Void: Book Five of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  “There,” I told Trixie. “They’re going away.”

  “Promise?” she asked, looking up at me.

  “See for yourself. They’re not allowed to frighten my Trixie.”

  “Oh. Then I’m not frightened anymore.”

  “Good girl.”

  She climbed up to my shoulder and sat there. I took out my new phone and called Diogenes, reporting on my observations. Trixie shouted a greeting to him and he answered her before we got down to cases.

  “My reconnaissance drones have not detected unusual radiation sources,” he reported, “so the likelihood of atomic research is low. I have sampled German forces. Their numbers do appear to approximate those in historical references. The only variations appear to be in equipment, most notably the use of jet propulsion. While piston-driven combat aircraft are still in service, their production has clearly been deprioritized.”

  “Any idea what those three were doing?”

  “I would place the highest probability on a reconnaissance flight, possibly done with one master pilot and two trainees.”

  “Wonderful. I hate it when my restful little spot has a war in it.”

  “Shall I manufacture robot legions to conquer the world and crush your enemies under a titanium heel, Professor?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe.” I thought it over for a moment. “No, definitely not. We are not getting involved in a world war. But you might get me an automated anti-aircraft setup for the roof. Something subtle, so it doesn’t attract attention, and something clever, so it doesn’t accidentally shoot down anything friendly.”

  “Certainly, Professor. Would you like it tonight?”

  “That fast?”

  “I have weaponry, sensors, processors, and servomotors in stock. It will require only some framing and assembly.”

  “Well! By all means.”

  “Happy to be of service, Professor.”

  I sat on the flat roof, between two of the ornamental crenellations. I’m not getting involved in a world war. I’m defending a house and grounds. I am not going into Europe. I am not sending ships to Dunkirk. I am not nuking Berlin. The whole point of being an irresponsible bum is to avoid having responsibilities.

  “Professor?” Trixie asked, startling me.

  “Yes, Trixie?”

  “Why does Diogenes call you ‘Professor’?”

  “I don’t recall. He’s called me that for a long time. I forget why.”

  “Oh. Why do the angry things want to kill you?”

  “I don’t think they want to kill me, specifically. I think they’re looking at the whole of the British Isles and considering how best to attack everyone.”

  “That’s not very nice.”

  “I agree.”

  “Does the King know?”

  “I’m sure he does.”

  “Okay.” She fluttered off my shoulder and landed on the stone crenellation beside me. “Why are they so angry?”

  “I don’t know that, either.”

  “You don’t know very much important, do you?”

  “No, I suppose I don’t.”

  She fluttered up and patted me on the head.

  “It’ll be all right. I can teach you.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  She did a loop and promptly zipped away. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t part of a lesson on important things.

  I went downstairs to collect modules and assemble an ACME home anti-aircraft laser.

  The Manor, Friday, November 3rd, 1939

  I’ve been meaning to get around to it, and I finally did. I took a quick trip to Karvalen to hand the mountain a message spell. I could spend a couple of hours in a super-slow trance, thinking at the speed of greased turtles, but recording a message for the mountain is easier and safer. It should have some underground tunnel seeds for me next time I stop by.

  I spent a good portion of today finding out what else we would need for the boarding school. Hammond already located a spring higher up on the property, but obtaining a water pump was more of a problem. Copper wire was also at a premium. Copper is a “war metal” and hard to come by. Things like that. I promised to order everything on the list and he stared at me as though I were offering to fly him to the moon. Eventually, he shook his head and went back to bossing the construction. I can’t say his reaction is all that odd. He doesn’t know the truth. I’m not sure he could cope with knowing, either.

  The truck brought up a tightly-packed load of bicycles. There are kids learning to ride them, along with quite a few other kids helping them learn. The maintenance and repair from crashing, slipped chains, and the like has taken a little away from the construction, but I don’t mind. Mrs. Gillespie minds, since she’s the one children go to first with scrapes, bruises, and bloody noses, but those will become less frequent.

  Graves, Mister Gillespie, and I had a few words about my experiment with “automated astronomical instruments” on the roof of my wing. It’s delicate instrumentation, precisely aligned, and is both tracking and recording astronomical phenomena over time. It is not to be touched under any circumstances—lightning storms, hailstones, fire, flood, Second Coming, whatever. They agreed to keep an eye out for anyone trying to bother my “experiment.”

  It’s not that I don’t trust people. I just know people have a tendency to poke around with things better left unpoked. If I left the laser on the roof by itself, there was a small but significant chance someone would wind up on the roof of my wing, looking the thing over and even fiddling with it. At least by warning Graves and Gillespie, it would only be someone who was determined to see it, not merely the idle and curious. It might even prevent any fiddling if they believed touching it could throw it out of whack. Maybe I should electrify the outer housing, just in case.

  All right, I admit it. I don’t trust people.

  Speaking of not trusting people…

  Apocalyptica, Sunday, September 27th, Year 11

  Diogenes called and told me about his conversation with Ted. A tentative agreement was reached. I grumbled, but I also drove back to Maryport and shifted, wondering if I should save myself some drive time by purchasing a cottage somewhere along the way and adding a garage. Or just buying a barn.

  Once seated in the main media room, I listened to the conversations between them. Diogenes did an excellent job of being a sympathetic listener—my “personal secretary” understood Ted’s position and was willing to intercede with the Boss to get help. Diogenes even mentioned my family, which startled Ted. Diogenes played back the conversation.

  “He’s got a family?” Ted asked, startled. “A whole brood of bloodsuckers?”

  “No, not at all!” Diogenes replied. “He has a family from being mortal. A daughter, a granddaughter, and a great-granddaughter. He loves them deeply and would do anything for them, especially the great-granddaughter. She’s adorable.”

  “Huh. He cares about them? He can care?”

  “I know you think he’s a soulless monster, but he’s no worse than any other man. It’s true, he’s deadly and he would kill without hesitation to defend his family—but would you kill without hesitation to defend your grandson?”

  “You make him sound like a decent person.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not qualified to judge someone’s morals. I do know he’s honorable. He’s pretty good about keeping his word and despises people who don’t. As you’ve noticed.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. If he’s so honorable, why… no, he said he pays people for their blood. That’s how he feeds?”

  “Not always. Sometimes, people try to kill him. I’m not sure if that’s moral or not, but it might be justice.”

  “I’m not so sure. Vampire hunters are trying to kill blood-sucking monsters. Vampires are evil.”

  “Yes, the ones you routinely destroy are,” Diogenes agreed. “I’m sure those vampires want you dead just as much. I might point out you’re still alive, by the way.”

  “We’re not the ones who go looking for trouble. Our bag
is usually examining artifacts and trying to gather intelligence on the bloodsuckers.”

  “Oh, I get it. You’re more support than combat?”

  “Our contact in the organization drops off anything they get in a hunt. We examine it. Sometimes we go out with another group if there’s indications of magical powers. It’s what we do. I’ve already got problems trying to explain what happened to his things.”

  “I’m sorry about your troubles. Is there something I can do to help?”

  “I doubt it, but thank you for the offer.”

  “You know, if you can play on the boss’ sympathies, you might get him to agree to at least look at your grandson. Is the child actively dying, or is he just sick?”

  “The doctors call it acute lymphocytic leukemia. He’s not dying quickly. He’s a fighter. But he is dying. We’ll have to move him to the hospital, eventually, but I’m trying every mystic trick I know while we have him at home.”

  “Okay. Give me a day or so to work on him from my end. I’ll call you when I’ve got him softened up.”

  “Answer me something, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why do you work for… whatever he is?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me.”

  “I’ve hunted vampires, werewolves, ghouls, demons, ghosts, and shadowspawn. Now that I’m semi-retired, I routinely shake magical objects to see if they light up. Try me.”

  “For starters, he saves lives.”

  “He saves them?”

  “During World War Two, he spent much of his time rescuing children from abusive homes during Operation Pied Piper. He established an order of chivalry before that, emphasizing the need to be good men, not just brave warriors. He’s fought monsters you wouldn’t believe and lost track of the number of demons he’s killed. True, he also kills human beings, but he goes to considerable lengths to make sure they’re people who are trying to kill him, or who don’t deserve to be called human—he’s got a vicious streak when it comes to people who make life difficult for children. He’s also good about being there for people who would otherwise die alone.”

  The recording was silent for several seconds. At last, Ted spoke up.

  “Call me when you’ve got something.”

  “Will do. Goodbye.”

  I put my hands behind my head and leaned back in the chair.

  “Do you think he’s planning to kill me, Diogenes?”

  “I cannot tell.”

  “Trouble is, neither can I.” I pushed with one foot, spinning the chair in a lazy circle while I thought it over. It seemed entirely too convenient. I mention I would never harm a child, make a passing remark about healing the sick, and suddenly his grandson has a terminal illness only I can cure? It tasted like a big pile of… coincidence. The kind of coincidence you get after a long night of stale beer and spicy chili dogs. It’s not impossible, of course, but I don’t trust it.

  Still, what if he meant it? What if this wasn’t a ploy to get me in crosshairs, or on a bullseye, or just near enough to a flamethrower to matter? Could there really be a dying kid? Could Ted really have thought it over and decided to take the chance? Would they have thought far enough ahead to stage everything?

  “Diogenes.”

  “Yes, Professor?”

  “Send a note through Firebrand’s shift-case. I want it.”

  “Sending now.”

  “Thank you. What time is it in Flintridge?”

  “Accessing.” There was a slight pause. “It is Friday morning, October third. There has been some time differential. Sunrise at The Lair begins in thirty-six minutes.”

  “Good timing. Which reminds me, I’d also like to go ahead and start the daylight dying time project.”

  “New project initiated. Define, please.”

  “Establish a permanent, single-world shift booth in every time zone around the world. Build them for me. I’ll enchant them. Then ship them out and install them. I’m tired of this sitting and waiting for daytimes to sync up. No,” I contradicted, “that’s not going to do it. I can’t bring the Hall of Doors with me to other time zones…” I thought for a minute.

  “Since the objective is to quickly reach a state of life or death, may I suggest any arrival in Apocalyptica will still benefit?”

  “How so?”

  “If you arrive dead and spring to life, you can immediately be relocated to a nighttime area for recovery.”

  “Good point. And I can eventually add an emergency gate to each of them. If I’m going out of the world and can’t wait, the power budget isn’t my first concern.”

  “Shall I include a standard gate ring on one wall?”

  “Yes, please. Also, on further thought, perhaps we don’t need one in each time zone. We need to make sure we always have one in daylight and in nighttime, no matter when I arrive or depart.”

  “Three is the minimum, Professor, but I would recommend six.”

  “Take care of it, please. And make sure they’re big enough for Bronze. If I’m in a hurry, I’ll want her near me. And she may insist on sticking close.”

  “Construction is underway. The primary delay to deployment will be the enchantment portion.”

  “Yeah. Let’s start including the new technomagical containment field in these, along with a storage crystal and some solar panels to power a transformer. I hope not to use them too often, so they don’t need a reactor. They should have plenty of time to charge between uses.”

  “Noted.”

  “While I’m thinking about it, please also upgrade any magic-heavy application areas with the new containment units.”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “You already started, didn’t you?”

  “As soon as you gave me the specifications, Professor.”

  “Thank you. Any word about Firebrand, yet?”

  “Nothing has come through the shift-box.”

  “All right. I’m going to get some work done on the Manor’s magical containment matrix disks, then I’ll be in Flintridge, with Mary. Call me when Firebrand arrives.”

  Flintridge, Friday, October 3rd, 1969

  One of the efficiencies of shift-booths is the way they transpose space. Everything in one booth switches places with the other. So, for example, if you step into an empty one and trigger it, you wind up wherever the other booth is. However, everything in the other booth appears in the booth you just left. It’s like tilting a balanced see-saw, rather than simply hoisting a weight. It takes far less effort.

  The early models were, shall we say, a trifle dangerous. For a brief moment, the two spaces coexisted as the same space, which could be unpleasant if there were things in both locations. Imagine—for example—standing in an empty garage and triggering a shift, then discovering the other garage had a car parked in it. A car which, for an instant, overlapped you, interpenetrated you, almost as though you teleported into it.

  My initial shift-booths were effective and useful, but as dangerous as playing Russian roulette. I tried adding some safety features, like a pre-transit scan of both locations, an automatic cutout, all that. They worked, provided I wasn’t in a hurry. On the other hand, if I’m running for my life and just barely have time to slam the door before the bomb goes off, I don’t want to hear hold music and a polite recording of “Thank you for your patience…” It can give a man ulcers. It can even give a vampire ulcers, and that’s not pretty at all.

  The current model has undergone years of refinement. I can’t say it’s perfected, since there are always ways to improve. It is a long way from the original design, though. These use a full duplex transfer method, eliminating the momentary and potentially fatal overlap of spaces. Instead of ghostly trains heading for each other and passing through each other the middle, one goes away on one track, the other comes in via another track.

  Going back to the teeter-totter example, consider one with a bowling ball on each end. No matter how you tilt the see-saw, the two balls can only roll back and forth. They’ll meet somewhere a
long the way. This doesn’t work so well. But if we use a playground merry-go-round instead, we can place both bowling balls on it and simply rotate the thing and the two cargo points never encounter each other.

  That’s not how it works, since it involves more spatial dimensions than the usual three, but it’s a good way to think of it.

  I appeared in the garage a little before sunrise. I didn’t see Bronze’s horse statue. She was in the Impala and parked by the house, but the statue was gone. Then I thumped my own forehead. The statue was in Apocalyptica.

  I stepped outside, triggered the shift, and her statue reappeared.

  With the sunrise not far off, I hurried to the house, pausing only to pat Bronze’s hood in passing. Her engine ticked over into a low rumble, then silenced itself. As I came in, so did Mary. She smiled and immediately came to me, kissed me, and took my hands.

  “Come see! Come see!” she urged, dragging me to a window. I went.

  Outside, there was a cross made of railroad ties and mounted facing east. There was no one fastened to it, but I saw spikes, lots of wire, and a big hammer.

  “You told me how you were nailed up,” Mary said.

  “Yes, that’s pretty much it,” I agreed. I felt my face scowl and tried to relax. “That’s for Salvatore, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask why he’s soon to be hanging around in our yard?”

  “Because I’ve been feeding him blood for several days,” she replied. “He’s convinced he’s damned for being turned into a vampire. Eventually, I’ll do to him what the Numbskulls did to you, only better.”

  “Eventually?”

  “I have more questions to ask. Plus, he still hasn’t been staked and buried.”

  “Ah. Turnabout being fair play,” I noted. “My eyeballs are starting to itch. Let’s hide from the sunrise.”

  “Good idea.”

  We went to the bathroom and made use of the shower while sunrise ran its course.

  “Where is Salvatore, anyway?”

  “He’s pretending to be a mummy from the neck down, in the basement.”