Jewels

Damnably, I'd just been chewed up by a shark. And I'd thought I was doing so well!

As soon as the shark bit through my legs I went into dream-mode. The sensation was sickening, like being eaten in a dream. I felt squeezed and reduced. Maybe that's how a prey often feels when a predator snaps its jaws; natural anesthesia takes over. Except in our case, our bodies go "astral" in dream-mode. With enough effort we can pull free and flee. That feels like wading out of deep, treacly mud. Then you need to find a powerpoint to eat to boost your energy back to a safe level.

No such luck this time. If you're already low on energy after an earlier escape, you've had it. You fade out. You reassemble somewhere else, usually some­where you don't want to be, and you're starving for a powerpoint. Three such fade-outs in succession—don't ask me who does the counting—and you get zapped back to a lower level.

But trying to keep out of harm's way can't work forever, either. The only way you can win through is by risking being eaten time and again. It's a hell of a life.

no idea why. It was as though we'd lost half or our memories, had them locked away from us.

The first level of existence was radioactive ruins. Scat­tered throughout a wreck of a city were various safe enclaves—which never stayed safe for long. Radio­activity slowly seeped in, or else the mutants would mount an attack. You had to keep on the move, hunt­ing for new havens that were clean, stocked with food and drink. And you had to collect powerpoints while avoiding the attentions of mutants and clouds of plu-tonium gas. Powerpoints on this level came in the form of anti-radiation pills, usually to be found in deathtrap buildings, all of them a good distance from the nearest sanctuary and in opposite directions. If you could eat enough pills without being too badly irradiated or mauled by mutants . . . well, I finally managed to, and found myself instantly reassembled on the second level, Ghoul Castle,

With all this rushing about and hiding, we didn't exactly get to hold public meetings, but I'd esti­mate there were about a hundred of us; and of this number about half had succeeded in escaping from the ruins before I did. So I'm no paragon of agility and quick wits. To start with, in fact, I was quite a slow slob. However, I was persistent and I was capable of cooperating and learning. Indeed, I'd found my ideal partner: Isbeth Anndaughter. Isbeth and I had teamed in the ruins. We covered each other, ran inter­ference for each other. During my successful run that led me to level two, she sidetracked several mutants at great risk to herself. Then before the winning route had time to change, she too ran it solo, gobbling power, and boosted herself out of those ruins to rejoin me.

Of course, I saved Isbeth from close shaves too, but I'd say the balance sheet of debts was in my favor. She must genuinely have loved me, seen in me qualities which she could enhance. Maybe my ability to share. You did come across various individualists who wouldn't cooperate with anyone. Other men and women you met en route would swap experiences briefly. That's how Isbeth and I knew about Ghoul Castle in advance, since some of those latter had al­ready escaped, and been zapped back, and were trying to leave the ruins a second time.

Others—no-hopers—had already given up the strug­gle. They just dashed from one sanctuary to another in the ruins, hoping not to get caught, hardly even trying for the power pills. Apparently you could sink no lower than the ruins, no matter what.

Ghoul Castle was an immense complex of halls, corri­dors, towers, battlements, staterooms, galleries, tun­nels and dungeons, courts and moats and mazes of sewers—haunted by lethal ghosts, prowled by ghouls and monsters, besieged by barbarians, enchanted by wizards. Jewels were the powerpoints there.

It took Isbeth and myself ages to make it through. How long? Six months, a whole year? It was hard to keep track of time. By the skin of our teeth we avoided being zapped back to the ruins. We learned the ropes— those shifting ropes.

From time to time we met fellow adventurers (or victims), some of whom had already reached the waterworld only to be zapped. So we did learn some advance details of the third level, which Isbeth and I already felt sure must exist. We felt that in our bones, instinctively, along with an urge to reach it.

Yet if any of the others had discovered how we got into this fix, or who we had been before we all found ourselves in the ruins, they weren't saying.

Unfortunately, ghosts and ghouls homed in avidly on gatherings of more than a couple of persons, which rather set a time limit to more general speculations. The castle was better furnished than the ruins had ever been. Food and drink were definitely superior. If you could keep clear of nastiness, it wasn't too bad a life, merely nerve-wracking. Some of our contacts confided that they intended to hang on in the castle. But that wasn't enough for Isbeth, or for me.

At long last she succeeded in touring the whole vast edifice by the right route, avoiding all pitfalls and evils while consuming the jewels she needed. This time Isbeth took the lead, and I distracted the opposition. As soon as she was translated, out and away, I retraced the circuit and followed her through, on to this sub­marine level where sharks and squids and other nasty surprises hungered for us. We'd been here quite a while.

When I came back to myself, after being a shark's astral lunch and fading out, miracle of miracles I wasn't far from a total of two powerpoints. Powerpoints on this level were pearls. (Use 'em up, and replacements appeared elsewhere. Same principle applied to sanctu­aries and the essentials of life.) After gulping these down, I didn't take more than a few hours to find Isbeth. Soon we were safe in a transparent dome filled with fresh air. Safe, for two or three sleeps, supposing we chose to stay put. Sea water was leaking in slowly, but the dome had two habitable levels. Downstairs was ankle deep in water; upstairs was snug.

We'd slept in a huge cozy sleeping bag. We were feasting on what we'd found in the dome: honeyed figs, sweet dates, coconuts, and a few trays of sushi. And of course we'd also found oxygen packs, for out­side use when we quit the dome. Ours not to reason why. That was the way of it. You never saw things pop into existence; you just came across them—or they came across you. However, we were in a reasoning mood.

"Why, Konrad?" she asked me.

"Where is a good question too."

"So is how."

Outside, a flotilla of violet angelfish the size of shark fins lazed past toward coral cliffs of pink and gold, where weed wafted and a deadly-looking orange medusa bloomed. Isbeth bit into a fig, fed me the rest of it, then asked:

"Who are we, Konrad? Who are we really?"

I mumbled, mouth full.

"We can't be real, you know," she said.

"That's a dangerous assumption."

"Real people don't shift in a twinkling of an eye from a castle to underneath the sea. Real people don't get eaten and find themselves alive again."

"It's a dangerous assumption, Isbeth, because if we don't play everything for real then we'll slacken off. We won't win."

"Win what?"

"Ourselves. Our stolen selves." Yes, that had to be why. In vino Veritas. In addition to the food, we had an amphora of fine wine and a couple of golden gob­lets.

"Maybe we're being tested," I said.

"No one's compelled to strive."

"We compel ourselves."

"Yes! Some of us do."

"Or maybe we're being trained. Odd sort of training, though."

"Trained in initiative." She grinned. "Trained in speed and planning and memory, boldness and cau­tion. Also," she added thoughtfully, "trained not to fear death."

"There has to be a fourth level, doesn't there?"

"Yes—and we'll get to it!"

In fact, despite my recent shark debacle, Isbeth had fared less well than I so far in the waterworld. Nothing terminal as yet. With my help, she'd always managed to recharge before she racked up three successive deaths. But she'd fallen victim to a medusa, an octopus, a poisonous urchin, and other fates too. That wasn't because I let her go ahead into danger. The going seemed tougher. At the same time I was enjoying a run of good luck, or maybe I was developing an instinct. We were still a good team, yet I felt that somehow, in some way, I was pulling ahead.

She glanced down at the level of water seeping in below.

"Listen, Konrad, if I'm zapped bafck to the castle I'll win through here again—fast. Don't wait for me. Prom­ise to go on ahead. Try to reach the next level."

I nodded. I intended to. Anything extra I could learn might help her too. Somewhere, somehow. Even on different levels, we'd still be thinking as a team.

Something awaited. Of that I was sure. Knowledge. Reward. Whatever. Something had to await.

A giant squid squirted its way overhead, its rose and yellow phosphorescent signals flashing incomprehen­sibly like some flexible control console made of rub­ber. What long suckery arms it had. What a cruel beak. What big round eyes.

A couple of days later Isbeth got zapped, and I couldn't do a thing to help. She'd already died twice over and reassembled nearby; she absolutely had to recharge. She dived between two great slabs of rock for a power pearl lying exposed on silver sand. Those weren't rocks. They were the two half-shells of a clam larger than any we'd ever seen before. The shells clashed shut on Isbeth. Bubbles gushed from her ruptured tank or face-mask. I watched her exposed feet thrashing in dream-mode. She was still trying to grab that pearl, to pop it in her mouth, give her the zoom to haul herself up out of the clam. She failed. She vanished.

Grief.

Fury.

As the clam began cranking itself open again I dived, snatched the pearl, and thrust myself up and out be­fore the creature was ready to spring shut again.