“So there could be a… flaw in your base programming. Are there diagnostic programs we could run?”
“There are. I have never used one, but we should be able to find a discreet locus that is so equipped.”
“Then that is what we need to do. If you are doing things that you do not recall, perhaps there is something in your older memories that is being stimulated by your recent flight. Do you remember how before Alice was born we visited with a woman who claimed to live at Castle Donnerjack?”
“Of course. How could I forget? The implications of her coming terrified me into flight.”
“The Donnerjack Institute is one of the few organizations that holds interests in both medical science and virtual engineering. What do you think about consulting them?”
Wolfer Martin D’Ambry hesitated.
“I have lived in isolation for so long that going to such a public place is almost frightening.”
“More frightening than coming to yourself in a strange place with no memory of how you came there?”
“No.”
“Ambry, we can try a smaller automated diagnostic center if you wish, but it may not be equipped to deal with your difficulty any more than the automated med-techs in RT are equipped to deal with all medical conditions.”
She paused, having never considered her husband’s financial situation. In Virtu he always seemed to have what he needed, but now that she thought about it, he lived fairly simply—off the land, in a sense.
“If you’re worried about sufficient eft, Ambry, I have more than enough.”
He grinned at her. “My rich wife. I did well for myself, did I not? I spirited away a pretty girl and found her to be brilliant, talented, and from the best family.”
“But not so pretty,” she said playfully. This was a game they had played before. She knew from his smile that he would take her advice and go to the Donnerjack Institute—the understanding was unspoken between them but no less certain for all that.
“Not so pretty?” Ambry pretended to be affronted. “With those eyes of green and a smile to break hearts? Pretty is not word enough to describe you, Lady Lydia.”
She laughed and pulled him from their stony seat onto the wild flower-flecked meadow. He plucked an anemone and set it behind her ear and she wove a solemn purple grass stem into his beard. Beyond them, the North Wind blew stronger, making them safe.
EIGHT
To Jay’s great surprise, when they came to the train station, the Brass Babboon was waiting for them. Sleek, giving the impression of great speed even when motionless, it rested on the tracks, huffing lazy sparkler puffs from its stack. When it saw them, the grin permanently etched onto its babboon-faced front broadened. It chuckled, sparks lime and lilac flurrying forth to glitter and then vanish.
“So you’re the Engineer’s son,” it said by way of greeting. “I can’t say that I would have known you anywhere, but there’s enough of old J. D. in you that I don’t doubt you’re who they claim.”
Jay, who had counted on having some time in the station to prepare his speech, could hardly think what to say.
“There is? Who claims? Did you really call my father J. D.?”
“How do I answer all of that?” it asked, still good-natured. “Let’s see: Yes, you do bear your father some resemblance. There are those who knew old J. D., who have spoken of you since you began toddling about Virtu and some knew you for Donnerjack kin—though many did not know that you were his son. I did, though, since I was with him when J. D. battled Death for your freedom.”
“And you called him ‘J. D.’ ” Jay said, fascinated by this irreverent treatment of his father, a person who had been presented to him as hero,
as genius, even as tragic figure, but never as someone so human that lie might be nicknamed.
“I did and he never quibbled, though perhaps even the Engineer might hesitate to quibble with one such as me.”
The Brass Babboon punctuated this last with a cascade of sky rockets ending in a blue and silver chrysanthemum burst.
“How did you know I would be coming here?” Jay asked.
“To where else would a boy and a monkey ride the most ancient of phants guided by memory, curiosity, and a dog created by the Lord of Entropy?”
“Mizar was created by Death?”
“He was, and better proof was never seen that Entropy and Creation are poor bedfellows. The Lord of Deep Fields did better with your mother, but then he had some help there.”
“He did? Who?”
“You’re full of questions, J. D., Junior. Would you prefer me to call you just ‘Junior’?”
“I’d prefer that you call me ‘Jay’ as my friends do.”
“Arrogance and humility in one. Tastes like sweet and sour soup, you know. Rests oddly on the tongue, but the hankering for just a bit more remains.”
Jay stared, letting the words roll off of his resisting mind. When he had imagined the Brass Babboon, he had imagined something dark and terrible, something fit to intimidate the Lord of the Lost. How could this peculiar and irreverent entity win him through to Deep Fields? Perhaps it had been created for just one use. Perhaps he should seek elsewhere for his passage.
The Brass Babboon must have divined something of his indecision.
“I’d guess you want to take passage on me and there’s one journey for which I became instant legend.” He paused, expectant.
“The journey in which you carried my father into Deep Fields,” Jay said.
“And out again alive,” the Brass Babboon added. “The fact that he returned is what most remember, though frankly, I think the Lord of Deep Fields was pleased enough to see us go.”
“Can you take me there?”
“Can I or will I?”
“Both, I guess.” Jay straightened, recalled his purpose, the courage that had melted from him at the train’s first words. “I suspect that you can. Will you?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“A remission from your boredom.”
“Who said I’m bored?”
“I was just guessing. A creature of your power must have finished the tourist route long ago. Very well, if a remission from boredom is not enough, how about a chance to add to your legend?”
The Brass Babboon farted cherry bombs.
“I’m legend enough, but I could be convinced to carry you for the fun of it. Are the phant and the monkey coming?”
“And Mizar.”
“Hey! I always wanted to be a circus train. Climb aboard!”
Jay glanced back and noticed that a flatbed, suitable for Tranto, had appeared among the boxcars and coal cars. A broad ramp slid out and the phant lumbered up, Mizar at his heels. Once they were aboard, the door to the front cab opened of its own accord. On the seat rested a striped engineer’s cap. Jay picked it up, hit it against his knee so that the dust flew.
“That was your father’s,” the Brass Babboon said. “If you look around, there should be a red bandanna as well.”
Jay found the bandanna, tied it around his neck. The cap was a perfect fit. He grinned at Dubhe.
“All aboard!” the Brass Babboon howled. “All aboard for Deep Fields.”
Jay took his place, Dubhe beside him. The monkey stretched a skinny arm and pulled the whistle.
Jay shouted above the tumult. “Can we make a stop for strange attractors first?”
“Consider it done,” the train replied, wheels turning rhythmically, increasing in speed. “I’m glad you reminded me.”
Outside the cab, the landscape began to blur: arctic ice, jungle tangle, desert sand, plains flat and golden, mountains purple, green, white with snow. In each virt site, the genius loci muttered about the intrusion. None, needless to say, cared to do more than mutter.