ruBracks, Nazis, the Death of the Universe & Everything (The Parallel-Multiverse Book 1)

by Ward Wagher

  She set off in the direction of the afternoon sun at a brisk pace Quintan had difficulty matching. The ruBrack was far stronger than the old lady she appeared to be. He had to be content to let her break trail through the weeds and tall grasses. He otherwise would not have been able to keep up with her.

  A meandering row of taller bushes, trees and rushes signaled the creek. Mrs. Wallace set the suitcase down and parted the rushes.

  “Here is your stream, Mr. Rogers.”

  “Do you think it safe to drink?”

  “Come down here,” she said as she moved towards the bank. “I think it will be fine.”

  As he bent over towards the stream, the water rippled away as though he had thrown something in. He paused.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Rogers,” Mrs. Wallace said.

  He cupped his hands and dipped in the water. His eyes opened wide in surprise as he slurped the water from his hands.

  “This is wonderful tasting water.”

  “I believe it will suit you,” she said. “Perhaps we can make a camp up on the bank. We may be able to find something for a fire over there.”

  She marched over towards a small copse as Quintan struggled back up the bank. He remained winded from the quick walk from where they had arrived in this universe. He stood the suitcase on its end again and seated himself. He stared into the distance as he rested.

  He jumped and turned to the sound of a minor crash behind him. Mrs. Wallace had dumped an armload of sticks, branches and fairly substantial limbs.

  “This material seems to be dry enough to burn,” she said. “Do you have ideas on how we might accomplish ignition?”

  Quintan rubbed his chin, and then pulled his suit jacket tighter. The temperature was dropping and it seemed to confirm his fears that it would get cold during the night.

  “I am not sure. I suspect that if we could generate enough friction in the wood, it would ignite. Perhaps rubbing two pieces together.”

  “Perhaps you could try,” Mrs. Wallace said.

  Her slightly dry, sarcastic tone told Quintan he was guilty of sitting around while she was doing the work. He quickly stood up and walked over to select a couple of pieces of wood from the pile. He dropped to his knees and arranged the two pieces in front of him in a crosswise fashion. He began sawing one piece against the other. After about a dozen strokes and to his immense surprise, he saw a puff of smoke and a small flame appear. His mouth opened as he stared at it.

  “Perhaps you should arrange some more of the wood around the fire, Mr. Rogers,” the ruBrack said.

  Quintan scrambled around to place the pieces of wood and brush on the growing fire. The warmth was reassuring. He wondered if he should wait to put more fuel on the fire, now that it seemed to be doing its job. He sat on the ground cross-legged and pondered their situation. The afternoon was dwindling towards the evening and a cool wind rustled the trees and bushes. He edged closer to the fire.

  He was now warm, and no longer thirsty. But his stomach was telling him he had missed a couple of meals. He had grown a bit portly from Sally’s cooking, as well as Mrs. Wallace’s contribution while he was in Germany. He thought he could survive a while without eating, but it would be unpleasant.

  He glanced up and Mrs. Wallace had disappeared. He quickly stood up and swung around in an effort to see where she had gone. He assumed the ruBrack would not simply abandon him here in this wilderness, but he had witnessed a lot of strange events recently. He wondered if some of those forces that Edgar had unleashed would snatch Mrs. Wallace away. And then… what would he do?

  Then he saw her marching up the bank from the stream carrying what looked like frankfurters on sticks. She walked up to him and handed one to him.

  “Perhaps you might warm one of these up over the fire. You might find the taste to your liking.”

  “Those are cattails, Mrs. Wallace. I do not think I can eat those.”

  “Perhaps you could humor an old woman, Mr. Rogers.”

  He stared at her and looked at the marsh plant in his hand. “I suppose there is nothing to lose.”

  He sat back down and eased the cat tail over the fire. He slowly spun the shaft of the plant in his hand to keep it from catching fire. After a while, there was a crackling sound and he began to catch the scent of something that smelled very good.

  The wind kicked up a bit and he glanced towards the west where a spreading bank of clouds obscured the sun. He frowned as he looked back at the cooking cattail. If a rain came through, it would be cold and unpleasant, in spite of the fire. Quintan and Sally were friends with another couple who had often described their love of camping out in the woods. He had always thought them slightly mad, and the current experience did nothing to change his mind.

  He decided that the cattail had cooked enough and he pulled it out of the fire. He touched the charred shape, and it was very hot. He pulled it in close to his face so he could take a sniff. It smelled like… beef? What was this? He nibbled on the edge and was surprised. It tasted just like a broiled steak. It was very good. He looked across the fire at Mrs. Wallace, who simply nodded at him. Had she done something to change the cattails?

  He quickly roasted more of the cattails over the fire, pausing to add more wood. The second tasted more like sausage and the third like chicken. This was marvelous. He was almost sated and decided to try just one more. This time the crust seemed sweet and the interior was moist, tasting like chocolate cake. He concluded that whatever happened was not natural, and Mrs. Wallace must have had something to do with it.

  Following the amazing supper, Quintan made his way back to the stream and washed up. Once again, the water was marvelously sweet tasting. When he returned to the fire Mrs. Wallace had once again piled up more wood and brush next to it.

  The day had deepened into night and the clouds now obscured the stars. The wind was stronger still, and cold. Quintan huddled close to the fire in an attempt to stay warm.

  “If you pull some of the grasses down, they may make a satisfactory mattress, Mr. Rogers,” she said. “The night will be long, and you should try to make yourself as comfortable as possible.”

  The pile of grasses was indeed more comfortable than he expected them to be. He lay on his back and stared into the darkness. He pondered his current state and wondered what would become of them.

  “Mrs. Wallace, why do you suppose we have seen no humans or animals here? I haven’t even seen any birds.”

  “That is indeed puzzling, Mr. Rogers. I suspect we will not solve that riddle tonight. Try to get some sleep.”

  Quintan slipped off into a deep sleep. He was roused briefly in the night by the sound of a strong wind and heavy rain. He wondered why he was not getting wet. He opened his eyes and saw the shadows of the trees and bushes flailed by the storm. Mrs. Wallace stood like a sentinel in the night, and the rain formed a dome over her and the encampment. He was comfortably warm and dry and he drifted off again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Could I talk to you, Mrs. Tasker?” Sally asked.

  “Certainly, Child,” Tasker said. “What is it that troubles you?”

  “Could we talk in private, perhaps in the conference room?”

  Tasker nodded deeply and turned to follow Sally as she walked out of the lab. In the conference room, Sally slumped into a chair and buried her face in her hands. Tasker quietly pulled out a chair and sat down next to Sally.

  “You are exhausted, Child,” Tasker said. “You are exceeding the limits of your strength in the laboratory.”

  “And if we do not find a solution to the harmonic, it will not matter anyway.”

  “I do not believe the Maker will allow that to happen.”

  Sally put her face in her hands. “I am just so tired.”

  “Perhaps you could take a day away from the laboratory and rest.”

  “There is another harmonic coming,” Sally said. “Ed has not said anything, but I can see it in his body language. He is very worried.”

  “I
will speak with Edgar. It serves no purpose for him to hide information. Now, what did you need to talk about?”

  “History is panoramic to the ruBracks.”

  “That is correct,” Tasker said. “We view the parallel universes as a panorama.”

  “That is inconsistent with the effort you are putting into our project. If you can see our future, then you are wasting your… efforts – I was going to say time – here. Not to sound fatalistic, but...”

  “No, you are perfectly correct. The original Forsenn Event occluded parts of what would be your future. Edgar did far more damage than you realize. We cannot view events very much further in your future. We cannot enter, either. While we are not trapped her, the ruBracks are very much limited to working in your present time.”

  “Has this happened… is it happening across the parallel universes, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are there ruBracks in the occluded times?”

  “Again, yes,” Tasker said. “They are not able to leave. We are most concerned.”

  “I can understand,” Sally said. “We are in real trouble, are we not?”

  “I would not minimize the problem,” the ruBrack said.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Tasker. You have helped me understand better.”

  “I am very much here to help.”

  “I had a dream last night,” Sally said. “It was a very vivid dream. In fact, thinking back on it, which is unpleasant, it almost seemed like another reality.”

  “The human mind often casts dreams as a way of purging itself of stress.”

  “But in this dream, I was married to Ed. We went to a party and did vile things. Things I have never heard of, or even imagined before.” She held out her hands palms upward. “I am a good girl, Mrs. Tasker.” She slid to a halt with her mouth open, unable to say anything else.

  “Child, you must not accept the dreams as a reflection of your life. We know you are a righteous human.”

  “I came to the lab, but it was different. The machines were primitive. The comp terms seemed almost mechanical. What?”

  The Tasker was now staring at Sally. “I must have your permission to go back and study your last night’s sleep.”

  “Do you need my permission?”

  “We are careful in how we interact with humans.”

  Sally shrugged. “If you think it germane, then yes, go ahead.”

  “Wait here.”

  With a pop, the ruBrack left. Moments later she was back with another pop.

  “We must return to the laboratory,” Tasker said.

  “But what did you discover?”

  “Come with me.”

  Sally followed Mrs. Tasker to the laboratory, where the ruBrack marched to the center of the room.

  “I have some new information, which may help the course of the investigation,” the Tasker said.

  Edgar spun around in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. The Woogie also turned to gaze at the ruBrack.

  “Sally relayed to me some very unusual dreams she experienced last night. I stepped into your past to examine her sleep cycles. Apparently, she made some kind of a connection with the Sally from the universe that destroyed itself.”

  Edgar shook his head. “How can that be, since that universe was destroyed days ago?” He stopped speaking and held his hands up. “Okay, okay I understand. The link did not enforce any sort of simultaneity.”

  “The Woogie works the math, and the ruBrack’s concept of simultaneity is different much,” Shuurely said.

  “You are working the math?” Edgar asked.

  Shuurely spun back around to face Edgar. “The Woogie tries to trace the Quince. Might be a clue to all the problems.”

  “That’s Quintan, Shuurely,” Sally corrected.

  “What I said.”

  “Can you shoot the equations to me?” Edgar asked. “I have hit a wall with what we have been working on. Perhaps if I can take a break and look at your equations I can get my head cleared.”

  “But, what about my dream?” Sally asked.

  “I think we should take some equipment back to last night to see if we can trace the connection to Sally,” the Tasker said. “It would be additional information for us.”

  Edgar began shaking his head. “The last time we send somebody out they did not come back. We lost Quintan, and you lost Mrs. Wallace. We do not have that many scientists to lose.”

  “The Woogie could go,” Shuurely said.

  Edgar spun back around in his chair, propped his elbow on the worktable, and rested his head in his hand.

  “The Woogie step on tentacle?” Shuurely asked.

  Sally laughed. “Yes, you certainly did.”

  “So sorry, the Woogie.”

  “I do not propose to send one of you back,” the Tasker said. “Demonstrate to me the use of the equipment. I will take Ekaterina for this mission.”

  Edgar looked at Sally. “What do you think?”

  “We will have to make up another set for them to take,” she said.

  “The Woogie can do.”

  “No, Shuurely, I need to get away from my desk for a bit.”

  “But the Woogie sent the maths to the ledger.”

  “That is Edgar.”

  “Whatever. The Woogie will help. Need to learn.”

  Edgar heaved himself to his feet with a groan. “I have got to get myself more exercise.”

  “Go jocular with the Woogie?”

  “What?” Asked Edgar, Sally, and the Tasker at the same time.

  Shuurely spun around looking at the three of them. “Not understand Anglo? The Woogie means hot to trot.”

  “Oh. Jogging,” Sally said.

  “Come on, my friend,” Edgar said. “We have some equipment to build.”

  § § §

  David Simpson depended on the early morning hour to ensure that no one saw him removing the Malthusians from the building. Even at that, his security was not complete. He really wanted to get the couple delivered to the Vanderbilt, which was now in Earth orbit. As the director of the Paladin’s security forces, Simpson had broad police power. Along with that came the ownership of the 50th floor of Wilton House, which was the seat of government for the palatinate. Not many people knew about the block of detention cells on the 50th floor. They were only rarely occupied, anyway. The Paladin governed with a light hand and preferred finesse over brute force in dealing with obstreperous citizens.

  Simpson walked into the cellblock with Danny Plover, one of his agents who was known primarily for his ability to keep his mouth shut. Simpson looked at the guard on duty.

  “How is it going, Dick?”

  Lieutenant Richard Willister looked up in surprise. “I was not expecting to see you at 2 AM, Sir.”

  “No rest for the wicked, I guess. Our guests behaving themselves?”

  “Sir, is that really Cleo Malthusian in there?” Willister asked. “I have not communicated with him; however, he periodically looks at the vid pickup and demands to see an attorney.”

  “Listen to me carefully, Dick,” Simpson said. “You do not know the identity of the two guests I have in detention. You’re going to take a fifteen-minute coffee break, and when you return they will be gone. Do you understand me?”

  Willister jumped to his feet and stood at attention. “Yes, Sir!”

  “In fact, you will not remember having these two people in the cellblock.”

  “My memory has been getting shaky of late, Sir.”

  Simpson laughed. “On your way then Lieutenant.”

  He waited for the guard to leave the cellblock and the door to slide closed. He then turned to the other officer. “All right. We need to get to it.”

  While Simpson knew that it was cruel to keep the couple in separate cells, his review all their conversations told him that they would sit down together and try to figure out a way to escape. They were both problem solvers, and this was a skill that the Paladin valued. In this case, it worked against everyone in trying to
protect the recalcitrant employees from themselves.

  “Where are you taking us?” Cleo shouted when he and his wife were pulled from the adjacent cells. “I demand to see an attorney. We are being held against our will.”

  Simpson spun around and showed the little man against the wall. “Listen to me, and listen well. We are going to take you someplace where we can keep you safe, and you will not be able to interfere with the Paladin.”

  “But the Paladin is getting ready to destroy us,” Marla shouted. “Help!” She screamed.

  Cleo began to struggle, and Marla tried to slip away in the confusion. Plover grabbed her by the arm, and she did not get far.

  “Let go! You are hurting my arm.”

  Simpson rolled his eyes and shook his head. Then, he pulled out his pistol and put a sleepy dart into both of them. After a moment, they both collapsed to the floor.

  “Gosh, I hate doing that,” he muttered.

  “Should have done that first, boss,” Plover said.

  “Now we have to carry them down the hall to the elevator and get them on the shuttle on the roof,” Simpson said.

  “The girl weighs nothing,” Plover said. “You might have a little trouble with the fat boy, though. He is kind of a porker.”

  Simpson stuck his pistol back in the holster and put his hands on his hips as he faced the other man. He scraped his lower lip with his teeth as he thought about it.

  “Okay, Danny, I am going to make a management decision. I have seen the Paladin do this, and I have learned from him. So, you get to carry the fat boy. I’ll carry the waif.”

  Fifteen minutes later they emerged on the roof of Wilton House with their burdens. Because of the semi-glacial climate, it was well below freezing, even though it was early October. No one was wearing an overcoat, and the wind cut through them. Simpson dumped the woman on the floor of the shuttle and scurried into the cockpit.

  “Okay, Danny, you need to truss these birds up while I get the systems running. If we don’t get some heat going, I am going to freeze to death.”

  “Too right, Boss. I wish you had told me we were going outside when you commed me tonight.”