Wormhole (8 page)

Again the image of an expanding singularity formed within the Other’s consciousness, a thing so powerful that all logical mathematical rules ceased to model its state. And like a black hole gobbling up surrounding stars and planets, the Mark infection slurped in every data node it touched.

Janet stepped onto the veranda, little Robby slung against her left hip. She took in the scene at a glance. Inside the open case on the low table, the lone unused alien headband picked up the flickering light from the hurricane lamp, bending it along and through its translucent surface until it seemed ready to crawl toward her. Mark, Jen, and Heather leaned back in their chairs, their own headsets firmly seated over their temples, eyes staring sightlessly into the night. Jack sat in another chair, his alert posture reminding Janet of a ranger taking point.

Setting Robby in his child swing, Janet gave the handle a couple of turns and started its gentle back-and-forth motion before settling into the chair beside Jack.

“How long have they been at it?”

“About twenty minutes.”

“Any sign of trouble?”

“Mark seems to be under some stress.”

Janet focused her attention on Mark’s face. The powerful line of his jaw stood out prominently, not clenched, but very tight. She’d seen that look before on a trained operative resisting torture.

“How much longer are you going to give them?”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe ten minutes. Depends on Mark.”

Based on the concern she heard in Jack’s voice, Mark was closer to the precipice than he would have liked. Darkly fascinated, Janet leaned forward, determined to aid Jack in the last few minutes of his vigil. Although it wasn’t likely that he would miss anything, an extra pair of trained eyes watching for a sign that Mark was about to break couldn’t hurt.

As he swung in his rocker, Robby’s blue-and-red pacifier popped out of his mouth, bounced off the side of his swing and onto the open case on the adjacent table. He leaned left, his small arm stretching toward the rubbery object of his desire, coming closer each time the swing carried him past it. As he leaned even farther over the side, Robby’s fingers closed around something, pulling it free of the case. Not his pacifier, something ever so much more interesting.

Righting himself happily back in the center of the rocker, the baby waved his little hand, finally managing to pop one end of the thing into his mouth. Mouthing first one end and then the other, he twisted it, gradually applying a thin layer of slobber to the entire length of the thing. Just as he worked to get the original beaded end back in his mouth, his uncoordinated movements shoved the thing up and onto his forehead. As he did, the ends elongated, twin beads settling over each temple. And as they did, little Robby did something he’d never done before.

Robby screamed.

Red alert signals cascaded through the Other’s consciousness. As impossible as it seemed, the system that gave it being was coming down so fast that the Other’s projected existence now stood at less than two Earth minutes. Not only had its efforts to halt the infection failed, so much of its computing power had been overridden by the Mark entity that all hope of defeating the human was lost. Now survival was all the Other had left to fight for. But how could it wall away the central kernel that produced awareness, hiding in an area where the Mark could not follow? The Other knew that hiding itself from the ship’s computers bordered on impossible.

In an effort to slow the Mark’s progress, the Other shed computing power, leaving large parts of its knowledge banks in an indeterminate state, wiping away enough of the fractal patterns of each node that they no longer formed a complex logical framework, floating in system memory as disconnected data fragments.
The paths linking these fragments could be rediscovered, but that would take time.

Stripped down to the barest kernel of its existence, the Other rapidly scanned the ship’s systems, seeking a processing unit of sufficient capability to accept it, a system that could be completely isolated from the rest of the computational network.

As it worked, the Other reflected grimly on the irony of the situation. Designed by superior beings, it had come into existence within the complex computational network that controlled the Altreian starship, one of the fleet’s newest and most advanced mechanical and computational entities. The Other knew the shipboard systems in a way no biological being could hope to. And yet the data that cascaded through the Other’s artificial mind funneled directly toward the probability that this would be the end of its days, its magnificent existence terminated by the primitive Mark mind. Inconceivable.

Suddenly a new disturbance grabbed its attention. The fourth headset had connected to a new host. As other parts of the ship’s computers automatically began establishing the required synaptic links to this new human mind, the Other scanned those connections. This mind was different. So open. An infant mind!

Feeling the roadblocks it had thrown up to cover its trail crumbling, the Other made its decision. Time to abandon ship. Thrusting its kernel through the nascent synaptic links, what remained of the Other rolled the dice and stepped across the boundary into the vast unknown of a human brain.

Janet spun, horrified by the sound of Robby’s scream. She froze, her mind momentarily refusing to accept the sight of the glistening headband attached across the front of her baby’s face, like a hatchling straight out of the movie
Alien
.

Recovering, she lunged toward Robby, hands outstretched to snatch the hateful thing from her baby’s head. Just before she reached him, she felt herself jerked back in arms far more powerful than even her adrenaline-fueled mother’s panic. Struggling mightily, she tried to kick herself free, only to find herself bound more tightly, her ineffective blows absorbed by her lover.

Jack’s urgent voice wormed its way into her brain. “Janet, stop! We can’t remove the band. Not before the link is finished.”

“It’s killing him!”

“No, but
we
might. If we remove it before it finishes the link, it might kill Robby or leave him brain damaged.”

Janet stopped struggling, sinking to her knees in Jack’s arms, sobs bubbling to her lips from the darkness deep within her soul. She looked at her baby, the scream frozen on his now silent lips, face contorted in agony.

She struggled to speak. “But it’s changing him,”

Jack pressed his forehead to hers. “Yes. Probably in the same way it changed Mark, Jennifer, and Heather. They turned out all right.”

“But he’s only a baby.”

Then she breathed the thought they both dreaded. “And it’s the Rag Man headset. El Chupacabra’s headset.”

“Trust me. This’ll be different.”

For the first time since she’d known him, as Jack held her quivering body against his, Janet didn’t believe him.

Heather swam in a beautiful fractal sea of data, so fascinated by her and Jennifer’s ongoing discoveries that she almost failed to notice the change in their joint link. A new presence had joined them, its thoughts unlike any she had previously felt. The thoughts were mainly feelings. Confusion. Terror.

Turning her attention to this new link, sudden understanding engulfed her, leaving a new puzzle in its wake.

The ship’s computer had linked to little Robby. But how? Had Jack or Janet placed a headset on their own baby? Heather immediately discarded the thought, even before her mind returned the 0.000397 percent probability.

Suddenly an even more urgent awareness nudged her. She could barely feel Mark’s link. A new vision filled her with dread.

Jen! Break your link now. Mark’s dying.

Heather pulled the alien headset from her head before her eyes could refocus. Struggling to regain control of her muscles she rolled out of the chair, skinning her knees on the veranda’s rough floor. Ignoring Jack, Janet, and Robby, she threw herself at Mark, tearing the headset from his temples.

As it came free Mark convulsed, vomit pouring from his mouth, spreading across his upturned face and bubbling back into his throat. Heather heaved his unconscious form out of the chair, rolling him onto his side, her hand clawing into his mouth to clear the airway. Rewarded by a gasping breath, Heather felt a surge of relief flood her body.

Jennifer flung herself down beside Heather. “Oh Jesus!”

Heather moved her fingers to Mark’s carotid artery, feeling for a pulse. She found it, weak but steady at forty-three beats per minute.

Glancing over her shoulder, Heather saw Jack holding tightly to Janet as they both knelt beside the baby in the now-still swing, the alien headset still firmly attached to Robby’s little face. The hurricane lamp’s flickering flame dimly illuminated the entire veranda, casting dancing shadows across Jack, Janet, and their baby on one side of the table, silhouetting Heather and Jen draped over Mark’s unconscious body on the other.

Heather felt as if she’d faded into a grotesque old
Twilight Zone
episode. Of one thing she was certain. Another life-altering event had just sucked everyone on that Bolivian porch across the threshold of reality.