The Apocalypse Contract

CHAPTER 42 - SYDNEY

"He conocido rocas más inteligentes que tú," the shorter fellow shouted before downing the last of his drink and storming off.

"He conocido rocas con mejores modales," Peter shouted after him.

"What ever did you say to Antonio to get him so agitated," Roger asked.

Peter shook his head. "I have no idea. My Spanish isn't that good, so I didn't get half of what he was saying. He was going on about King Ferdinand and the revolution, but I'm not even sure if he was for or against."

"Oh he was for the revolution," Samantha assured them, "You don't need to understand the words to recognize a rebel when you see one."

Mel plucked a pear from a nearby table and tossed it to Sydney. "Give this a try too. Tell me what you think."

Sydney took a bite. Juice dribbled down her chin as flavors exploded into her mouth. "Wow," was all she could manage.

"Yeah, I know... it's a little over the top," Mel admitted, "I think I need to ease back on the isoamyl acetate."

Sydney took another bite. "I used isoamyl acetate in some of the tea cookies. Isn't that..."

"Artificial banana flavoring. Yes, it is. Turns out a pear is just a weirdly shaped banana-apple. Who knew."

"Well, I'm glad to see you're putting those Internet files to good use. Any chance you can wrangle us some pizza for the next party?"

Mel grinned. "Way ahead of you, sis. Why else do you think I was working so hard to make cheese?"

"Pizza," Samantha sighed, "what I wouldn't give for a Mama Rotoni's garlic feast pizza right now."

Peter snatched a glass of wine from a passing waiter. "And beer," he suggested, "this pear wine is OK, but I miss beer."

"There's no pleasing some people," Mel declared, but she was grinning as she said it.

"Well I for one am very impressed with everything you've accomplished," Roger insisted, "and I look forward to your future culinary inventions."

"I made the waiters," Sydney interjected, then felt embarrassed for having said it.

Samantha peered at a passing waiter. "Really? They totally look like they came with the castle."

"I repurposed some of the aliens from the Wonderland. Imagine them all blue with bumps on their foreheads."

Roger pointed at someone on the far end of the courtyard. "It looks like Mister Nandan decided to join the party. Now if only we could coax the Countess from her rooms."

Sydney squinted at the bald, robed figure. "Well, I wouldn't exactly say he's joined the party. More like he's by himself communing with some rose bushes."

"He is an odd fellow," Roger admitted, "I tried asking him..." Roger's eyes narrowed. His gaze was cast upward. "What in bloody blazes is that?"

Sydney turned to look. A large, pulsing triangle hung in the distant air, its interior a riot of flickering colors marring the otherwise clear blue sky. As she watched, another triangle joined it, connected to the first triangle along one edge to form a diamond. Then another triangle appeared. And another. "Mel, I think something is very wrong with the Island of Crows."

Mel stared at the spreading chaos. She reached her hand into the air and pulled a data screen into existence like she was drawing down a window shade. "It's an exploit of some kind. A worm. It's propagating through the texture map memory, including the sky sphere."

A chill ran down Sidney's spine. "A worm? How? When did those pasty bastards get the chance?"

Mel shook her head. "I don't think it's them. It's not like something our alien friends would make. It's not like anything I've seen before." She slid the window over to Sydney to look at.

Sydney's eyes drank in the data map. It had a tangled, branching structure reminiscent of a cognitive download but with orderly sections like something coded from scratch. "It's sophisticated. The level of parallelism is insane."

A murmur of alarmed voices was growing. The croquet match had stopped, the players and spectators all staring or pointing at the sky. People were emerging from the hedge maze, heading toward the reflecting pool with fear and questions in their eyes. Only the waiters seemed unphased by events.

The south tower of the castle transformed into a swirling tangle of glowing lines. Somebody screamed.

Samantha gasped. "Oh my god. The Countess. Her rooms were in the tower."

Mel opened another window. "She's OK. She's in the wine cellar. She's going to be disappointed. All the wine is pear."

"I think we have bigger concerns than a limited wine selection," Roger insisted.

Mel nodded agreement. "It's moved from the texture maps into the object model memory. The tower is just the beginning. The whole castle will go, then the island."

"And then us," Sydney realized. "If that worm consumes all the memory..."

"You should transfer back to your ship and then sever the link. I'll deal with this." Mel became very still, a sign that she had entered shadowspace.

Sydney concentrated, invoking the sequence of mental images that her sister had taught her. The world slowed around her. Color drained away from everything except her and Mel.

"You're getting better at that," Mel observed. "Your face used to get all scrunched up like you were constipated."

Sydney began to form a biting reply, but the words froze in her throat.

A bald, brightly robed figure was striding toward them.