Ori was glad to be inside the Paternoster but had no intention of leaving the Tower just yet – not until it was clear what was going to happen to all the people inside. Fortunately, the Paternoster showed no sign of departure. With difficulty, Ori averted eyes from the chaotic scene outside the haven and looked at the panel that had appeared, for the first time, beside the opening of the Paternoster.

Ori activated the STOP button just to be sure. And looked outside to see what was happening.

Nimrod's fall had been broken when he caught his robe on a low-level newel post. Unable to extricate himself, the little dictator was loudly cursing and calling for help – help that was not forthcoming. The guards, as panicked as the rest of the crowd inside the roiling Tower, were rushing about madly seeking exits.

Exits that had completely disappeared.

The Tower itself was shuddering, its walls expanding and contracting with a periodicity that kept increasing and decreasing with the fluctuations in tone of the sound it emitted – a sound which was not pleasant to Ori's ears. The people didn't seem to like it, either: some tried to cover their ears, others covered their children's ears, still others hastily wrapped cloths around their heads, trying vainly to shut out the persistent whine as they continued stumbling about in search of a way out of this madness.

Guards had dropped their weapons, although not before a few had fired arrows in random directions. The arrows hit no one and went nowhere: they seemed to lose velocity almost immediately. Some fell down the stairwell, a few raining down around Nimrod's head, much to Ori's satisfaction. Others, curiously, hovered in the air before being sucked upwards (outwards? Inwards?) into the vortex. Everywhere Ori looked, there was shouting and confusion and panic.

All hell has broken loose here was Ori's thought.

Then something even more inexplicable happened.

The hum in the Tower changed pitch again, to about 1050 Hertz. It got louder. The sound was disturbing, but – incredibly to Ori – it had the effect of slowing the people down. Instead of rushing about in a panic, they were now proceeding in orderly lines toward the nearest door.

The doors themselves were lining up just this side of the Vortex.

The whole procedure was chilling. A glimpse of the faces passing by the entrance to the Paternoster showed why: they didn't look frightened anymore. In fact, their faces bore no expression at all. They seemed to be sleepwalking.

'Hey!' Ori shouted to them above the whine. 'I'm over here! Anybody want a ride?' Two people turned to look at him, their faces blank. Showing no interest, they turned their gaze back to the staircase and continued their slow movement toward the nearest portal.

'This is madness,' said Ori aloud. 'Where are they going?'

'You wouldn't believe me if I told you,' said Prajapati's voice audibly. Ori looked around for the source of the sound: the voice appeared to be coming from a loudspeaker located in the ceiling of the Paternoster compartment.

'Where in creation are they all headed?' Ori said again.

Prajapati chuckled. 'Where in creation, indeed? I'll explain, but let's get a better view of things. Mash me a couple of buttons, please: first press 18, and then GO.'

With a shrug, Ori did so. What have we got to lose?

To Ori's alarm (but not much, this was an alarming day), the Paternoster started to move, not up, down, or sideways, but diagonally, the way it had after the brouhaha in the garden. The Paternoster went to the right and slightly upwards. The unexpected motion threw Ori against the wall, where, fortunately, there were convenient handholds. Emergency movement, for the gripping of, during, or something. Ori held tight, with involuntarily closed eyes.

When Ori opened them again, all was utter silence. At least, that insistent whine had stopped. Ori looked out the Paternoster opening and saw…

…space. Or something like it.

'Are we still in the world? Creation, I mean?' Ori found the view from the Paternoster alarming. Out among the stars – or whatever the stars looked like at this level of reality – were blobs of murky light, irregular in shape. They didn't look stable, those blobs.

Prajapati answered, 'Yes. Only it wouldn't have been in creation if you hadn't helped me by relocating the Paternoster inside the Tower. Thank you for that.'

'Glad to do it,' replied Ori. 'Especially if that keeps all the people in your world rather than some half-baked exo-reality of Nimrod's. That man couldn't even engineer a city, let alone a universe.'

In reply, there was a sigh from Prajapati. 'You're getting the idea, kid. We've got to save them from themselves. At least we have temporary holding facilities.'

'Temporary doesn't sound very reassuring,' said Ori doubtfully.

A deeper sigh. 'It isn't. We've got them in our world, sort of. But those spacetime matrices you're looking at? They won't hold. They're made up of half-baked ideas and general hubris, and held together with stubbornness, and driven by desire. Not a good combination. Like I said, temporary. Right now, they're in stasis. They'll collapse, eventually, once we let them run again.'

Ori looked at the blobs in spacetime. They looked…lonely, out there among the stars. 'We've got to rescue them, haven't we?'

Prajapati's voice sounded as sad as Ori felt. 'Yes, my friend, we have. And all we have to do it with is you and me. And the Paternoster, of course. And a few tricks I'd have up my sleeve, if I had sleeves. Let me tell you what I have in mind.'

Ori, wings folded, legs crossed, chin in hands, listened while Prajapati explained how. It took quite a while.

But then, they weren't going anywhere in a hurry.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

20.03.23 Front Page

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