The Paths Between Worlds

by Paul Antony Jones

  Chou nodded. “It would be a simple way to control someone like him, someone used to blindly and unerringly carrying out orders.”

  Bull scowled. “Perhaps you are correct, I do not know, although the idea of a woman running for president strikes me as an outrageous fabrication in and of itself. Regardless, the next question is: if that mechanical insect was truly an agent of the Adversary, as Ms. Chou has postulated, and it sent the late Mr. Weidinger to capture her, why did the beetle simply not attack one of us? Specifically, why did it not simply kill Meredith?”

  For the second time that night, all eyes turned to look at me.

  Chou gave us the answer. “Weidinger said that he and his men were here to capture Meredith. He was very specific that we should turn her over to him. If he had wanted her dead, I do not think he was the kind of man who would have balked at saying so. I believe that the Adversary has plans for Meredith that can only be accomplished if she is alive.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I spluttered. Right about then, the weight of everything that'd happened over the last few days came crashing down onto me, and I felt as though it would crush me. “All I wanted to do was get my law degree. Maybe start a family sometime, have a great life. And if it hadn’t been for the car accident, I’m pretty sure that’s what I would have gotten, too, because I’m smart and tenacious, but the one thing I’m not, is the key to some existential thing’s plans to conquer whatever world this is. I mean, come on! I’m just an ordinary woman.” I was almost hysterical at this point, my voice rising to a shrill screech filled with panic and fear. My words choked off.

  “Looking on the bright side: at least you know the Adversary does not vant to kill you. Vich is more than any of us can say,” Freuchen said, grinning his gentle smile.

  I exhaled a breath I had not realized I was holding, laughing sadly as I did so. “There is that, I suppose. I feel like I’ve just seen myself on America’s Most Wanted and I have no idea why.”

  All I got back was questioning stares of bemusement.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I… I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do now? I mean, I’m being stalked by an unknown entity that has no problem sending history’s worst killers after me and killing them if they fail. How am I supposed to deal with that?”

  “Perhaps,” Bull said with an uncharacteristically kind tone in his voice, “the best thing for all of us to do is get some rest.”

  Edward nodded his agreement.

  “What about Weidinger's body?” Chou asked.

  “We’ll handle that,” Edward said. “You take care of Meredith.”

  Exhausted by their encounter, our new arrivals slept soundly. By contrast, none of the Garrisonites seemed capable of sleep this night, the adrenaline and horror of the day hanging around in our blood like a triple-espresso. Those of us who weren’t assigned to babysit the newcomers or on guard duty, sat around the campfires talking quietly amongst ourselves, or stared into the flames of the fire, each working through the events of the day in their own ways.

  Evelyn, now fully recovered from her assault, at least physically, sat to my left, Albert’s head resting in her lap. She gently stroked the sleeping boy’s hair while Edward sat between Chou and me, reminiscing about his hometown of Hastings, a small village on the southern coast of England where he had grown up. It was fascinating to listen to this man, talking quietly so as not to wake the sleeping. His voice tinged with a profound melancholy, he spoke fondly of how he’d spent his youth wandering the town cemetery while composing his poems or sitting beside a tombstone reading Shakespeare or Tennyson. Of how he met Rebecca, the woman that, in his other life, he would have gone home to from the war and led a perfectly normal life with.

  A shadow moved through the semi-darkness separating us from the sleeping forms of the new arrivals. The shadow transformed into a fire-giant as Freuchen passed from darkness into the umbra of the flames of our campfire. A second man, who I did not recognize, followed just behind him.

  “Forgive me, Edvard, but I need to interrupt you.”

  “No need, my friend, I’m sure I’ve bored these ladies half-to-death already with my stories.”

  “Meredith, this is Captain Joel,” Freuchen said, gesturing to the man standing next to him. I guessed the stranger was in his early forties. He was stocky with a slight paunch around his middle and a week or so’s worth of salt-and-pepper beard on his chin. “I think he might be able to help you,” Freuchen said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m confused. Help me how, exactly?”

  “Mr. Freuchen says you need to get off this island,” the man said. “I can help you with that.” He stuck out a meaty hand. “Captain Joel, at your service.”

  I took his hand, feeling the calloused skin of a working man against my own, and he shook it enthusiastically.

  “Captain of what, exactly?” Chou said, suspiciously.

  “Of the Sea Wraith,” he replied, then sat himself down next to me.

  “And she would be?” I pondered.

  The captain smiled a broad, warm grin. “My fishing boat.”

  I felt my eyes widen and my heart skip a couple of beats. When I’d arrived just offshore of Avalon, I’d seen things also come through with other candidates, including bits and pieces of the bridge, but I’d not heard of or seen anything larger than Wild Bill’s horse Brute. The idea that a boat could've come through opened up all kinds of possibilities; first-and-foremost, getting my ass to the mainland.

  “You have a boat?” I said. “Here? On the island?”

  Captain Joel nodded. “Yes… well… kind of.”

  Uh, oh. I felt my enthusiasm start to dwindle toward disappointment. “Kind of?”

  The captain’s face took on a pained expression as though he was thinking about the death of a loved one. “Well… most of the Sea Wraith came with me. Now, I’ve heard others talking about how they arrived here, so I’m assuming it’s a given that you all got asked the same question as I did by that Voice?”

  We all nodded.

  “My boat was on her way to the bottom of the ocean just off of Montauk, swamped by a huge bastard of a storm, and I was going down with her when the voice asked me if I wanted to be saved. That’s when we found ourselves… here. Two days after I arrived, I was still trying to figure out where here was exactly when those Nazis grabbed me.”

  “Did they find your boat?” I asked.

  “No, luckily. I was in the forest when they found me.”

  “Now I’m confused,” I said. “Is your boat—”

  “The Sea Wraith,” Captain Joel interjected.

  “Is the Sea Wraith seaworthy or not?” I continued.

  “I managed to make some headway in those first few days, but she’s still a bit beat up. Nothing a half-day’s worth of work with the help of anyone who can follow directions and is handy with a saw and a wood chisel won’t make right. I’ve got the tools stowed onboard her. All I need are the extra hands,” Captain Joel said, effusively.

  I was beginning to get the impression that far from being the eponymous dour sea captain that books and movies tend to paint men of his profession Captain Joel was one of those people who was permanently chipper. I had warmed almost instantly to him. When he smiled, it was a full-on grin. And I suspected that when he laughed, it would never be anything as mundane as a chortle but only a belly-laugh.

  “And if we help you repair the Sea Wraith you’ll take me to the mainland?” I said.

  Captain Joel (I never thought to ask if Joel was his first or last name) leaned back and smiled at me. “I’m a man who has spent the better part of his life at sea, Meredith. After more than a few days on land, I get fidgety. And after what you and your friends did for me and the rest of those people you rescued, the least I can do is give you a ride to wherever it is you need to get to.”

  I felt a swell of excitement bloom in my chest. I looked across to where Edward sat. “Can you spare a couple of our people?”
I said, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. Since learning that I was a target of the Adversary, I’d felt like I was the proverbial sitting duck. The idea of getting off this island (even though it was the only safe haven I knew) was enticing… and scary at the same time.

  Edward nodded. “Of course, I’m sure Peter and Caleb would be happy to go with you. Will that be enough, captain?”

  “That’ll do nicely,” he said.

  “How far away is your boat?” Chou asked.

  “She’s beached about six miles north of here, I’d guess. We washed up in a cove. I’m pretty sure I can find my way back there.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. “We can leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Twenty-One

  I’d thought I faced a difficult choice over which of the two slates I should present to Silas that morning, but as I stood in front of him, dawn’s early light kissing the back of my neck, I found that my doubt was evaporating as quickly as the morning mist that clung to the ground.

  I held both slates in my hands, their slick gray surfaces cold against my fingers. I tucked the one I had decided to keep under my right arm then lobbed the other slate high into the air and watched as it sailed off into forest, before hitting a distant trunk and shattering into pieces.

  I turned my attention back to my friend. “Good morning, Silas,” I said, raising my chosen slate to eye-bar level.

  “Welcome Children of Earth…” His electronic eyes spent a few seconds scanning the slate then moved to look at me. “Hello, Meredith. Thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome,” I said. “Say, why don’t you go and help Albert.” Silas got to his feet and walked to where Albert was helping to distribute breakfast among our new guests, wishing each person he saw a good morning.

  In the end, the decision had been an easy one. Blame my indecision on the time I was from, if you want to, an era where machines were little more than tools designed and manufactured to enhance our lives, whose value was measured not in the amazingness of their uniqueness, but in what they could do for me. A self-centered view that, if I had applied it to any other cause that meant something in my life, I would have been ashamed for ever having thought that way. I had made the mistake of considering Silas as nothing more than a mere machine, something that had been created with no other use than to help me, us, humanity. But still, at his core, just a tool that was capable of holding a great conversation. Inhuman. Not like us. Not like me. Different. And if I was truthful, a little bit frightening. It’s easy to make the right choice when the right choice has already been decided on by the majority but, as I was now finding out, it was harder to make the decision when you were the first one to have to make it. That kind of decision always comes down to your personal sense of morality, I think, your innate human compass’ ability to guide you, to help you make the right decision over the wrong one.

  Silas’ constant striving to understand us just that little bit better, how we ticked, his expectations of what we, as a species could be had seemed so expected. After all, we were the humans and him, the machine. But I’d gotten it all so wrong. If anything, that walking tower of glittering metal was more human than any of us gathered together in the clearing. He was what we should all be determined to be more like, not the other way around.

  And so, in the end, my choice had been easy. I'd thrown the new slate away because it was us who needed to try harder to be more like him, not the other way around. We were the ones who needed to change, not Silas, and I vowed to be more like him from this day onward.

  I inhaled a deep, satisfying breath of the cleanest air I had ever breathed, allowed my eyes to drift first to the trees as they whispered in the breeze, then to the people laughing and chatting amongst themselves all around me. A smile creased my lips, and I stood for just a minute taking it all in before finally I set off to find Captain Joel.

  The Sea Wraith was beached close to where the low tide lapped against the sandy shore, her prow angled toward the forest, listing far enough to her right that the afternoon sun reflected off the wood of her deck and pilothouse. A blue tarpaulin hung from her port rear quarter, fastened to two tall branches planted in the sand to form a basic shelter. A corner of the tarp had broken free from one of the branches and now flapped gently in the breeze blowing in off the ocean.

  It had taken just over three hours for Chou, Freuchen, Caleb, Captain Joel, and me to hike to the small cove where he had beached her, while Edward and everyone else made their way back to the garrison.

  “All we’re missing is a couple of mojitos and bathing suits,” I said, which brought a guffaw of agreement from Captain Joel and nothing but blank looks from everyone else.

  I can’t say I’m an aficionado of boats in general, but the Sea Wraith was the finest looking vessel I’d ever seen, even more so now that I understood that she would be the key to getting me off of Avalon and to the mainland.

  “She’s a 1969 Derecktor, sixty-eight-footer,” Captain Joel said. “An absolute classic. Refitted and renovated her myself right after I bought her, and I’ve never had a day’s trouble with her.” He laid his hand against her aluminum hull and allowed it to drift over the boat’s curves, like he was tracing the outline of a lover. “I missed you,” I heard him whisper.

  The Sea Wraith was sleek and obviously well-maintained. She reminded me of something you’d expect 007 to pilot in one of those old sixties’ James Bond movies. She really was beautiful, and I told Captain Joel so.

  “Thank you,” he said, his pride for her shining in his eyes. “Took me twenty years and two wives to pay for her, but she was worth every red cent.”

  “She doesn’t look damaged to me?” Freuchen said as we drew closer.

  “Starboard side,” the captain said, leading us to the opposite side of the boat.

  “Ah!” said Freuchen when he saw the two-feet high and three-feet wide section of hull missing from halfway up the side of the Sea Wraith’s hull.

  “I was so confused when we dropped out of the damn sky, and the fog was so thick I didn’t see those rocks,” the captain pointed to a reef of ugly looking gray rocks jutting out from the far wall of the cove. “Ripped her up good. Now, if I was at port, repairing her would be simple, but out here…” He ran his fingers over the uneven edge of the gash in her side. “It’s not fatal, I suppose, but it’s big enough of a hole to stop me putting her back to sea. What I need are some planks that are large enough to fit over the hole. I figured if you can fell one of those oaks over there and turn out a few boards, I’ll have the material I need to get her patched up and seaworthy,” Captain Joel said. He turned to face Freuchen. “What say you, big man?”

  Freuchen nodded. We dropped our packs and provisions under the tarpaulin, while Freuchen grabbed his ax and made straight for the forest with Caleb.

  When they returned almost a full hour later, they carried a six-foot-long log between them. Both men were covered in wood chips and sweat. Freuchen took a long chug from his water bottle and poured some of it over his face. Then, while Caleb held the big log upright, Freuchen raised his ax and with more finesse than I would have thought possible, split the log down the middle, then split each piece again until the log lay in quarters at his feet. I watched with fascination as Freuchen took one of the quartered pieces and fashioned several wedges from it with his knife. He used the wedges to split apart the other quartered sections into rough but serviceable planks.

  “I hope you have something in mind to fasten these beauties,” Freuchen said when he was done, standing back and tapping the six planks with the tip of his boot, his caterpillar eyebrows raised questioningly.

  Captain Joel gave an appreciative full-throated laugh and nodded. “It just so happens I do. Let me go get my tools.”

  Captain Joel retrieved a large toolbox from below deck and set it down next to the Sea Wraith. He fished out a metal hand-powered drill and attached a large drill bit. Then he set about carefully measuring and marking several spots
above, below, and on each end of the hole in the Sea Wraith’s hull before marking corresponding spots on Freuchen’s planks. He drilled two holes a half-inch apart at each point he had marked on the planks and the hull. Setting aside the drill, he picked up the largest plank and handed it to me and Chou.

  “If you ladies would be so kind as to hold the plank right… there. Perfect,” he said, after maneuvering the holes in the plank over the ones in the hull. He had Freuchen and Caleb hold the two other planks in position, while he checked the tear in the hull was completely covered by them. He lifted a spool of manila rope from the toolbox, measured then cut the same number of hand-to-elbow lengths that there were sets of holes, then began to thread the rope through each hole, so the loose ends hung on the inside of the hull, while we held the planks steady.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he told us with a grin, then hopped up onto the deck and vanished into the cabin. Soon after, we heard the sound of him removing whatever paneling lay between him and the interior of the hull.

  “Hold those planks tight,” I heard him yell, then he systematically drew each length of rope taut enough that it pulled the plank snugly against the hull before, I presumed, he must have tied the rope off. He reemerged from the pilothouse and dropped down beside us. He inspected his handiwork, nodded happily, and said, “You can let go now.”

  We stepped away. Nothing fell off, which I took as a good sign.

  “One last touch,” said Captain Joel. He picked up a can from the toolbox, pried open the lid with a flathead screwdriver, then used a brush to paint a thick black tar-like substance over the planks until all the seams were sealed. “We’ll be all squared away in an hour or so once that sealant’s dried,” he said and stepped back to admire his handiwork. “The bilge pumps’ll be able to handle any leaks. Now, all we have to do is wait for the tide to come in and then you can point me in the direction of the garrison.”