Mercury Shrugs

by Robert Kroese

  “Absolutely not,” said Eddie.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Mercury.

  “So when can we start on the mystical portal to Heaven?” asked Balderhaz, who had wandered up behind them.

  “Sorry!” said Suzy, grabbing Balderhaz by the shoulder. “Uncle Stan, let’s get you something to eat. There are sandwiches in the car.”

  “Good idea,” said Balderhaz. “I’ll need to eat something before I start working on the mystical portal we’re planning to build here.”

  Suzy smiled weakly, pulling Balderhaz back to the Navigator.

  “He’s confused,” said Eddie. “Sometimes he repeats things without knowing what they mean.”

  “The confluence of interplanar energy at these coordinates is really quite remarkable,” Balderhaz was saying. “We’ll still need proximal transducers to help inhibit the noise in the chaotic vector matrix, but any time you can leverage the topography to stabilize the metagenic field, I call it a win.”

  “See?” said Mercury. “Pure gobbledygook. We’ve taken him to the best doctors in the world, but they all say the same thing. He needs an MRI.”

  “So why don’t they give him one?” asked Mentzel.

  “They can’t, because of the bolt in his head. It’s ironic, I suppose.”

  Mentzel nodded. “All right, then. Why don’t you all follow me back to my office and we can sign the paperwork.”

  “Excellent!” said Eddie. “We’re eager to get started. On the house for Uncle Stan, I mean.”

  “Mystical gateway to Heaven, here we come!” yelled Balderhaz from the backseat of the Navigator. Suzy got in next to him and slammed the door.

  “Are you sure he wouldn’t be better off in some kind of institution?” Mentzel asked.

  “Nah,” said Mercury. “This is the best place on Earth for him to be.”

  Chapter Eleven

  FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.; October 24, 2016

  Tiamat sat at a metal table, her hands cuffed in front of her. A chain ran through the handcuffs, securing her to a metal ring bolted to the table’s surface. In front of her, just out of reach, was the Balderhaz cube. She sat in silence, waiting. She had been in the small, windowless room for nearly two hours, having been escorted from a holding cell early that morning. After nearly two weeks in FBI custody, she had begun to think that Special Agent Burton and his superiors had forgotten about her.

  The door to the opened and a man in a dark blue suit entered. He smiled at Tiamat.

  “Special Agent Burton,” she said. “You’re looking dapper today.”

  “First day in a new job,” he said, sitting down in the chair across from her. He placed a manila folder on the table in front of him. “You’re looking at the Director of the Task Force on Beings of Indeterminate Origin.”

  “Euphemisms,” sniffed Tiamat. “Not an auspicious start. How do you expect to face your enemies if you can’t name them?”

  “Again, you assume too much,” said Burton. “We’re a task force on BIOs, not against them.”

  “If I’m not your enemy,” said Tiamat, “you could demonstrate that fact by unchaining me.”

  “You’re a dangerous woman with a history of subversive activity,” replied Burton, “irrespective of your nature or origin.”

  “Then charge me with a crime.”

  “The courts can’t be trusted to deal with the likes of you. Fortunately, I’ve been granted the authority by the President himself to hold you indefinitely without trial. It’s the opinion of the White House lawyers that the Constitutional right to due process only applies to human beings.”

  “I see,” said Tiamat. “But what proof do you have that I’m not human?”

  “Good question,” said Burton, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled a metal object from his pocket and set it on the table next to the manila folder.

  “What the hell is that?” Tiamat asked.

  “Pruning shears,” said Burton. “I intend to remove one of your fingers.”

  Tiamat reflexively pulled her hands back, straining against the chain. “Why on Earth would you do that?”

  “To see if it grows back,” Burton answered matter-of-factly. “If it does, I’ll have documented evidence that you are a supernatural being.” He pointed at a tiny camera peeking out from the wall their left, just below the ceiling.

  “Or you’ll have documented evidence of yourself using violent coercion against an unarmed suspect who has been charged with no crime.”

  “After your miraculous recovery in the warehouse,” said Burton, “that’s a chance I’m willing to take. Unless you’d prefer door number two.” He reached into his jacket and withdrew a smaller object, setting it next to the shears.

  “A pen?”

  Burton opened the folder and turned it so the document inside faced Tiamat. “An admission that you are a Being of Indeterminate Origin, which effectively negates any claim you have to due process.”

  “So I sign this or you cut off my finger.”

  “Correct.”

  “I could always say I was coerced.”

  “You can say whatever you like. Nobody is going to hear it but me. Don’t get the idea that this is some kind of momentous decision on your part. It’s just a formality. Legally, the result is the same either way.”

  “Unless my finger doesn’t grow back.”

  “Sure,” said Burton. “But we both know it will.”

  With a sigh, Tiamat picked up the paper and signed it.

  Burton picked up the document and inspected it. The line at the bottom read “Katie Midford AKA Tiamat.” Tiamat had simply signed it “Tiamat.”

  “Is this your full name?” asked Burton.

  Tiamat shrugged. “It’s what I go by on this plane,” she said.

  “What do you mean when you say ’this plane’?”

  Tiamat sighed again.

  “Look,” said Burton. “Here’s how this is going to work. You help me, I help you.”

  “And how are you going to help me, Special Agent Burton?”

  “For starters, I can make you more comfortable. Get you a bigger cell. Books and TV.”

  “Internet access?”

  “Maybe eventually. If you prove yourself reliable, I might even let you come with us on field trips occasionally.”

  “Oh, goody,” said Tiamat. “Field trips to apprehend other angels, you mean.”

  “Possibly,” said Burton. He paused a moment, then continued, “I’m going to level with you, Tiamat. I’m a bit out of my element here. I’ve done as much research as I can about these ’angels’ or whatever you want to call them, but frankly the reports I’ve come across are sketchy and often contradictory. Don’t get me wrong; the higher-ups are definitely believers. This task force was created at the request of the President himself. The problem is at the lower rungs of the bureaucracy. You see, law enforcement agents are trained not to see the supernatural. In this job, ninety-nine percent of the time the simplest explanation is the right one. An agent who goes looking for fanciful, complicated explanations is soon going to be unemployed. So even when I interview agents I know have had first-hand experience with angels, I get nowhere. They make up the most ridiculous explanations you can imagine to avoid admitting they’ve come across something completely inexplicable. I’ve talked to civilians as well, but they’re just as bad. They’ve got no training in observing details, so half the time you can’t even tell what they’re trying to explain away. And the other half of the time, they get so carried away with their own theories that you can’t separate conjecture from what they actually saw.”

  “So you want a crash course in angelology.” said Tiamat. “What’s in it for me? And don’t tell me bon-bons and Netflix. I can’t be bought so cheaply.”

  “Fair enough,” said Burton. “I’ll admit I have little to offer you in terms of material rewards. I can make you a bit more comfortable, but you and I both know that I can never let you go free.”

  “If this is
your idea of sweet-talking me, you might want to rethink your strategy,” said Tiamat.

  Burton went on, “But it occurred to me on my way over here that what you really want isn’t material anyway.”

  “Oh?” said Tiamat. “And tell me, Special Agent Burton, what do I really want?”

  “Power,” said Burton.

  “And you’re going to give that to me?”

  “No,” said Burton. “But I fully expect you to take it. You see, Tiamat, whether you realize it or not, you’re actually in a very privileged position. You are the only angel on Earth in the position to influence FBI policy. The U.S. government is fully committed to getting control over the BIO menace. How we go about that and what angels we target first is largely up to you.”

  “Why, Special Agent Burton, are you suggesting that I would use my influence to settle petty grudges with other angels?”

  “Yes,” said Burton.

  “Then we understand each other,” said Tiamat with a smile. “What do you want to know?”

  “You can start by explaining what you mean when you talk about ’planes.’”

  “Unchain me,” said Tiamat.

  Burton thought for a moment, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a key. He reached over the table and unlocked the handcuffs.

  Tiamat took them off and rubbed her wrists. “Thank you,” she said, glancing at the Balderhaz cube. “Planes are like alternate dimensions. Everything you experience, what you consider the ’universe,’ is actually just one of many planes.”

  “Does this have something to do with the Many Worlds hypothesis in physics?”

  Tiamat shrugged. “I don’t really keep up with Mundane Science. The idea has been around a long time. It’s had many different names.”

  “So there’s another Earth on each of these planes?”

  “I couldn’t say,” said Tiamat. “I haven’t been to all of them.”

  “How many have you been to?”

  “A few dozen, maybe? The ones I’ve been to have all had a version of something like Earth, but it’s often almost unrecognizable. One thing you have to understand is that the so-called ‘laws of physics’ are only laws here on the Mundane Plane. Everywhere else, they are more like suggestions. Maybe originally all the planes were identical, but a few thousand years of minor violations of the laws of physics can have some pretty dramatic consequences.”

  “Are you saying that these different planes have only been around for a few thousand years?”

  “That’s a conjecture based on the amount of variation I’ve seen in the planes. Nobody knows for sure how old they are, but the consensus seems to be that the known planes split off from each other about seven thousand years ago. Your turn, Special Agent Burton. What are you trying to accomplish with this task force?”

  “The main purpose of the task force is to identify, catalog and track every angel on Earth, to assess the potential threat level of each, and to make recommendations regarding how to handle them. Every angel will either be apprehended and neutralized or be converted into an asset.”

  “Fine,” said Tiamat. “But I didn’t ask the purpose of the task force. I asked what you are trying to accomplish.”

  “I plan to turn this task force into a new division of the FBI, and eventually a cabinet-level department.”

  “With you in charge.”

  “Of course,” said Burton.

  “What if the angels don’t cooperate?”

  Burton smiled. “That’s the beauty of this task force,” he said. “Angels who resist being converted give me justification for requesting more funding and more power.

  “Nicely done, Burton. Are you sure you’re not a schemer?”

  Burton shrugged. “I never force things, but I’m always ready when the stars align. An opportunist, as you said. How many angels are there on Earth?”

  “My best guess is around a hundred.”

  “Where do they come from? Is there really a place called ’Heaven?’”

  “There’s a plane called Heaven, although it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. And no, it’s not where you go when you die.”

  “Where do people go when they die?”

  “Schenectady. How should I know?”

  “How many known planes are there?”

  “The exact number is classified. Honestly, I’m not sure Heaven even knows. My best guess is around five hundred. Theoretically, there could be an infinite number of planes. But most of them are inaccessible. You can’t get to a plane unless you can pinpoint its location, for lack of a better term. You need a sort of address.”

  “Like an IP address on the Internet. Not a physical location, but a unique identifier.”

  “Something like that.”

  “But it takes more than just knowing the address. You have to have some kind of portal, right?”

  “Yes,” said Tiamat. “And to create a portal, you need to have a portal generator. But the only one in existence was the one that powered the planeport. It was destroyed by a nuclear explosion four years ago.”

  “The planeport? What’s that?”

  “Like an airport, but for connecting planes. Basically one big portal generator, with a bunch of portals open between various planes. Theoretically you can open a portal from anywhere, on any plane, to anywhere else, but it’s much more difficult in some places than in others. It all depends on the configuration of the interplanar energy channels. Anyway, the key point is that right now, nobody can open a portal anywhere, because the only portal generator in existence has been blown to smithereens.”

  “So all the angels on Earth—that is, on the Mundane Plane—are stuck here.”

  “Correct.”

  “Who blew up the planeport? And why?”

  “An angel named Mercury. He’s a bit of a troublemaker.”

  “Sounds like somebody we should look into. Do you have any idea how to locate him? Or any other angels?”

  “Sadly, no,” said Tiamat. “Mercury is hard to pin down. And after the failure of the Myrmidon project, my minions all scattered. If I had any idea where they were, I wouldn’t have had to resort to posting Craigslist ads.”

  Burton frowned. “So you’re saying you can’t actually help me find any other angels.”

  “Oh, I didn’t say that,” replied Tiamat. “My predicament was due mainly to my lack of resources. I assume you don’t have that problem.”

  “If I can make a case that it will help us find the other angels, I can probably get it.”

  “Good,” said Tiamat. “I’ll need a lab. Nothing fancy, just some room to work and some basic fabrication tools. I’ll get you a list. And three or four assistants.”

  “Any particular skills you’re looking for? A background in chemistry or physics maybe?”

  “Heavens no,” said Tiamat. “I don’t want them to have to unlearn all that nonsense. I need people who are good with their hands but don’t have a practical thought in their heads. Art students are always a good choice. Let’s see, what else? A photonic crystal laser. Ten grams of tritium. A hundred yards of thirty-gauge platinum wire. A Siamese cat.”

  Burton was furiously jotting all of this down. “A Siamese cat? Really?”

  “They help create a soothing work environment.”

  “What are you going to be doing with all this stuff?”

  Tiamat grinned. “We’re going to build a miracle detector.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The former Mentzel Ranch, just outside Elko, Nevada; April 29, 2017

  It was the ugliest building Suzy had ever seen. Squat and rectangular, its steel siding painted a dull greenish-gray, it seemed like the perfect sort of place for a bunch of religious nuts to hole up while waiting for the Apocalypse. She hoped Steve Mentzel never found out what they had done with his property.

  She hadn’t intentionally gone for the cult compound look when she’d commissioned the construction; she had simply been trying to get an airplane-hangar sized building put up as quickly as possibl
e. Money had been no object; even after buying all the materials to build the portal generator, they had spent less than a quarter of Mercury’s fortune. The facility’s official name was the Hermeticorp Institute for Universal Awareness, a name deliberately selected for its vagueness. They didn’t want to frighten Mentzel or the other locals with a name that was explicitly religious, but they also didn’t want to give county or state officials the idea that they were operating some kind of illegal manufacturing operation. “Hermeticorp Institute for Universal Awareness” gave the impression of a bunch of some kind of new age-infused corporate retreat center, hinting at harmlessness as well as potential sales tax revenue from bored executives.

  Mercury, finding the acronym HIUA completely unmanageable, simply referred to the nondescript square building as the Box. The name caught on with Eddie and the others, and Suzy found herself powerless to resist. In order to appease her organizational nature, she reverse-engineered this into an acronym for Building for Otherwordly Transport. Dropping the preposition was no big deal, and after a few beers one night she convinced herself that “X” was a perfectly reasonable abbreviation for “Transport.” Thus the HIUA became the Box, and the Box became the BOX. The four of them had lived in hastily constructed apartments on the southern side of the BOX for the past three months.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” said Mercury. The two of them stood on a nearby ridge admiring the recently completed structure.

  Suzy turned to regard Mercury for a moment, just to make sure they were both looking at the same building.

  “I mean, I’ll grant you the BOX is not an architectural wonder,” Mercury went on. “But the potential it represents is beautiful. Just imagine, by this time tomorrow we’re going to be in Heaven!”

  “You’re going to be in Heaven,” said Suzy. “I’m staying here.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Mercury. “You could be the official representative for humanity at the historic reestablishment of communications between the Mundane Plane and Heaven.”

  “Meh,” said Suzy.