The ship moved under me. I was flattened again.
"She’s still with us." The long bullet shape of the Corsarius remained directly outside my viewport.
"That’s got to be physically impossible." I breathed the remark into the link, expecting no response. But the voice of the Monitor was back.
You are correct, he said. It is. Ask the Ashiyyur. They will tell you that the Corsarius is not bound by physical law, and that Christopher Sim is far more than human.
Sim’s ship rotated, bringing still another line of weapons into play.
"Pulsers," said the Captain.
A distant voice commented: "Point blank range."
There was no warning flash. The bolts traveled at lightspeed, so there was only the harsh gutting of metal, sudden darkness, and the howl of escaping atmosphere.
A scream rose and cut off. A sudden blast of cold ripped through the cabin, there was no air, and something slammed into my ribs. I became intensely aware of the arm of the chair in my right hand. The ship, the cabin, the trouble I was having breathing, everything focused down to that piece of fabric-covered metal. "The bastard’s getting ready to shoot again."
XIII.
A mob is democracy in its purest form.
MY FOREHEAD WAS cool. Something moved against it, a cloth, a hand, something. I listened to the rhythm of my breathing; a mild vertigo gripped me when I tried to move. My ribs hurt, and my neck. There was light against my eyelids.
"Alex, are you all right?"
Chase’s voice. Far away.
Water dribbled into a basin.
"Hello," I said, still afloat in the dark.
She took my head in her hands, and pressed her lips against my forehead. "Nice to have you back."
I reached clumsily for her, to collect a second round, but she pulled back and smiled. The gesture didn’t reach her eyes, though. "How do you feel?"
"Terrible."
"Nothing seems to be broken. You’re beat up a little. What were you doing in there?"
"Finding out what happens to bystanders," I said.
"Do you want medics?"
"No. I’ll be okay."
"Maybe you should. I’m not much at this kind of thing: for all I know, you could have internal injuries."
I looked up into her gray eyes. She was no Quinda Ann, but at that moment she looked very good. "I’m fine," I said. "How’d you get here?"
"Jacob called me."
"Jacob?"
"It seemed like a good idea," said Jacob.
"He noticed you were having problems."
"You were flushed," Jacob said. "And you were breathing irregularly."
"So he took a look and brought you out." She produced a glass of water.
"Thanks." I sipped it, and tried to sit up. But everything hurt too much. "How’d it happen?"
"We’re not sure. The simul was defective."
I laughed my way into a spasm with that.
"Alex," said Jacob, "I’ve looked at all the scenarios. Much the same thing would have happened no matter which you used. Even the Spinners. Had you gone back to Hrinwhar with Sim’s raiding party, you’d have discovered the plan to draw the Ashiyyur away doesn’t entirely work, and the Dellacondans get decimated. These are not the same simulations that we copied."
"The burglar," I said.
"Yes," observed Jacob.
I was still trying to sit up, but Chase eased me back. "Maybe that explains why they threw the sheets around and stole the book."
"I don’t think I see a connection," said Jacob.
"What about the sheets?" asked Chase, who looked as if she hadn’t heard correctly.
"We had a burglar yesterday who did some strange things with the bedding, and stole a collection of Walford Candles."
"It was a distraction," she said. "To hide the real reason for the break-in. Somebody wants you dead."
"I disagree," said Jacob. "I broke off the simul as soon as I became aware of the situation. But, had I not done so, the program would have acted to rescue you within a few more moments anyway. The same is true with all the simuls. It was not the intent that you should die."
"Sounds as if they’re trying to scare you, Alex," said Chase.
They had. I could see from the way she was looking at me that she knew it as well as I did. "It has to be connected with Gabe."
"Undoubtedly," said Jacob.
I was wondering how I could back out gracefully without having Chase write me off as a coward. "None of this is worth getting killed over," I said.
Jacob was silent.
Chase nodded. "It’s safest," she agreed, after a long moment. She looked disappointed.
"Well, what do you want from me?" I demanded. "I don’t even know who the sons of bitches are. How can I protect myself from them?"
"You can’t."
Things got very quiet after that.
Chase stared out a window, and I put my hand to my head and tried to look battered.
"Still," she said, eventually, "it’s a pity the bastards will get away with it."
"Someone," said Jacob, "must think you’re on the right track." He sounded mildly reproachful.
"Does anybody know anything about these?" I asked, fingering the crystal in which the simuls were loaded. "How difficult is it to reprogram one of these scenarios? What kind of expertise does it take?"
"Moderate, I would think," said Jacob. "One needs not only to rewrite the basic program, but to effect a disjunction that would negate the Monitor’s primary response package, which is aimed toward ensuring the safety of the participant. And it would be necessary to disconnect a series of backup precautionary systems as well. A properly equipped home system could do it."
"Could you?"
"Oh, yes. Rather easily, actually."
"So someone learned, probably from the library, which scenarios we’d copied. Then they acquired a duplicate set, reprogrammed them in this crystal, and substituted it."
Chase crossed her legs, and kept her eyes averted. "We could query the library and find out who else has been interested in this series of engagements. No one need know we’ve done that."
"It wouldn’t hurt," I said.
"I’ve already taken the step, Alex. An identical set of scenarios was borrowed two days ago."
"Okay," I said, reluctantly. "By whom?" "The record says Gabriel Benedict."
Next morning, Jacob commented offhandedly that he’d been reading about Wally Candles, and had uncovered some information during the night. "He wrote prefaces to all his books. Did you know that?"
"We have—or had—all five of them here," I said. "I don’t recall any prefaces."
"That’s because they’re extremely long. Nearly as long as the books themselves. Consequently, they are never included with the actual volumes. But they were collected and annotated a number of years ago by Armand Jeffries, who is a prominent Candles scholar."
I was enjoying the heat from a thermal-wrap against my bruised ribs. "What’s the point?" I asked.
"I came across a description by him of the reaction on Khaja Luan after the occupation of the City on the Crag. There’s an interesting portrait of Leisha Tanner in action. Apparently she was a woman of considerable courage."
"How do you mean?"
"You remember she mentioned the mobs? Apparently she wasn’t simply a bystander. I have the material set up, if you’d like to see it."
"Please," I said.
"On the screen?"
"Read it to me, Jacob."
"Yes." He paused. "There is quite a lot about the political situation."
"I’ll look at that later. What does he say about Tanner?"