The bail hearing still haunted his exhausted brain. They’d declared Peter Sandoval dead. The prosecutor had referred to Peter in the past tense.
He took another swig of tequila. He hadn’t eaten in three days, had barely been able to get water past the fist of anguish lodged in his throat.
He wondered what Melissa was doing. It still didn’t seem real that he couldn’t pick up the phone and call her, tell her what a crappy day he was having, tell her how much he loved her.
She was never coming back. The alcohol provided a distance and clarity that allowed him to see that. Melissa was never coming back. They weren’t even legally married. She was a widow.
The door to the lab whooshed open. Peter half stood to see who it was as Kathleen breezed in. His first thought was she was here with a message from Melissa, but why would Melissa send Kathleen on a three-hour drive from D.C. rather than call Peter herself, or send a text? He raised his hand and waved to Kathleen.
She stopped in his doorway, took in the tequila, then, laughing, raised what was in her hand: a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. “Great minds think alike.”
Peter motioned toward an empty chair. “What are you doing in Williamsburg?”
“I came to see you.” She half-filled a plastic cup with whiskey.
“How did you know I’d be in the lab at two A.M.?”
Kathleen chuckled. “A lucky guess? I would have tried your house next.”
Peter laughed, though there was no amusement in the laugh, and it didn’t feel good the way laughing used to feel.
Sipping his drink, Peter looked out at the duplicator, so full of promise to change the world for the better, yet the cause of all his problems.
“She’s never coming back, is she?”
It was a complete non sequitur, but Kathleen didn’t blink. “She doesn’t talk about it, so I don’t know what she’s thinking, but no, I don’t think she is.”
Peter went to the window, stared out into the darkness. “She’s why I’m still here at two A.M. On those nights when I’m too tired to work, I sleep here, because I don’t want to go home. I should sell that house, but every time I think of doing it I convince myself she’ll be back, and the house will go back to being a good place.”
Booze dribbled into his mug; Peter turned to find Kathleen refilling it.
“Thanks.”
She lifted the bottle in salud, sat again. It took her a moment to find a satisfactory place to set the bottle down on the floor. Evidently some spots were better than others, or at least that was what Kathleen’s OCD told her.
“She does the best Mick Jagger impersonation you’ve ever seen. She pulls over on highways to carry toads out of harm’s way. She wears Green Lantern pajamas. I really fucked things up.”
Kathleen sighed, crossed her legs. “If you want my opinion, you get sixty percent of the blame for the breakup, mostly because you’re the dumbest genius on the planet for thinking Ugo would keep quiet. Melissa gets forty percent for holding you to an impossible standard. She wants to be married to Galahad, Gandhi, and Prince Charming all rolled into one.” She shook her head. “You know what’s ironic?”
Peter took a deep, huffing breath. “No.”
“You’re about as close as it gets, and she can’t even see that.”
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, because her words, despite their good intention, hurt. Once upon a time he’d thought that highly of himself; now it sounded like the sort of lie you tell a depressed friend to cheer him up. “You said you came all this way to see me?”
“Believe it or not, I’m here to deliver an offer from the president.”
Peter raised his eyebrows. “Wow, you’ve come up in the world. Last I heard you were sharing an office, drafting PR releases.”
Kathleen waved the compliment away. “She asked me to do it because I know you personally.”
He leaned forward, laced his fingers over his knee. “So, do tell. What does President Aspen want?” Peter had little doubt about the nature of the offer. They had him over a barrel.
“Turn the duplicator over to the U.S. Government. Teach our people everything you know about it. In exchange, you get a full pardon.”
“Just the duplicator. Not the singularity?”
Kathleen tsked. “Peter, she doesn’t know about the singularity. I don’t betray my friends.”
“I was guessing one of the four physicists working with me would have cracked by now.”
“If she knew about it, she’d have already taken this facility. By force, if necessary.”
Peter frowned. “What does she want the duplicator for, if not to create a singularity?”
“I don’t need to tell you that we’re taking heavy, heavy losses out West and in Europe. She wants to make more soldiers.”
Peter jolted. Some of the tequila in his glass splashed on his fingers. “She wants to—” Peter pictured the same soldier—obviously one with high intelligence and superior battlefield skills—being spit from a duplicator over and over, day and night. They’d feed duplicates of him back in like a conga line.
“This isn’t only about the war for her,” Kathleen said. “Aspen is seriously worried about a coup. I’m sure you’ve seen General Elba trashing Aspen in the media. She’s testing the waters, seeing how people would react.”
That frail dove doesn’t have the stomach to do what needs to be done, Ugo had said at the driving range.
”Ugo’s involved in this, isn’t he?”
“Big-time,” Kathleen said. “He seems to be getting more powerful in that camp by the day.”
Peter wondered if he should take the deal, sick as the image of a million twin soldiers made him. Did he have a choice? They’d probably take the duplicator by force if he didn’t agree. The president was playing relatively nice for now, because it wasn’t just about the duplicator itself. His expertise was valuable as well.
Even if he did have a choice, it was probably unpatriotic, even treasonous, to withhold this advantage from his country, because they were going to lose without the singularity. China and India were mauling Russia, bombing Moscow and Saint Petersburg mercilessly—but if he had to bet his life on the outcome, he wouldn’t bet the home team. If he were forced to hand the singularity over to one country it would be the U.S. and its allies, but he was convinced the best route was to release it to everyone at once.
“I’m guessing you think I should take the deal?”
Kathleen propped her foot on his chair. “Oh, no. Definitely not.” She burst out laughing at Peter’s dumbfounded reaction. “They’re afraid of you, Peter.” She raised her nonexistent eyebrows. “You do realize that, don’t you? You’ve cracked reality open like an egg; no one knows what you’re capable of. That’s why they’re leaning on you, trying to pressure you, instead of simply coming in and taking what they want. They don’t know about the singularity, but I doubt it would surprise them.”
It seemed impossible that they were having this conversation. Peter wouldn’t kill innocent people, not for any reason. That his own government would murder him seemed almost as inconceivable.
Kathleen leaned forward, narrowed her eyes. “Do you think you could turn D.C. into a crater, if you wanted to?”
Peter shrugged. “Maybe. I never would. Plus I’m focused on tapping the singularity as an energy source, not developing it as a weapon.”
“I know. That’s why I’m telling you all this. If she knew about the singularity, Aspen would immediately develop it into a weapon. I like your plan better.”
She whispered, “Better, better,” under her breath.
“It’s interesting.” Peter took another swig. “You’re ruthless, but your ruthlessness is driven by good intentions. It’s an oxymoronic combination, but you pull it off admirably.”
Kathleen gave him a wry smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He’d just called Kathleen ruthless. It was probably a sign he should stop drinking. He lifted his mug, took another swig.
&
nbsp; “I’d seriously recommend you hire a private security force to protect this facility. I can hook you up with people you can trust.”
Peter did not miss the warning in her tone. “I’m not sure I can afford it. I need cash; I’m burning through what Constantinides and his billionaire friends have given me. The war’s making it hard for them to stay liquid.”
“I’m working on finding you more. With Melissa’s help.”
“Melissa?”
Kathleen nodded.
“I wish you were working for me. I could use help navigating the political side of things.”
Kathleen stood, spread her arms for a hug. “When the time is right, I’ll come. For now I’m more valuable to you in Washington.”
Feeling somewhat wobbly, Peter stood and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you. So much.”
She kissed him, full on the mouth but briefly, then stepped away and capped her bottle of Jack. “I’ll be in touch. Be careful. Be paranoid.”
34
IT WAS night when Faller spotted the next world, blotting out a patch of stars beneath their feet. He couldn’t make out much of this world in the darkness, but as they dropped, the shadows of medium-tall buildings loomed to his left. Off to his right were bizarre things he wasn’t sure he recognized, yet they tugged at him, called to him in a peculiar way. Naked loops snaked through the sky; skeletal steel towers, like big ladders, rose; a giant wheel—
Ferris wheel, his mind whispered. Yes, that was it. Faller could remember that a Ferris wheel turned, and that people sat in it, but not why. Looking at it gave him an all-too-familiar falling sensation in the pit of his stomach.
They dropped onto a wide, flat, chewed-up four-lane road, with no buildings in sight, the tandem landing with Storm once again jarring. Along with food and water, Faller needed to find materials to make Storm her own chute.
Once their chutes were stashed away in their packs, they came together in the middle of the highway.
“Which way?” Faller asked, looking around.
Storm pointed. “I want to see the amusement park.”
Amusement park—that’s what it was called. “Do you know what it does?”
Storm looked at him like he was the dimmest sop she’d ever seen. She set her palm on his forehead and gave a gentle shove before setting off toward the amusement park. “I’m guessing it amuses.”
For a moment he just watched her go, then he caught up to Snakebite.
They were approaching an enormous overhead road sign, with nothing on it but words. Faller stared at the words, squinting. “They’re as familiar as my own hand. I know they form words, but no matter how much I struggle, I can’t make them speak.”
Snakebite considered the sign.
“So many of the words I know don’t mean anything,” Faller said.
“Italy,” Snakebite said.
“Exactly. Boot? It’s a kind of boot, I think.”
Snakebite shook his head. “It’s a white building with marble poles in front.”
That seemed right as well. Maybe it was one of those words that meant more than one thing. Like orange. “I used to think a lot of the words I knew were imaginary, like the talking animals in comic books. But the more I see, the more I believe they’re all real.”
Snakebite pointed at the behemoth structures rising above the trees ahead. “Ferris wheel. Roller coaster. I’ve never seen one before, but there they are.”
A flash of insight came to Faller. “You ride them.”
Snakebite thought about it, then nodded. “That’s right. You ride them. For amusement.”
They passed another sign, this one big and colorful, set among dead bamboo trees. Farther on was the biggest expanse of pavement Faller had ever seen, then a high fence and sheltered gates. The gates were open.
The sun was rising as they passed into the amusement park. There was no one in sight. Straight ahead, the roller coaster sat behind a low fence. It was an enormous beast, a mad set of twisting, looping train tracks. Seeing it up close, it was obvious to Faller that you rode it, although it clearly didn’t go anywhere.
They passed a fenced-in field littered with bones and rotting pieces of brown and white fur. Snakebite pointed to a sign mounted on the fence that sported a picture. “Giraffes.” Yet another thing Faller had suspected was nothing but a fantasy. Evidently this world was inhabited, because the giraffes looked like they’d been eaten. He wished he could see one alive.
There was a pirate ship, dozens of well-plundered stores, empty booths with pictures of delicious-looking nonexistent foods. People began to appear here and there; a few glanced their way, but no one paid them any special attention.
They passed a small train on a circular track, a merry-go-round, toy planes on the ends of steel poles, also set in a circle. Ahead, they heard the murmur of voices.
A market was in progress, tables of goods set out in an open cobblestoned area surrounded by squat brown and white buildings, with a clock tower in the center. Hands in their pockets, they strolled along, studying the goods and the transactions.
“Do you have anything for me today?”
Faller looked up. An old woman was standing behind a table of herbs and vegetables, looking at Storm expectantly. Her bright red hair was silver at the roots. When Storm didn’t answer, the woman added, “Who are your friends?”
Storm kept her expression flat and matter-of-fact. “This is Faller, and Snakebite.”
Faller nodded hello; the old woman smiled and nodded back.
Over the old woman’s shoulder, Faller spotted a woman on a bicycle cruising toward them, her arms covered in colorful tattoos, her long black hair snapping in the breeze. She kept the bike remarkably steady as she weaved among people and merchandise.
“Why are you dressed like that?” the old woman asked. “And what’s with the packs? Are you—”
The woman on the bicycle looked up, locked eyes with Faller, and shrieked.
She slammed into a tall steel rack of homemade shoes, knocking them everywhere. She tumbled across the cobblestones before coming to rest against the legs of a table.
Faller rushed to help her. She had a long, ugly scrape up her arm from elbow to shoulder; the knee of her pant leg was torn and streaked with blood.
“Are you all right?”
She looked at him, seemed baffled by the question. Storm, Snakebite, the brown-skinned man who evidently owned the shoes, and a few others hovered over them. “Can you stand?”
“I don’t know,” the woman said. She had a peculiar voice, high-pitched and warbly. Faller helped her as she got to her knee and stood. When her right foot touched the ground, she yelped in pain and buckled into Faller’s arms.
Snakebite squatted, rolled up her pant leg, and examined her ankle. “There’s no swelling.”
“It hurts,” the woman said. “I think it might be broken.”
“Come on, let’s find some cool water for it,” Faller said.
Snakebite grasped the woman’s other arm while Storm got her bicycle.
“Which way?” he asked the injured woman.
“I live in Wild West Town.” She was looking up the paved trail leading out of the square, so Faller headed in that direction, not wanting to let on that they had no idea where, or what, Wild West Town was. The woman hopped along on one foot, leaning heavily on Faller and Snakebite. Her tattoos started at the wrist, disappeared up the short sleeves of a loose orange blouse. The ones on Faller’s side were a tapestry of thorny roses, young and old faces, words and abstract designs. They were like someone’s dream—chaotic, nightmarish, yet beautiful. There were lines in the corner of her eyes and on her forehead, setting her about square in the middle between young and old.
“It would be easier on your ankle if I carry you,” Snakebite suggested.
“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind. I appreciate the offer, but the worse off I seem, the more likely someone notices, and takes advantage. You know?”
Snakebite
nodded.
“I’m Penny, by the way.”
Faller, Storm, and Snakebite introduced themselves.
“I’ve seen you around,” she said to Storm, “but not Faller or Snakebite. Are you two from the other end?”
“We are.” Faller could have sworn Penny had shrieked at the sight of him. It reminded Faller of the first time Bruce saw him. Maybe something had happened to her bike at that moment, and that’s why she’d shrieked.
“Were you driven out, or are you just here to trade?”
“Just to trade,” Faller said. Driven out? That didn’t sound promising. He hoped they weren’t in for a replay of Storm’s world. At least this time no one saw them fall from the sky, and they weren’t defenseless.
They reached a fork in the road; Faller allowed Penny’s hopping to draw them to the right.
“What happened back there?” he asked.
“Oh”—she waved in the air—“I was going too fast; I hit something slick and the tire went out from under me.” It had looked to Faller like she barreled straight into the shoe shelf, but he kept his opinion to himself.
They passed under a rickety wooden sign that, along with words, sported the silhouette of a cowboy. Beyond was a dirt road running between old unpainted buildings made of rough-cut planks. Here and there, bicycles were tied to wooden railings. The only vegetation in sight (if you could call it vegetation) was a big, dead tree poking up through the planked sidewalk on one side of the street. There weren’t many people around.
“This is me, up there.” Penny gestured at a staircase clinging precariously to the outside of one of the rustic buildings. They helped her up the steps, which creaked ominously. From the landing Faller could see they were fairly close to the edge, maybe a thousand steps away. A sweeping, raised semicircular track ended abruptly, jutting out into space.
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