From: mar@physics.su.OZ.AU (David Mar)
Subject: STORY: net.fiction.story  Part 13
Organization: School of Physics, University of Sydney, Australia
Date: Sat, 12 Sep 1992 01:20:52 GMT

The author of this part has been having trouble posting news, so I am
posting it for him. Apologies if it actually shows up more than once.
***

                   The Great Net.fiction.story
                             Part 13

                          by p-m agapow


 Caine rose slowly to a crouch and loped off into the dark. Scott
strained to find his figure, the rustle of footsteps fading into
the sounds of the night. There was the sound of a branch snapping, 
a gasp, and Caine returned. He dragged a figure behind him.
 The militia-man shook and twisted around Caine's grasp, his mouth 
opening and closing spasmodically with fear. His face was streaked 
with blood and dust. "I ... my lord ... I mean no harm ...".
 His voice was cut off by Caine cuffing him with his free hand. 
"You miserable spying piece of scum. Tell this to your tyrant 
employers."
 Metal gleamed dully and the peasant screamed. A shadow loomed up 
and eclipsed his features, followed by a squawk of surprise. 
Suddenly the scene was illuminated, showing Kalesh forcing Caine's 
knife hand down and backwards. The prisoner had broken free and 
fallen, sprawling over some loose bedding. "I don't think there's 
any need to kill him, Caine," said Ilra mildly, holding a torch 
aloft and stepping over the him. "He's obviously not an assassin. 
A scout, maybe. But where from? Perhaps he has come to tell us 
something." The shadows on the magicians face deepened. "Or tell 
one of us in particular." He kicked the prisoner. "Well?"
 Gasping for air, the prone figure tilted his head back to look at 
Ilra. "But my lord ..." He stopped, obviously summing up his 
situation. "King Julia has started killing prisoners and placing 
their bodies on pikes along the road."
 "One of the bodies is that of the mageling, Alejo Ilra."
 The party was still. Caine lurched and taking advantage of Kalesh 
surprise, twisted free. Scott stumbled forwards, reaching, as 
Caine's arm flung forward. A brief flicker of motion, Kalesh 
wrestling with Caine, and Scott hit the ground. My hand is wet, he 
thought. I've been cut. That isn't Ilra.
 The magician tossed the torch the ground amongst them and threw 
something amidst the flames. The light momentarily flared up and a 
shape unfurled within torch. Planes and curves unwrapped and swept 
out, like an origami figure in reverse, except growing, stretching 
out. Ilra retrieved Caine's knife from next to Scott and threw it 
in the pyre. A long protruding surface sharpened, curled, 
developed feathers. A growing spire looped downwards and formed a 
beak. The phoenix stretched upwards and out and screeched.
 "Oh, please no," groaned Caine, now restrained by Kalesh.
 "Kirsten Gupta Mendez, Time Patrol," said Ilra. "Your ass is 
mine."
 Caine shrieked with incoherent rage.
 
 ***
 
 Scott finished speaking as the imposter gave one last tug at the 
bandage on Scott's hand. "Fortunately, Caine's knife appears to be 
clean. There shouldn't be any infection." He gave a derisive 
glance at the overlord. Since the events of the night, Caine's 
spirit seemed to have broken and he had sat down and scowled at 
the ground for the last four hours. "Once his majesty has finished 
sulking, you might want to ask him to have a look at this. Knife 
wounds aren't really within my gift. Thanks for intercepting it. 
Dying would have inconvenient at the least."
 Scott looked around the camp. The malaise appeared to be 
universal. Kalesh roved around the edge of the clearing, peering 
into the scrub and studiously avoiding Ilra's (Kirsten's?) gaze. 
Even the phoenix, having spent the early dawn leaping from tree to 
tree chasing small animals and screeching, has settled onto a low 
branch and stuck it's head under one wing in an attempt to sleep. 
"And what is your gift?"
 Ilra shrugged. "Well, it's like the job description says. 'Cept 
it's more like 'Dimensional Patrol'. But that doesn't sound 
dramatic enough. It's the dramatic things I enjoy about this job." 
He looked wistfully at the dozing bird.
 "Would it be futile for me to ask you, like I've asked everyone 
else I've met here, exactly what is going on?"
 Smiling, Ilra leaned back, hands behind head. "Not at all. I've 
found your story fascinating and, noblesse oblige, I must tell you 
mine." He spread his hands wide. "This is how it is."
 Imagine the universe's creation occurring a hundred, a thousand 
times over. Now imagine it happening simultaneously, side by side. 
The universe expands, cools, planets form, time passes. A thousand 
copies of the solar system, a million copies of earth, of your 
town, your neighbourhood, of you.
 "Strictly speaking, they're not separate dimensions either," said 
Ilra dreamily. "Separate realities. None more equal or fundamental 
than any other. Coexisting, never meeting."
 Things were more complicated. Realities pulled towards each 
other, some causal Law of Thermodynamics pressured the worlds to 
look like each other. Universes careered off on their own unique 
paths, but eventually ended up looking the same. Same people, same 
you. Mostly.
 Kirsten's world ("let's keep this simple and keep calling me 
Ilra") entered the industrial revolution about fifty years ahead 
of the norm, discovering the multiverse about mid-twentieth 
century. "So while *I* work for the Patrol, in an infinite number 
of other realities I'm an accountant or a broker." Ilra called to 
the bird which awoke and flew to land at his side. He (she?) 
ruffled the feathers at its neck and stroked behind its head, 
frowning. "I once visited a Earth that was completely different in 
even the smallest way, apparently just because the Swedes had won 
at Poltava. Very strange place. Most worlds are very similar. But 
not this one. This one here."
 *Here*, Elish,  was very divergent, a wild card reality peeling 
away from all others "in the immediate nth-dimensional 
neighbourhood". But the pressures were building up between worlds, 
like stresses at a fault-line. Tension tugged along the lines that 
joined universes, pulling and pushing, attempting to resolve the 
differences. Potential energy coiled up, until some future 
cataclysmic moment at which something would give. "Presumably the 
worlds will suddenly converge again. Until then more and more 
strange things are going to happen due to the conflicting 
realities. And you're one of them."
 "That comforts me no end."
 "Don't knock it, not many people get to see a dimensional 
bifuracation at first hand. And once it occurs, soon I think, you 
should be snapped back to your own reality. Until then you just 
have to stay alive."
 "So send me back to Earth. My Earth. Or go back in time and sort 
this out."
  "Tried that once already. You snapped right back. My partner - 
he's in Sura-Nord right now working on the other end of this - 
says there are certain non-linear activities that ... well it just 
won't work. And we can't go back or forward in time, just across, 
although this does allow a sort of time-hopping." The phoenix 
collapsed onto itself and shrivelled up to a small ball that Ilra 
put in a pocket. "Love the Patrol mascots. So after seeing that 
strange things were afoot, we decided to snoop around and I 
replaced the unfortunate Ilra after he was killed by that charmer 
Julia. Presumably she's this worlds analogue to your Chris. 
Amazing what difference a public school education can do."
 "And are you going to do anything?"
 The alien lazily scratched himself. "Probably. It appears the 
scum," he nodded at Caine, "May be pulling off their own 
dimensional tampering. Bringing in things from other worlds, 
sending stuff out. That makes my partner and I very uneasy. If the 
overlords know about the impending collapse they might try to stop 
it to preserve the status quo. Lord knows what crude dimensional 
tampering might do. Maybe nothing. Unfortunately the Patrol is 
rather over-extended. Three hundred operatives and limited 
equipment to cover an infinite continuum stretches rather thin. 
And even the closest of our neighbouring dimensions is a long way 
away."
 "So what am I supposed to do?" Scott said despairingly.
 Ilra held up a hand and numbered off. "Both groups of overlords 
seem to think you're important to their current plans, although 
they seem to disagree as to whether you're detrimental or 
advantageous. Julia One is just plain pissed, as well as being 
half-mad. Kosgar and Julia Two - ah, they probably don't love you 
either. Ilra Alejo thought you might be a legendary saviour as 
well as his ticket back into fame and the kings favour. 
Incidentally that magic bit is schlock, cheap tricks. Sorry I had 
to keep up the deceit." He exhaled and widened his eyes 
theatrically, looking at his hand. "Then there's Rameshan - dunno 
what's happening there. Let us assume that they're unfriendly 
until otherwise. Avoid anything in a red cloak. The Patrol ...," 
he grinned again, "We just love an underdog. As well as being 
incurable busybodies."
 "Marshall!" Caine had come to life, facing Scott, hands clenched 
and face boiling with anger. "The alien could have replaced Alejo 
any time. Think of that!"
 "This also," Ilra said sweetly, "Is true."

------------------------------------------------------------------ 
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but appreciated. All previous parts of the story are available 
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