Winston Chase and the Theta Factor

by Bodhi St John

  In his first reality layer, Winston saw his father move and step around behind him. Arms wove around Winston’s shoulders. Hands clasped over his heart and pulled inward as Claude embraced him. Winston felt his father’s cheek on the back of his head and heard his voice, low, soothing, and melodic, in his ear.

  “Sshhh. It’s going to be fine, son. Trust me…as I trust you.”

  Winston couldn’t take his gaze away from the other Claude’s exposed brain and the trickles of blood that crept down his neck in a dark echo of Winston’s own tears. The old man’s face was incredibly pale under the harsh floodlights. If not for the slightest rhythmic movement of the smock’s creases over his belly, Winston would have assumed that this was a ruse and Claude was already dead.

  “Think,” whispered Claude. “Use your eyes. Ignore the impossible and think about what can be done.”

  Winston tried. If he landed directly in front of Bledsoe, he might be able to drop the Alpha Machine and land the first blow, but he already knew that Bledsoe was physically stronger. If being struck by a police cruiser hadn’t disabled him, Winston’s scrawny arms sure wouldn’t do much damage.

  Unless he was armed. A knife? Another gun? Winston tried to imagine killing his enemy at point-blank range, feeling Bledsoe’s hot blood spatter across his face and hands, and his stomach clenched with revulsion. No, he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

  Not even to save Mom? Shade? Alyssa? Not even to save the world?

  Something inside Winston knew that if he took away one life to save others, then there was no telling how he might use the Alpha Machine to serve his own desires in other ways.

  Ignore the impossible.

  Right. So, a face-to-face confrontation with Bledsoe was out of the question, especially with all those armed agents nearby. What else?

  Winston moved into the RV. The nurse still sat there in what had been her bedside chair, staring out at Bledsoe and Claude, her mouth locked in a deep, tight frown. She obviously disapproved of this arrangement, but Winston guessed she was in no position to fight it. And even if she would help, they would have to move Claude and his heavy bed back into the RV.

  11:44.

  Winston tried to slow his breathing. He fought to focus his attention on the problem, but no matter where he looked, all he saw was his father dying, cold and humiliated at Bledsoe’s hands. Rationally, he knew that was Bledsoe’s entire plan, that he was feeling and acting exactly as Bledsoe wanted. Nevertheless, with each passing moment, his sense of dread and alarm ratcheted to a tighter level.

  Then a flash of orange-white light appeared in the dark hangar opening behind Bledsoe. Winston couldn’t hear what was happening, but by the sudden, shocked expressions on every agent’s face and the way their bodies jumped and recoiled, he could guess.

  Shade had just blown something up outside.

  Bledsoe glanced about with alarm. He started to step away from Claude, then caught himself. Instead, he shouted a series of orders at his agents.

  Winston quickly pushed his spectral self out of the hangar and into the parking lot. There, he found the FBI’s nearest black van morphed into a pillar of flame. Its undercarriage broiled in a spreading pool of gasoline. The vehicle sent black plumes of smoke billowing into the night. Turning about, Winston saw that smaller fires burned in the cabins of two other black vehicles, the other van and a long sedan much like the one Winston had skidded across seemingly so long ago. Just as the first agents, guns all drawn and radiation scanners abandoned, ran around the corner of the hangar to investigate, one of the sedan’s windows shattered, allowing oxygen to rush into the closed compartment. The smoldering driver’s seat bloomed into a hungry conflagration.

  More agents arrived in the parking lot just as the second van’s windshield caved in. One agent tried to rush toward the van, but another held him back. Flames began to billow from under the vehicle, escaping from the wheel wells. Something in the undercarriage exploded in a burst of white. It wasn’t the engulfing orange mushroom cloud Winston had grown to expect from movies but more like a tabletop chemistry experiment gone horribly wrong. Still, it was enough to make the agents recoil and keep their distance.

  Winston noticed another small fire emerge beyond the nearby cars. These flames were unlike the others, though. They started from a small point about a hundred yards away from the hangar, in the main parking lot. Fire crept quickly along the ground in a jagged line, then began to veer into strange looping patterns. Without wondering whether he could or not, Winston willed himself upward for a better view and found that his spectral self floated free from the ground.

  Despite his fear and panic, a sense of exhilaration flooded through him, and he gasped.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Claude, releasing Winston’s shoulders in worry.

  “I’m flying,” he breathed.

  Once he was twenty or thirty feet in the air, he could see the fire forming two short words: EAT THAT.

  “Nice, Shade,” Winston muttered to himself. “Keeping it classy.”

  Beyond the main parking lot and fiery writing, a tiny blinking light caught Winston’s attention. He barely made out a small shadow moving in a straight line toward the tree-blanketed hills, accented by a single red light that winked randomly on and off. It was a reflector, Winston realized. That would be Shade on his bike. At first, Winston couldn’t fathom why the detail-driven Shade might have forgotten to remove his rear reflector. Then, once the first agent pointed out the red blinking to his comrades, Winston understood Shade’s strategy. He wanted them to follow him, just not that quickly. And he’d found a way to slow them down and defy Winston’s no-explosions request, all with the same distraction.

  He had to admit, his best friend never ceased to impress.

  As Winston’s spectral form slowly descended to the ground, one agent talked into his radio. A moment later, he addressed his fellows. Four of them set off at a jog after Shade. The remaining two began a sweep of the hangar’s perimeter. Apparently, Bledsoe wanted no more surprises.

  Winston realized that this was his only chance to get Bledsoe alone. He had no plan. If he was honest, he had no hope, either. But it was now or never.

  Winston quickly pushed back into the main hangar until he stood a few steps away from Bledsoe. The man wore a slight smirk, his eyes narrow and glittering like obsidian in the harsh lighting.

  The on-screen clock showed 11:52:38. Nevertheless, Bledsoe seemed to know that this was the time. He understood what drawing away the agents meant. He took a deep breath and put the barrel of his gun against Claude’s temple firmly enough to turn the dying man’s head.

  Claude’s eyes fluttered open and, seeing Bledsoe, filled with the fear of a man who knew he was about to die.

  28

  Parting for Punctuality

  Winston gripped the chronoviewer suddenly, as if grasping for a life ring near a sinking ship. The geoviewer, still spinning within it, rapped painfully against Winston’s knuckles before coming to a halt.

  “I have to go!” he cried as he turned to face his father. “He’s — just, I have to go. Right now.”

  Claude took a gentle but firm hold of Winston’s shoulders and looked hard into his eyes. “Son, take a breath. Try to think.”

  Winston broke away, shaking his head, and all but lunged for his backpack. He barely noticed that the fire had dimmed and the wind outside had fallen quiet. Smoke from the fireplace clouded the room. The smell made Winston think of those burning FBI vehicles. Those agents would be desperate for revenge, and now they were chasing Shade.

  Winston seized his two remaining Alpha Machine pieces. When he brought the two tori together, they melded, metal flowing through metal like liquid. The two shapes passed through one other then resolidified, becoming two links of a chain. Winston wanted to pause in wonder as the scientist side of him stood dazzled by this strange technology, but there was no time. The connected pair snapped into position within the geoviewer, completing the device. Winston quickl
y settled his pack on his shoulders.

  “Winston!”

  Claude gripped his arm, this time more forcefully.

  “Dad, I’m sorry. I have to go. This is for you.”

  “Winston. This is about your mother. I. Don’t. Matter.” He enunciated the words with slow precision meant to calm Winston, but they only served to make his worry more frantic.

  “Yes, you do!”

  Winston raised his hands between them and set the Alpha Machine to spinning again. This forced Claude to step aside, but he kept his hold on Winston’s arm. With the other hand, he cupped Winston’s cheek and turned his face so that they gazed at each other.

  “You need to have a plan,” he said quietly.

  “I need to have a father!” Winston cried. “All my life, Dad! Every day, every year, all I wanted was you. I wanted my whole family. I wanted to find you. I wanted to be a scientist like you. I—” The words choked him. “I’m not letting this happen.”

  Claude’s face grew ashen as the Alpha Machine pushed that second reality back into Winston’s vision. Perhaps because of the focus of his intent or the recency of his last use, Winston didn’t begin in his present position. His spectral self went immediately back to the hangar, back to facing Bledsoe pressing his gun barrel into the older Claude’s temple.

  Winston could feel exhaustion building deep inside himself, but the fear and adrenaline kept it in a cage. The Alpha Machine spun faster. Tinnitus flared suddenly in both his ears, a pair of pulsing, high-pitched tones almost like someone running wet fingertips around crystal wine glasses. Winston imagined that he could almost make out a rhythm within the sounds, a code perhaps, but he had no interest in listening.

  Worry was now plain in Claude’s face. “Please, Winston. Be careful. I should be the least of your concerns. The future is slippery and treacherous, son. Nothing is certain.”

  Winston had no plan, but neither did he have time. Bledsoe was unprotected. This was his only chance.

  “I’ll remember,” Winston said. He tried to give his father a smile and realized that his eyes had filled with tears again.

  “I love you,” said Claude. “I have always watched and loved you, son. And I always will.”

  His palm trailed down Winston’s cheek.

  Claude stepped back to give Winston more space.

  Winston wanted to echo the words back, but part of him knew that he didn’t yet love his father as a person, only the idea of him being his father. That would change, though. It had to. He would save him, and they would find more time.

  “Thank you, Dad. For everything.” He managed one small laugh. “This probably does beat doing the robotics fair.”

  Claude smiled. “Good.”

  Winston bore down on the Alpha Machine and the world vanished into a veil of blinding white.

  ***

  “Can you see the screen, Hendrix?” Bledsoe yelled. “Why do I still see static?”

  “I don’t know, sir!” she yelled back from inside the RV, a bit too tartly for Bledsoe’s taste. “I’m working on it! Perhaps some of the probes shifted during transit!”

  Bledsoe swore in her direction. Why did there always have to be an I-told-you-so instead of just getting results?

  He collected himself and tried to regain some sense of patience when Claude muttered, “Maybe if I took some aspirin. I have a small headache.”

  Bledsoe stared down at Claude for a moment, then burst out laughing. He shook his head and made tsk-tsk-tsk sounds.

  “Ah, my friend. How I miss those old days with you. Changing the world one knee-slapper at a time.” He quickly sobered and winced, then renewed the gun’s pressure against his old friend’s head. “Damn it, Claude. Why’d you have to run off and ruin everything?”

  “Because you and your brass goons were going to run off and ruin everything.”

  “Ha. Agree to disagree.”

  Claude mustered the barest shrug of his withered, shivering shoulders.

  “Anything?” Bledsoe hollered at the RV.

  “Still no signal!” called Nurse Hendrix. “If I had more time and better cond—”

  Bledsoe lost the rest of her useless words as the space several feet before him burst in a cloud of white energy. Blue sparks rained from a single point onto the concrete hangar floor, dancing and sputtering before quickly going dark. The flash vanished, leaving behind the long-sought form of Winston Chase.

  Winston held the Alpha Machine suspended between his two upturned hands. Even as he watched, the four artifacts slowed their tumbling but did not stop. He was keeping it active and ready to use. That was a smart move, unfortunately. Still, Bledsoe noticed with satisfaction that the boy’s eyes were wet and rimmed with red.

  “Winston!” called Bledsoe. He smiled and removed the gun from Claude’s temple to throw his arms wide in welcome. “So good of you to make it. And with…” He checked the main display. “…six minutes to spare! I do appreciate punctuality.”

  They boy’s eyes darted around the hangar, no doubt searching for anything he might be able to use for some advantage. Still trying to play the hero? Maybe looking for another way to cram an explosive down Bledsoe’s throat? Well, that impulse needed to go.

  Bledsoe glanced down at Claude in his bed and scanned his body. Without hesitation, he set the barrel of his gun against Claude’s little finger, just above the second knuckle.

  “You seem distracted, boy. Maybe this will help.”

  Bledsoe pulled the trigger.

  29

  Drowning and Death

  Winston instinctively recoiled from the muzzle flash and deafening crack of Bledsoe’s gun, then caught himself just before he lunged forward to his father’s defense. Although the gun remained pointed down at Claude’s hand, Bledsoe’s eyes never left Winston. He wanted Winston to come within range.

  Claude’s previously sedate body arched in sudden agony. His mouth opened wide, and a hoarse, choking cry emerged. The bonds held his limbs down, but Claude tried to twist away from the pain in his right hand. With a sickening pang, Winston saw the ragged, bloody finger roll off the bed and fall to the floor. He expected a sudden gush of blood but was surprised when only a slow trickle seeped out.

  “That was to let you know I’m not interested in standing around all night,” Bledsoe said. He lifted the gun and placed its barrel again Claude’s belly. “Gut shots are fatal, but they take a long time to kill the victim, and they hurt like nothing else in the world. Should we do that? Or…” With his free hand, Bledsoe reached behind the bed and, with a small tinkling of something metal lifting off a hook, brought Little e into view as his hand seized the crossbar. “Should we see what this might do to him?”

  “Damn…you…Devlin,” panted Claude through gritted teeth. “Don’t…do this…to him.”

  Bledsoe sighed. “My friend, I don’t want to! As soon as those Alpha Machine pieces are in my hands, I’ll walk out of here and leave you two alone forever. I’m not the one making this difficult.”

  “Joke’s on you, dude,” Winston bluffed. “That thing ran out of power back in 1969 when I dropped it in the river. That’s why it’s not doing anything.”

  “Aww, shucks.” Bledsoe frowned at Little e with an exaggerated pout. “That must be why it’s not doing this.”

  In an instant, Little e’s arms unwound, and blue energy arcs flashed between the tips.

  Bledsoe’s gun fired again. The deafening report once again made Winston cringe, but he saw with relief that Bledsoe had fired into the mattress a couple of inches from Claude’s hip.

  “You will respect me, boy,” growled Bledsoe.

  With a casual, almost uncaring motion, Bledsoe raised his gun and pointed it straight at Winston’s head. As Bledsoe squeezed the trigger, Winston tightened his grip on the Alpha Machine. He focused on the second reality perspective he’d kept in the background of his awareness and let it fill his mind. The world went suddenly white, and when he blinked the spots from his eyes, he found himself stand
ing five feet to the left of where he had been an instant before. He never heard the gunshot, but he did hear its echo in the cavernous hangar and heard the bullet ping into something metal far behind him.

  Winston already had his next location ready when Bledsoe frowned and lowered his gun.

  “It was worth a try,” Bledsoe said. He thought for a moment, then added, “Maybe what you lack here is the proper outlook.”

  Bledsoe set Little e back on its hook behind the bed. Before Winston could think of how to use this to his advantage, Bledsoe used his free hand to rest his thumb and index finger on Claude’s brain. Winston froze. His concentration broke to the point that he nearly let the Alpha Machine fall still. He realized this, though, and kept it spinning and ready.

  Then, to his deep horror, Bledsoe reached into the forest of electrical probes, took a small pinch of Claude’s brain, squeezed it between his fingernails, and ripped the tiny chunk free. Amazingly, Claude showed very little reaction.

  “No!” Winston screamed.

  Bledsoe studied the gray bit on his fingertips, then flicked it away like a crushed bug.

  “Winston,” rasped Claude. “I don’t…matter now.”

  “Well,” Bledsoe mused. “That might be true. Or maybe not.” He found another bulge in Claude’s right lobe and began to pinch a larger amount of tissue. “What do you think, Winston? Does your father matter?”

  “Stop!”

  Before he was aware of what he was doing, he reached into the Alpha Machine and seized one of the two rings. The other ring smacked into the back of his hand, but not hard enough to do more than sting. Only after Winston had bent over and slid one of the artifacts across the floor did he recognize the piece as the black geoviewer. It bounced off Bledsoe’s shoe, then fell still. Bledsoe swiftly snatched it up, then resumed pointing his gun at Claude’s stomach. He slipped the artifact over his left forearm.

  “Right!” Bledsoe said pleasantly. “Not so hard? Now, how about the rest?”