"Know where to go?" Gerald asked the dragon, once they were well up in the air.
"Only the first stage," the dragon replied.
"That's enough for a start," said the musician.
It made Gerald dizzy to look down as whole neighborhoods flickered in and out of existence beneath them. All the streets were as congested as before, if not more so.
"Good thing we ain't got not no more maps," said the musician.
"Can't be worse than yesterday," said Gerald.
"Sorry," said the dragon, "everything can be worse than yesterday."
"Can everything be worse than today, too?" asked the musician.
"That, too, always has possibilities and probabilities," said the dragon. "Prepare for another landing through a broken window!"
Gerald hardly knew how to prepare for that, but he braced himself as best he could and found himself still intact when the dragon landed after yet another crash and a shower of glass. Not as shaken as he thought he would be, Gerald climbed off the dragon's back with the help of the musician. The room was a dense forest of computer terminals extending further than the eye could see. Beeps and bells and the curses of people at the terminals filled the air. Looking about, Gerald saw that some of the terminals had games such as computer basketball and Wild Car Races, and others had labels such as "Resume Templates" and "Spreadsheet Paradise."
"Did you come here so we could do a computer search?" asked Gerald.
"A most interesting question and one worth pondering," said the dragon.
"Looks like you need a map to find your way round this place," said the musician.
"How do you find a computer for searching for prisoners?" Gerald asked.
"That is an even more interesting question with great existential import if pondered properly," answered the dragon.
"Is there anybody here who can give information?" asked Gerald.
"If you ask everybody here, you will find out," suggested the dragon.
Gerald stepped up to an old woman who was typing a document into a computer as she looked as if she might be reasonably friendly.
"Excuse me," said Gerald, "can you tell me how to find my way around here?"
Something in the friendly look of the woman made Gerald self-conscious again about his bathrobe and slippers.
"No," the woman replied. "I'm afraid nobody knows how to get from one place to another around here."
"Uh -- how did you find the computer you're using?"
The woman stopped a moment and put her hand under his chin.
"I -- just don't know, come to think of it." Suddenly fear and anger flooded the woman's face and she no longer looked the least bit friendly. "How dare you confront me with my uncertainties in life! I can't cope with them right now; I'm too busy!"
Gerald shrank away and slipped over to the next row of terminals. When he saw a computer marked "Search," he ran up to it and pushed the return button. At the prompt for the type of search he wanted, Gerald typed in: "Prisoners." The screen flashed several times with fleeting images that disappeared before Gerald could actually see them. Suddenly there was a loud electronic outburst such as one that is triggered by a shoplifter in a store. The computer screen filled up with a red box containing the words "Only a prisoner-to-be searches for a prisoner." Even before Gerald saw the group of soldiers armed with rifles and bayonets, the dragon had nabbed him and the musician and whisked the two of them away.
Gerald had no idea of what was happening for the next few seconds. The alarm suddenly stopped sounding and flights of stairs seemed to swoop up and down all round him. Then a breathless Gerald and a breathless musician landed in a much quieter and smaller room with a bright green carpet. Chandeliers lit with candles hung from the ceiling and large baroque paintings were mounted on the walls. Only a few computer terminals were scattered about, one of which was being used by a woman in evening dress who was quite engrossed in her work. The dragon sniffed around at the computers and then went up to one that was to his liking.
"We'll try a different approach to the problem," said the dragon.
It punched the keys with the nails on its claws with much more efficiency that Gerald had thought possible for a dragon. Soon a screen came into view with the prompt: "Please key in the name of the sentient creature who may possibly have been incarcerated against his, her, or its will."
"What's a 'sentient' creature?" Gerald asked.
"An entity created by a creator, of course; created, that is, with consciousness. Includes humans, but much more inclusive."
"Hmm."
Gerald went up to the terminal and gingerly typed in the name: "Sharon Van Vann." This time, no alarms went off. Instead, the screen filled up with images of various prisons and then finally settled on the image of a long, stone stairway that appeared to lead down to a dungeon. It was enough to make Gerald shiver. The screen then offered the prompt: "Press Return to enter further into designated search."
Gerald hesitated, hoping that Sharon would not have ended up in a place like this. Before he could make up his mind as to what to do, the room shook, practically knocking Gerald and the terminal over. The plaster on one of the walls cracked and the paintings fell to the floor. Gerald watched, stupefied, as he saw a Mack truck drive through the wall with the chandelier crashing over its cab. On the side of the van were the dreaded words: PARAGON DRAGON CATCHERS. Sure enough, Gerald recognized the faces of the two men as they jumped out of the cab, nets in hand.
"Quick!" Gerald gasped, not knowing how he could be quick in an effective way.
On an impulse, he hit the return button of the computer, which plunged him so deeply and so hard that he thought the mack truck had run him over. When the somersaults stopped, leaving him bruised and his head wobbly, he found himself in the middle of the same dark, stone, staircase he had seen on the computer screen. Small, bare electric light bulbs that dangled high above him furnished the only light there was. Just one step away, the musician dusted himself off. The dragon was no where to be found.
"Well," asked the musician, "where have we found ourselves?"
"I don't know," said Gerald. "I think I've just got ourselves lost."
"As if we knew where we were a minute ago," the musician muttered.
"Looks like it's the prison I saw on the computer."
"It does seem to have its similarities with what we saw there."
"I don't know if this is better than getting caught by those dragon catchers, or worse."
"If there is a BACK button around here, maybe you could find out," suggested the musician.
Gerald looked around. He did not see a BACK button and he did not see any dragon catchers. In fact, he didn't see much of anything but stone steps going up and going down.
"I'll think I'll take my chances with where we are," said Gerald. "I don't think we have any choice anyway."
"Good idea. If you don't have a choice, always choose that."
Then, with a sudden, pained realization, the musician put a hand to his violin that he was still carrying under his shirt. There was no need for him to take it out to know that the fall had made it far from playable.
"I'm sorry about the violin," said Gerald.
The musician stifled his tears, not wanting to cry in front of a child. Any words he might have said about it choked in his throat.
"Uh -- all this time, I don't think I have learned your name," said Gerald.
"Thanks for asking," said the violinist. "Since you ask, I'll tell you my name is Antonio Lutoslawski. You may tell me your name if it is not intended as a deep, dark secret."
"I'm Gerald Kaylen."
"I can't say 'glad to meet you,' since I'd done that already, and I was glad yesterday and still am, but I'm glad to know your name. Woah!"
As if the fall wasn't enough, the stair itself was began to move. Antonio took Gerald's hand to make sure he didn't tumble again, with the result that they almost tumbled together.
"Easy does it," said Antonio.
"I'm trying to take it easy," said Gerald, "if only we could find a stair that wasn't an escalator."
"Just hold steady," Antonio admonished Gerald. "There, now I think we can just ride the stair right on down."
"I hope we want to go that way," said Gerald, feeling none too sure about himself.
Indeed, the stair they were riding turned out to be moving so gently that neither Gerald nor Antonio were in any danger of falling off. It was Gerald who started to take a closer look at the cobbled steps. He didn't know whether to be amused or frightened when he became sure that he was seeing little feet and little heads of turtles sticking out of the stones. Gerald pointed them out to Antonio without a word.
"My! My! Vivaldi Magnificats in May!" exclaimed Antonio. "Could we be getting a turtle ride?"
"The probability of any two particular human beings riding any particular turtle is 43 xentillion to one against," said a sentient creature that Gerald concluded had to be a turtle, no matter how low the probability that turtles could talk. "I would have to work my feeble brain even harder to find the probability that the particular two of you are riding me in particular happens to be."
"Don't bother," said Gerald, "We get the idea."
"However, probabilities aside," the turtle continued, "the two of you are indeed riding a turtle, and the turtle you are riding is Teriyaki in particular."
"Most honored," said Antonio.
"I assume you want to go further down," said Teriyaki. "That is the default in this computer program."
"And how do I change the default if the keyboard is in some other dimension of reality?" asked Gerald.
"Good question," said Teriyaki. "I guess you just have to answer me verbally. What or who or--in which wise--are you looking for--i you were looking for anything or anyone in particular of which the probabilities are---"
"I am looking for Sharon Van Vann -- if she's in prison -- which I hope she isn't -- but I'm afraid she is," Gerald replied in one bcreath.
"Then we should follow the default direction as most of the probable prison cells are in that direction."
"Just as I thought."
Gerald and Antonio sat on the turtle with minimal patience as it plodded down one turtle step after another. The other turtles eyed them curiously with their red eyes as they went. Red eyes. Gerald found that looking up the stair way was like looking into a night sky filled with red stars.
"Do you have red eyes?" Gerald asked.
"Are you asking me?" asked Teriyaki.
"Yes, do you have red eyes?"
"Yes. Any objections?"
"Uh --"
"I suspect that you do."
"Dragons with red eyes cannot be trusted."
"I've never trusted a dragon with red eyes in my life," said Teriyaki.
"Do you trust dragons with green eyes?"
"Yes. Without fail."
"Do you tell the truth? The way dragons with green eyes do?"
"Yes."
"How do I know you aren't lying?"
"How do I know you aren't lying to me?"
That shut Gerald up for a moment. Antonio stroked his beard thoughtfully but said nothing. At long last they came to a platform which really was made of stone. Several staircases, apparently made out of turtles, radiated in all directions. In some, the turtles had green eyes, in others, they had red eyes.
"Sharon Van Vann, did you say?" asked Teriyaki.
"Yes," Gerald replied.
Teriyaki poked his nose at the stones as if they could answer any question he posed to them.
"The probability that Sharon Van Vann would be imprisoned in this zone for any reason or lack of a reason is 43.67 billion to one against. The actuality is--"
"You don't have to tell me," said Gerald.
"Then I won't," said Teriyaki. "Should I take you down?"
"Uh -- the turtles in some staircases have green eyes," said Gerald.
"Do you think the turtles with green eyes will tell you the truth and I won't?"
"Uh -- I didn't mean it like that."
"You have to have meant it like that or you would not have said what you said in the way that you said it," replied Teriyaki in a deeply hurt voice. "The probability that a turtle with green eyes, who is serving as a staircase, exists in a world where green-eyed turtles always tell the truth is one in two."
"And the chances that you live in a world where red-eyed turtles tell the truth is one in two, isn't it?" said Gerald.
"It is."
Antonio continued to stroke his beard.
"You know," said Antonio, "Teriyaki has been a nice chap, taking us this far and all. And you know, if you think there really is a probability of one in two that a red-eyed turtle in Teriyaki's world always tells the truth, then I suggest that we proceed on the assumption that Teriyaki is telling the truth."
"I'm sorry I doubted you, Teriyaki," said Gerald. "Please take me to Sharon Van Vann's cell, if you can find it."
"I have found it already," answered Teriyaki.
There was a gentle rumbling that never threatened Gerald's or Antonio's balance on top of the turtle as the stairways and corridors rearranged themselves. When the rumbling stopped, Teriyaki was standing in front of a prison door, sniffing away at it.
"Is this it?" asked Gerald.
"This seems to be the most precise space/time coordinate available in the universe of this computer program," Teriyaki.
"And if Sharon isn't in this computer program?" asked Gerald.
"Then Sharon -- or the Sharon you are looking for -- is not in this computer program."
Gerald looked over the heavy wooden door which featured a chillingly large lock on it.
"Well?" said Teriyaki.
"Well, what?" asked Gerald.
"Would you like to go in and see her?"
"Uh -- how do I free her from this prison?"
"You will have to ask a green-eyed turtle about that," Teriyaki.
"Do green-eyed turtles tell the truth in this universe inside this computer program?" asked Gerald.
"The probability is one out of two."
Gerald hesitated.
"We will never set Sharon free if we stay outside this door for the rest of our lives," said Antonio.
Gerald still hesitated. It was Antonio who first slid off Teriyaki and tried the door. It opened easily with a bone-chilling creak. Gerald then slid off Teriyaki as well and peered into the darkness, lit only by pin-pricks of green lights. He started to shrink away, but it was already too late. The stone he was standing on tipped him over, catapulting Gerald and Antonio into the prison cell. The door slammed shut with a resounding crash that rang in Gerald's ears.
A pale light flowed weekly down from a narrow, barred window far above them, and the pricks of green lights flickered about them like fireflies. The stones making up the floor, like the stones on the steps, were too round make for comfortable sitting. There was no sign of Sharon.
"She's not here," said Antonio, stating the obvious.
"Teriyaki lied to us!" Gerald yelled.
"There seems to be a chance that he did," said Antonio. "But then, maybe he was only mistaken."
"You know," said Gerald, "I never did get a look at his eyes. He onlysaidthey were red."
"If red and green are the only color that turtles' eyes can have," said a voice, "then the probability is one out of two that Teriyaki had red eyes."
"Who are you?" asked Gerald.
"My name is Tetrazzini."
"My name is Tapioca," said another voice, "in case you want to know."
"For which the probability is one out of six thousand imponderables," said yet another voice. "And in case you are wondering, for which the probability is one out of four point sixty-three, my name is Tachycardia."
With his eyes adjusting to the dim light, Gerald could see that the floor was made up, not of stones, but of more turtles and that they were all looking at him and Antonio with green eyes. No wonder the floor was so uncomfortable.
"That answers my question," said Gerald, who wasn't really in the mood for talking with any more turtles just then.
"We really are in a pickle, aren't we?" said Antonio.
"I suppose so," said Gerald. "I wonder if they'll even let us out long enough trial to convict us on trumped-up charges at a trial."
"There are trials and tribulations for everyone," said Tapioca.
"That's not what I meant," said Gerald.
"Very well," said Tapioca.
"I wonder if anybody feeds the prisoners here, or if we'll just starve to death," Gerald mused.
"Would you like me to answer that question?" asked Tetrazzini.
"Uh -- I'm afraid to find out -- if the answer is 'No.'"
"Be not afraid," said Tachycardia.
"That's good advice," said Antonio, obviously trying to put a good face on the situation. "I wish my violin wasn't broken, or I'd play you some sonatas and concertos to help pass the time."
"Thank you anyway," said Gerald.
He still felt sorry about Antonio's loss, but the truth was that he was rather glad he didn't have to listen to any concertos or sonatas.
"How about a song, Gerald?" suggested Antonio.
"Sing one yourself," Gerald snapped back.
"I can't sing. I only play the violin, when I have one that isn't broken."
"What makes you think I can sing?"
"The probability that the young human can sing is five point chances out of seven point forty-three and a half," said Tapioca.
Gerald felt too despondent to sing. None of the songs he knew seemed to fit the occasion. Even so, something strange happened. He started to sing anyway. He didn't like the squeaky sound of his voice, and he couldn't conceive of a song without guitars and drums, but he couldn't stop himself. Then a few words came with the tune:
I feel lost, like kite without a string.
I feel lost, like a bird without a wing.
I feel lost like heart without a beat.
I feel lost like a boy with nothing to eat.
"That's very good," said Antonio softly.
"Thank you," said Gerald, a bit bemused over composing the first song in his life.
"Do you feel better?"
"Not really." Gerald thought a moment. "I guess I feel a little better, but I haven't saved Sharon, and I haven't saved me either."