the way back to the airlock. Noble quickly tunes out. He’s not interested in the airlock. He’s interested in what lies beyond it.
Unfortunately, Rufus can’t provide him with any helpful insights. “I dunno,” is all he can say. “We’ll have to see.”
“But the airlock leads to Thanehaven. That’s what you told me,” Noble argues. He and Rufusare walking together, as the rest of the group loudly debate whether or not they’re all computer subprograms. “We came straight from there to here. Why shouldn’t we go straight back?”
“It’s not that simple. It’s hard to explain.” Before Noble can question him further, Rufus suddenly stops beside a familiar slab of muscle. “This is it. Do you recognize this?”
“I think so.…”
“Arkright?” Rufus raises his voice. “Is the airlock through here?”
“There’s
an
airlock through there. Across the loading dock,” says Arkwright, who’s at the rear of the procession. Rufus takes this as a “yes”—and with Noble’s help, he begins to push apart the gluey door panels.
The room beyond the door contains an array of metal bins and a rack of white spacesuits. Rufus gives a happy little yelp and darts inside, leaving Noble to hold the door. It’s a thankless job. By the time every last straggler has squeezed past him, Noble is plastered with slime and trembling with fatigue. Finally, however, he’s able to remove his shoulder from the door panel, which snaps shut behind him as he stumbles into the loading dock.
The airlock hatch is already sliding open. Peering across a row of heads, Noble can see the smooth, dry, inorganic surface of the hatch disappearing swiftly and cleanly into the sticky pink wall. He also catches aglimpse of the airlock behind the hatchway. It’s white and glossy and surpringly small—though not, apparently, small enough.
“Oh,
nuts
!” Rufus exclaims. He’s standing on the threshold of the airlock, but swings around suddenly to address the people behind him. “There’s no
way
we’re going to fill up that space!” he cries, his face reddening. “We must have missed someone! There’s got to be more! Who’s not here? Who did we leave behind?
Where on earth is the rest of the crew?
”
CHAPTER NINE
T here’s a brief, taut silence. At last, Tuddor rumbles, “The rest of the crew are dead. You saw them.”
“No.” Rufus shakes his head furiously. He flings an arm at the airlock, which contains nothing but a few built-in cupboards, several large, silver cylinders, and a closed hatch positioned directly opposite the one that’s standing open. “See this?” he exclaims. “This is the airlock. It’s like a holding pen. If
every single one of you
got wiped out in a really disastrous game, your replacements for the next game would arrive through here.”
Noble nods slowly. He can easily picture people using this access point—people like the false Noble and the false Lorellina. Copies of the people who are now standing beside him.
“So what I
should
be able to do,” Rufus continues, “is pack you all in here until the room’s full. It should be crammed so full that if Noble and I were already inside—”
“You’d create a buffer overflow,” Arkwright concludes with a nod.
“Right. We’d be too much for the field to hold. With any luck, we’d force open that other door and find ourselves in a different memory location.” Rufus scowls. Then he turns away from his audience and steps into the airlock, hands on his narrow hips, his bony back radiating disappointment. “But look at this!” he complains. “It’s way too big for sixteen people! We must have left a bunch of you behind!”
“We did,” says Quenby, her voice creaking with suppressed outrage. “Didn’t you see them? They were killed.”
“Wrong.” Rufus flings this retort over his shoulder like a chewed bone. “The dead bodies were wallpaper. They weren’t killed—they were created dead. I’m talking about characters
Unfortunately, Rufus can’t provide him with any helpful insights. “I dunno,” is all he can say. “We’ll have to see.”
“But the airlock leads to Thanehaven. That’s what you told me,” Noble argues. He and Rufusare walking together, as the rest of the group loudly debate whether or not they’re all computer subprograms. “We came straight from there to here. Why shouldn’t we go straight back?”
“It’s not that simple. It’s hard to explain.” Before Noble can question him further, Rufus suddenly stops beside a familiar slab of muscle. “This is it. Do you recognize this?”
“I think so.…”
“Arkright?” Rufus raises his voice. “Is the airlock through here?”
“There’s
an
airlock through there. Across the loading dock,” says Arkwright, who’s at the rear of the procession. Rufus takes this as a “yes”—and with Noble’s help, he begins to push apart the gluey door panels.
The room beyond the door contains an array of metal bins and a rack of white spacesuits. Rufus gives a happy little yelp and darts inside, leaving Noble to hold the door. It’s a thankless job. By the time every last straggler has squeezed past him, Noble is plastered with slime and trembling with fatigue. Finally, however, he’s able to remove his shoulder from the door panel, which snaps shut behind him as he stumbles into the loading dock.
The airlock hatch is already sliding open. Peering across a row of heads, Noble can see the smooth, dry, inorganic surface of the hatch disappearing swiftly and cleanly into the sticky pink wall. He also catches aglimpse of the airlock behind the hatchway. It’s white and glossy and surpringly small—though not, apparently, small enough.
“Oh,
nuts
!” Rufus exclaims. He’s standing on the threshold of the airlock, but swings around suddenly to address the people behind him. “There’s no
way
we’re going to fill up that space!” he cries, his face reddening. “We must have missed someone! There’s got to be more! Who’s not here? Who did we leave behind?
Where on earth is the rest of the crew?
”
CHAPTER NINE
T here’s a brief, taut silence. At last, Tuddor rumbles, “The rest of the crew are dead. You saw them.”
“No.” Rufus shakes his head furiously. He flings an arm at the airlock, which contains nothing but a few built-in cupboards, several large, silver cylinders, and a closed hatch positioned directly opposite the one that’s standing open. “See this?” he exclaims. “This is the airlock. It’s like a holding pen. If
every single one of you
got wiped out in a really disastrous game, your replacements for the next game would arrive through here.”
Noble nods slowly. He can easily picture people using this access point—people like the false Noble and the false Lorellina. Copies of the people who are now standing beside him.
“So what I
should
be able to do,” Rufus continues, “is pack you all in here until the room’s full. It should be crammed so full that if Noble and I were already inside—”
“You’d create a buffer overflow,” Arkwright concludes with a nod.
“Right. We’d be too much for the field to hold. With any luck, we’d force open that other door and find ourselves in a different memory location.” Rufus scowls. Then he turns away from his audience and steps into the airlock, hands on his narrow hips, his bony back radiating disappointment. “But look at this!” he complains. “It’s way too big for sixteen people! We must have left a bunch of you behind!”
“We did,” says Quenby, her voice creaking with suppressed outrage. “Didn’t you see them? They were killed.”
“Wrong.” Rufus flings this retort over his shoulder like a chewed bone. “The dead bodies were wallpaper. They weren’t killed—they were created dead. I’m talking about characters
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