Faller

by Will McIntosh

  Moonlark led him to the Harrier first and said, “Can you operate a Harrier?”

  Leaving the door open, Faller stepped inside the tight control cabin, touched the parts he assumed were controls in a manner he hoped denoted familiarity. He nodded. “No problem.” On Faller’s world, attracting too much attention to yourself had been a good way to end up dead. Better to keep your head down and look like someone who didn’t eat much. Now it seemed Moonlark wanted to present him as someone who was extremely dangerous. Since he didn’t have much choice, Faller would play along, but doing so made him extremely uneasy.

  “I assume we’ll need to come up with certain materials to activate it. You can tell me what you need?”

  “Absolutely,” Faller said. “That’s right. No problem.”

  They paraded from machine to machine as the hushed crowd grew. More than a few faces peered over the wall from the other side. Faller could see someone watching through binoculars from the third story of a building behind the wall.

  When the tour was complete, Moonlark led Faller toward the crowd. He had a way of steering Faller by the elbow that could pass for a warm, protective gesture. Moonlark positioned them in front of the crowd and raised his arms, gesturing for quiet.

  “People, I’d like to introduce Faller. He has come from the heavens above to help us. More than fifty people witnessed his fall from the sky. A few of them are here with us.” Moonlark gestured toward a group of twenty or so standing in the front of the crowd. He recognized the children who’d found him, and the people who’d wheeled him to Moonlark. The children were chattering excitedly to others near them; the girl pointed at the sky. “With Faller as our protector, those who would wish us harm will wish they had not.”

  Faller smiled, then realized that wasn’t the right look for this role and tried for a distant gaze, to denote mystery.

  “Where did you come from?” a man in the crowd asked, his arms folded tight.

  “There’s another world just like this one.” Faller pointed at the sky. “Way, way up.”

  Moonlark squeezed his neck hard enough that it would have hurt even if it wasn’t already injured. As it was, the pain was close to unbearable. “For now all that matters is, he’s come.”

  “Is he one of the gods?” someone else called.

  Ignoring the question, Moonlark drew Faller along the length of the crowd, probably wanting to give everyone an opportunity to see him.

  * * *

  “YOU DID great,” Moonlark said as they headed back to his compound. “The people who found you are repeating your story all over the borough, and some of my trusted people are also claiming they saw you fall from the sky. Now we let the word spread, and more people will claim they saw you fall. You can count on people stepping up and laying claim to a piece of whatever’s going on. It’s human nature.”

  If Faller understood Moonlark’s plan correctly, whoever was in charge on the other side of that wall was supposed to give him whatever it was he wanted based on accounts of Faller’s legitimacy told by people on this side of the wall. That sure didn’t sound like human nature to him.

  When they arrived at the house Moonlark disappeared into a room with a long conference table after telling Faller to go to the kitchen and tell the cook to feed him. Tell the cook to feed him, and food would simply appear. That sounded almost too good to be true. He hurried toward the kitchen.

  A woman wearing a lemon-yellow day dress and white heeled boots click-clacked past him with purpose. His thoughts firmly on the kitchen, Faller gave her a quick glance and a nod by way of greeting.

  When he saw her face, he almost choked.

  He skidded to a halt. “Wait!”

  She turned, studied him. Faller studied her in turn, astonished, his jaw bobbing.

  “Oh, you’re the one who…” She trailed off.

  There was no need to compare her to the photo. Her hair was longer, her teeth not as white, but the squared jawline, the freckles across the bridge of her nose, her strange green eyes that almost seemed to be slightly crossed …

  Faller looked for some sign that she recognized him. “Yes, I’m the one who,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Her touch sent a shiver through him. Maybe the Believers were right, that the gods had set them on the world newly born on Day One with all they needed. In his case all he needed was a photograph of the woman he was meant to love, and a toy that showed him how to reach her. “They call me Faller.”

  “Storm.” She examined him, frowning, as if he had something stuck between his teeth. “I keep thinking Moonlark must have misunderstood you. Did you tell him you fell from the sky?” She stifled a laugh, but not completely. Direct and to the point, no bullshit, no small talk. She had an easy confidence, she got things done. He could see all of this immediately. The air seemed to flicker as he looked into her eyes.

  “I did fall from the sky.”

  “O-kay.” Storm’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling as she half turned, gestured down the hall. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you again. Right now I have to be somewhere.”

  “Wait.” He reached out and nearly grabbed her wrist. She stopped, leaving a bit more distance between them. There was no mistaking her manner: she’d decided Faller was insane. He reached into his pocket, realized he’d left the photo in his jumpsuit, back in his room. He held up a finger. “Will you wait here?”

  Storm’s gaze shifted, settling over Faller’s shoulder.

  “Faller!”

  There was no mistaking who had barked his name. Moonlark strode toward them, Faller’s parachute under his arm.

  “Is this the parachute you were talking about?” He let it unfurl across the floor.

  “That’s it, all right.”

  Moonlark studied him, his nostrils flaring, all hint of bemusement vanished. “Someone else swears he saw you drop right out of the sky. An adult this time.” In one swift motion he reached into his pocket, yanked out a pistol, and pressed the muzzle under Faller’s chin. It sank deep into the soft tissue there.

  “Moonlark, don’t,” Storm said.

  Faller tried to lift his head away from the pressure of the gun, but the gun followed. “I want you to tell me the truth, right here, right now. Where did you come from, and how did you get here?”

  Faller spread his hands. “I told you. I fell here.” It hurt to speak with the pistol jammed up in there. “I can show you. Give me the chute. I’ll jump off a roof.”

  Moonlark retracted the pistol. Faller clutched the spot under his chin, turned his head from side to side, trying to relieve the throbbing.

  Moonlark turned to Storm. “People swear on their lives they saw him float out of the sky. On their lives.”

  He handed Faller the parachute, straightened Faller’s shirt, gestured toward the big front doors. “Show me.”

  Faller turned, then paused, looking at Moonlark, weighing the extent of his agitation.

  “What?” Moonlark asked.

  “I’m so hungry.” Delicious as the nuts had been, it was all he’d eaten since a few sticks of dog jerky the first day of his fall.

  Moonlark looked around. Not seeing anyone, he turned to Storm, put a hand on her shoulder. “Get him some food, will you?” Then he leaned in and kissed her.

  Faller’s insides withered as he looked away from the kiss.

  VI

  FINGERS QUAVERING violently, Izabella set down the TV remote when she saw Peter enter. MSNBC was replaying the video from yesterday, of Russian drones bombing the caverns that comprised the Bryan Mound strategic petroleum reserves in Freeport, Texas.

  The world was fighting over a dwindling energy supply by reducing it further. It made no sense. Everyone was terrified that Russia and their allies—which now included most of Southeast Asia, Argentina, North Korea, the Middle East, and most of the former Soviet-bloc nations—were going to invade the United States rather than China, because invading a land mass and population the size of China’s was suicide
.

  Peter picked up the remote and clicked off the TV. Willing himself to set aside his swirling war worries and give Izabella his full attention, he sat, took Izabella’s hand. Her fingers were twitching as though an electric current were running through them. Her face was twitching as well, her mouth pulled to one side.

  “This isn’t funny anymore,” she said, her words garbled.

  “I’m not laughing.”

  He looked past her, at the fluid dripping out of the IV bag, into the syringe.

  “Did you know I didn’t like you when we first met?” Izabella asked.

  Peter laughed. “And here I thought first impressions were my strong suit. It’s funny, I liked you immediately.” It had always baffled him why he sometimes rubbed people the wrong way. He’d gone through a lot of theories over the years. “What was it about me you didn’t like?”

  Izabella leaned forward to reach a long straw situated so she could get water without help. After two swallows, she fell back against her propped pillow, coughing violently.

  “Are you okay?” Peter asked, leaning in, ready to pat her back.

  Izabella nodded. “Happens every time.” After one more big cough, she said, “You were hard to get to know.” It took a moment for Peter to realize she was answering his question. “You have this affable, regular-guy veneer. Trying to get past it is like hitting a wall—but you know there’s more underneath.”

  Peter digested this, surprised, staring at Izabella’s water bottle, her barely touched lunch. He’d never thought of himself as closed. Izabella knew him better than anybody, except for Melissa and Harry, so he didn’t feel like he could discount what she was telling him.

  “In these past two weeks, I feel like I’ve gotten to know you better than in the whole previous twenty years.” When he didn’t say anything, she added, “Don’t wait until people are dying to let them in.”

  He nodded. “I hear what you’re saying. I’ll try.”

  Izabella studied him intently for a moment, their eyes locked like lovers. Then hers brimmed with tears.

  “What?”

  “You know what.”

  He tilted his head, not sure he did know what.

  Then it hit him. “Not the duplication thing.”

  She nodded.

  “Bella, there’s just no way. Even if I thought it was a good idea, I couldn’t go behind Ugo’s and Melissa’s backs.”

  “It’s not for them to decide. I want to do it. My opinion is the only one that matters here.” Izabella tried to brush hair out of her eyes, but her hand wouldn’t comply. Peter reached out and did it for her. “If you were in this bed instead of me, would you do it?” she asked.

  “No.”

  He let go of Izabella’s hand, went to the window to escape the pleading in her eyes.

  “Don’t just say no—think about it first. Put yourself in my place. You’re going fast. In two weeks you won’t exist. Everything you were, all of your memories, the love you feel, all of it will just … stop.”

  Peter turned to face Izabella and closed his eyes, so she could see he was doing what she asked. He tried to imagine the rest of his life consisting of a few agonizing weeks.

  He’d done this before. He knew if he thought about his own death deeply enough, there would come a moment when it stopped being an intellectual exercise and the hard reality of it would hit him in the gut, and real dread would set in. Reluctantly, he took himself to that place.

  He had to admit, it was comforting to imagine another him carrying on with all the same thoughts, all the same memories. It wouldn’t relieve all of the terror of dying, but it would blunt it.

  “I think I understand why you’d want to do it,” he admitted. “I’d probably want to do it, too.” Before she could speak, he added, “But Bella, I can’t. There’s too much risk. It would be reckless to try it.” He imagined dropping her through the iris, just like the mouse. The notion was horrifying. “Do you think Ugo and Melissa would just accept this duplicate you? They’d be so confused. It would turn into a huge mess.”

  “It would be me. I’d be standing right there, talking to them, acting just like I’ve always acted.” She folded her arms, shook her head. “They wouldn’t reject me.”

  Peter threw his hands in the air. “I don’t even know if it’s safe. That it works with mice is a long leap from knowing it works with humans.”

  “And if I died, look at the wonderful life I’d be leaving behind. Peter, look at me.”

  He hadn’t realized he’d turned away. He looked down into her face, so different from Melissa’s, so much rounder. Her eyes were blazing, holding his with their intensity.

  “If it killed me, it would be a gift. You know that. I have absolutely nothing to lose.”

  A spectacularly selfish thought came to him: if he did as she asked, he wouldn’t really lose her. He would, but he wouldn’t.

  “It wouldn’t mean we’re giving up,” she said. “Ugo could still work on a cure.” Her tone had taken on a hopeful note, perhaps because she could see he was wavering. She struggled to lift her head from the pillow. “We could look at it as insurance. I’ve always wanted a twin sister, so if I did survive, she wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, I’d be famous.”

  Peter nodded, meaning to indicate that he understood what she was saying, not that he was agreeing to do what she asked.

  15

  MOONLARK CHOSE an abandoned six-story building a few blocks from his compound. It was shaped like a horseshoe, with an inner courtyard littered with vehicles. There seemed to be more abandoned buildings on this world than on Faller’s, although there were plenty on Faller’s.

  “Look around, clear out anyone you find,” Moonlark said to one of his men as Faller began climbing the steps of an external fire escape. “No witnesses until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  On the roof, Faller connected the clasps to the suspension lines, then tugged on each half a dozen times. Setting the lines down, he watched the clasps for a moment, as if they might leap open on their own.

  While he did this, he thought about the picture in his pocket, of him with a woman who lived on another world. The only way that seemed possible was if they had once known how to operate machines, and traveled between the two worlds.

  Satisfied the chute was sound, he packed it up and stepped to the edge of the roof to assess the jump. After leaping from the Tower and falling off the edge of the world, six stories seemed like a distance he could jump without a chute. Across the courtyard, Storm was just joining Moonlark and his men, carrying a brown paper bag that Faller prayed had food in it.

  Intent on making an impression, Faller waved to his audience, then backed up three steps and raised his hands in the air for dramatic effect. He dropped his head and closed his eyes, feigning deep concentration, even though it hurt his neck to do so.

  He raised his head, got a running start and leaped. After dropping for a count of three, he deployed the chute. It popped open crisply; the jolt sent a stabbing pain through his tender neck, then he had a few blissful seconds to drift.

  Faller landed a dozen yards from his audience and trotted to one side so the chute wouldn’t deflate on top of him. A bow seemed in order to close out the performance, so Faller took one. As he raised his head he caught Storm’s eye; from the layers of expression crossing her face, Faller suspected she almost believed him now, and everything she thought she’d known about the world was collapsing. Faller knew the feeling well.

  Moonlark sauntered over while Faller was unhooking the harness. He reached into his vest pocket and shocked Faller by pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Shaking a cigarette partway out, he offered it to Faller.

  “If you aren’t who you say you are, I don’t mean any disrespect by this, but if this is a hoax and you’re just a fucking spy, I’ll find out, and I’ll cut you open and kick your guts across the sidewalk.”

  Smiling, Faller accepted the cigarette. “If this was a hoax I would have skipped the part where I went
four days without food or water and just told you I fell after a big breakfast.” He was painfully aware of Storm, hanging back with Moonlark’s men.

  Moonlark blew out a long trail of smoke. “I can’t wrap my head around it.” He grasped Faller’s shoulder as something seemed to occur to him. “Then you really do know how to work the machines?”

  “No—hang on—I have no idea how to work the machines.”

  Moonlark studied his face. “You know how to work the parachute. You knew we were here, or you wouldn’t have jumped. You’re telling me you’re not one of the people who built all this?”

  “I didn’t jump—I fell. I was trying to jump off a skyscraper and I fell off the edge of my world.”

  Moonlark struck a match like it was something he did all the time, lit Faller’s cigarette. “And what is your world like?”

  Sweet smoke filled Faller’s lungs, wafted in the air around his face. It was pure bliss. He blew a jet of smoke into the air. “It’s a lot like here.”

  Moonlark looked toward the rooftop where Faller had recently been standing. “A lot like here. You mean buildings, roads, signs with writing, but no one knows what they say?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  A yellowed candy-bar wrapper caught on Moonlark’s shin as he considered this. Moonlark kicked it off mindlessly. “Maybe you were sent to teach us how to operate these machines and you just don’t know it yet.”

  Faller laughed at the joke, then saw Moonlark wasn’t laughing and reeled it back to a smile. “You’re not serious. I told you, I don’t know anything about machines. I don’t know anything about anything—”

  “You may not know you were sent. In fact, it makes a certain sense that you’d be ignorant of your purpose.”

  Faller threw his free hand in the air in frustration. “But I wasn’t sent—I fell.”

  “Just humor me.” Moonlark jerked his chin toward a pile of rust just recognizable as a truck, tucked into the corner of the courtyard. “Come on.”