Pestle (9)

[hwrnmnbsol]

Ninth part. A hair late. I blame the DDOS attack.

I woke up shouting something in a strange language. I got hold of my brain. Slippery devil.

"How long have I been out?" I asked. My mouth was dry and my shoulder hurt like a bastard.

"Around eight hours," Lopez answered. They had made me comfortable on some kind of a palette. My vacuum suit was missing. There was a great big black blob on my injured shoulder.

"What the hell is that?" I growled, trying to focus my eyes on the greasy stuff. Lopez sucked on his teeth.

"That was Swami's idea," said Lopez unhappily. "He took some of that black tentacle shit and wrapped you in it. He said it was an ideal immobilizer and burn protector. He did something to it so it wouldn't spawn or squeeze you or whatever. Creeps the shit out of me, dude."

"Swami needs to save his mad science shit for the dead bodies," I said. Still, despite the pain, the rest of me seemed active and mobile. I sat up gingerly and stretched. The palette was made out of bloody vacuum suits. Wonderful.



Lopez steadied me as I staggered back to the Round Door bay. Hoggrid was standing motionless as usual; I couldn’t tell if he didn't turn to look at me when I entered because he could see perfectly well from any angle, or because anything I might possibly do didn't interest him. Swami was arguing with Muskie.

"You'd have let him come and get me," Muskie accused. "That Sirrip would have hunted me down and eaten me, and you said okay to save your skin."

"It wasn't for me to say okay," Swami said. "Jackpot was down, and none of the rest of us had any weapons that could hurt it. It was going to eat somebody."

"You could have told it to eat Jackpot," said Muskie.

"Yes," said Swami. "But you ran." His eyes bore into Muskie. Muskie looked away, saw me, and decided to take a walk.

Swami smiled. "At last, scientific evidence that beauty sleep is a myth," he said.

"Ha fucking ha," I replied. "That's almost as funny as waking up to a tentacle holding my shoulder together. I won't be surprised if Lopez tells me you practiced a few teabagging-based remedies while I was out."

"Naw, that's the job of your nurse," said Lopez. He waggled his eyebrows.

"Now now," said Swami. "Other than the truss – a rather ingenious bit of spontaneous invention if I say so myself – all you've been given are pain relievers and some antibiotics."

I picked up and broke down my blaster rifle; it seemed basically intact. "What's the situation?" I asked.

"Apex sphere is secured," said Swami. "McMillan hasn't made another try at us, unless he's been so subtle that he's infiltrated us without us being wise to it."

"What happened to the Sirrip?" The thought of that red monster being sucked into the beam haunted me.

"I don't know," said Swami.

That was something you didn't hear every day. "Do you have any theories? Maybe…"

"I don't know!" Swami was upset. Clearly this was something he had spent a lot of brain power working on, without much in the way of returns.

"Well, at least we know how to get into the tomb," said Lopez hopefully.

"IT COULD BE OUR TOMB AS WELL," added Hoggrid, ever Mister Sunshine.

"We do know that much. But the nature of this defense eludes me, as does the method of circumvention," Swami said. "I've tried variations on the color code; only that variation opens the door. Which makes it a highly unsecure lock, by the way; with only eleven combinations on each side, and no apparent negative consequences for making a bad try, what was the point of having it in the first place?" Swami shook his head. Nothing frustrated him quite like bad technology.

"We could send a probe through," Lopez suggested.

"I already did," Swami said. "In a sense."

"Bullshit," said Lopez. "I've been sitting here all along, doing nothing but watching that door, and you've never opened it or put anything through."

"The Sirrip did it for me," said Swami. "Remember McMillan's spy probes? Remember how I took over their telemetry? Well, each of you has one embedded in your large intestine. Hot Henry must have slipped them in your food at some point. Well, the Sirrip ate Gray Gretchen, so her probe went across with it. According to its data feed, it hit some kind of tractor beam, and then within a few seconds it was exposed to extreme temperature. Analogous to what happened to the Gob."

"That's nice," I said, unconsciously probing my gut with my fingers. "What if we sent another probe through? One with a camera?"

"We could," Swami said. "But we'd be taking a chance. The only two examples we know of the Round Door being opened has resulted in fatalities. I'm reluctant to try something that might trigger a different way for us to die."

"DEATH IS INEVITABLE," said Hoggrid.

"Hoggrid's right," Lopez said. "If we only take the safe path, we're stuck and we'll get nowhere. We've got to try something, or else go home."

A light flashed on the monitor. Swami arched an eyebrow at it.

"Or," he said, "we could pick up the telephone." He punched buttons.

"The tele-what?" I asked.

"Shh-sh!" said Lopez.

"This is the Apex Sphere," said Swami, speaking into the microphone. "Who is this?"

"It's Mincey on the Sunward Sphere," said the voice of our doctor, the signal a little grainy but otherwise loud and clear. "Swami, I'm calling to tell you that you and Jackpot suck. This splitting up idea was the fucked-uppedest fuck up in the history of upward fucking."

"The man is a poet," I admired.

"We got in through the Square Door only to find it infested with little metal crabs that liked to puncture vacuum suits. Dogley and Hate decompressed and died."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Swami said. "How did you get through?"

"I sent in a robot wearing a vacuum suit full of explosives," replied Mincey.

"Tar Robot just sit there and don't say NUFFIN," giggled Lopez.

"I heard that!" barked Mincey. "I didn't get it, but I heard it, you little weasel. I'm pissed at you too. Expect a shaving in your near future."

"When I least expect it?" asked Lopez innocently.

"Yeah!" answered Mincey menacingly. "So, anyway, two dead, but we're in. We were just about to start screwing with this door lock here."

"Don't do it, Mincey; not yet," Swami warned. "You won't like what happens."

"Yeah?" asked Mincey. "What happens if I try to open the door?"

"You might succeed," said Swami.

I grabbed the microphone. "What he's trying to say is that it would be lethal, Mincey. All kidding aside, we've had it as bad as you, and we had a fight with McMillan's goons in the process, so quit bitching and let's work together."

"All right, fine," grumbled Mincey. "Let's just do this, get some Javanite and get out of here quick. I'm ready to get back to civilization, open a chain of Pornomats on some Rim world, and take it easy for the rest of my life."

Swami took the microphone back. "Describe the door lock on your side, please."

Mincey described it. It was identical to the boxes flanking the door in our sphere, down to the eleven option color wheel.

"Hrm," said Swami. "That's not what I expected at all. I thought it might be different in some way, given the fact that the defense was different..."

Lopez grabbed the microphone and bent the head down to his level. "Hey, Mincey," Lopez said, "what about the pictures on the walls?"

"Pictures on the walls? Pictures on the walls." Mincey shared a chuckle with somebody on his side. "Somebody adjust the oxygen mix on the weasel. Who gives a crap about pictures on the walls?"

"Oh, just describe them, willya?" begged Lopez. "Or send some video across or something."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," grumbled Mincey. He said something inaudible to somebody else. "Okay, I'm piping some feed across to you. Hey, Jackpot, could you sell me your Weasard for clinical use? I need to find out if somebody's pregnant."

"I can already tell you the answer," I replied. "Lopez probably did it, and you definitely didn't."

Video feed came over the monitor screen. Somebody was walking through the Grand Hall on that side with an imager. It looked similar to the Apex version, but not identical – as if somebody had worked off the same set of construction plans, but used a completely different builder to do it. Swami squinted at the screen.

"Mincey, tell them to zoom on some of the Swanturni figures," he asked. The image blurred out, then resolved on two warlike Swanturnis advancing on the Round Door bay. Their garb was different from the Apex ones; the cut of their clothing was different, and these guys seemed to like to wear caps with long dangly bits. All of their clothing was blue.

"Blue," said Lopez. "Blue and silver. The code on the door."

"The code on the door," mused Swami. "It's not a combination. It's just another ritual." He turned to Lopez. "We need another data point to be sure."

"Has Layla called in yet?" Mincey asked.

"No," replied Swami. Something occurred to him then. He took quite some time to think about it. He leaned back in to the microphone.

"But," he added, "I'll give you decent odds that Shadow Sphere is listening in anyway."

We all boggled. "EXPLAIN," Hoggrid demanded. I almost jumped out of my skin; he had glided up behind us, silent as a cat.

"I decrypted McMillan's comm signals during the firefight," Swami explained. "They were definitely talking to each other, but also to individuals outside the sphere. Where would those other individuals go once they realized their mates were ambushed? I wouldn't expect them to give up. But they didn't try us again and they didn't bother Mincey. That left Layla and the Shadow Sphere."

"Perfectly well reasoned," said Hot Henry, his annoying Old New York brogue clear over the comm. "Yeah, once our assault squad didn't call in, I figured your Sphere was a bad bet, Swami. Layla got into what you're calling Shadow Sphere, but she ran into a little trouble with some radioactive gas the Swanturnis left behind. She left the door open, I'm afraid, and we got in behind her. Layla's still alive. Do you want to speak with her?"

"Not really," said Swami.

"That's too bad," said Hot Henry. "Layla, Swami says he doesn't want to speak to you. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay, we'll talk later on."

"Goodbye, Layla," Lopez said softly to himself.

"Hot Henry, where's McMillan?" Swami asked.

"Back on the mothership," Hot Henry answered. "He's the chief of this whole business. Not into taking risks. He figured between you and me, we'd work out how to get at the Javanite, and then he'd get his cut no matter how things turned out."

"I see. Hot Henry, how do you feel about working together?"

"I don't like that idea much," Hot Henry answered. "There is, ah, a certain lack of trust in the air."

"We'll set that aside for now," Swami said. A smile was beginning to dawn on his face. It turned into a grin, his white teeth huge in his small brown face. "Hot Henry, I'm going to make you a bet. At stake is my pride; you don't have to put anything up. I'll bet you that if you leave your chair, stand up, turn around, walk ten paces to a ladder, climb up twenty rungs, and look to your left, you'll be looking into the eyes of a picture of a Swanturni. He'll be painted wearing clothing, and that clothing will be silver."

There was a pause of about a minute. Then Hot Henry came back on the line. "Nice trick, Swami," Hot Henry admired. "How'd you do it?"

"I'm going to tell everybody a story," Swami said. "I've got it all figured out now. Here's how it all went down." He composed himself, then began.

"Long ago, the Swanturni ruled all of known space," Swami said. "They were very technically savvy. But, and this is the important thing, they weren't a homogeneous race. They had tribes, castes, nations – whatever you want to call them. There were eleven of them, feuding amongst each other, sometimes making outright war. Every so often some of the tribes would form alliances, but these alliances would be temporary."

Swami steepled his fingers as he spoke. "Once upon a time, three of these tribes entered into just such an alliance," he said. "They were the red, the blues and the silvers. They were fighting against something or someone – possibly one of the other tribes, or some external threat – it doesn't matter. What matters is that they built a weapon. This weapon. Pestle. Powered by Javanite, it was capable of doing a lot of damage. It was so potent that they asked themselves: what happens when our alliance inevitably dissolves? Will we then be leaving a super-powered weapon in the hands of somebody who one day may be our enemy?"

"So," continued Swami, "they designed the weapon with a failsafe. Each of the three tribes occupied one of the spheres. From there they could control the weapon and authorize its use. All three tribes had to agree on a course of action. If they tried independently to use the weapon, they built defenses in that would punish the tribe that acted so rashly."

Swami turned to me. "Remember what I told you about what I liked most about Pestle?" he asked. "Its sense of balance. Parts acting in harmony. No coincidence, that. Pestle isn't a tomb; it's a weapon built on the principle of the Prisoner's Dilemma." He turned back to the microphone.

"And now we're going to play the Prisoner's Dilemma game together," he said. "You're all going to play, whether you work with me or not, because you'll see that it's to your advantage. You see, when the Round Doors synchronize, all three of the Spheres are going to set the codes – blue/silver for us, silver/red for Mincey, and red/blue for Hot Henry – and we're going to open up the heart of Pestle."

"Or," Hot Henry said, "I could not open the door, while you and Mincey do, and then you guys die and I don't. Flawless victory."

"Think that through," Swami demanded. "Then you're stuck with McMillan as your boss. You'll still need two people in each sphere. Think you can trust your boss not to play the same game with you? Sooner or later you're going to have to either play the game, or leave town and let McMillan play it. Better for you to play the game with us. If you play with us, we all get inside and then we can either be reasonable or not; either way, you can make a play for the Javanite. We've got the same reasons not to screw you over. In the current configuration we've got two out of three spheres; I'll take those odds over trying to get somebody else into Shadow Sphere who will play with us."

"What if I don't open my door?" asked Mincey.

"Then you're an asshole," Swami answered. Me and Lopez high-fived.

I could almost hear Hot Henry thinking. "How do you know it's three out of three?" Hot Henry asked. "Maybe these Swanturni guys made a deal where two out of three would work."

"That only changes things for the worse for you," Swami pointed out. "Then if you don't open your door, me and Mincey are in and you're out. Convinced yet?"

There was a pause. "Yeah," said Hot Henry. "Sure."

Swami grinned. "Of course, you'd say that even if you were planning on betraying us."

"Of course. Well, looks like we got thirty seconds. How about now?"

"Why not?" said Swami.

"Aw, crap; really??" I said. I slung my laser rifle over my bad shoulder and picked up the reciprocating sword. Lopez hastily belted on his various packs and pouches.

Swami crossed to the door. He began fiddling with the color combinations. Hoggrid glided smoothly next to the Round Door and extruded several grabbing claws. Muskie crept out of hiding and stood next to the door uncertainly.

"Hey," Muskie said timidly, "isn't the Prisoner's Dilemma supposed to be a sucker's game?"

"Only if you're a sucker," Lopez said.

"I dunno, I didn't understand most of what Swami said," I said. "All I know is, there's loot down there and I want to run my tongue all over it."

"MUST HAVE JAVANITE," Hoggrid said.

"Now," said Swami.

The door slid open.