

She closed her eyes and was lost in silent thought for the better part of a minute. “The sacred scrolls say that Spafu somehow created something that ‘was and was not’ at the same time, and that made the world,” she said slowly. “Are you telling me the Dragon is a murderer?"

"The only way to split a time stream is to cause the death of a direct ancestor. Nothing else makes a strong enough paradox. This world wasn't made by accident, and so..."

"That's—that's
evil!"

"That's what my people thought when they first discovered that time streams could be split,” Jape said. “But as it turns out, nobody's really killed when a new world is made."

"Huh?” She rubbed her forehead. “You just said..."

"I know, you have to kill a direct ancestor. But no actual murder occurs when a time stream is split. This is how the ethicists and scholars explain it: the new stream comes into existence after you killed your grandfather. No murder took place there, since he was never alive in that stream. Meanwhile, nothing changed in the original time stream, so no murder took place there, either. If no murder took place in either fork of the time stream, then regardless of how it looks, nobody was actually killed."

"Ouch,” she said, “this is making my head spin."

Scrornuck handed her the last longneck. “My advice is that you drink this and don't think about it for a while."

She took the beer, but not the suggestion. “Do all the Rangers have to learn this stuff?"

Jape shook his head. “I was doing research in the math and physics of time streams when the Ranger Project got started. The other twelve came from the military and the police; they knew how to use the equipment but not why it worked. The brass insisted on at least one who understood the theory, just in case we lost contact, and I volunteered.” A look of slightly wounded pride crossed his face. “Some thought I was too ‘bookish’ to do the job; a few were betting I'd get myself killed in the first week. I guess that's why they assigned me a Protector."

"Havin’ a snack?” Nalia asked, as Scrornuck dipped a chunk of bread into his glass of wine.

He mumbled a few more words and reverently ate the bread, wondering how he could possibly explain the ritual to a Spafuist. “This is more than a snack, it's a banquet."

She shook her head as she looked at the small glass of wine and the scrap of bread he'd ordered as an appetizer. “Looks like a snack to me.” The waiter arrived, carrying several plates heaped high with food. “Now that's what I call a banquet!"

Indeed it was. This small store with the rather curious name of “Camp Seven Trading Post” seemed unaware of Scrornuck's shunning, and was happy to sell them all the food they wanted.

"That little snack is a most important ritual to Mister Saughblade,” Jape said. “You have to keep in mind that he has different religious traditions."

"Well, his traditions are going to mean big trouble when we get back. That little stunt at the Temple..."

"It was just harmless fun,” Scrornuck protested.

"Fun, maybe,” she said. “Harmless, my a—my eye. It was blasphemous and tasteless, and there are people in the city, powerful people, who won't take it sitting down. At the very least, we're looking at a hefty fine, probably a hundred gold pieces.” She took a sip of wine and pointed a finger at Jape. “Remember, our deal says you cover all my expenses—that includes the fines."

Jape shrugged. “Easy come, easy go."

"It could be more than a fine. The Mayor and the officers of the Guards were watching, and the Guards were so pissed they almost let the Mayor fall over. We may end up doing some jail time."

"Jail time?” Scrornuck said indignantly. “Over a stinkin’ stuffed lizard?"

She put down her fork and sighed, the long, deep, exasperated sigh of somebody who's Finally Had Enough. “What the hell is your problem? You don't want to sacrifice your boots? Fine! Rosaiah himself said nobody's going to make you. All you have to do is keep quiet and walk away, but you flip him rude gestures, you call him obscene names, you flash your butt at him in public—what's the matter with you?"

"I'm sick of the bullshit,” he said. “Spafu's no god; he's just a character out of a stupid comic strip! Jape, show her!"

"Oh, no,” Jape said. “My dad taught me to stay out of holy wars."

"Fine, I'll do it.” Scrornuck grabbed the softscroll and stylus from Jape. He was no expert, but had learned enough to scrawl “SPAFU COMIC” in the search box. A moment later, the response showed up. “Aha! Here it is:
Spafu the Friendly Dragon. Comic strip, created by artist Justin Jacob Schultz in 2092 C.E. After a successful run as a comic and animated cartoon, Spafu became corporate mascot for the UniFlag Entertainment Group. Late in his life, Schultz sued UniFlag in an attempt to recover the rights to the character, but died before the case could be decided.
See? Spafu's just a cartoon! Here's the guy who drew him.” He turned the scroll to face Nalia. It displayed the picture of a rather unassuming man, forty-ish, balding, posing with a half-finished Spafu comic.

She looked at the picture and shrugged. “So what? Lots of artists draw Spafu. They just have to follow the rules and pay their fees to the Temple."

"That's not the same thing...” Scrornuck stopped, wondering how to make his point.

"Ahem,” Jape interrupted. “I'd love to watch you two debate theology all day, but there's a world to be saved.” He pointed to his blood-red ring. “Let's get moving.” He retrieved the softscroll and summoned up the map, overlaid with the weathersat image. “It appears the Orb is slightly south of due west from here.” He stood, and handed Scrornuck a few gold pieces. “Mister Saughblade, please get some provisions. Nalia, let's see what the locals know about trails."

The Trading Post, though small and poorly stocked compared to the stores in Taupeaquaah, had enough to make Scrornuck quite happy as he planned the next few days’ meals. After loading the backpack's food and drink compartments to capacity, he tossed the gold pieces onto the shop's counter and sauntered outside, leaving the astonished shop-keeper a tip that would become the stuff of legend.

He found Jape and Nalia poring over the map and discussing what they'd learned. “There's a trail going west,” Jape said. “It goes at least as far as a good swimming-hole a few miles out, but nobody seems to know what's past that.” He rolled up the scroll and pointed. “This way."

Nalia fidgeted uneasily. “Guy over there told me Spafu put a curse on the trail. Cast members are forbidden beyond the first several miles."

"Bah!” Scrornuck threw the pack over his shoulder and started up the trail at a brisk pace. “The lizard couldn't curse his own butt."

Cursed or not, the trail was in good condition and they made rapid progress, passing through a pleasant forest into open grasslands. There, beneath a small stand of sycamore trees, they set up camp and enjoyed a good dinner. Another shitty day in paradise, Scrornuck thought, as he opened a Batatat's and watched another perfect sunset.

Jape was not as content. “That's strange,” he said, pointing to the flat-topped mountain silhouetted against the red and purple clouds. “My map shows a lake out there."

"Maybe the mountain's further away than you think,” Scrornuck suggested. “The air is mighty clear here."

"Maybe,” Jape said, tapping a few buttons on the softscroll. “Hey, look at that!” he said, suddenly excited. “Talk about clear—we can get a channel tonight! Gather round; I want you to meet the family!” He hurried to get out the spotter-scope. Seeing Nalia's puzzled expression, he quickly explained as he furiously manipulated controls. “Once or twice a year the time streams are quiet enough that I can actually speak with people back home instead of sending messages—hello, Betty!"

The scroll displayed the face of a rather ordinary, middle-aged woman, smiling and a little surprised. “Why, hello, Jim!” she said. Nalia raised her eyebrows—yet another name for Jape?

"Betty, meet Nalia.” Jape turned the scope on her. “She's from Taupeaquaah, and she's working with us."

"Pleased to meet you—Nalia? That's an interesting name."

Nalia waved politely. “Good to meet you, too."

"Are you taking good care of my husband, Scrornuck?” Betty asked.

Scrornuck grinned into the scope. “Always, Mrs. Phelps, always."

"Where's Robert?” Jape asked.

"Orchestra rehearsal. They've got a concert in two weeks."

"I wish I could be there. I'd like to see him play before he graduates."

"Someday, Jim, someday."

The picture began to tear up. “I think we're losing the channel,” Jape said. “I miss you, Betty."

"I miss you too, Jim."

And then the scroll displayed only multicolored snow. Jape sighed as he put the spotter-scope back in its case. “It's not much, but I'll take it.” Scrornuck smiled, knowing the Ranger would spend many future nights replaying and savoring this moment of real conversation with his wife.

As darkness fell, Nalia retired to her tent, leaving Jape and Scrornuck by the fire. They sat in silence for a while, watching it burn down to coals. Then Jape said, “I know I promised to stay out of your love life...” He paused and stirred the fire, as if debating whether to continue. “But let me offer a bit of advice: you're not scoring any points with Nalia when you insult her religion."

"Yeah, I know.” Scrornuck kicked the dirt in frustration. “But Spafuism drives me nuts. It's like something the shopkeepers made up to boost their business. You'd have to be crazy to believe it!"

Jape shrugged. “And you believe in a deity who's everywhere but can't be seen. She might say the same thing about you.” He yawned, and slowly got to his feet. “I'm calling it a night, and I suggest you do the same. We've got a long day ahead of us.” He headed for his tent, and within a few minutes settled down to a steady snoring.

Not yet ready for sleep, Scrornuck began an experiment, planting Ol’ Red's grip in the dirt a few feet away from his plaid and playing soft music on the Setron. He let the instrument guide him until he found just the right notes—and suddenly, there it was: the sword's blade suddenly appeared, and danced in response to the music, dissolving into hundreds of multicolored threads that twisted and flickered like flames.

Hearing the music, Nalia quietly left her tent and joined him. “Nice campfire you've got there,” she said.

"Pretty, isn't it? I noticed how the Setron's grip feels just like Ol’ Red's, and I wondered if they'd talk to each other."

"Looks like it worked,” she said, watching the sword's swirling, separating, undulating dance. She half-shivered. “Chilly out tonight."

"I'm afraid my little ‘fire’ doesn't throw much heat. Want me to warm up the real one?"

She shook her head. “I'll be going back to bed soon.” She leaned against him and snuggled close.

Deciding this was a better way to keep warm, he set down the Setron and wrapped an arm around her. “So what's on your mind?"

"Not much,” she sighed, “I'm just not ready for sleep yet. What's on
your
mind?"

"Not much. I'm just thinking about how I'm getting to feel at home here."

"Even though a dozen people have tried to kill you?"

He half-shrugged. “I'd find that anywhere—it goes with the job. This place is so beautiful: the stars, the grass, the trees, this whole world...” He paused, unsure whether to continue. “You,” he concluded, sighing contentedly. A dragon passed through the thin, silvery clouds near the moon and spat a ball of orange flame. For the first time, he found the sight pleasant. The dragons belonged here. “You know,” he said, “I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life here."

She said nothing for a moment. Then she rolled on top of him, resting on his chest and staring into his face so that all he could see was her deep brown eyes. And then she kissed him. Not a polite little peck, not the just-friends smooches they'd been exchanging: this time she delivered a passionate lip-lock, the kind of kiss that belonged in the back seat of a ‘57 Buick, the kind that left him gasping for air but not wanting to come up for a breath. When she finally let him inhale, his heart was racing and all he could say was “Woo-
hoo!"