The Marus Manuscripts

by Paul McCusker

  Wade took a deep breath, which caused him to cough. The smoke in the room, he thought. When he recovered, he explained to them everything that had happened since he woke up in his bed that morning. It feels like years ago, he told himself.

  The elders listened to him thoughtfully as he spoke. After he finished, they glanced at one another.

  Greave shrugged as if to say, “Well, what do we think?”

  “It’s more nonsense,” Krupt said.

  “Everything is nonsense to you,” Dedmon complained.

  Acad droned, “He’s a peasant boy who’s been put up to this by Arin. He always said that a golden-haired child would come, and now he’s pulled this trick to make us believe him.”

  “It’s probably not the real color of his hair,” Greave suggested. “We could arrest him for gross physical alteration.”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” Wade said through clenched teeth.

  “To make us believe you’re from a different world or time or dimension, you’ll have to be a bit more persuasive,” Liven stated. “Tell us how your world is different from ours.”

  “I haven’t seen much of your world,” Wade responded. “Only Arin’s compound.”

  “Didn’t you see our city on the way here?”

  “Your goons put me in the trunk of their car.”

  “I’m sorry,” Liven said without meaning it. “Now, what differences have you noticed?”

  Wade thought for a moment, then said, “Their car didn’t smell.”

  “Smell like what?”

  “Like exhaust, like gas fumes.”

  “Automobiles in your world do?” inquired Acad.

  “Yes.”

  “My word, are you saying your world uses petrol-burning engines?” Krupt asked with an undisguised air of disdain.

  “Internal combustion engines, yes, sir.”

  “Next you’ll be telling us you still use electricity!” Greave said with a laugh.

  Wade swallowed hard. “Yes, we do.”

  “You’ve not harnessed the energy of the provider of our very lives, the source of our very existence—the sun?” asked Dedmon.

  It was Wade’s turn to ask, “Do you use the sun for everything?”

  “Of course we do!” Dedmon replied. “It drives our autos, our aeroplanes, our ships. It provides energy to our homes and buildings, gives us light by night, coolness for hot days, warmth for cold ones. It is . . . everything.”

  “Even your weapons?”

  Liven said quickly, “We’re still developing our weapons. War was fairly unknown to us until the last hundred years. We were too busy developing our arts, sciences, and medicines.”

  “What kind of weapons do you have in your world?” Krupt asked Wade.

  Wade thought about it for a moment. “Rifles, machine guns, hand grenades, torpedoes, artillery cannons, bombs—”

  Liven gestured wearily. “That’s more than enough,” he said.

  “What kind of bombs?” Acad asked.

  “The kind that explode.”

  Acad was not amused but said sarcastically, “What sorts of bombs do you use: gas-powered bombs? Electric bombs, perhaps?”

  Wade was tired of being made fun of, so he said to impress them, “We have atomic bombs.”

  The elders looked puzzled. “What kind of bombs?” Liven asked.

  “Atomic,” Wade repeated.

  “You’re going to have to explain that to us,” Liven said.

  Wade feigned boredom, like a teacher with silly schoolchildren. “It’s based on nuclear fission,” he explained. “You see, the bomb is made of plutonium or uranium, and neutrons are shot into it, which causes a chain reaction, and then boom, the explosion. It could destroy your entire city in just a few seconds.”

  The men sat silently, assessing what Wade had said.

  “Your world has obviously spent a lot of time developing its warfare,” Liven observed.

  “Or your imagination has!” Krupt snorted. “I don’t believe a word of this drivel. This boy is making it all up. Uranium, plutonium, chain reactions . . . it’s nonsense!”

  Krupt’s statement triggered a chain reaction of its own as the elders began to argue among themselves. They were divided over whether or not to believe Wade. This then spun into a debate about what to do with Wade now that they had him in custody.

  “You have to take me back to Arin!” Wade insisted.

  Liven shook his head. “Arin will wait,” he said. “If you are who you say you are, a boy from another world, we dare not let you loose. If you aren’t, we dare not allow Arin to wreak havoc among the people by using you as a means to frighten them. Morale is low enough right now. We can’t have Arin’s message of doom and gloom taking it any lower.”

  “But what if he’s right?” Wade asked.

  “Right!” Greave cried out. “He’s a lunatic! He can’t be right!”

  Liven signaled to Movan and Simpson to take Wade out. “Take him to the security house,” he ordered. “Keep him there until I tell you otherwise.”

  “Yes, sir,” Simpson said.

  “You’re making a big mistake!” Wade shouted to the elders as he was taken away. Madalay closed the door behind him, cutting off their laughter.

  Madalay said, “You have your instructions,” and walked away.

  “We have our instructions all right,” Movan said with a smile filled with gray teeth.

  When Madalay was out of earshot, Simpson added under his breath, “Too bad they aren’t the instructions Liven gave us.”

  Wade was taken back to the car, but this time he was allowed to sit between Movan, who drove, and Simpson. The seat was plush and comfortable. The car’s dashboard was lit up like a Christmas tree, with red and green lights next to symbols Wade didn’t understand. Movan pushed a button, and the car drifted forward, as if on air.

  “Is it fast?” Wade asked.

  “Is it fast!” Movan said with a chuckle. “You just watch.” He moved the steering column forward slightly, and the car took off. They flew down the city streets, past large skyscrapers and smaller office complexes, all with the same Romanesque architecture. But street lamps burned yellow nearby. It’s like Rome with electricity, Wade thought.

  They zoomed past other cars with body styles similar to the car they were in. Wade looked carefully to see if the cars were actually riding on tires. The ride was so smooth that he doubted it, but the tires were there, spinning quickly.

  Simpson frowned. “Stop showing off,” he said. “If you get us pulled over, we’ll be in big trouble.”

  “How can we get in trouble if we’re on official business?” Movan asked.

  “If we were going to the security house, we wouldn’t get in trouble,” Simpson said slowly. “But we’re not going there. Remember?” Simpson reached over and tapped Movan’s temple. “We’re going to Tyran’s castle. Remember?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Movan said, slowing the car down.

  “Tyran’s castle?” Wade asked, perplexed.

  Simpson glanced down at Wade. “We got a better offer for you,” he said simply.

  They drove south, reaching a spacious section of the city where the skyscrapers and offices gave way to homes scattered on large plots of land. At the top of a large hill sat a genuine castle with a moat, a gate, turrets, and towers peering at them majestically from all sides.

  “It is a castle!” Wade gasped.

  “Would we lie?” Movan said.

  “Who is Tyran, and why does he want me?” asked Wade.

  Simpson replied, “He’s one of the richest and most powerful men in the city. As for why he wants you, that’s for him to know and you to find out.”

  A winding lane took them up to the castle gate. Triggered by some unseen signal, a drawbridge lowered smoothly over the moat. They drove inside and parked in a large courtyard. A man with short dark hair and a thin mustache strode up to the car as they climbed out.

  “Tyran,” Simpson said and bowed slightly.

  �
�I am glad you made it safely,” the man said formally, then looked at Wade. “You are our alien visitor, I take it.”

  “My name is Wade Mullens.”

  “I know,” Tyran said.

  “So, what now?” Simpson asked.

  “You are to make it look as if someone attacked you and kidnapped the boy,” Tyran said. “It would be best if everyone thought Arin or his sons had done it.”

  “But, sir!” Movan said. “Our reputations will be ruined if people think Arin and his sissy sons stole the boy from us.”

  Tyran gazed at him with a steely expression. “Your vanity is no concern of mine,” he said. “Do as I say.”

  Simpson sighed sadly. “You heard him, Movan,” he said miserably. “We have to make it look like we were attacked.”

  “As you wish,” Movan said, then punched Simpson in the jaw.

  Simpson staggered back, then returned with a hard right to Movan’s eye.

  With grunts and groans, the two men pummeled each other. Tyran led Wade into the castle as they continued.

  “The elders are a collection of idiots,” Tyran said. “I heard how they treated you in that meeting. Abominable! They have a guest from another world in their midst, and do they treat you with respect? Do they listen to you? No. They disbelieve and ridicule you. A travesty!”

  “How did you know that?” Wade asked.

  “How do I know what?”

  “How they treated me. You weren’t there.”

  A shadow of a smile crossed Tyran’s face. “I have listening devices in the room. I would not let those buffoons gather together without knowing what they were saying.”

  Wade shuddered as a cold chill shot through his body. Why did he tell me that? he thought. How does he know I won’t tell the elders about his listening devices? Unless he’s planning to keep me here . . .

  “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?” Tyran asked.

  They locked eyes for a moment, and Wade felt instantly drawn in by them. They were friendly eyes, the eyes of a compassionate preacher or a good-natured uncle. He saw nothing to be afraid of in those eyes. “No, thank you,” Wade replied.

  “Then allow me to tell you what is going on here,” Tyran said as they strolled down a long hallway lined with suits of armor and brilliantly colored tapestries. “I am a man who has grown very tired of the various factions, tribes, fiefdoms—call them whatever you want—that have divided Marus for too many years. I think it is time that they are united under one vision, one leader.”

  “You want to be that leader, right?” Wade said, thinking of another leader who had said the same kind of thing and led his world into war.

  Tyran nodded. “From my childhood, I knew this was what I was called to do. I was chosen to bring our nation together.”

  “Chosen by whom?”

  “Fate. Destiny. The Almighty Sun. You choose a name.”

  “The Unseen One?”

  “You may use that name if you like. I do not believe in Him myself. But it is a suitable name for whatever power makes things happen in this life.” Tyran gestured to a large doorway. They walked in. The enormous room had lavish antique furniture, wall-sized bookshelves, and a harpsichord.

  “Why did you bring me here?” Wade asked.

  “Because, like Arin, I believe your coming is preordained. I believe you are from another world and have been sent to our world to bring about a new age.”

  “Arin thinks I’m the final sign of the end of the world.”

  “That is Arin’s opinion,” Tyran replied dismissively as they continued walking toward the far side of the room. “But I think you are the final sign of the beginning of the world. That sounds so much better than Arin’s idea, does it not? Would you not rather help start something than end it?”

  “Well . . . yes,” Wade said.

  “I thought so.” He smiled at Wade. “I suspect that you and I are not so different. In you, I see myself as a boy. I will wager that you get picked on at school. The other children do not understand your intelligence. The teachers do not know what to make of you.”

  Wade was silent. It was all true. Bobby Adams had said that Wade was too smart for his own good. His mother said the same thing.

  Tyran placed a gentle hand on Wade’s shoulder. “Those days are over. Everyone who works with me will appreciate you. They will understand the gift you are to us. You were brought here to help me unite the world in peace.”

  “How?” Wade asked, wanting to believe him but remaining skeptical. “I’m just a kid.”

  “You are not just a kid,” Tyran challenged. “You are a visionary, like me. I heard what you said about your world and its weapons, your description of that bomb—the one that can destroy an entire city within seconds.”

  “The atomic bomb?”

  “Yes. If you can tell us about that, there are other things you can tell us. The weapons from your world may help our world. They may help me to bring about peace.”

  “I only know a little about them,” Wade said. “I don’t know how to build them.”

  “Do not worry about that. I have a very smart man who will take care of the construction. All you have to do is tell him everything you know. Somehow we will find a bridge between our inferior weapons and your superior technology.”

  “What man?”

  “Dr. Lyst.”

  They had arrived at a door on the far side of the large room, and Tyran now threw it open, revealing a huge laboratory filled with electronic gadgets, beakers on burners, test equipment, and blackboards with complex formulas written from one edge to the other. At the far end of a lab table, a man in a white coat stood bent over a microscope.

  The man straightened up and quickly approached with a broad smile and outstretched hand. “Is this him?” he asked.

  “This is Wade,” Tyran replied.

  The man shook Wade’s hand vigorously. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said. “I’ve never shaken hands with someone from another world!”

  “It feels the same as anywhere else,” Wade offered.

  The man laughed. His slender face reminded Wade of an exclamation point. Something about his expression was bright and alive.

  “I am Dr. Lyst,” the man said. “You and I will be working together, I understand.”

  “Only if Wade wants to. He has not said he will,” Tyran explained, then gazed at Wade. “If you want to go back to Arin, now is the time to say so. I will not stop you. But I think your purpose in this world will be better fulfilled with us.”

  Wade didn’t know what to say or do, and he had already forgotten Tyran’s last instructions to the kidnappers. “I’m a stranger here,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t know where I belong.”

  “Then you may as well stay with us,” Dr. Lyst said.

  “I guess so.”

  Dr. Lyst suddenly flapped his hands at Tyran in a shooing motion. “Go away now,” he said playfully. “He’s mine.”

  Tyran laughed and said, “I look forward to seeing what you two come up with.”

  “Yes, yes, now go away.” Dr. Lyst walked Tyran to the door and saw him out. He closed it firmly, then turned to Wade. “This is going to be fun,” he said with a smile.

  Dr. Lyst’s face was ageless. Wade guessed he was in his forties but couldn’t be sure. He had black hair, with gray at the temples that made it look as if his head had grown wings. He also had a smooth, babylike complexion; the only lines were the crow’s-feet that had gathered at the corners of his green eyes. He was square-jawed and had high cheekbones, which gave his wide mouth room to smile in a big way. Wade found the face reassuring.

  “Let’s sit down and you can tell me everything,” Dr. Lyst said, pulling a chair close. He had an expression of pure delight on his face, as if he’d just made a brand-new friend. “I read the transcript of your statement to the elders.”

  “Transcript?”

  Dr. Lyst motioned with his thumb toward some papers on the table. “Word for word.
Everything you told them. I’m fascinated. I could spend days—weeks—trying to figure out how you got here. Just think what it would be like if we could jump at will from place to place, dimension to dimension.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “But I could be from this world. I could be lying to all of you.”

  “Not with that hair you aren’t.”

  “You don’t have blonds—er, people with golden hair—in this world?”

  “Perhaps in some undiscovered part somewhere. And if you were from an undiscovered part, it would be the same as if you had come from another world. Why does it bother you that I believe what you said?”

  Wade shrugged. “I keep thinking that I must be dreaming. I’m going to wake up in the coal cellar with a bad fever.”

  “Ah! Thank you for reminding me,” Dr. Lyst said. “I want to do a quick physical on you, if you don’t mind.”

  “A physical? Why?”

  “To see if you’re made of the same stuff as we are: flesh and blood.”

  “I am.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Dr. Lyst said playfully. He reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a small box. He opened it and retrieved what looked to Wade like a stethoscope and a blood pressure gauge. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Check all your vitals.” Dr. Lyst touched a button on the side of the box, and the inside of the lid lit up in a colorful array of blues, reds, and greens. Then they faded to gray. Wade looked closer at the lid and realized it was a small transmission screen. He had seen the new television sets at a downtown appliance shop, but he didn’t expect to see anything like that here. “Is something wrong?” Dr. Lyst asked.

  “Is that a television?” Wade asked in a whisper of wonder.

  “It’s a monitor.” Dr. Lyst picked up the stethoscope. But rather than put one end of it in his ears like the doctors in Wade’s world, he plugged it into the side of the box. The screen came alive again with colorful charts and graphs. “Stand up, please.”

  Wade obeyed. Dr. Lyst held the coinlike end of the stethoscope between his fingers and began to move it a few inches from Wade’s body in a scanning motion. He went from head to foot and side to side. Dr. Lyst watched the screen in the box.