With Strings Attached

by D. Aviva Rothschild

©1998

*21*
FULL CIRCLE, MOEBIUS-STYLE

---

The first thing As'taris said after being resurrected was, "Give me a hair growth potion." Lying naked on a couch, he touched his bald, narrow head, brushed off a dusting of ash on his scalp and forehead, then sat up to favor his audience with a predatory, satisfied grin.

Said audience consisted of a rumpled, tired, and annoyed Grunnel leaning against the wall, pursing his lips; the resurrectionist, a young female elf who kept glancing at her back room, more interested in the bowl of soup she'd been called away from than the miracle she'd performed; and the open-mouthed John, George, and Ringo, who had not been told what was to happen until they entered the building; indeed, they hadn't even known such a thing was possible. (They'd been just a tad distracted for most of their stay in Ta'akan.)

The resurrectionist said in a bored voice, "Hair growth'll cost thirty golds extra."

Grunnel made a pained noise and handed the woman a small sapphire. "Thief."

She smiled faintly. "Death is cheap, life is expensive." After holding the gem up to the light and inspecting it for a few seconds, she stuffed it in her pocket. Then she got a vial out of a cabinet and tossed it to As'taris.

Death hadn't affected his reflexes; in one smooth motion he snatched it out of the air, popped the cork with one finger, and drank it. Fine yellow fuzz sprouted from his head, while two pollen-smears appeared as eyebrows, and all over his body faint wisps became visible. He grunted in satisfaction and stood up, s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d luxuriously, and favored the Earthmen (who were adjusting to this new development rather more quickly than they might have a few days ago; they were surfeited with miracles) with an almost friendly smile. "Olyrr-sars, I'm grateful. You killed me, and now I can travel to Zagesevregar. My thanks."

"Don't mention it," said George, who was the most "there" of the three. "Dying made your curse go away, right?"

"Yes," Grunnel snapped, pushing away from the wall. "Deadbrains! That curse was supposed to shackle As to free Brox and myself to concentrate on the conference. Now I have to accompany As to Zagesevregar so sar won't disappear chasing nonexistent Tahil. I wasn't finished here!"

"It wasn't our fault," George retorted, offended by the wizard's tone. "He never would've died if he hadn't screwed up fixing Paul. Anyway, you expected him to die. You told us to call you if we found him dead."

"We wanted As to commit suicide! If sar had done that, putting aside sar's pride at never having died before so that sar could break the curse, I'd know sar was mature enough to be left alone. But the curse was wasted." Grunnel sighed deeply. "Brox will burn with anger."

As George contemplated a society so peculiar that suicide was a sign of maturity, the resurrectionist tapped John on his cloaked shoulder. "Olyrr-sar, do you wear those glass circles because your eyes are weak? Fifty golds to cure them."

In a daze John followed the woman out. If she'd told him to pray to her he probably would have.

Meanwhile, As'taris, who obviously didn't care about Grunnel's distress, was putting on clothes supplied by the resurrectionist. Ringo was fascinated by the healthy living flesh getting dressed. Unable to use his mindsight in the heavily Protected shop, he was squinting at the elf's body, trying to find some physical sign of its ordeal, but it was as whole and healthy as it ever had been. Finally he gave up and said to the elf, "What's it like? Being dead, I mean." George looked over as well, for this was a topic of considerable interest to him.

"Death is just life without a body." The elf slipped his feet into sandals. His hair was now about half an inch long, prickly and punk.

Ringo began to giggle. "What if you hadn't had any money when she resurrected you? Would she've killed you all over again?"

"Yes," As'taris responded distractedly, more interested in straightening his left sandal. He looked up in surprise when Ringo fell against the wall, rocking with laughter. Then George started to chortle, having just watched everything he believed about death get confirmed in the most obnoxious way possible. The two held onto each other, roaring.

"The eyes have it!" exclaimed John, twirling his glasses by an earpiece as he entered the room, the resurrectionist on his heels. "Pay her, would you?" he asked Grunnel. "All I've got are liquid assets."

George began laughing even harder. "Hey! You ­ you know wha-what it would've been if that'd been one of us up there and we hadn't paid? A DEADBEAT!"

John broke up and George slid to the floor, convulsing. The resurrectionist was not pleased, and of course none of the Ta'akanians got the joke, so by the time the three managed to stagger out of the store, As'taris and Grunnel were far down the road and going into a restaurant ("He's dead hungry," said John, which started them off again). The three weren't quite ready for a meal themselves—not after watching Grunnel carrying the elf's crispy, oozing body, the stench of cooked meat that rose from it, the crackling skin, the chunks of roasted flesh that came off in the wizard's hands. Even John was slightly nauseated by the thought of food. So they made their way back to the house, firing off more death jokes and vying with one another about the best way to tell Paul that As'taris was alive again.

*

They would have been quite surprised to learn that Paul had already figured out what would happen to the elf. Drunk and depressed though he'd been during those dark days, he still had learned a considerable amount about goods and services in Ta'akan. (Amazing how little the notion of cheap 'n' easy resurrection had impressed him at the time.) But he'd been on the beach when the others shouted down the bad news, and Grunnel had carted the body and the others off so quickly that he hadn't had a chance to mention anything.

Now, with the sun setting, he was making eighth-mile leaps (and large craters) up the coast along the beach, where there was nothing for him to break except waves. As he arced along, he had lots of time to think between launch and land (THUD). At first he thought about As'taris's death, feeling rather guilty even though it wasn't his fault, and wondering if the cooked body was resurrectable; but that concern quickly gave way to the one that had been tormenting him for hours now (THUD): he was trapped in a stupid body that could smash someone's head open if he twitched his toe carelessly or blinked with too much force. He hadn't dared accompany the others to the city; I can just see myself knocking down houses and squashing people flat (THUD).

Maybe I should just stay out here forever. He wasn't sure he could stand living at the far fringe of human relationships, unable to touch or even come near Linda and the kids; almost better to give them up altogether. He certainly couldn't go back to Earth like this! (THUD). If nothing else, he could survive any environment he wandered into. So far he had become neither hungry, thirsty, tired, cold, hot, itchy, achy, sweaty, gassy, dry-eyed, nor desirous of urinating. (THUD)

He also had to do something. The power raged relentlessly in him, and he just could not sit still. Which was another reason why he was jumping down the coast, a melancholy figure glittering in the waning light, debating as he flew whether to keep going or turn back. (THUD)

(He would turn back; he was depressed but he wasn't crazy. Yet.)

Untold miles up the coast he finally stopped; those leaps weren't bleeding off his energy at all. If anything, he was getting more restless. He had to do something more active. If he'd been back at the beach around As'taris's house, he could have heaved boulders into the water, but this far north, the beach was largely sand. There was forest within a few miles, but he was not going to destroy it simply because he needed to exert himself! He tried hopping in place, but he soared too high to do it fast enough. Jumping jacks and skipping with an imaginary rope were just as worthless, but he didn't have much else he could do. So he plugged away, desperately trying to tire.

Then, as he watched the scenery shrink beneath him for the hundredth time, he thought of his ill-fated attempt to learn magic, and how the light spell had drained him. God! The thought of collapsing with exhaustion was positively seductive. How did that spell go? Right. Oh, please, let this help somehow. He waited until he landed, then closed his eyes, tugged and pulled and directed the magic through his body, and—

he shuddered, and when he opened his eyes he found all his hair and his finger- and toenails were glowing. He had specifically tried to direct the light into the palm of his hand, but apparently casting the spell had triggered something else. The sun had set by now, and he cast an eerie white light on the pebbles and shells that had escaped his pounding feet. Just call me Phil A. Ment, he thought wryly, examining his arms. He could feel a tiny amount of energy dribbling away from the main mass and through his body, feeding his hair and nails. Hm, maybe I can force a bit more out. He closed his eyes and mentally tugged on the dribble of energy.

Immediately there was a very pleasurable doubling in the flow. Paul opened his eyes to a considerable shine from his body. He grinned, feeling clever, but he really hadn't made much of a difference inside; twice nothing was still nothing. At this rate it'll take years to use up. Let's see if we can't get it going a bit stronger.

Again he concentrated, but this time he focused on the main mass of the energy rather than the trickle, trying to pry it up. Sluggish as lava it stirred and crept outward, its flow gradually increasing. Come on, come on! he urged, growing excited as more energy poured from his body. He pulled and prodded and tugged and yanked, clawing with all his will at the stubborn power—

Ejaculation!

"Yes!" Paul screamed, flinging his arms out as power exploded from every molecule of his stiff body in a blinding sphere of white light and thunder. Around him and below his feet the sand screamed as it disintegrated, but he heard only his own voice, shrieking with the ecstasy of release at the core of the star that was himself.

("What the fuck is that?" John pointed at the sudden blaze of light, clearly visible even at that distance. It was so bright that he and George had to shade their eyes.

"D'ye think Paul blew up again?" George said.

"Oh my God!" Ringo cried, a wondrous expression on his face. "My God! " Tears trickled from his closed eyes. "It's so beautiful! I'm looking right at him—I've never seen anything so beautiful!"

After a moment or so of silence, George said, "So does that mean he blew up or not?")

Paul never knew how long he blazed, only that eternity would have been too short; but much, much too soon the last of his energy left his body, the light winked out, and he dropped a long way back to the ground, landing painlessly on his face.

There was barely a shred of strength left in him; he had to exert considerable effort to roll onto his back to look at the stars overhead. He envied them; Do they feel like that all the time? The ground was warm and soft, like taffy. Absently he molded a pinch of it between his fingers. It was so comfortable that he began to drift asleep.

A moment later someone shook him. "Go 'way," he moaned, feebly waving his arm. Whoever it was stopped and he snoozed.

("He's alive," announced Ringo. "Going to sleep.")

"Should we go get him, then?" George said.

A small self-propelled boat, then another, then a whole fleet of watercraft, sailed past the cliff in the direction of Paul. Faintly audible through the forest came the sound of many hoofbeats, also racing in the direction of Paul.

"Maybe we'd better," said John.)

Paul awoke to a cloudy morning sky, a smooth, shiny slope, a growling stomach, and several faces peering down at him from a point noticeably higher than where he lay.

"Sar's awake!" someone called, and in moments about a dozen more people showed up, peering down with great interest. Trying to lift his head to see if he knew any of the spectators, he discovered he was stuck to the ground. He tore himself off with a shattering noise, sat up brushing glittering bits out of his hair, and found he was a speck in the center of a huge, deep glass crater. "God!" Paul breathed, shaken and awed. "I'm glad I didn't do that near anyone."

Still more interesting was the feel of his energy. It had partially regenerated from the night before but was nowhere near the intolerable level he'd previously had. Carefully, he rose to his feet—he had no trouble doing this, a good sign—and took a small step. To his delight, he traveled only a foot or so more than he normally would have. He tried a standing jump with all his strength. A mere hop; he soared about twenty feet up. "Great!" he exclaimed as he dropped to the ground, and promptly suffered a stab of regret for his lost power. Quite a price to pay for his humanity!

"Oh, come on, will you never be satisfied?" he chided himself as he landed with a crunch on the broken glass. "You know you're better off now. Anyway, it's not all gone."

~Good, I hoped the Gods would leave him a loophole. Now we can start.~

Meanwhile, his leap had prompted a murmur from his audience, which he was now willing to acknowledge. They consisted of about twenty Baravadans (including Grunnel and As'taris, both wearing backpacks) plus George, Ringo, and John (whose entire outfit, if you didn't count the wings, consisted of a pair of cutoffs, his sneakers, and his food pouch; even his blue gem was missing). Even at a distance the three seemed pretty frazzled. They weren't even looking at Paul but were talking with whomever happened to be standing near them. Apparently they were explaining about Paul's condition, because they all pointed at As'taris; the people they'd been talking to went over to the elf, presumably to quiz him on the fine points of the spell he'd cast; and the three began to talk to new people.

They've probably been doing that all night, Paul reasoned. Better go help. Getting out of the crater was tricky, however. His first long leap wasn't nearly enough to clear the rim, and when he landed his feet shot out from under him and he slid back down on his butt, which of course set his audience to laughing. He grinned with good-natured embarrassment, because he'd already figured out how to proceed more competently. Rather than standing, he got on his knees and jammed his left hand into the glass, breaking himself a handhold. Firmly wedged in, he reached forward and broke a handhold with his right hand, carefully pulled himself forward. In this way he crawled out, occasionally breaking footholds when his feet threatened to slip.

It was only when he stood up after his little journey that he remembered he was butt-naked and displaying himself in front of a whole crowd of men and women, nearly all of whom were sizing him up. Particularly embarrassing were the stares from As'taris, who observed to Grunnel that if he'd known what he was missing, he would have declared Paul skahs right away, or words to that effect.

Covering himself as best he could, he leaped over the crowd and bounced for the nearest cover behind a tree. Reactions from the Baravadans ranged from appreciation of the flying flesh to puzzlement as to why Paul would hide himself, since public nudity was hardly a taboo in that culture. However, the show obviously being over, the Baravadans began to disperse, mounting their horses or jumping in their boats or flying off or simply vanishing. Of them, only Grunnel and As'taris remained, and only the wizard's hand clamped on the elf's shirt was preventing the latter from leaving. Faintly Paul heard As'taris whine, "Why are we staying? I want to leave!" and Grunnel reply, "I will see this magic you supposedly created. That spell should not have caused such a result."

George, Ringo, and John, faces betraying huge relief as the Baravadans left, approached Paul cautiously. Ringo kept throwing glances back at the crater. "You're sure he's not radioactive?"

"I told you he's not," John said in long-suffering tones between bites of some dried substance from his food pouch. "There ain't much water in him, and it's bloody weird, but it ain't radioactive and it ain't dangerous. Right?" he queried Paul, waving the last chunk of his food at him.

"You'd know better than me," said Paul. "Where's your thing?" He touched his chest.

"The Kansael? It's still there." Munch, munch, munch, swallow. "When we took Ass to the doctor, Grunnel covered it with a temporary illusion so people wouldn't see it and go mad and try to kill me for it. Oh, by the way, Ass got better. You can start calling him JEES-Ass."

Paul grinned. "No death or taxes—someone better think up a new cliché." Then he remembered he was hungry, and better still.… "You lads can come closer. I'm safe now!"

This prompted cries of "Atomicartney! You really went down a bomb, didn't you? Bang-on!" But only John approached.

Not worrying whether As'taris was looking, Paul stepped out from behind the tree, intending to shake John's hand. But he had forgotten that he still needed to keep his mind on what he was doing, and accidentally kicked a rock into George's ankle. Crack! George yelped and fell over, cursing, face contorted with pain. Paul was stricken with remorse; everyone else retreated. It was no consolation that a similar kick yesterday would have sliced George's foot clean off.

As Paul began to babble apologies and promise gallons of healing potions, George left off complaining and went *ping*. His face relaxed, though he sent a withering glance at Paul. Then he stood up as if nothing had happened.

Paul was fascinated. "What'd you do?"

"I turned into me without the break," George said sourly. "I found out I could do that yesterday when I got me hand cut. Would you please be more careful?"

Wondering if there was anything permanent left in the world, Paul swore up and down that he would watch himself.

Now Grunnel, dragging As'taris, approached, the large green gem in his free hand. He peered at Paul through it and frowned. "Why did this happen to you? The spell As tried to cast, while difficult and powerful, could not have imbued you with the kind of power you released. Nor should it have left any part of you diamond; either you should be all flesh again, or you should be dead."

"Just lucky, I guess," said Paul, but the wizard was in no mood for jokes. Neither was As'taris; as soon as Grunnel had completed his scan, the elf whined, "You're finished. Let's leave."

Grunnel ignored him and said to Paul, "Sar, I would study the flow of magic through your body. It's not illusion magic, but I must learn how that spell caused this. Brox will want to know as well. If you come to Zagesevregar for the Festival, will you let us study you?"

"Sure," said Paul, who figured that he might learn something about himself. Seeing that Grunnel was putting his gem away and making as if to leave, he said hurriedly, "Uh, speaking of spells, John said you hid his blue diamond with an illusion?"

As As'taris hissed in impatient disapproval, the wizard said "Yes. Would you like me to cast an illusion to mask your hair, teeth, and nails?"

"Well, actually, I thought you might teach me the spell, if it's not too much trouble. I don't think I can wear clothes any more, and I need something that I can cast again if it fades. I think I'm strong enough to handle it now. I cast the light spell last night with no problem." He regarded his body ruefully. " I can't run around in public like this. Someone'ud jump me and pull everything out to sell. Not that I'm not used to that, but still.…"

Grunnel looked reluctant, but he acquiesced and laid his free hand on Paul to convey to him the feel of the illusion spell, specifically how to use it to make himself looked normal and clothed. The others, who had no idea that Paul had dabbled in spellcasting, observed the process with great interest.

After Paul made a few rainbow colors slide around his body, he got the hang of the spell and got his various body parts looking normal, except that his arm hair was unusually dark. He concentrated on it, and it faded to a more realistic color. Clothing was harder to master; the best he could manage was a brown sack of a shirt and a pair of featureless shorts. Both articles looked completely fake, like bad holograms, but they were opaque, which was really all he wanted.

In spite of his crankiness, Grunnel chuckled. "Illusions are difficult to master quickly, especially shapes."

John said " Eh, could you teach me the spell too? I'd like to ditch me cloak, it's bloody hot."

The wizard threw him a glance that said Don't press your luck. "No. You'd have to take the teaching spell first, and I have no time to do that for you. Perhaps after the Festival."

"Grun!" As'taris all but howled.

The wizard sighed. "Yes, As." To the four: "The house is yours until we return."

"Spend all our money so we have to seek more!" the elf added gleefully.

POP! They were gone.

It seemed very empty on the beach all of a sudden.

The four looked at one another, startled by the quiet. "Well, that's everyone we know gone," said Ringo.

"Right," said John, shaking himself out of a trance. "It's time we got back to Lyndess." He hooked his thumbs in his shorts.

"Jesus, I forget all about her," said Ringo.

"I didn't, but the posters didn't work anyway," said Paul.

George kicked some sand. "I forgot too. But what about the Raleka? Do they mean anything to us?"

"What's this about Raleka?" said Paul. When Aurion's affiliation was made known to him, he fingered his chin. "God, who knows? I forget—were they connected to Lyndess?"

"I don't think so," said George. "I think I remember her saying they didn't exist."

Paul shrugged. "Then we should just forget about them and concentrate on Lyndess. We made a promise to her, not to the Raleka."

John nodded vigorously. "I think between the four of us we've got some way to ­ "

~Okay, everyone set? Got your scripts? Know your personas?~

+Shag, quit brushing your feathers—they won't see them anyway.+

[I'm so nervous! What if I make a fool of myself in front of them? I'll just die, I really will.]

~Do you wanna not do this? Varx and I can manage without you.~

[No, no, no, I'll be all right. Really.]

~Uh-huh. Okay, let's shake the tree.~

"—get her across what the fuck!" John's voice rose a couple of octaves in shock.

Suddenly they were standing in a perfectly white room. On second glance it wasn't a room, just white space with firmness for them to stand on. Their bodies were just faint outlines, and as they looked wildly around they found themselves unable to feel each other, though they encountered resistance when they touched.

"Before I get scared, is one of you lads doing this?" asked John, his wings nervously half-spread.

The others shook their heads, equally mystified. "Unless it's involuntary or something—" began Paul.

+DON'T WORRY, YOU'RE ALL QUITE SAFE. THINK OF THIS AS JUST A KIND OF TELEPATHIC CONFERENCE CALL.+ The huge deep voice shook the white space.

"Who's there?" challenged George.

~OUR IDENTITIES ARE OF NO IMPORT, HUMAN,~ thundered a second voice, this one squeaky but no quieter.

In front of the four the space bulged with three enormous humanoid forms, so indistinct that no features could be made out. +IT IS TIME FOR YOUR QUEST,+ said the deep voice.

"What quest?" This from John, Paul, and George.

"WHAT QUEST?" Ringo's voice came out almost as loud as those of the forms, startling him and everyone.

+THE QUEST WHICH YOU WERE BROUGHT HERE AND EQUIPPED FOR: TO RESTORE THE TRUE VASYN AND FREE KETAFA FROM ITS CURSE.+

"So we did have a purpose!" George exclaimed. "I knew it involved the Vasyn! Who are you? Are you aliens?"

+THINK OF US AS AGENTS OF A GREAT POWER. WE HAVE BEEN WATCHING YOUR PROGRESS EVER SINCE YOUR LANDING HERE AND ENTANGLING YOURSELF IN KETAFAN AFFAIRS WITH GRYNUN AND LYNDESS AND SUNDRY OTHER—UH, WHAT'S THAT WORD?+

~INDIVIDUALS,~ Squeaky hissed.

"Why is the Vasyn so important?" asked Paul. "We saw people worshipping the fake one, but we never found out why."

A feminine voice piped up, stiff and nervous as if reading from a script for the first time: [THE VASYN SYMBOLIZES BOTH THE GREAT STRUGGLE OF THE GODS WHICH OCCURRED OVER FIVE HUNDRED C'HOVITE YEARS AGO, AND THE CURSE WHICH HAS BEEN PUT ON KETAFA, NAMELY THE TOTAL INABILITY OF THE GODS TO SEE OR HEAR ANYTHING ON THE ENTIRE CONTINENT WITH NO EXCEPTIONS -] She hesitated. [THIS IS TERRIBLE. HONESTLY, I'M NORMALLY NOT THIS INARTICULATE.]

~MY COLLEAGUE IS NOT FEELING WELL,~ Squeaky said quickly. Papers rustled; there was a muffled, indignant cry. ~I'LL GIVE YOU A RUNDOWN OF WHAT HAPPENED BACK THEN.

~HUNDREDS OF YEARS AGO, C'HOU WAS COMPOSED OF MANY FRAGMENTED AND DISPARATE PEOPLES AND THEIR GODS, ALL OF WHOSE POWERS EXISTED SOLELY IN THE MINDS OF THEIR WORSHIPPERS. ONE DAY, TWO POWERFUL PANTHEONS OF REAL GODS ARRIVED HERE AT THE SAME TIME, AND EACH DETERMINED TO WIN OVER THE C'HOVITES FOR THEMSELVES. ONE WAS THE PYAR PANTHEON, AND THE OTHER WAS THE DALNS PANTHEON.~

The four had heard the word Dalns once or twice, and nodded.

~THE DALNS PANTHEON WON, BUT ONLY AFTER A BITTER STRUGGLE THAT KILLED MANY PEOPLE AND DOOMED KETAFA TO DARKNESS. FOR THE PYAR GODS, IN THEIR JEALOUS ANGER AT LOSING, TOOK THE VASYN AND BROKE IT INTO TWO PARTS, SAYING TO THE DALNS GODS, 'YOU WILL BE BLIND AND DEAF TO ALL KETAFA UNTIL THE VASYN IS RESTORED BY OUTWORLDERS.' THEY THEN HID THE PARTS IN TWO OTHER UNIVERSES AND DEPARTED FOREVER.~

"Across dimensions?" exclaimed George.

+YEAH—I MEAN, YES,+ said the deep voice.

~YOUR PATH WILL BE FRAUGHT WITH DANGER,~ Squeaky enthused. ~THE PYAR GODS PLACED THE PIECES OF THE VASYN IN THE MOST TERRIBLE PLACES THEY COULD FIND.~

"CAN I—WHOA." Ringo felt his throat. "AHEM. UM, CAN I ASK YOU SOMETHING?"

~YOU MEAN WHY ARE YOU SO LOUD? YOU'RE PROBABLY A MENTAL 'SCREAMER.' THAT'S NOT GOOD, BY THE WAY. TELEPATHS FOR MILES AROUND WILL KNOW WHEN YOU'RE USING YOUR PSIONICS.~

"WELL, THAT TOO, BUT... WHY US? I MEAN, NOT THAT IT'S BEEN SO BAD, WITH THE MAGIC AND ALL, BUT WHY US?"

+BECAUSE YOU'VE PROVEN YOU CAN ADAPT TO STRANGE SITUATIONS,+ the deep voice said. +YOU'VE DROPPED ACID; YOU CAN DO THIS.+

[ALSO, WE LIKE YOUR MUSIC,] the female added.

"Lovely," said John. "Fans. Couldn't you have asked before whisking us away? We've got lives, y'know."

[WE DID. YOU JUST DON'T REMEMBER. BUT WE WOULDN'T HAVE USED YOU IF YOU'D SAID NO. IT'S AGAINST THE LAW.]

"Oh, it's nice you've got laws," said George, folding his arms. "What if we won't put the thingy together? Will you send us home?"

Squeaky began his litany again. ~IF YOU SUCCESSFULLY OVERCOME ALL OBSTACLES AND RESTORE THE VASYN TO KETAFA, YOU WILL BE SENT HOME. IF NOT, YOU'RE HERE TO STAY, SO I SUGGEST YOU DO AS WE TELL YOU.~

John bowed deeply. "What is it your majesties would like us to do?"

Squeaky seemed not to notice such criticism—which perhaps was a good thing. ~THIS IS WHAT THE TRUE VASYN LOOKS LIKE.~ A picture burned into their minds: three intertwining, delicate strands of pink granite, very much like a DNA helix standing on a square base. ~UNFORTUNATELY WE ONLY KNOW WHERE ONE OF THE PIECES IS, AND NOT ITS SPECIFIC LOCATION. HOWEVER, THIS WILL HELP YOU.~ A second image appeared to them: a rectangular platinum bar with a diamond in one end. ~THIS IS A LOCATION BAR. IT WILL FLASH WHENEVER IT IS POINTED IN THE DIRECTION OF A PIECE OF THE VASYN. IT WORKS AT ANY DISTANCE, BUT NOT THROUGH DIMENSIONS. SO IT'S ONLY USEFUL WHEN YOU'RE ACTUALLY IN THE SAME UNIVERSE AS ONE OF THE PIECES.

~ONCE THERE, LIFT THE PIECE OFF THE GROUND—YOU ALL MUST BE TOUCHING IT—AND YOU'LL BE DRAGGED BACK TO C'HOU, WHERE YOU CAN STORE THE PIECE. HOPEFULLY WE'LL HAVE FOUND THE OTHER PIECE BY THEN SO WE CAN SEND YOU WHEREVER IT IS. AFTER YOU HAVE BOTH, YOU MUST TAKE THEM TO KETAFA AND PUT THEM TOGETHER. ONLY THEN WILL THE CURSE BE LIFTED AND KETAFA BECOME VISIBLE TO THE GODS.~

John asked, "What about Lyndess? We're obligated to her, you know."

The deep voice took over. +ONCE THE CURSE IS LIFTED, LYNDESS WILL BE ABLE TO APOLOGIZE TO THE GODS WITHOUT THE HASSLE OF CROSSING THE OCEAN. THEY'LL BE ABLE TO SEE HER THEN.+

"So we'll end up rescuing her anyway."

+YEAH, THE HARD WAY.+

[DO BE CAREFUL,] said the female. [I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU HURT.]

"Isn't that a coincidence! Neither do we." Paul was just as irritated as John; there was something very wrong here. "You're not the gods, then? Right, what's in it for you if we put the Vasyn together?"

Squeaky pulled itself up importantly. ~OUR MOTIVES AND REWARDS ARE FAR TOO ALIEN FOR YOU TO APPRECIATE, HUMAN. AND THAT'S ALL THAT YOU NEED TO KNOW. GOODBYE.~ The three figures began to fade.

"Wait!" cried George. "What if the thingy breaks or we can't get a piece for some reason?"

~THEN THAT'S JUST TOO BAD. THIS ISN'T A GAME YOU CAN WIN ON GOOD INTENTIONS AND POINTS. YOU'VE GOT VICTORY CONDITIONS, AND IF YOU DON'T FULFILL THEM, YOU LOSE.~

Blink! They were gone.

Blink again! The four were back on the beach, dazzled by the sudden shift of realities. George picked up something at his feet: the location bar. He handed it round solemnly, and nothing was said until,

"Drafted, we've been fuckin' drafted!" yelled John. George had to grab his hand to stop him throwing the bar into the ocean.

Then C'hou faded away.…

+Okay, successful break. They're on Salthry now.+

~We shouldn't've done that. It's bad to talk to your characters. They're not supposed to know we exist.~

[I wish we could have told them more. I'm sorry they left angry.]

~We gotta keep them confused. They can't know the gods 'hired' 'em. Remember, the outworlders who get the Vasyn gotta do it independent of the gods, or the curse won't be broken. Besides, were you gonna tell them they started out as your psych experiment?~

+Or that what's in it for us is a million credits if they succeed? They'll understand that waaaaaay too well, since they won't get any of it.+

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form (AND THAT INCLUDES DOWNLOADING) or by any means, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission of the author. Permission may be obtained by e-mail from D. Aviva Rothschild.

E-mail comments or suggestions to
kwwayne@sprynet.com

[With Strings Attached main page][Writer's Cramp main page]