The Edger Collection

by David Beem

  “Edge, bro.” Caleb holds his palm over the top of the black box. “This is the very, very last hope for humanity. And now we’ve got this in our blood, but we’re going to need a sample of your blood to stabilize it. You’re not alone anymore, okay?”

  Mary flips a page over and scans the back. “Says it needs a catalyst. I remember from my time with Mikey. His scientists were struggling with completing the formula. In fact, that’s what bought your dad some time to get in and steal Tron-Tron.”

  Fabio snaps his fingers. “And dart-gun it into the butt of a cow!”

  Caleb nods. “Yep. That’s what happened all right.”

  “The cow,” I mutter. “Nostradamus couldn’t find the cow…because it was outside the Collective Unconscious.”

  “Which is what we were doing here,” says Anna. “Separately, of course, by developing artificial intelligence in animals. Remember, the nano-artificial intelligence InstaTron Tron required a biological host to be activated. Nostradamus’s conceit was to only think about human hosts. We’ve kept our trials small, of course. We don’t want to hurt the animals, but so far, it’s been a big success. We have a brilliant baby goat named Clark, for example.”

  “Total fluffer-butt.” Fabio punches the air and then scuffs his foot on the floor. “You’re gonna love him. He’s so cute.”

  “The catalyst functions kind of like your booster,” says Mary, still reading from the file. “Only now we can use your blood to stabilize their superserum.”

  I drag my fingers through my hair. This is all coming at me so fast. My gaze cruises the room, searching for anything to latch on to, when I spot a camera in the ceiling corner with a red light on and RCA cables leading out the back. Mary sweeps her gun up, and Fabio and Anna startle backward.

  “Jeez, Mary,” I say. “I love you, but shooting shit is not the solution to every problem.”

  “Wow dude, the L-word. Nice.” Fabio pushes a fist at me for a fist bump, which I return. Mary blushes and holsters her firearm. Fabio extends his fist to her also. She looks at it for a second, her head ticks to the side, and then she fist-bumps my best friend. “Nice,” says Fabio, and Mary gives him a lopsided smile. “Aw,” he adds. “We’re gonna be the best superfriends since the Shazamly!”

  “The camera’s been recording the whole time.” Caleb folds his big beefy arms and peers up at it.

  “The Great Eye sees all,” says Anna in a low Saruman voice.

  “His gaze pierces cloud, shadow, earth, and flesh,” Fabio replies, also using his Saruman voice.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “If it’s broadcasting,” says Mary, “it’s a safe bet Nostradamus will intercept it.” She raises her gun again, but Fabio pushes it down.

  “Nah. Those are RCA cables. It’s not broadcasting anything.”

  I nod. “My thoughts exactly. Those cables go into the wall there. Anna, what’s behind that door?”

  “That’s the lab,” she replies. “That’s where we’re going to use your blood, with your permission—”

  I nod.

  “Right, well. The lab is where we’ll stabilize our superserum so we’re full-fledged superheroes like you. Mary, there’s enough for you also. It is part of the plan. But there’s considerable risk.”

  “Guys, guys.” I wave my hands. “Slow down. Is this camera a problem?”

  “I don’t think so.” Anna’s forehead creases. “I think it’s so the animals can monitor us.”

  I purse my lips. “Oh-kay.” I catch Mary’s gaze. “Are you following all this?”

  “Only the part Anna said about me,” she replies. “I saw it in the file. Whoever wrote it wasn’t sure how the serum would affect me because…”

  “Mare,” says Caleb. “We know you’re not an evil clone.”

  She closes the folder and stuffs it back into the file box, an unreadable expression on her face. But I know what she’s thinking. I can tell. It’s the way he emphasized evil in evil clone.

  “Mary isn’t a clone at all,” I say, and everyone in the room turns their attention on me. “She’s the reincarnation of her childhood self.”

  “Edger—” Mary reaches, then lowers her hand.

  “We kissed, and it was magical,” I say.

  “Aww,” says Fabio. Anna grins, and Caleb holds his hand up for a high five, which I go ahead and return. I mean, hey. I kissed Mary. Go me.

  “He means that literally,” says Mary. “It was magical. We kissed, and it took us into the Collective Unconscious. Together.”

  “But that shouldn’t be possible,” says Anna. “She’s wearing a shielding device.” She points to Mary’s ring.

  Mary wraps her hand around her engagement ring and pulls it into her chest. “How did you know that?”

  “Because I made it.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Wang’s ninja head pops above the top-floor ledge near a golden Buddha doing downward dog. He shimmies to the side of the sculpture’s giant belly, grabs its ankle, and pulls. Seems sturdy enough. With an ass like that, it ought to be. He gets one foot up on a dragon tail, pulls on the Buddha ankle, and swings a leg over the ledge. Heaves himself onto his stomach. He rises to his hands and knees, raises his head—and what the hell?!

  It’s a one-eyed Buddha butthole staring into his soul.

  Whoa, whoa, whoa!

  He wobbles, lurches into the side of the pagoda and catches his breath, his hands shaking like a geriatric performance of Flight of the Bumblebee.

  Scoots back on all fours. Glances up. No Buddha butt. Carefully, he scoots his knees in, opens at the waist, and stretches his torso. He pokes his head above the lip of a large oval window. Sword displays, ornate carvings, dragons, and crap. He sticks his hand through the window. Perfect. No glass.

  “I can’t get over this guy building a pagoda in Mexico?” calls Shmuel, dangling from his line a full two floors below. “If anyone were going to perpetrate such a bastardly scheme, it should’ve been Wang?”

  “That’s right, Shmuel!” Wang replies, swinging his foot over the window ledge. He pulls through the oval window on his stomach, flops over the lip, loses his balance, and his shoulder smashes the hardwood floor. He sits up, releases a self-satisfied sigh, and turns around. A hand waves frantically in the window. He grabs it—heave-ho! Ralph slithers into the room on his stomach.

  “Thanks.” Ralph turns for the window, and Wang turns to take in the room.

  Superhigh ceiling. Gigantic, lots of open space, perfect for kung fu fighting. Good lighting too! Asian blinds everywhere. Sword displays. Nunchuck displays. Throwing star displays. From beneath his ninja mask, a smile fans across his cheeks. Perfect. Their ninja uniforms blend right in. A reckless burst of confidence surges through him.

  “Behold!” He faces Shmuel as the other three drag him in by the back of his underpants. Wang spreads his arms apart. “All classic kung fu movie tropes are present. There’s me, the only Asian ninja in the room, I don’t mind mentioning. There are swords, nunchucks, throwing stars… My plan is foolproof, since my plan was predicated on kung fu movie tropes.”

  “Ralph’s plan.” Christine adjusts her mask. “He’s the one who—”

  “Your time has expired.” Wang raises his palm at her. “Thank you for playing.”

  His gaze is drawn to the large desk on the opposite side of the room, as anyone’s would be. A desk like that has Final Boss written all over it. Dark gleaming wood. An inkwell and fountain pen. And a high-backed leather chair facing away from them.

  “Old man, eh?” whispers Christine, who’s come up behind him. Wang faces her, but she’s focused on the desk too. Wang laughs.

  “What’d I say?” He pulls a pair of nunchucks off his belt and lets them fall open at his side. “Defeat the final boss, and all the lieutenants fall into disarray.”

  “Ralph said that.” Christine points at his nunchucks. “Do you know how to use those?”

  “Do I know how to—? Listen Cluck-n-Pray, all Asians are born k
nowing how to use chopsticks, nunchucks, and feng shui. It’s like all white people being born knowing how to use white privilege, virtue signaling, and misplaced rage.”

  Christine’s head jerks back. “Whoa, racist!”

  “See?” says Wang. “It’s in your genetics.”

  The chair swivels around—

  A man in black body armor is seated in it, his massive breastplate featuring a Christian cross on his left pec. Wang’s stomach plunges. It’s the superpowered Medieval Future Knight from Notre Dame! A silent-but-deadly escapes Wang’s clenching butt cheeks.

  Ralph waves to clear the air. “Dude.”

  “Not who you were expecting?” asks Medieval Future Knight in a voice that rings out like Darth Vader.

  “No,” says Consuelo. “I mean, yes, you’re not who we were expecting. It’s just—”

  “—Wang’s butt.” Ralph waves to clear the air again.

  Medieval Future Knight’s helmet tilts consideringly, then straightens. He taps his helmet’s nose armor. “Air purifier.”

  “Nice!” exclaims Consuelo.

  “Standard issue?” asks Shmuel, and Medieval Future Knight nods.

  “Uh-um,” says Shmuel. “I don’t mean to be rude, but… Are you an old dude under there?”

  Consuelo punches his fist into his opposite palm. “We’re hoping to beat us up an old dude.”

  “You want to beat up an old man?” asks Medieval Future Knight, recoiling in his high-backed leather seat.

  “Oh-kay, Boomer,” replies Wang, standing straighter. “Don’t act like you don’t have it coming. Everybody knows it’s your generation that fucked it all up. Well, now it’s time for some payback. And payback’s a bitch, fool.”

  “Selfish,” says Christine, gesturing to Medieval Future Knight. “He’s selfish. Probably has like, what? Four homes? Twelve cars? And somehow all that came from forty years of working for the telephone company? And we’re supposed to be like, oh, we just need a work ethic.”

  “Okay, Boomer,” says Consuelo.

  “I am a friggin’ coding artiste!” exclaims Wang.

  “The Leonardo DiCaprio of coders?” says Shmuel.

  “Da Vinci,” corrects Wang, not taking his eyes off Medieval Future Knight. “And yet I toil at a San Diego sweatshop mall for a mere pauper’s wage! I can barely afford rent!”

  “You work for the Über Dork?” asks Medieval Future Knight, his Darth Vader voice registering doubt.

  “Bah!” Wang replies. “That scum-sucking, soul-stealing, slave-driving institution! Never mention its name!”

  “You do know Mike Dame and I are like this.” Medieval Future Knight holds up crossed fingers. “If you hate working there so much, I could run that up the flagpole for you.”

  “Well, there’s no need for, er, I mean, you know Mike Dame? The Mike Dame?” Beneath his ninja mask, Wang’s cheeks flame on. “I’m sorry. I love having a job. I need this job. You don’t understand. Do you know how hard it is to get a job? Everyone’s like: Experience! Ha-ha! We’re hiring people with experience! But how can you get experience if you don’t have experience, you know? It’s a chicken and egg! And don’t get me started on the cost of living in San Diego.”

  “What kind of weaponry does that suit have, Boomer?” asks Ralph, and Shmuel draws a throwing star from his utility belt and strikes a pose.

  The Medieval Future Knight points. “Do you know how to use that?”

  Shmuel nods. “Mm-hmm. I throw it? The pointy end goes into you?”

  “Come on, Shmuel!” cries Wang, swinging his nunchucks in a loop at his side. “Fuck this guy. Let’s kick this Boomer’s ass!”

  “Okay… Here goes?”

  Shmuel throws the shuriken. It flies ninety degrees from the direction he’s facing, bounces harmlessly off the opposite wall, and spins on the hardwood floor in concentric circles until, tink, tink, it falls to its side. As one, the entire room looks at Shmuel, whose hands stroke the sides of his legs in search of pockets that aren’t there. Medieval Future Knight leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers.

  “Why didn’t you come in from the ground floor?”

  From beneath his ninja mask, Wang frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean usually people enter from the ground floor. You know, they walk up to the door, maybe ring a doorbell, or maybe open the door, and walk through.”

  “Well, we’re not ‘usually,’” Wang replies.

  “Guys,” says Christine. “I’m not sure this prick’s a Boomer. Something about him seems…off.”

  “Well, you’re right about that.” Medieval Future Knight rises from his Final Boss Chair. “I’m not a Boomer. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Michel de Nostredame. I was born in 1503, Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, France. And I am immortal.”

  Chapter Fifty

  “You made this?” asks Mary, twisting her engagement ring.

  “Well,” replies Anna. “I mean, I helped make the tiny chip inside it when I was an undergrad at Notre Dame.”

  “Wait-wait. Notre Dame?” asks Fabio. “Edger went there too! What year did you graduate?”

  “2013.”

  “Get the flock outta here! That’s when Edger would’ve…I mean, if he hadn’t gotten…kicked…out… Sorry, buddy.”

  “Anna,” I say. “Did you know my dad’s partner, a man named Tim?”

  “Yes. He was friends with my dad, which is how I got the scholarship to work in his lab.”

  “Your dad?” I say. “Wait. What’s your dad’s name?”

  “Peter. Peter Penility. Why?”

  My mouth makes an involuntary “oo” shape. The name Peter Penility isn’t ringing any bells, at least not any G-rated ones.

  “Dude,” says Fabio. “Grow up.”

  “Sorry.”

  Mary suppresses a smile.

  “It’s okay,” says Anna. “I’ve heard all the jokes already. That’s why everybody called him Pickles.” She grins, and it’s hard not to admire her sense of humor.

  Wait a second!

  “I know your dad!” I exclaim. “Okay, wait—I don’t know him, know him. But it was one of the first times I went into the Collective Unconscious. Bruce Lee took me to this place called Club Brain, and—”

  “I know Club Brain,” says Anna, and it’s like the bottom of my stomach drops out.

  “You know Club Brain?”

  Fabio raises his hand. “Is anybody else here lost?”

  Caleb and Mary raise their hands also.

  Anna parts her hands. “Club Brain was the first shortcut Indiana Tim and your dad discovered inside the Collective Unconscious.”

  “Indiana Tim!” I exclaim, to the befuddlement of everyone in the room but Anna.

  “That’s what I always called him.” Anna shrugs. “Because there was a Tim from Philly I knew that was the neighbor of a guy named Bill who had an uncle named Joe who had a sister who lived across the street from our house.”

  “Naturally,” says Fabio in a tone that doesn’t say, “naturally.”

  My head spins with déjà vu, and it’s obvious I’m the only person following this. “It’s like a dream come to life. Guys, when I first met Indiana Tim, it was the exact same network of people! Bruce Lee took me to meet Indiana Tim, one of the first things we did together, and we went through this complicated network of minds to get to Club Brain. It was the only time it’s ever happened like that. I never wondered why, but… Anna—how were you recruited into joining the rebels?”

  “It happened after Indiana Tim was killed. Her father,” she points at Mary, “saved me and my family’s life.”

  Mary’s eyebrows lower.

  “It’s true.” Anna hurriedly nods. “Your father plugged into the underground railroad years before. Back around the time you were killed, actually.” Her forehead creases at the apparent strangeness of this idea before shaking it off and moving on. “Somehow, Nostradamus discovered what we were up to at Notre Dame. Mr. Bonkovich and Indiana Tim had to work at odd
hours, using the labs when students weren’t there. It wasn’t easy. I could usually get the supplies they needed, but when it came to creating the catalyst, they needed level five clearance, which I didn’t have.”

  As one, Mary and I turn our gazes to Caleb. His mouth pulls back on one side. He folds his arms and nods. “Yeah, bro. That’s the stuff I stole. You got kicked out of school for the catalyst.”

  Anna nods. “Anyway, when Edger took the blame, Nostradamus seemed to figure out what was going on. He sent his clones to kill Indiana Tim, and that’s when Mary’s dad got Mr. Bonkovich, me, and my family to safety.”

  “Wait—did Dad know about the rebels?” I ask, but Mary’s question drowns mine out.

  “What was my dad doing in South Bend?”

  Anna addresses Mary. “Working for Edger’s mom. She had some people monitoring the movement of various technical components.”

  “Components that could build cloaking technologies,” offers Mary, and her memories surface in my mind. Her first day waking up as a clone at Notre Dame. She’d passed a lot of that tech before escaping.

  “Invisibility was one technology we were investigating, yes. Sarah and Chuck—sorry, Edger’s mom and dad—developed the invisibility stuff before Nostradamus. He stole a lot from us over the years.” Anna looks at me. “Anyway, your parents made a pact not to tell each other what they were up to, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t save him if she saw he was in danger. That must’ve been why she had the prime minister get everyone out when she did.”

  I nod, grateful to have so many pieces finally coming together. But the dangling threads are still sparking like broken electrical lines in my head. “Club Brain. Explain that.”

  Anna’s turn to nod. “Yes. Early on in Chuck and Tim’s research, they discovered what we referred to as psychic internet backbones—”

  “Dad mentioned that, yeah.”

  She nods again. “But they realized the inherent danger. If they were to tap into the consciousness of a…dead…soul…” She shrugs like she wishes there was a better way to say it. “If they could do that, then any information exchanged could get back to Nostradamus at some point in the future after the serum had been completed. So, they got to thinking maybe there were places information could be hidden. I mean, most of what they knew about the Collective Unconscious at that point was theoretical, so a lot of these conversations were just them shooting the shit, so to speak.”