by Scott Meyer
“And I’ve come to a conclusion.”
“Yes?”
“There has to be some way I can go back in time and put things right.”
Martin nodded, reached into his robe, and pulled out an envelope. “I wrote down my prediction of what you were going to say and sealed it to avoid tampering. Would you like to read it?”
“No.”
“Because it says you think you can go back in time and fix this.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“You can’t go back and fix this. You’ll try and fail. You understand that, right?”
“You don’t know that, Martin! You only predicted that because you talked to the future version of me who went back in time to try to fix things.”
“Yeah,” Martin said. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong. In fact, I got the idea for the prediction sealed in the envelope from him. He told me I did it, and now I have.”
“But, this time—”
“This time will be the same as last time, Phillip, because this time is last time, or will be last time, and was the next time. Phillip, you’re going to try. All of us know that. You’re going to do it alone. Again, all of us know that. And, in the end, you’re going to fail. Almost all of us know that. But you aren’t going to try for another two months.”
“Yes,” Phillip said. “I’ve got two months to plan. You know, you could help. If you told me everything about the times you fought with me . . . the other me, future me . . . I could avoid the same mistakes he . . . I . . . made.”
Martin shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you any of that. I want you to make those mistakes. They’re how I caught you.”
“If you’re not going to help me, why’d you even bother to come here?”
“I am going to help you, just not in the way you think. Phillip, I’m going to give you the thing you need more than anything else in the world.”
“A more helpful best friend?”
“A project. Something to get your mind off of all of this. I’m cooking up something really cool, and I think it’ll be right up your alley.”
31.
Miller sat in the driver’s seat, leaned way to the side, his head turned so that his nose and mouth pointed more toward the open window than the steering wheel.
Murphy sat in the exact same posture, only mirrored, so that he got most of his air from the open passenger-side window. “I hoped the smell would go away when we emptied the back seat. I didn’t know some of the bananas at the bottom of the pile had gone rotten and started oozing—”
“I know,” Miller snapped. “I was there. I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”
“The task force is never going to get the damage deposit back on this car,” Murphy said.
“Not our problem.”
“The chief’ll probably be pissed.”
“That is our problem, but let her be pissed. She’s the one making us maintain the stakeout even after she brought Sadler in to consult. What’s the point in having us keep him under surveillance now that he knows we’re here?”
“He knew we were here be—” He stopped short when he saw the look on Miller’s face.
Murphy sat silent for a moment. When he did speak again, it was in a quieter voice. “Maybe him knowing is the point. Maybe the chief wants him to know that we’re watching him.”
“Murph, I’m pretty close to giving up on figuring out what she’s thinking.”
“What who’s thinking, agent?” Brit the Much Elder asked.
Miller turned, saw her standing next to the car, and let out a frightened yelp in spite of himself.
Murphy bent down and craned his neck to see who had spoken to Miller, then fumbled with the door handle and hit his head on the headliner as he bolted out of the car. “Ma’am. Hello! What, uh, what brings you to Reno?”
“I’m here to talk to you two.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“But I’d rather not do it out here on the street. It’s a bit cold for my blood.”
“If you’d like to get in the car, we could turn up the heater.”
“No. The smell of rotten banana is overwhelming already. Let’s go inside.”
Miller and Murphy followed as Brit the Much Elder led them across the street and into the lobby of the Luxurious Rothschild Building, the agents growing more uncomfortable with every step. Once inside, she tipped the doorman to stand outside for a moment. When they had the lobby to themselves, she invited the agents to take a seat in a pair of overstuffed, threadbare chairs flanking a large black vase holding several dead branches.
“Agents,” she said, “you’ve been working under difficult and uncomfortable conditions, and I want you to know that it hasn’t gone unnoticed or unappreciated.”
Murphy said, “That’s certainly good to hear, ma’am.”
Miller nodded wearily. “Uh-huh.”
“So, as a reward, I’m reassigning you to a detail I think you’ll find much more comfortable, and more interesting.”
Murphy said, “Really?”
“Yes,” Brit said.
Again, Miller said, “Uh-huh.”
The three of them sat in awkward silence for a moment, Brit the Much Elder and Murphy smiling at each other, with Miller suspiciously eyeing the both of them. Finally, Murphy broke the deadlock.
“You didn’t have to come all the way out here, ma’am. If you’re reassigning us, you could have just recalled us to Sacramento.”
“No, you both have been through so much torment already, I thought I’d save you the coach flight back to home base. Besides, it was more efficient for me to come out here.”
Murphy said, “Oh.”
Miller asked, “And why is that?”
Brit smiled and ignored the question. “You will be part of the personal detail of a very important civilian contractor. A valuable partner who is in a position to be tremendously beneficial to the task force.”
Murphy said, “Oh.”
Miller moaned, “No.”
Brit said, “You will work hand in hand with him, travel with him, assist him in his work, and in the process, keep tabs on him. What better way to keep track of what someone’s doing than to help them do it?”
Murphy said, “I see.”
Miller said, “No. No. No, no, no. Nuh-uh.”
Brit smiled at Miller, which silenced him more quickly than a harsh word would have.
Murphy looked at his partner, then at his boss. He thought for a moment. “Madam Director, who are we going to be working with?”
The door to the emergency stairwell opened. Jimmy stepped out, a maddeningly genuine smile on his face. “Agents, I can’t tell you how happy I am that we’re going to be working together again.”
Miller leapt to his feet. “No! No-ho, no!”
Brit the Much Elder stood up and stepped directly in front of Agent Miller. “Yes.”
The two stood motionless. The only sound in the room was Murphy moaning quietly, because either he and his partner were being assigned to assist their worst enemy, or his partner was about to get them both fired. He didn’t like either option but wasn’t sure which he liked less.
Though she was substantially shorter than Miller, Brit stared him down. Miller’s attitude shifted to angry defiance, then to angry resignation.
“Ma’am, this man can do things you wouldn’t understand.”
Jimmy laughed.
Brit nearly laughed but managed to contain it with a smirk. “And now he’ll be doing those things on our behalf.”
“He’s dangerous, ma’am.”
“That’s why I want you two working with him, to keep him in line.”
“Ma’am, please, this man can’t be trusted.”
“And I don�
�t trust him. That’s why I have the two of you looking out for the task force’s interests. Agents, in a moment, I’m going to ask you if you’re in. If you answer in the negative, you’ll be unemployed, on your own; you’ll know that Mr. Sadler is out there doing something, and you’ll be powerless to do anything about it, or even find out what it is.”
Murphy asked, “You ever heard the phrase, If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em?”
Miller scowled. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard a law enforcement officer say.”
Brit the Much Elder asked, “Agent Miller, are you in?”
Miller stared into Brit the Much Elder’s eyes, then turned to look at his partner. Murphy sighed, stood up, stepped behind Brit, nearer to Jimmy, and shrugged.
Miller looked at Jimmy, who spread his hands welcomingly, and favored Miller with a smile and a wink.
Miller said, “Yeah, I’m in. I’m in it up to my neck.”
Jimmy rushed forward. “Great! That’s great! Agents, I’m so excited to be working with you both again. The old team’s back together, just like old times. You know what, we should hop a boxcar. Just for old time’s sake. Or we could get an old car to drive around in!”
Miller grunted, “Don’t push it, Sadler.”
Brit said, “Agent Miller, you are assigned to assist Mr. Sadler. From here on out, if he chooses to push it, your job is to roll up your sleeves and push it with him.”
Jimmy said, “Look, we have a lot of exciting things to talk about. Why are we doing it in the lobby? Let’s go upstairs. I have so much to show you!”
Miller reluctantly followed the others into the elevator. Jimmy pressed the button for the top floor, and they all stood in silence until the doors closed.
“Okay,” Miller said. “What exactly are we going to be doing?”
Brit the Much Elder said, “Pretty much the same thing Professor Xavier and Magneto did in the X-Men movies.”
“What, fight constantly?”
Jimmy said, “We’ll probably do our share of that, but between the fights, they worked together to find young mutants.”
Brit said, “You are going to assist Mr. Sadler as he seeks out and finds people who have found the same computer file he did, intercept them before they can do too much damage, and document them in the process.”
“So we’re going to prevent people from getting the kind of powers Sadler has?” Murphy asked.
“Yes,” Jimmy said. “That would be terrible. Unimaginable. I shudder to think if other people had the same kind of abilities I have—”
Brit said, “You hush. We don’t want people with weird powers just running amok. We aren’t planning to intervene in any preventative way unless we’re forced to. In general, you’re there to provide guidance and gather data.”
The elevator doors opened. Jimmy stepped out, turned to the left, and proceeded down the hallway. Brit the Much Elder followed. Miller and Murphy stepped out into the hallway but stopped, confused.
Miller pointed down the hall, the opposite direction from where Jimmy had led. “Sadler, your penthouse is this way.”
Jimmy and Brit stopped. “Yes. My penthouse is. Yours is this way. Gentlemen, you’re working with me now, so I got you a comfortable place to stay.”
He dug into his pocket for keys as he walked toward a large door at the end of the hall. “Last time we worked together, my resources were limited, and we had to rely on the generosity of the Treasury department. Now I’m in a position to return the favor. The top floor’s taken up by two penthouses, mine and this one. I own the building, so when the second penthouse went vacant I kept it empty. I’d planned to knock down the walls and take the whole floor for myself, but I don’t really need the space. I think it’s better used by you two.”
Jimmy unlocked and opened the door, revealing a large open space with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of downtown Reno in the distance. They all entered, and as their eyes adjusted to the light coming in the window, they got a good look at the penthouse.
The first thing that jumped out at Miller was the furniture. It was clearly a matched set, made to look as if it had been assembled from assorted parts from several Conestoga wagons. Every piece of wood was turned on a lathe or burned at the edges to give the impression of age. The cushions were a dark red chintz that matched parts of the red-and-brown mottled carpet and the background of the Victorian patterned wallpaper. The foreground pattern was in a dull gold color that matched the fringes and tassels that adorned the edges and corners of every lampshade, pillow, and curtain.
Miller opened his mouth to mock the décor, but instead let out a powerful sneeze that blasted its way out of his nasal passages with almost no warning.
Jimmy said, “Gesundheit. The former owner used to be a cattleman—not a very successful one, from what I understand. Then he sold a big chunk of land right in the middle of his ranch to a casino. That made him some money, but most of his fortune came from leasing the land around the casino to people who wanted to build pawnshops, liquor stores, and smaller casinos. Anyway, he loved all of this cowboy stuff. We can remodel the place.”
“But why would we?” Murphy said, running across the room to examine a bronze sculpture of a wiry man on a galloping horse who was turned around and aiming a rifle at whomever or whatever was chasing him. “It’s so homey. It makes me feel like I’m nine years old again! It’s perfect as it is!”
Miller rubbed his eyes. “Murph grew up in Wyoming. This place smells like the last owner was a mangy German shepherd who smoked cigars! That is the yellowest ceiling I’ve ever seen.”
Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, he died of emphysema. His grandson took the dogs.”
“Dogs?” Miller used one finger to poke at the cushion on the back of a chair. “How many dogs? Everything’s coated with dog hair.”
Jimmy said, “Four malamutes. Beautiful animals, but they shed so much you could see a trail of hair floating in the air behind it when they ran.”
Miller clapped to try to remove the dog hair sticking to his fingertip, sniffing the entire time. “I’m allergic to dogs.”
Murphy said, “We’ll get some Febreze and lint rollers. This place is perfect! It reminds me of my grandpa’s house! I’m gonna go check out the kitchen!”
The bat-wing saloon doors squeaked as Murphy passed through them, and they continued squeaking as they flapped back and forth before finally grinding to a halt.
“Hey, there’s a flame broiler in here! And a salamander, and a cast-iron griddle!”
“Yeah, he cooked a lot of steaks. He ate pretty much nothing but red meat and Tex-Mex. The bathrooms . . .” Jimmy looked Miller in the eye. “Agent Miller, I’m going to have a team of cleaners go over this place with a fine-tooth comb before you two move in. I promise, anything that can’t be made clean will be replaced. We’re working together now. The days of me actively tormenting you are over.”
“Actively.”
“I can’t promise not to passively torment you, Miller. Nobody can. You’ve got the whole world on your nerves.”
32.
The grand hall of the golden castle of Camelot echoed with hushed conversation and the rustling of bodies. One would have had to listen closely to hear the telltale signs that the sound was recorded, piped in on a loop as part of a simulation. Looking at the crowd, their artificial nature was more obvious. Their heights and genders varied, but all wore identical skintight black body suits, and everyone had black hair and unnaturally blue eyes. People filled the entirety of the main floor, save for an aisle down the middle of the hall and a raised stage at the end where a small group of people stood in two diagonal lines, flanking a large set of double doors.
The imitation crowd stood at attention. None flinched when, without warning, the piped-in crowd sounds were replaced with the Brian Eno–composed theme from the 1984
David Lynch movie Dune, a ponderous cluster of four power chords played with tremendous drama.
Martin walked out onto the stage wearing a replica Fremen stillsuit from the film: a bumpy black bodysuit just like those the artificial witnesses wore. In the movie and the book, the suits recycled a person’s bodily fluids, but in reality just made the wearer look more muscular than they actually were, which was enough. Martin nodded to his friends, all of whom were either standing on the stage or sitting in the front row. He then turned and looked to the doors at the far end of the hall.
The doors opened, and Gwen stepped through, wearing an elaborate gown with a large, exaggerated collar intricately decorated with gold embroidery. As she walked down the aisle, fake Fremen turned to watch her pass. Power chords echoed through the rafters. She reached the raised platform at the end of the hall and ascended the golden stairs until she stood beside Martin.
Gwen cast her eyes over their friends, smiling. “I feel weird not wearing a stillsuit. That’s what Sean Young wore in the movie.”
Martin shook his head. “No, if you read the books, this is more accurate to Frank Herbert’s original vision. Besides, you wouldn’t have gotten to wear that dress.”
Gwen looked down at her gown. “Yeah, and I did have a lot of fun making it.”
The music changed from the theme from Dune to an ominous-sounding orchestral sting. A panel on the wall at the back of the stage slid to the side, and what appeared to be a gigantic aquarium slid out into the room. Large clear panels of glass edged with ornately carved black edges revealed an interior filled with sickly looking yellow smoke. Deep inside the smoke, something seemed to stir. The vapors swirled and streamed past the glass, then parted as a giant fleshy mass revealed itself. Its bulbous, misshapen head held two tiny eyes on the sides of the cranium and a small, twisted mouth that spewed more of the foul-looking orange gas each time it opened.
Making a noise that wasn’t so much a voice as an articulate rumble, the creature said, “People of Arrakis, members of the Padishah Emperor’s royal court, honored Fremen warriors. We are gathered here together to join this man and this woman in matrimony. But first, a few words on the subject of love. True love. That blessed arrangement. That dream within—”
