"I wonder what became of our friend Mr. Moore and his lads," Sean said.
"No one thought to ask," I said.
"Maybe Prime doesn't know they're here," Liam said.
"He must. But he doesn't have to worry about them. We do. They could show up here. Anyone forget to bring his weapon?"
Shaking heads around the table. Everybody was armed except Lori, and that was because we were short a gun for her. "Well, we'll take turns on watch. We should be okay. What about you guys-Sean? Liam? Think we should stay?"
"Ah, it was high adventure we were wanting," Sean said, grinning. "I think we've got it."
"That we have," Liam seconded.
"Jake," Sean asked, "are you really voting no?"
"If I had any sense, I would. But…"
In my mind, the long string of events that had led to all of this played back like a recording on fast-forward. The universe and everything in it had conspired to get me here, it seemed. The Paradox Machine was still frantically spinning its wheels. I knew-I had known all along-that I would have to keep wrenching levers and pulling toggles until the damn thing either stopped or did what it was supposed to do, whatever that was. There was no avoiding it.
"I say we stay and get some answers." I looked at George and Winnie. "Those two look like they're at home here."
"Home!" Winnie said.
"Home!" George said.
"Home," I said, nodding.
"Here's the butler," Carl said, looking behind me.
The sphere was back, ghosting toward the table. It stopped a few meters away. Any time you're ready.
"Well," Liam said, "I could use a lie-down."
"So could I," I said, and yawned again. It had been a long trip here. A very, very long trip. Some ten or twelve billion light-years. "But," I went on, "somebody has to take first watch. I will."
We left the dining hall.
6
The dreams came that night.
Our rooms seemed to be a full kilometer from the dining hall, or maybe our "butler" didn't use any of those spatiotemporal shortcuts Prime had talked about. It turned out that the distance wasn't quite that much; it seemed like a long way, though, what with all the twisting and turning. We saw nothing new en route, just more gizmos and gadgets lying about.
The rooms were something. There were six of them-six main ones, anyway. They were spacious, with alcoves and walk-in closets adjoining each. The major spaces communicated by means of wide L-shaped passageways. There were no doors except those to the six bathrooms. The fixtures in these were strange but usable. What was remarkable was how the place was furnished.
"Look at this bed!" Susan squealed.
It was circular and big enough to park the rig on. Mounds of fancy cushions covered it. Overhead hung a tent-like canopy, and a translucent fabric screen ran around it.
"You could have an orgy in here," Susan said. "What do you say, gang?"
"You go first," Darla told her.
There were other beds, most not as large, but big enough, three to each room, along with smaller daybeds, couches, recliners, and other things you could rack out in. More than enough for everybody. There were tables, chairs, settees, ottomans, and other pieces, everything executed with exquisite craftsmanship. The place was lavish. There were imaginative lamps, painted screens, inlaid tables, tapestries, intricately woven rugs, and shelves of objets d'art. Nothing in any of the rooms was done in a recognizable style. Some things were faintly oriental, others functionally modern. A few looked positively antique. All were tasteful and seemed to complement one another. The shiny black floor and the lucent green glass walls made the place absolutely striking. A showcase.
"Nice," Lori said after touring the suite.
"I wonder if all this was here," Liam said, "or Prime had his lads bring it up from the cellar."
"Had it manufactured special," Sean ventured. Then he yawned, scratching his unruly red beard. "Mother of God! I could sleep for a week. After all that time in the truck…" He lowered himself onto a purple velvet chaise longue and plumped a pillow. He sighed and smiled, then keeled over.
He was right. Those beds looked inviting. Too inviting, maybe. But what else was there to do? We had some time to kill.
"Okay, children," I said. "Nap time. I'll stay up, then. Carl? How about you taking second watch?"
"Yeah," he said through a yawn. "Sure."
I caught it, and yawned, too. "Jeez, everybody stop doing that. I'll never stay up."
Ten minutes later, after everyone had had a chance to go to the head, they were all conked out and I was left stalking the suite like a ghost. I considered the possibility that the food had been drugged. But I had probably eaten more than anyone, and though I was tired as hell, I wasn't on the verge of passing out. I felt capable of staying up as long as I needed to. As long as I didn't lie down.
There wasn't much to do: Hanging in one of the rooms was a landscape painting, done with watery colors in an impressionistic style. I spent a few minutes examining it. It had been done on a hard oval board with no frame. The scene was of a pleasant, semi-arid planet, stunted trees fringing on a low hill to the right, jagged rocks up on a high ridge on the other side, a rock-strewn dry streambed meandering through the middle. A heavily cratered half-moon, far bigger than most I'd seen, looked over the hill in a hazy, dark-pink sky. I speculated as to where and when this planet existed or had existed. Inhabitants? No signs.
I don't know at what point I realized that this wasn't a painting. The more I looked at it, the more real it became. Edges got gradually sharper, detail came into focus. This was
a photograph of some kind. Perhaps. Something different, maybe.
The scene reminded me of a place I knew, certain areas of a planet called Osiris, I forget the catalogue number. The moon was a little too big, though. But Osiris has a pink sky. I remember eating lunch one day on Osiris. I'd pulled off the Skyway and had opened the hatches, letting in warm, dry air. Pleasant smells, quiet. I'd come by way of an ice world, and the sudden shift in climate was soothing. I've always liked that aspect of the road. Radical contrasts, abrupt changes. Yes, the place did look a lot like Osiris. Those rocks should be a little more on the beige side, though. Yeah, like that. And the trees were a little different. Make them a little taller and color the foliage russet-there we go. Come to think of it, Osiris's moon is pretty big at that, but smoother. Not as many craters-make it look more like a baked potato with acne scars, that's it. And
I jumped when I realized what was happening. There was the surface of Osiris-beige rocks, russet trees, potato moon. I had changed the painting.
I walked away. Or the painting had been reading my mind. Yuck. I don't like things that hang on walls and read my mind. Don't like it at all. Call me stodgy and conventional.
I meandered on. There were other things to look at, other pictures on the wall, but I was spooked a little. I did stop to examine some pottery. The stuff could have come from anywhere. From Earth even. It had a vaguely American Indian feel to it-but I'm no expert, and really couldn't tell for sure.
The gang had all zonked out in one of the big rooms. George and Winnie were rolled up into a ball; Carl and Lori, too. Susan and Darla had stretched out side by side on the circus-tent bed, with long, skinny John prone and perpendicular to them, the three of them forming the Greek letter pi. Roland had curled up on a divan. Yuri and Zoya occupied separate day beds. Those two were not a pair. I wondered how long they'd been married. Must've been sheer hell. But then, their long, desperate journey must- have put a considerable strain on things. Even so, I half regretted having picked them up. Sometimes their bickering got to me.