Wyrmhole

by Jay Caselberg

  "No. Nothing. That's it. I'll need to take the bottle tonight. I'll return it tomorrow evening early. Hopefully we'll have both come up with something by then."

  Gleeson nodded rapidly, slipped out of the room and returned to hand him the bottle. The little man stood there, as if waiting for something, watching Jack expectantly. Finally, he spoke.

  "I'll try to get the information you need, Mister Stein."

  Somehow, Jack was comfortable with Gleeson referring to him as Mister Stein. Just something about the guy made him feel edgy. There was nothing that prompted familiarity between them. ”

  "Of course," said Jack. Maybe Gleeson would find the stuff. Maybe he wouldn't.

  "I'll see you tomorrow, here,” said Jack. “I'll see myself out."

  He left Gleeson standing there, trailing his fingers over the objects on the shelves. Despite himself, despite the discomfort, he couldn't help feeling sorry for the little man. There was a real sense of distress about him. Jack ought to be more concerned for himself though. Jack Stein was the one with the problem. Barely closer to a real clue — Pinpin Dan and a small blue bottle. It wasn't a hell of a lot to show.

  oOo

  A short shuttle ride and he was back at Pinpin's. He waited outside on the street for a while watching the ceiling panels and fingering the bottle inside his pocket. He wanted to be sure he wasn't being followed. Maybe it was just the old ingrained paranoia, but the sense he’d had on the shuttle was still there. Something was not quite right, something working deep in the pit of his stomach. People came and went, barely glancing in his direction and he stared after them suspiciously. Come on, Stein. If they were following, they were hardly going to walk past and look at you. No, they didn’t have the slightest bit of interest in him. It was typical. The anonymous Jack Stein was making his impact on the world again.

  He'd been standing there for about ten minutes, plucking up the will to return to Pinpin’s apartment, when he was assailed by a sudden sense of wrongness. This wasn’t his paranoia; this was something else. The uneasy feeling in the depths of his stomach grew to a chill deep in his guts and chest, then expanded crawling like strung wire all along the length of his veins. His pulse started to race, his breath to become shallow. Frowning, he turned to the apartment building, trying to keep his breathing steady. It was there. Whatever it was, it was coming from the building. He knew he had to get up there, and fast!

  He pushed past a pedestrian, ignored the shouted protest, and raced for the building, counting the seconds, the sense of urgency pounding in his chest. He punched the elevator controls, barely able to stand the eternity it took to arrive. Then he was inside. The elevator crawled up through the floors, some half-remembered tune reworked, filtering through the sound system. He leaned against the doors, willing it faster. After what seemed like an eternity, an eternity bathed in the stark and surreal, it slid to a halt and the doors parted. He stepped out into the corridor and stopped. His senses were screaming caution. A slight noise behind him made him start, but it was only the elevator doors closing. He stood listening, trying to hear any noise above the pounding in his ears, but everything was quiet.

  Slowly, slowly, he edged down the corridor toward Pinpin Dan's apartment. The door was open. He stood outside, pressed flat against the wall. He'd learned too long ago to trust his senses to ignore what they were telling him now. Taking a deep breath, he took a cautious step inside.

  A step at a time, he moved down the wide hallway, down along the plush purple walls, listening with every careful placement of his feet. The thick carpeting masked the noise of his footfalls. The apartment was silent, still — too still. He thought about calling out, but he didn't want to reveal himself. Not yet.

  He reached the room at the end of the hall and found ... Pinpin Dan.

  Pinpin was lying sprawled across his sumptuous couch, a wide grin on his face, his head at a crazy angle. His eyes stared right through Jack, as he stood in the doorway, seeing nothing. Jack didn't have to check. He could tell the man was dead.

  "Shit," he said under his breath. He hated dead people. He hated dead people he hated even more.

  “Shit.”

  The large vases had been smashed across the low table, their contents strewn like twigs across the floor. The statuette of the two boys lay tumbled on its side, still writhing, pushing up and down on the table surface, the rhythmic sound of engineered ceramic against glass the only sound in the room. There was no sign of the handipad.

  "Shit," he said again. So, where the hell was it?

  He crossed to the couch and gingerly patted Pinpin's pockets, but there was nothing there. Reluctantly, he levered the bony frame to either side and peered under him, but still nothing. He stood and rubbed the back of his neck avoiding looking directly at the corpse. He didn’t want to really touch anything. He certainly didn’t want to touch Pinpin’s sallow, dead skin.

  The girl. Where was the girl?

  He looked around the room, behind the couch, but there was no sign of a body apart from Pinpin's. Whoever had done this to Pinpin might have taken her with them. But now he was making assumptions, and he knew better than to assume.

  He left Pinpin where he lay, gently closed the door and walked slowly back up the hallway, listening. At each door he stopped, paused, then moved on. Halfway along the corridor, he sensed, rather than heard a slight movement. He pressed himself back against the wall, and using one outstretched arm, he swung the door wide. Slowly he eased his face around the frame and glanced inside. It was a bedroom. A broad bed dominated the room, draped with a plush pink silken cover in disarray. Along one wall hung a black framed mirror. Keeping back against the wall, he checked the reflection, but nothing moved. The room looked safe enough, so he stepped inside.

  Things had been thrown across the room, items of clothing; the bed covers lay half on, half off, trailing satin pink across the floor. Somebody had been in here. He couldn’t imagine Pinpin keeping the place like this. There was the faintest noise from the closet. Jack moved across and flung the door open and then pushed clothing out of the way. There, huddled tight into the corner sat the girl, her head buried in her knees. Jack pulled the clothes roughly right back out of the way and she looked up, an expression of fear contorting her waif-like face.

  "No!" she cried, pushing herself tighter into the corner. Jack swallowed and raised a placating hand.

  It looked like she was okay after all — scared, but okay.

  SIX

  She had screwed her eyes tight shut and she flinched away from his hand as he reached for her.

  "Wilhelmina," he said. Then, "Billie," with a touch more authority. "It's Jack Stein. I was here before. You remember. I'm not going to hurt you."

  She opened her eyes a fraction, then peered around him, looking for anyone else.

  "It's just me, Billie. No one else. There’s no one else here." He crouched in front of her, one palm still raised in front of him in gentle placation.

  She looked at him uncertainly. "W-where are they?"

  "Who? Who was here?"

  "Two people, a man and a woman. They, they..."

  Her voice faded off and she bit her lip. Her breath was coming in shallow gasps. He moved his had toward her shoulder, trying to reassure, but she flinched back from the contact.

  "Try and stay calm, Billie. I know it’s hard. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened."

  "There was shouting. I didn't see them come in. I was working." She used the same emphasis on the word as Pinpin Dan. It gave Jack a chill.

  "I heard the shouting and watched from behind the door,” she continued. “They were arguing. And then the woman did something to Uncle Pinpin and everything went quiet. I hid in here."

  Jack held out a hand. "Come on. Let's get you out of there."

  She nodded hesitantly, stepped out of the wardrobe and sidled past, avoiding his hand. "Uncle Pinpin?" she asked, heading for the door.

  Jack grabbed her shoulder. This time she let him. "No. Ther
e's nothing to see." He turned her to face him. "What did they look like?" he asked.

  "Big. Both of them were big. The man had long black hair and dark skin and there was something funny about his eyes. The woman had short red hair. She was big too. The man was thin, though."

  "What were they arguing about?"

  "The handipad. That's what I was working on. Uncle Pinpin told me to go and see what else was on it while he made a call."

  Jack crouched in front of her and looked into her face. "So he got into it?"

  "We got into it," said Billie, squaring her shoulders, despite her obvious distress.

  "Yes, of course,” said Jack. “That's what I meant. Did they get it? Did they get the handipad?"

  She shook her head. "No, I hid it when I heard them shouting." She reached over to a coat hanging in the wardrobe and dug out the handipad. “I didn’t think they’d look here.”

  Clearly, they hadn’t. They hadn’t thought to look inside the wardrobe either? He frowned.

  "That was good thinking, Billie." He reached for the handipad, but she covered it with both hands, pressing it to her chest.

  Jack stood again. "All right, you can keep hold of it. But keep it out of sight."

  She gave a self-satisfied half smile and slipped it into her back pocket.

  "We need to get out of here," said Jack. "In case they come back." Her face suddenly acquired that look of fear all over again.

  Just for a moment, Jack was lost. Where could he take her? She had to have family somewhere. It didn't seem like they'd care where she was though if she'd been living with Pinpin Dan. He wondered how long it had been since she'd seen them. "I'll tell you what. You come with me now, back to my apartment, out of the way. Then we'll work out what we're going to do with you."

  "But what about Uncle Pinpin?"

  Jack shook his head. "There's nothing you can do, okay? Just forget it." He pushed her gently toward the doorway.

  She barely resisted, and he herded her out of the apartment, making sure she wouldn't dart back and get a view of Pinpin Dan's grinning sightless form.

  They were in the elevator, halfway down to the street, before she spoke again. "I'm worried about him," she said.

  He took her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "It's too late to worry about him. He's dead, Billie. They killed him." There was no other way of saying it.

  Her bottom lip trembled slightly. She swallowed and looked away with set jaw. He did too, waiting for their descent to take them to the street.

  Jack's own apartment was the only logical choice. If Pinpin's assailants had made the connection between him and the handipad, they could locate his office easily enough. Whoever they were. It would be a little harder for them to find out where he lived. He’d made sure of that. He kept his business dealings primarily through his office. Whatever the handipad contained, it was clearly enough to have prompted Pinpin's demise. Not a good sign. So, that left the girl. What the hell was he going to do with the girl? His apartment first, yes, but then? He didn't even have a spare bed. He could program the apartment to build one overnight, but that would take time and it was already afternoon. And in the meantime...

  Half a block’s walk to the shuttle stop without another word, then they waited in silence for the shuttle while Jack turned over the options in his head, all the while keeping a careful watch on the passers-by. Billie glanced nervously up and down the street as she stood, occasionally glancing up at his face. Damn, Pinpin had his number. That didn’t mean he had Jack’s address, but it wouldn’t be too hard to track it down. If whoever these people were went through Pinpin’s records…

  "Why would they want to—?"

  "Shhh," he said. "Not here."

  The shuttle hissed to a stop in front of them and he bundled her inside. With relief, he saw the car was empty. Waiting for the doors to close, he guided her to a seat and sat her down.

  "Billie, how old are you really?" he asked.

  "Twelve," she said with a frown. "Well almost."

  Shit, thought Jack. That young. It must have been the hardness in her face that had made him presume she was older. What did he know about the age of kids anyway?

  "Haven't you got any family? Where are they?"

  She chewed on her bottom lip, giving him an appraising look. Then she shook her head.

  "Well where are they? What happened to them?"

  "I don't want to talk about that," she said.

  "All right. Have it your own way." He sat beside her, staring across at the advertising.

  "How long have you been with Pinpin Dan?"

  "I forget."

  "Well, what is it? Weeks, months?"

  "Months, I guess. He was nice to me. He showed me how to do things."

  Jack nodded, trying to chase away the possibilities of exactly what kind of things Pinpin Dan had shown a young girl of her age how to do.

  "So, did you find out who the handipad belonged to?" he said, glancing at her for her reaction.

  "Maybe," she said, looking wary again.

  He turned to face her. "Listen, Billie. You can tell me, or maybe you'd like the man and the woman who were in the apartment to ask you. Maybe."

  She stiffened. Her eyes grew wide for a second and then she regained her neutral expression.

  "The Residence," she said grudgingly.

  That was enough. The Residence was a broad living complex on the coast, immobile, unlike the Locality. The Residence was the rich and famous and security. The Residence was wealth.

  "Ouch," said Jack under his breath. "And a name?"

  "Van der Stegen," she said. "Joseph, or Joshua, or something."

  Joseph or Joshua Van der Stegen, or maybe something like that. The name wasn't familiar at all. Pinpin's fate had already made Jack wary, but this Van der Stegen might just be grateful for the return of his handipad, grateful enough to provide a few answers.

  "Where are we going?" asked Billie.

  "To my place. I already told you. You'll see when we get there."

  This seemed to satisfy her for the time being, because she relaxed back into her seat.

  The shuttle doors slid open and a few people boarded. Jack sat back in his own seat. More questions could wait until later.

  oOo

  She was a kid, dammit. Just a kid. And yet she'd been watching him surreptitiously all the way back to his apartment. What the hell did he know about kids? His building was plain, unremarkable. Any decorations had faded long ago, slight discoloration marking where they may have once been. He had chosen this particular block purposely. He just didn’t want to live anywhere that stood out. Sometimes, just sometimes, the work took him places where he made enemies, people that might be happy to find him without any trouble. Anyway, he didn’t have any real friends, people who might visit. Jack was solitary, private. The dreams and visions drove the rest of the world away from him, even inside the safe environment of the Locality.

  His apartment was on the sixth floor, halfway down a corridor leading the length of the building from the elevators, giving him a clear, uninterrupted view. No hidden alcoves or turns. No surprises. It was on the front side of the building, giving him a clear view of the street below, not that he had ever needed it. Not yet. The only time he ever really looked out was to give himself something to do while he was chasing thought patterns through his head. Most of the time he kept the windows opaqued, leaving the artificial distractions of the ceiling panel displays to the consuming masses.

  He ushered Billie inside and she looked around, peering into rooms and shelves, poking here and there while he so give him stood with his back against the door watching her.

  Finally she turned and looked at him. "It's not very big."

  "Well, it's not meant to be big. I live here, that's all. I don’t need it to be big."

  "Uncle Pinpin's apartment was a lot bigger."

  "Just forget about Pinpin Dan."

  She seemed to accept that for the time being and sat. "What do we do now?"


  Jack rubbed his jaw. "First you answer a few more questions for me."

  She made a face. "Haven't you got anything to eat?"

  Jack sighed. "All right. I'll fix something for you. But I'm still going to ask you some more questions."

  He wandered into the kitchen unit looking for something he could feed her. He finally found old, self-heat spaghetti in one of the cupboards and popped the seal.

  "So was there anything more on this Van der Stegen? Do you know where in The Residence he is?"

  "No," said Billie from the other room. "It's easy to find out though. Uncle Pinpin showed me how."

  That was one good thing. He watched her through the hatch as he waited for the spaghetti. "And you said you'd been working on the handipad. Anything interesting on it?"

  "There's a whole lot of science stuff,” she said with a shrug. “I don't know."

  "Science stuff?"

  "Yeah, like numbers and letters and things. And just the normal stuff."

  Jack wandered back into the living room and plonked down the spaghetti. Billie looked down and screwed up her face. She took the proffered fork and prodded at it dubiously.

  "Haven't you got anything decent?" she said. He could hear Pinpin's intonation in the words and he bit back what he wanted to say.

  "That's it," he said instead. "That's what you get."

  She sighed and lifted a forkful to her mouth.

  "Do you know who it was that Pinpin called?"

  "Nuh-uh," she said around another mouthful.

  "Could it have been those people who came, the man and the woman, or was it someone else?"

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  “Well, which one is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, thrusting her jaw out.

  “Okay. Eat your food.”

  He sat back and watched her as she ate. The threads weren't pulling any closer together. If anything, they were drifting apart and new ones were being added with every turn. Billie herself was an unexpected complication that he didn’t need, and one that had no place in the existing pattern, as far as he could tell.