A Game of Universe by Eric Nylund

seasick.
    “Finished,” Setebos said. “In the Old French translation of the tale, the knights specifically declared they must go on the Grail quest alone. To go in a group on the quest was considered dishonorable.”
    I laughed. I’d never be alone—not with my collection of personalities. And even if I could go by myself, I wouldn’t. I needed Virginia, and I needed the little man on Needles colony who called himself Quilp, to make my thoughts invisible from the master-psychic.
    Needles, like Golden City, was a free trade colony stuck between the borders of several empires. But unlike Golden City, it serviced another vice: drugs. Quilp took advantage of his tax-free, lawless home, both as a trader of technology and as an addict. He collected technology from all parts of the galaxy, then sold them off to support his one true love, stimulants. He stayed high and awake for weeks at a time, tinkering with his computers, building bombs for revolutionaries (as long as they could afford his price), and playing mathematical games with himself. “Forget sleep,” he once told me, “it’s the biggest evolutionary blunder Mother Nature ever made.” The last time I paid him, he went on a binge, and remained sleepless for nearly a month. I figured he had about a one in three chance to still be alive.
    As for sleep, Quilp might not need it, but I had been up for thirty hours. My edge was dull. “Wake me fifteen minutes before we get to Needles,” I told Setebos.
    Soft music resonated through the tub, Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy .
    Setebos whispered to me, “Pleasant dreams, Master.”
    My muscles unknotted. I relaxed my recently dislocated shoulder, then drifted. Worries stilled like the liquid in a cup, a blue stone goblet filled to the brim with the purest water. I slept.

    Stuffed pigeon, roast lamb, and tender venison weighted the tables, making them groan nearly as loud as my stomach. Waiting for an adventure, what a ridiculous custom. A man could starve before adventure found him! Fresh off the spit, a roasted wild boar was set in front of me, its skin a cracked golden brown. The odor made my stomach roar with frustration.
    The feasting hall doors parted and our candles dimmed. No, a light outside flooded the hall. It made our candles and braziers pale in comparison. In the center of this luminosity floated phantom hands that held a chalice aloft. The image was bright as the sun, yet blue like lapis, and covered with a delicate veil. I could not bear to watch it, but neither could I look away.
    It hovered, while a thousand angels sang its praises—then it vanished.
    The hall immediately went cold and dark. Our light seemed inadequate now to drive the shadows away. Only a blurred red afterimage remained to remember the beauty of this vision. Then the afterimage also faded.
    “The Grail!” someone cried.
    The cup of Christ? Had God chosen us to see it?
    The members of the fellowship stood, and one by one pledged to find the sacred chalice, each going alone. The adventure had begun! I started to stand, compelled also to go and find glory, then stopped. I realized I could not, for I was King.

    “Fifteen minutes,” Setebos chimed.
    I was submerged to my lower lip, still tired but clean. I yawned and pulled myself out of the water. By the side of the tub was a thick cotton towel for my wrinkled body, and a mug of black coffee for my groggy mind.
    I staggered into the bedroom, pulled on my clothes and armored vest, then selected my weapons. There would be no need for subtlety on Needles. So in addition to my blade, explosive ring, and sidearm, I chose a rifle version of my accelerator pistol. The weapon weighed five kilos, and could cut through three meters of steel in seconds, or spray a small army of men into oblivion. On full auto its charge lasted over a minute. I felt very safe carrying it.
    Also I grabbed a blue shield, and slipped it into my pocket. Under the sapphire corporate caduceus logo the