Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“Leave it to Green to be so utterly narcissistic as to divide in two, so that there would be someone to love them as much as they loved themselves, and so be of two minds about everything, forever.”

The Yellow Lady glided down the stairs like a sunbeam, scarcely touching the steps. “And yet it is you who have paid for interfering in the business of the Hues,” she continued. “Your soul in hock. Your lady-friend accused of murder most foul. And you, here, with me. I imagine you’ve heard stories, have you not?”

“They say you drive men mad,” Harry muttered.

“Not just men! All sorts. Hues are not immune. I have a talent, like breathing, for unraveling the comfortable lies that people have built up and letting them see the truth. No one likes the truth. It is the harshest of things and can blow away sanity like a dandelion seed riding a blast wave.”

She was nearer now, and the color of her garment and her eyes was hard for Harry to look at, it seemed to trail behind her as if itself hesitant at the association. “I will show you a truth, and if you are still sane afterwards, then you will have proven worthy of my time.”

The air around her was visibly shimmering now, a tremblor made visible, and Harry could hear the sound of distant voices shouting and gibbering. Reality seemed to swim about him, and he was drowning in it.

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Greenman stopped and stared at the card. “This is real,” he said. “She is calling in a favor.”

“Absurd,” said Olive. “She doesn’t usually care about the other Hues. Too busy playing her little games.”

Greenman looked over at Harry. “What did you tell her,” he said darkly, “to get her to interfere in our business?”

“I just asked to trade myself in her place. And she said that all she wanted was one night of my friend’s life.”

Olive and Greenman looked at one another. “Your soul?” Olive said. “Worthless. Trousers for a button.”

“But a night of Ms. Rasmussen’s life…she must have something in mind,” Greenman mused. “And if we don’t, she’ll…”

“She’ll…” Olice echoed.

“She’ll…?” Harry said.

“Are you still here?” Greenman snapped. “Fine. The deal is done. Go and wait to hear from us once we decide what to do with your miserable soul. And don’t you dare interfere in the business of Hues again, because without a patron to protect you there’s nothing to keep us from leaving you monochrome.”

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“Well, you sought me out and here I am.” The Woman in Red sat in the booth, her outfit positively dripping with an otherworldly crimson, the reflected light giving all around her a notably pink glow. It might have been a trick of the light, but her eyes–clear and intelligent, if airy–seemed a darker crimson as well.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” said Harry. “It’s a great honor-”

“Please. I didn’t meet you for pleasantries,” the Woman said. “Tell me what’s on your mind. If it’s not boring, I’ll see what I can do. If it is…well, I’ll have to find some other way to make up for the time you’ve wasted, and I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“I have a favor to ask,” said Harry. “It’s about some of the other Hues.”

“Hmm? That’s asking a lot. They stay out of my business and I stay out of theirs. Why should I interfere?”

“The Couple in Green,” Harry said. “They took something very precious to me, and I want it back.”

The Woman leaned forward. “I. Do not. Care,” she said. “You have about thirty seconds to make me change my mind.”

“The Couple in Green took a friend’s soul,” said Harry. “She cares only for money now, and drowns herself in gambling and excess. I want to exchange hers for mine in their contract.”

“Oh, now, that is interesting,” the Lady said. “Release from a contract? That’s an everyday request, and I’ve eaten people for being presumptuous about it. But an exchange? That is delectable. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you my calling card to take to them, on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Your friend, what’s-her-name? I want her soul for one night. One crimson night, ichor-stained, to be my plaything.”

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The rusty nut splashed weakly into the puddle of garbage water, and Logona pulled it back with a length of transparent monofilament.

“Looks like it closed,” she said. “Doesn’t surprise me, the natural wormholes can be damn unpredictable.”

Ki shook his head. “How do I get back, then?”

“Well, there are plenty of permanent, or semi-permanent, wormholes,” Logona said. “But don’t just go jumping through them, or you’ll find yourself in a world of trouble. You need a tracer. I recommend Doctor Holey, mostly because I get a little somthin’-somethin’ from him if new customers mention my name.”

Ki stared at her.

“Oh hell,” Logona whined. “Didn’t I tell you this isn’t my usual gig? Fine. A tracer can tell you where you came from by giving you a once-over, yeah? Then you can make sure that you get to a wormhole that matches where you came from.”

“So this Doctor Holey can tell me where to find a way back?” Ki said. “I can go to him when I’ve found Chroma?”

“Hell no,” Logona said. “Doc Holey can tell you what you need to know, but you’ll need to hire somebody else to find one. A hunter, or maybe just a mapper if you’re tha hands-on type.”

Ki thought about this a moment. “If someone else had come through here,” he said, “perhaps meeting someone else, would they have gotten the same advice?”

“Most likely,” said Logona. “Mister Void, Doc Holey, and El-Lacunae are the only tracers near here, and no one who is combing is going to recommend the other two, on account of Void being a cheap-ass and El-Lacunae being missing and maybe dead.”

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“This is the cargo?” said Stella. “A computer drive?”

Whitaker hugged the transport case to him like a baby doll. “Not just any computer drive,” he said. “This has a complete set of updated teleporter keys, cryptographic ciphers, and routing information for the GesteCo Galactic Teleporter Network!”

“Email it,” Stella said flatly. “This ship has a cargo capacity of 75 metric tons. That thing weighs 7.5 metric kilograms, if that.”

“Coherent data streams go through the GTN,” Whitaker replied, owering his voice a note, as if the data might overhear, “and we’re worried about this information falling into the wrong hands. We’re using local FTL networks to do the update, but I need you to take me to Ultimata Thule so we can start the update from there too.”

“Sneakernet, huh?” Stella said. “Fine. But GesteCo is wasting its money.”

“GesteCo can’t waste its money,” Whitaker said, offended. “If it pays for something, that thing is worth paying for.”

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“This is Amai, of course.”

The blank look they got in return caused the woman to sigh. “Amai-of-the Wormholes? The Grease Trap of the Universe? The Super-Sargasso Sea?”

If anything, this made Ki look even more confused, and apparently it showed.

“Look, I’m no tour guide,” she said. “Give me something of value, something that’ll make it worth my while, and I’ll see what I can do. Otherwise you’ll have to sod off, you dig?”

Ki produced the 24k gold pin from Arik’s grenade and held it out, dangling, like an earring.

The woman greedily snatched it, bit it with teeth that looked like they had been filed to sharp points, and then tucked it away in one of a thousand tiny pockets. “Right, then. Name’s Logona, dig? I’m normally a comber, looking for fancy stuff on the Frontiers. Tell me what happened before you ended up here.”

“Aria had been killed, and the other bodyguards as well,” said Ki. “The kidnappers had taken Chroma. I killed all but one, and as he ran through the courtyard, he dove into the fountain there. I followed, and though it was only a few inches deep, I surfaced in that puddle over there.”

“Hooboy,” Logona said. “Sounds like you found a natural wormhole. Chances are your Chroma, whoever that is, has got herself taken into Amai. Did you try going back through the puddle?”

“No,” Ki said. “I am sworn to protect Chroma with my life and to bring her back if taken.”

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“What is the worst thing, Uncle?” said Takenaka Kenji.

Takenaka Chihiro’s normally bright face was dour and wan. “The worst thing, nephew, is that Nakamoto-sama will now make me doubt the sincerity of all who ask for help. Because of her selfishness, I will hesitate a moment longer before I assist anyone, be it with a good meal or a steady blade.”

Kenji took this in a moment. “Won’t it also mean that Nakamoto-sama will also start to think that all people who seem helpful are easily fooled?” he said.

Takenaka’s frown deepened. “It’s true,” he said. “Had I been a violent man, a bandit, I might have struck her down where she stood. I fear the road she is on has a violent end for her.”

The morning wind blew quietly around them as Takenaka and Kenji stook there a moment, quiet.

“Well, what will we do?” said Kenji.

“I think I will do some calisthenics, and you will make a fire,” said Takenaka. “Then we will make a fine supper for our own road ahead. I find that a bellyful of good food goes a long way toward brightening even the darkest of days.”

“Has this been the darkest of days?”

Takenaka smiled a little bit. “It will have to be a very good meal. Perhaps my best. And it’s just for you and I.”

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“What I am about to tell you does not leave this room,” said Whitaker. He slid another e-ink form across the table–the fifth of the conversation, for those keeping count. “Your signature to this GesteCo nondisclosure form will ensure that.”

Captain Estrada sighed and signed. “Tell me.”

“GesteCo LLC GmbH galactic teleporters have a…slight…rate of failure,” Whitaker said. “Less than .0001%, but still concerning enough for this cargo.”

“Worried about horrible transporter accidents? Mutant and meltings?” Stella laughed. “It’s still the safest way to travel, statistically speaking, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes cargo and people wind up in the wrong dimension,” Whitaker said. “And it’s recently come to our attention that some of those other dimensions’ counterparts to GesteCo might be…deliberately…slipping important things over.”

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Yoshioka Hayato sank to the ground, eyes wide. His sword clattered along with him, while Takenaka Chihiro instinctively wiped the Unmei no Fuguhiki to keep the blood from staining the blade or the handle.

“Curse you for making me do this,” said Takenaka. “To protect myself, I am willing to fight. But I abhor killing and yours is a senseless death, now. If we had just sat down to tea and sweets, like I had suggested, you would be alive and we would be solving this dispute as men do.”

Yoshioka took a few moments to bleed out, but there was nothing that anyone could do for him; the Unmei no Fuguhiki, sharp enough to make fugu sashimi and strong enough to cross blades with any katana, had done its work well. Takenaka’s practiced hands had turned the motion of gutting and preparing a fine cut of food into one of effective murder, as he had far too often in the past for his own liking.

Nakamoto Hona appeared not long after, but Takenaka was shocked by the change in her affect. She stood upright, projected confidence, and even jabbed Yoshioka several times with a small dagger that had been disguised as a fan to ensure that he was dead.

“You do not need to worry about him anymore, Nakamoto-sama,” Takenaka said. “As you predicted, he attacked recklessly and I was forced to defend myself. I must report this to the daikan.”

“Oh, that stuffy old magistrate won’t care. You acted in self-defense, and I will back you up as will anyone who was privy to the confrontation. And most importantly, Yoshioka is dead. Just as I planned.”

Takenaka looked up. “Planned?” he said.

“Think about it, cook,” said Nakamoto. “You, a wanderer, known by reputation but not personally. He, a known hothead and local ne’er-do-well. Now he is dead, and his new wife is both free to remarry with all of his assets coming to her.”

Standing, Takenaka regarded Nakamoto like a stone. “There never was any abuse,” he said flatly. “He was not starving you.”

“No one will blame you, and the daikan will see you on your way. My sob story has made it so no one has come out poorly.”

“No one but Yoshioka,” said Takenaka, sadly, looking down at the body.

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Amai

Other names: Amai-of-the-Wormholes, City at the End, Grease Trap of the Universe, Endsville, City of Wormholes

Population: Approximately one million

Size: Approximately 32 kilometers square, with some variance in the Frontiers

Government: Multiparty oligarchy, with various groups of stakeholders represented on a city council

Executive: The Entity (de facto)

Amai is a conglomeration of organic and inorganic debris that has accumulated at a neutral point in space-time, primarily consisting of material that has been lost in artificial or naturally-occurring wormholes. It has been likened to “the grease-trap of the universe” in this regard. Additional material accumulates at a steady rate, and the city has expanded several times to take advantage of the additional real estate.

The earliest inhabitants appear to have been an interdimensional survey crew from skein 1AA056K4, who gave the area its name. It means “end” in the native language of one crewmember and “sweet” in the language of another, reflecting their view of the place as the ”end of everything” but also a “sweet refuge” from being scattered to the quantum winds. This crew was en route to deliver terraforming tools to a colony, and it is their cargo of oxybushes and babel trees that is responsible for the current, habitable, state of Amai.

Over time, the population grew with accidental arrivals, refugees, explorers, and religious pilgrims. The city council eventually arose as a way to mediate disputes without violence thanks to the intervention of the Entity. During a fierce war between groups of new arrivals and entrenched inhabitants, the leaders of the largest and most powerful groups received a powerful psionic summons to the dead center of Amai. Those who did not attend were struck dead where they stood, and their lieutenants appeared in their place.

During this meeting—the First Council—the Entity manifested itself as a globe of crackling blue energy. Speaking to the assembled council for the first and only time, it told the assemblage that they were to keep order in Amai and that any unacceptable conduct would be met with banishment or death.

All of the leaders of the First Council died within a standard year of various exotic and aggressive cancers, but their successors kept the loose structure of the council in place. Understandably, the Entity’s silence in the millennia since has been seen as a blessing by the current council.

The Entity still appears from time to time, wandering in or above Amai, seemingly at random, seemingly unimpeded by any form of matter or energy. Those who get too close are annihilated, even if they stumble onto the Entity by mistake, while those who stare too long at its eerie blue light inevitably succumb to cancer or stroke soon after.

These “inspections” or “sojourns” serve to remind Amaians that the Entity remains in ultimate control of the area. Other than that, there are few hard and fast rules—the Entity occasionally alters Amai to suit its whims, and any sort of organized invasion or attempted coup has failed within seconds, though armed troops seem to be permitted if there by accident or to keep the peace.

Other than the terraforming performed by the First Ship, another habitable curiosity of Amai is its gravitation—precisely .904 G. This seems to be comfortable for a majority of living beings that stumble across it, but there is no mercy for those for whom .904 G is too strong or too weak; they die on arrival. There is also a day-night cycle of a sort, with a gradual illumination building up, fading away, and returning with a period of 1479.5874 minutes. It does not vary with any seasonal cycle, though the incandescence does bring with it a certain heat. While plants and solar panels will readily accept the light thus generated, for some reason it will not cause tanning or burns, and will not cause reactions in the photosensitive.

Near the edges of Amai, there is an area called the Frontier. Here, the density of the material on which the sixty is founded gradually tails off, as does the gravity. There is no hard and fast border, but those who stray too far will find themselves drifting away into the endless void. Those who do are ever seen again, although objects with known vectors have been tracked for years.

A popular theory making the rounds is that there is a group of near-parallel universes—a “Local Skein”—from which most material is deposited in Amai. This would go a long way toward explaining the prevalence of generally-compatible forms of life within the city, and suggests that other groups of skeins may have their own Amai-like structure as well. For the moment, though, this remains conjecture. An astrophysicist once attempted to approach the Entity to ask about this issue; she was known to have shouted “Of course!” before she died, in agony, of cerebral hemorrhaging.

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