Part 37 (1/2)

”Yeah. But what else could we do? By cooperating, at least we save our own alternates, maybe. I'm sorry if we have to go against our duplicates who didn't make it there -- but in the end, it's every world for itself. And with the pattern-ent.i.ties right here on the circuit -- well, so much the better.”

”If those patterns don't spot us and transport us right out of the network.”

”Yeah. Let's get on with it.”

They got on with the search. But now Tamme knew: She had picked up the wrong Veg. This one was traveling the other way and had been through at least one alternate -- the ”bazaar” -- that she hadn't. And some sort of agreement, or treaty, had been made there involving other alternate Vegs and Tammes.

She had been right: Herself, from another alternate, was her enemy. And it was herself, for Veg would have known the difference immediately had his companion been a male agent.

Every frame for itself. Her Veg would not have agreed; this Veg did.

Ironically, she preferred the att.i.tude of her original Veg. He had more conscience; he cared. Meanwhile, he was with the other Tamme.

She had to complete the subloop and get back to the Jungle gym before that enemy Tamme caught on. The b.i.t.c.h would not be slow, either! So long as that other did not locate the projector, her search pattern would continue, and there would be little interaction between the agent and the man. But if they found it and had to wait for the recharge, there would be time.

And if they found the s.h.i.+rt tied at the point of arrival... there would be two s.h.i.+rts, one from each Veg. A dead giveaway! Why hadn't she thought to recover that s.h.i.+rt?

It had, after all, been sheer luck, her finding the projector first. She had figured a pattern based on her two sightings of the opposition -- and at least one of those sightings had actually been of her own man! No science in that! But the same sort of coincidence could bring the other Tamme to the same projector. The enemy Tamme would have to wait while this Tamme could move -- if she found the projector on this frame soon.

Maybe it would be better to avoid contact entirely and go on. No -- that would be deserting her Veg and bringing along one who would surely turn uncooperative when he caught on. And she was trapped on a subloop; there was no way out but through the Jungle gym frame.

The projector on this subloop would probably be charged. She might complete the trip around within one hour and catch the enemy completely off guard. That would be best. Her vision would not be much improved within that time, but the element of surprise was more important.

What about this Veg? No need for him to know. He had already served to alert her, and he was no threat.

”Hey, these aren't the same,” he commented, watching a swirl of sparkle almost under his nose. ”See, they're smaller, and they don't fade in and out. This one's staying right here in this alternate, as though it doesn't know any better.”

”You study it,” she said, casting about for the projector. ”The information could be valuable.” Maybe it would keep him occupied and innocent.

He watched it. ”You know what I think -- this is a primitive one, like a three-dee R Pentomino. It just rides on a few elements, maintaining itself, not doing anything fancy. Maybe this isn't the sparkle home-alternate, but a fringe-alternate, with animal-patterns instead of advanced-sentient ones. They must have a whole range of states just as we do -- some hardly more than amoebas, others superhuman. Superpattern, I mean.” He chuckled. He certainly had been to places she hadn't. R Pentomino? He seemed to have a much better grounding on the sparkles. It showed in his terminology and his att.i.tude. ”Maybe you can work out the whole sequence of patterns,” she suggested. Where was that projector?

”Yeah. How they start as little three-dimensional swirls across the elements, like wind rattling the leaves of a poplar, and then begin modifying things to suit themselves. How some turn into predator patterns, gobbling up others, until the good patterns learn to shoot them down with glider guns. But then the bad ones start shooting, too, and they just keep evolving, dog eat dog, only it's all just patterns on energy-nodes. Finally they achieve higher consciousness -- only they don't even know what it is to be physical. They think that the only possible sentience is pattern-sentience. And when they finally meet up with sentient material beings, it's like a nightmare, like monsters from the deeps, impossible but awful. Yeah, I think I can see it, now. Too bad we can't talk with them, tell them we understand...”

Tamme paused in her search, listening. The man was making sense! Could that be the rationale of the mysterious pattern-ent.i.ties? The machines called them enemies, but if it were really just a monumental case of misunderstanding...

Then she spotted the projector and put aside irrelevant conjecture. ”Let's go, Veg!”

One step to the --

-- orchestra, then another back to --

-- the Jungle gym.

”I have your man captive,” the other Tamme said, indicating the direction with a minimal nod of her head. ”Do you yield?”

Rhetorical: To yield was to die. But it was true: Veg was efficiently gagged and bound with the two s.h.i.+rts, his legs tied so that he hung by his knees from a bar.

”What's this?” the free Veg asked, amazed. ”Why'd she tie her own companion?”