Read Online Geosynchron by David Louis Edelman - Free Book Online Page A

escape with the help of MultiReal miracles; Petrucio has ably
demonstrated the Patels' baffling ability to nullify the program.
    He thinks, I have thirty seconds left before I die.
    No way forward.
    Don't think. Don't struggle.
    Patel hefts the sword in two heavily calloused hands and tries to
get a proper grip. Natch knows virtually nothing about samurais or
katanas beyond what he's seen in the dramas, and he's fairly certain
that Frederic knows little more. He half expects that the edge of this
gilded weapon will be too dull to actually cut through flesh. But as the
engineer gingerly touches the blade to Natch's neck and makes the
most delicate of testing cuts, Natch realizes that this is not the case.
The sword is sharp enough to make expertise a luxury.
    Frederic leans back for a swing. He bares his teeth and snarls.
    Natch waits for the long-anticipated feeling of relief, of ending.
The dead have no responsibilities, no anguish, no wanting. No confusion or uncertainty, because to die is to be utterly certain and unambiguous, for the first time, for the rest of eternity. Is this what he has
been striving for? Simplicity, absolutism, peace?
    Is it, or isn't it?

    He hears the door open, followed by the sound of madly scrambling feet. "Frederic!" cries Petrucio Patel.
    But it's too late. Frederic's muscles tense and the sword begins its
death arc. His aim is true. Death is a second away. Unavoidable,
beyond the reach of any wild probability. And as Natch sits here,
trussed and helpless-as he watches the edge of the blade approachthe realization explodes from the depths of his consciousness.
    He doesn't want to die.
    He wants to live.
    Natch screams. Petrucio bounds across the room, hand extended.
But it's too late. The katana flies through the air in its killing stroke.
The glint of reflected light strikes Natch in the eye. The icy blade
touches flesh-

    Frederic Patel is kneeling in front of the entrepreneur, syringe in hand,
expression unnaturally gleeful. The sword lies on the floor, still
sheathed. Natch's head is definitely still attached to his shoulders.
    Petrucio bursts through the doorway, bounds across the room, and
extends his hand. Natch sees the black gleam of a dartgun. Petrucio
fires.
    At Frederic.
    The dart strikes Frederic right between the shoulder blades. There
isn't even time for the younger Patel to display a look of shock on his
face before he slumps to the floor.

    6
    Natch's feeling of cognitive dissonance only multiplies when Petrucio
Patel snaps the fingers on his right hand and makes the entire dungeon
vanish. One instant they're in an oppressive, dome-shaped chamber
with a radius of thirty meters; the next they occupy a ten-meter-square
storage room lined with shelving and assorted household objects.
Dusty furniture, gardening tools. Only the chair and side table remain.
SeeNaRee, thinks Natch, stunned from his near decapitation and
embarrassed it hasn't occurred to him he might be a captive in a virtual environment rather than a literal one.
    He watches the sprawled figure of Frederic twitch and moan in
unconscious discomfort as Petrucio unties the ropes binding Natch to
the chair. Petrucio keeps the dartgun leveled at Natch's chest as he
motions for the entrepreneur to stand and move towards the door. Patel
clicks his tongue reproachfully at his insensible brother and retrieves the
katana before they leave. His expression is serene, but not untroubled.
    They climb a flight of stairs and emerge in the first floor of a house
whose construction dates back hundreds of years, or at least it's been
built to look that way. They pass through a room full of kitschy memorabilia from ancient Japan, including a print of Hokusai's Great Wave,
porcelain geisha dolls, and a pair of katanas much like the one Petrucio
has under his armpit. The programmer deposits the sword on a table
and then gestures Natch out the back door.
    They emerge in a drizzly countryside with no