The Paths Between Worlds

by Paul Antony Jones

  Less than ten feet separated me from them when Evelyn saw me and gasped loudly.

  Scarface turned in my direction, his eyes growing wide. I jumped to my feet, leveled the barrel of the machine-gun at the officer and screamed, “Don’t move. I swear I’ll shoot.”

  “My God!” the officer said in perfect English, spinning to face me, shock registering on his face. “It’s you! Where did you come from?”

  For a moment I was confused, then realized that my talent had apparently kicked in now that I was close enough to them. The officer seemed frozen, taken aback even, a look of surprise and, was that recognition on his face? He turned to look at his superior.

  “Grab her!” the officer screamed.

  I pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  Scarface raised his weapon and pulled the trigger just as Evelyn landed a right hook that connected with his cheek. The machine gun barked, and I recoiled as a swarm of angry bees zipped past my head. Evelyn roared and lunged at Scarface, locking her arms around his upper torso, throwing him off balance and sending the both of them to the ground. The Nazi officer swore, drew his pistol, and pointed it at the two writhing bodies.

  Now, I might not know how to shoot a gun, but I am resourceful. I held what felt like ten pounds of metal in my hands, scrambled the few remaining feet to the officer’s side, and, with a banshee scream, swung the machine gun by its barrel like a baseball bat. The metal stock of the machine gun connected with the officer’s temple, sending his cap spinning away. He dropped to the ground like a stone, unconscious or dead, I couldn’t tell which. Neither did I care at that point, either.

  I turned back to help Evelyn. Scarface had her pinned to the ground, her arms trapped beneath his knees. He’d grabbed the officer’s fallen pistol and now had it aimed at me.

  I realized I was about to die and closed my eyes.

  I heard, “Hey, asshole, anyone ever tell you your face looks like a dime’s worth of dog meat?” I opened my eyes in time to see Wild Bill step out from behind the tree he’d used to hide his approach.

  The Nazi swept the pistol toward the cowboy, but he was too slow.

  Four gunshots rang out in quick succession, and four corresponding holes appeared in the soldier’s belly. The gun fell from his hand, and he collapsed backward off of Evelyn, his hands grasping at his stomach, his face a mask of agony.

  Smoke rose from the barrels of both of Wild Bill’s pistols as he walked up to the mortally wounded soldier. For a moment, Wild Bill stared down at the dying German. “Those four were for my horse, Brute,” he said as he raised his right hand and pointed the pistol at the Nazi’s head. “This one’s for me, you son of a whore.”

  I managed to turn my head away a fraction of a second before Wild Bill pulled the trigger and shot the man between the eyes. But there was no escaping the sickening crunch of the bullet entering his skull or the coppery smell of blood that filled my nostrils.

  I stumbled toward where Evelyn lay on the ground, semi-conscious. The swelling over her left eye looked even worse now, the skin around the socket so badly bruised and swollen it was sealed completely shut, her right eye was half-closed too. Scarface must have managed to get in a punch or two while I was dealing with the officer, because Evelyn’s lip was shredded and bleeding, and she had an inch-and-a-half-long laceration on her cheek. Splotches of blood and mud had tangled her hair into clumps in several spots. She was whispering what could have been a prayer through her bloody lips.

  Panting from the exertion and the gallon of adrenaline rushing through my veins, I bent down and picked up the machine gun and tossed it to Wild Bill, then took the officer’s pistol and stuffed that into the waistband of my pants. I couldn’t tell if the officer was still breathing, but there was a three-inch gash on his forehead where I whacked him with the machine gun, and it was bleeding quite badly.

  “Meredith, are you hurt?” Chou asked, running to my side. Behind her stood Edward and a horrified Albert. Behind them were the shocked faces of the rest of the Garrisonites and twenty or more men, women, and children I did not recognize.

  I nodded and gave Chou a weak smile. “I’m okay, but I think Evelyn could use some attention.”

  A sudden collective gasp of fear escaped from the stunned group as Silas strode across the clearing toward us.

  “Excuse me. Hello. Excuse me,” he said, easing himself between people.

  “It’s okay,” I said, “don’t be afraid. This is Silas; he’s on our side.” I turned to Edward. “I’ll explain it all later.”

  Silas stooped down next to the officer and began examining him.

  My hands began to shake as the realization of what had just happened hit me—of just how close I had again come to dying. I flopped down hard onto the ground, and dug my fingers into the peaty soil, gulping in air.

  “Did I… did I kill him?” I said, watching Silas examine the officer.

  “No, thankfully you did not, but this man has a serious concussion,” the robot said after a few seconds examining the unconscious man. Silas’ voice, if you can believe it, sounded as shaky as mine, as though he were barely able to hold back his own feelings.

  It’s funny really, isn’t it? Human arrogance. We think that emotions, feelings—both positive and negative—are an explicitly human trait. I doubt most of us have ever even considered the possibility of a machine being capable of love, fear… hate. But here was Silas, the product of some unbelievably advanced intelligence, expressing more compassion for the man who lay unconscious before him than any human I had ever met. It was nakedly beautiful, however misplaced it might appear to be to me.

  Silas moved to Evelyn’s side. “This candidate is severely dehydrated and has deep tissue damage, but her wounds are not life-threatening.”

  “Is it safe to move both of them?” Chou asked.

  “Yes,” Silas answered.

  Edward handed Albert over to Tabitha, then walked to my side and placed a gentle hand against my back. “Are you alright?” he whispered, kneeling beside me.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Edward smiled and stood back up, surveying the carnage.

  “What do you want to do with this fellow?” Wild Bill asked, kicking the officer’s leg with the toe of his boot.

  Edward turned his face to the sky and stared into the darkness as though he were expecting some sign. “It’s getting late,” he said. “We need to secure the camp and help the injured make it to the aurora. Let’s find something to tie him up with. We’ll decide what we’re going to do with him later.”

  Nineteen

  With the smoke of battle dissipating, Edward, Chou, Freuchen, and Wild Bill moved through the clearing like ghosts, checking the bodies of the dead soldiers, collecting their weapons as they went. Silas carried the half-unconscious Evelyn to the campfire where Albert was given the task of watching over her. Bull and Silas did what they could to stabilize the wounded.

  I was the one who found Benito.

  He lay with the twisted bodies of the five other men and women the Nazis had executed before we arrived.

  “Oh, God!” I whispered, my hand thrust over my mouth. All had been shot once in the back of the head. There was less blood than I had expected, but if anyone ever tries to tell you the dead look peaceful, they are liars; every face was frozen in a rictus of pain, the horror of their final moments captured in their sightless, dead eyes.

  It was… a nightmare.

  I sensed someone walk up beside me and turned to see Wild Bill. He stood over Benito’s corpse, sweat or tears running down his cheeks, I couldn’t tell which, his face an expressionless mask.

  “Are you okay, Bill?” I asked softly, afraid that if I spoke too loudly, I might force the stoic exterior of this cowboy to crack and he would come pouring out in a flood of grief and anger.

  Wild Bill continued to silently stare at the body. “The one in the fancy uniform did this?” Wild Bill’s words were even quieter than mine, his usual drawl gone.


  “Yes, but Bill—”

  Wild Bill pivoted on the heels of his boots, simultaneously drawing both pearl-handled pistols from the sash around his hips. He strode toward the unconscious body of the Nazi officer, his murderous intent written large across his face.

  “Wild Bill, no!” I yelled and ran after him. “Bill, please. Stop.”

  Freuchen looked up, read Wild Bill’s intention, shot to his feet and placed himself between Wild Bill and the Nazi.

  “Now, Bill vill you please think about this,” Freuchen said, a hand held up like he was a cop ordering a car to stop.

  The cowboy ignored him too.

  “Stop!” I yelled again, loud enough that it caught Edward’s attention. He spotted Wild Bill trying to force himself past Freuchen and immediately understood that he was a man set on vengeance. Edward sprinted over and placed both hands on Wild Bill’s shoulders, stopping him in his tracks.

  “Bill, no. You’re a better man than this,” Edward hissed.

  Wild Bill’s rage bubbled to the surface, and for a second, I thought he was going to do harm to Edward.

  “Did you see what that bastard did to Benito?” Wild Bill said, pointing at the officer with one of his pistols. “Did you see?”

  “I see,” Edward said, glancing back at Benito’s body. “I see. But we’re better than him, Bill. You’re better than him. Put the guns away, please. Put them away. There’s been enough murder for one day.”

  Wild Bill looked torn, then he glanced down at his hands and the two revolvers they held, and I saw his eyebrows rise with surprise; I don’t think he even knew he had drawn them. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slipped the pistols back into his sash.

  “That man might hold answers to why we’re here,” Edward said. “We have to find out why he wanted us all kept alive long enough to question us. He has to live. You understand me?”

  “And when you’ve gotten everything from him that you need?” Bill said.

  “Then we put him on trial and decide what we do with him after that.”

  Wild Bill’s rage bubbled up again, momentarily reaching the cowboy’s eyes, then it faded away, and I saw the man who had rescued me, Chou, and Albert that first morning return.

  Wild Bill nodded as though he were agreeing with some unspoken question. “I’m going to bury Benito,” he said, then he turned and walked away without another word.

  “Make sure you tie it good and tight,” I told Edward. He was in the process of securing the officer’s hands and feet together with two leather belts we had taken from the dead soldiers. We had wanted to tie him to a tree, but Silas had insisted that he would not allow that.

  “The man is badly injured,” Silas said, “it is my duty to look after him.”

  “This man is a monster,” I replied. “He shot those people in cold blood, would have killed everyone else, too, if we hadn’t stopped him. Why would anyone do that?”

  Freuchen stepped forward, “He’s lucky ve don’t just let the others have their vay vith him.” When the Nazi officer’s former prisoners had realized their captor was still very much alive, several of them had tried to reach him, even if he was effectively comatose. I think they would have torn him apart with their bare hands if Freuchen hadn’t fired a warning shot over their heads, scaring them into silence and then placed his substantial bulk between them and the helpless Nazi.

  “I understand your feelings toward him,” Edward said, cinching the belt tighter around the officer’s wrists. “When his men brought us here after they raided us, Evelyn told me about the atrocities men like him carried out in the next war. If they’re true, well…” He shook his head in disbelief as his words trailed off. He pulled the belt tight around the officer’s ankles and tied the loose end into a knot. “Peter, will you please watch over our… guest?”

  Freuchen nodded, “It vill be my pleasure.”

  Bull and a couple of others had volunteered for the gruesome job of gathering the bodies of the soldiers and disposing of them, but not before they had been stripped of all usable clothing and equipment. Each had carried a dagger and either a machine gun or a rifle, along with ammunition. That considerable arsenal was now being guarded by Wild Bill, partly to ensure no one made a grab for them but also to give him something to do other than brood about the Nazi officer.

  Each dead soldier also had a backpack, a first-aid bag with bandages, gauze, and ampules of morphine, along with a metal canteen of water, and various utensils and tools, all of which were a welcome addition to our supplies.

  “We can’t just leave them lying there,” I said when I saw that Bull had dumped the almost naked bodies of the dead soldiers unceremoniously in a pile in the woods.

  “I’m inclined to leave them for the carrion eaters,” Bull replied. He was streaked with dirt and sweat and other people’s blood. In Bull’s defense, it had been a stressful couple of hours. He and Silas had tried valiantly to save as many of the wounded as they could, and the pressure of working on so many patients, dealing with wounds unlike anything he’d dealt with before, had taken its toll on Bull. The human doctor and the robot had settled on a simple improvised triage system. Those with minor wounds were handed off to Evita and Tabitha to watch over. Those who’d suffered more serious injuries but would likely survive at least long enough for the aurora to restore them to full health were treated, dosed with morphine where needed, then told to wait quietly. Those poor unfortunates with mortal wounds were made comfortable and watched over until they expired. There had been too many of the latter and not enough of the former, so, tempers were, understandably, short and spirits low.

  Edward shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, the tone of his voice allowing no room for argument. “We bury them, like the decent human beings we are. We are not like them. Remember that.”

  Bull was not happy. “These men were murderers, nothing more. I say we burn the bodies and be done with it.”

  Edward shook his head again, “If we burn them there’s always a chance we’ll start a fire we can’t extinguish that could spread across the island. The last thing we need right now is to set the woods aflame. And no matter what you or I might think of them, these men were soldiers and they deserve a decent burial.”

  Bull grudgingly agreed then walked away to carry out his task, grumbling and cursing to himself.

  “What is his problem? He seems permanently disgruntled,” I said as I watched Bull round up Jorge and Jacquetta to help him.

  “He’s a man who is used to being at the top of the intellectual food-chain, who now finds himself out of his depth and out of his time.” Edward gave me a sad smile, “Which is one thing he and I have in common.”

  I looked at Edward for a moment. “Yes, but the difference between you and him is you’ve accepted this is where you are and where we’ll all be for the foreseeable future. Bull seems like a man who is, pardon the pun, stuck permanently in the past.”

  Edward laughed gently; it was a pleasant sound. “He’s a good man at heart, Meredith. I don’t think he could be in his chosen profession and not want to do good, despite his protestations to the contrary. And I think that that’s why he’s here.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “I think that might be why all of us are here,” I said.

  Edward, Chou, Silas, and I volunteered for the ghastly job of burying the unfortunates the Nazis had murdered.

  We found a spot of clear ground at the furthest end of the clearing, scraped away the layer of decaying leaves, and began to dig a mass grave using small foldable shovels we took from the Nazis’ backpacks. The soil was soft after all the rain, but even with Silas’ mechanical strength, it still took us well over an hour to dig a hole deep enough and wide enough for all fifteen bodies.

  As we dug, Edward listened to us explain everything we’d learned since we found and freed Silas, commenting only to acknowledge that he understood what we were telling him. I think it’s a measure of how much he trusted us that not once did he ever question the va
lidity of what we were telling him as we relayed what we knew about the Architect and its plan, Silas, the message I had been given, and, of course, the fact that there was some unknown entity working against us we had named the Adversary. When we were finished, he nodded grimly and said, “I’ll make sure everyone else knows once we’re done here.”

  “I will inter the deceased,” Silas said when the mass-grave was finally complete. The robot had remained silent throughout most of the excavation, and I got the distinct feeling that something was not right with him. He seemed… off-kilter.

  It could just be that his energy was running low, but I decided to stay behind and talk with him, just to be sure. I told Edward and Chou I would join them in a few minutes then, when they were out of earshot, turned to Silas. “How’s your energy holding up?” I asked as cheerfully as I could considering the job at hand.

  “I have sufficient power to carry out this final task, Meredith. The continued exposure to sunlight has helped me immensely.”

  I nodded, paused for a second but couldn’t find the right words to describe the disquieting feeling I was getting from him. Maybe I was just projecting my own emotional turmoil onto Silas, but I didn’t think so; I mean how do you quantify a feeling of empathy with a machine… a machine that has no face or human body-language to convey those feelings?

  I nodded again and said, “Okay, well, thank you for doing this.”

  I started to follow the others back to the camp, when Silas said, “May I ask another favor of you, Meredith?”

  “Of course. Shoot,” I said, and felt my cheeks grow warm at my poor choice of words.

  Silas did not seem to notice. He held a piece of slate about the same size as the one I had in my pocket, and I remembered that I had seen him fish two of them from the river earlier that day.

  “I have updated this new slate with the events of today. Please replace the first with this one.” He held the slate out in front of him, so I could see it. Its gray surface contained substantially more code than the first.