again. He wondered for a moment if somehow, some impossible way, he'd achieved enlightenment, the ultimate Zen goal of a totally self-realized man, then rejected that notion as farfetched. He was hardly worthy of such a state.
"I don't know," he said. "Maybe we should just leave him." Kien looked up for the first time. "Leave me? Here?" Brennan looked at him with cold eyes. "Why not?" Kien jumped up and hurled himself at Brennan. Brennan met his furious attack calmly, serenely, simply pushing him aside, and Kien fell panting to the ground.
Brennan looked around. "This doesn't look like too bad a place to me," he said. "Probably better than you deserve."
"The jungle?" Kien cried, looking around wildly. "You don't know what I've done to escape this place! Don't leave me here!"
The desperation on Kien's face was almost enough to incline Brennan to pity. Almost. But there was little he could do about it anyway. He and Jennifer started to fade-or this strange little universe, this simulacrum built from the mortar and bricks of Brennan's memories and psyche, started to fade. They were never sure which.
But they heard Men scream, "Don't leave me here forever," and it echoed over and over again as a reedy voice crying, "ever... ever... ever..." like a condemned man questioning an unendurable sentence.
Then there was silence.
7.
Brennan opened his eyes, rubbed them vigorously, then stood and leaned anxiously over Jennifer. Her eyes fluttered, then opened, and she smiled. Brennan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He leaned over and hugged her fiercely.
He turned and looked at the rest of the room for the first time.
Father Squid was staring at them with wide-open eyes.
Kien's body-Fadeout's body-was lying slack-mouthed and drooling on the floor. The door to the room suddenly swung open, and there was Rick and Mick, carrying a large jar tucked under Rick's right arm.
"Okay, boss," Rick said. "Here we are." They stopped, looked around, looked at each other, and said, "Oh-oh" in unison.
"We've been tricked," Mick added. "Something's wrong with the boss."
"Let's get out of here," said Rick. They dropped the glass jar as they ran from the room, and it shattered. Brennan made a move to follow them, then stopped as he saw Brutus among the remains of the glass jar. The homunculus was bloody and torn. Brennan rushed over to him and kneeled. He reached out a hand but didn't dare touch him. He knew there was nothing he could do to mend the damage his comrade had sustained.
Brutus looked up at him, barely able to see through swollen, bruised eyes. "Sorry I told where you were, boss, but I guess it worked out."
"It did," Brennan said quietly. "Did we get Jennifer back?"
Brennan glanced to his side to see Jennifer kneeling down next to him.
"You did, Brutus," she said.
"Good." His tiny body was wracked by a spasm of coughing, and he leaned back among the shards of glass. "This is damned uncomfortable," he said, and closed his eyes.
Brennan sighed and leaned back on his heels. Jennifer gripped his forearm and laid her head against his shoulder as Father Squid crossed himself and quickly whispered the prayer for the dead.
"You did very well out there," a voice said. Brennan looked up to see Trace standing over him and Jennifer. "Satisfied?"
Brennan looked at her before answering. She was a young woman-slim, dark-eyed, with high cheekbones and Indian eyes. He didn't know who she was for a moment, then he remembered. She was his mother, who had died when Brennan was very young. He didn't remember much about her, only gentle hands and soft songs sung in Spanish and Mescalero Apache.
Brennan felt he couldn't be ungrateful. He had, after all, gotten Jennifer back. But he looked down at Brutus's shattered body and knew there was still immense suffering and injustice in the world, and no matter what he did, he couldn't stop it all.
Trace shook her head. "You are very hard to please," she said, not ungently.
"I guess I am," Brennan admitted. "Did you trick the joker into bringing Brutus back to us?"
"It was easy," Trace said. "Everything I do should be so easy."
"How much was you in that place," Brennan asked, "and how much was real?"
"Haven't you learned your lesson about the reality of reality yet?" Trace asked.
"I don't know," Brennan said. "I just wish it weren't so hard."
"It's as hard as you make it," Trace told him in his mother's voice. "Sometimes there's nothing anyone can do to make it easier. Sometimes there is."
The