The World Walker Series Box Set

by Ian W. Sainsbury

  “You’d be surprised. Changing the way you look wouldn’t have helped you escape notice before Roswell, but now you’ve dropped completely off the radar. They won’t know you if you look different.”

  “They can’t sense me any more?” said Seb. “How is that possible? Walt could tell where I was any time. That crazy Sonia woman found me quickly enough.”

  “The Manna you’ve absorbed,” said Seb2, “it’s completely new. It comes from a culture 2,000 years further on from the one that seeded the Earth first time around. Roswell was the third visit I’m aware of. The first visit was thousands of years before humans started walking on two legs. The Manna left then was somewhat of a marker. When humans found it, cultures started developing with a shaman, witch doctor, or priest of some kind. The second visit was supposed to coincide with a genetic wildcard being available and able to absorb upgraded Manna. For whatever reason, it didn’t quite take, but that visitor left millions of Thin Places seeded all over the planet.”

  “And everyone who can use Manna, they’re still using the Manna that was left then?”

  “Right. It’s self-sustaining nanotechnology, the amount of it on Earth is kept constant. Taken away from a Thin Place by a human body, the tech will shut down over time - faster as it’s used by whoever absorbed it. The Thin Places automatically replace the Manna taken. And that’s how it’s been for many centuries. You’re the next genetic wildcard, the new Manna was only left in one Thin Place, ready to seed the planet again when the time came.”

  “But it’s gone, right? I have it all.”

  “Yes. Billy Joe went home after passing on Manna to you. The Manna he gave you was a bridge, not the Roswell Manna, but an upgraded version of the 2000 year-old stuff. It meant you were able to absorb Roswell without burning up. I think part of the original plan would have been that you, when the time is right, would make new Thin Places. If and when humanity is ready.”

  “Great,” said Seb. “Looking at the way we’re using Manna now, I reckon humanity might be ready in another few thousand years or so.”

  “Ok,” said Seb2. “You can decide then.”

  “Oh,” said Seb, thought for a few moments, then said “oh” again. “You’re serious, aren’t you? How long do you expect me to live?”

  “To all intents and purposes, you’re immortal. You can die, but only by deciding to do it. You’d have to release all the Manna, then you’d age, sicken and die just like regular folk.”

  “But until then…?”

  “No sickness, no headaches, no head colds. No death.”

  There was a pause.

  “You called me a World Walker,” said Seb. “What is that?”

  “Again, let me just remind you there are provisos at work here. I am still you, after all. My knowledge is very sketchy, much of it educated guesses. I think Billy Joe’s arrival in 1947 didn’t go as planned. It was a crash, I think the ship was a drone carrying the newest Manna. I don’t think he needed a ship at all. And he arrived decades too early, although that meant little to him. He just waited. He is a World Walker too.”

  “Wait,” said Seb. “Not just Walking from place to place, or Walking through parallel universes, but walking from world to world too?”

  “Right,” said Seb2. “Which means we should be able to do the same, in theory, but, well, remember the monkey playing a video game analogy?”

  “We’re still the monkey.”

  “Correct. If we try Walking to another planet, we’ll probably be as successful as that monkey taking on a shoot ‘em up designed by Einstein. No telling where we’ll end up. Too much of a risk.”

  “I think we’ve got enough to deal with on this planet as it is,” said Seb. “So Billy Joe is a World Walker, I’m a World Walker. Are there others?”

  “No idea,” said Seb2. “But logic would suggest the answer is yes.”

  “None of this helps me find Mee,” said Seb. “What can we do?”

  “Well, as you’re effectively cloaked now, you can use it to your advantage. Find out where she is tomorrow and go get her.”

  “And if I can’t find out?”

  “I don’t know. One step at a time.”

  Seb let the voices fade as he watched his breath and brought his attention to the present moment. Even as Jack Carnavon’s face drifted into his mind, as it always did, it was swiftly followed by the look on Mee’s tear-streaked face as she ended the call. Seb, with the discipline borne of years of daily practice, observed the thoughts, watched his own despair, anger and hope and allowed them to float away as he returned to a state of pure awareness.

  44

  New York

  Manhattan in Fall was cold. The temperature had risen sufficiently during the day to melt the early frost, but even when the sun was at its zenith, people were wrapped in overcoats, hats and scarves, plumes of mist coming out of their mouths as they hurried along the ever-busy sidewalks. As the afternoon darkened and lights started to come on around the city, the temperature plummeted again. It felt like winter had come early, but New Yorkers were used to the cold and dressed for it. So the tall guy in the smart, light summer suit got a few looks as he walked out of an alleyway in SoHo. The looks would have turned into open-mouthed gapes if anyone had seen him duck into the next alleyway, emerging two seconds later in dark chinos, thick sweater, a long, heavy overcoat, scarf, hat and gloves.

  “Not that you need them to keep warm, but no point drawing attention to yourself,” said Seb2.

  “Where am I heading?” said Seb, stopping as he caught sight of himself in the window of a coffee shop. He seemed to have grown a beard. His skin was darker. It was a good job he was wearing a hat as he was now bald. And, apparently, he had grown a couple inches and aged about twenty years. He walked on.

  “It’s three blocks away,” said Seb2. The address we have is an office building, but I can’t find any record of the first floor tenant, although the rent has been paid promptly for the last six years.”

  “You’re actually a vast improvement on the internet,” said Seb.

  “How, exactly?”

  “Well, quicker, obviously, and the information is always relevant. I can only assume that’s because you’re not spending eighty percent of the time watching porn or looking at cat videos.”

  “You have to remember we represent an evolutionary leap forward for humanity,” said Seb2. “What you have become is beyond the wildest speculations of the most maverick evolutionary biologist. So I only actually spend about thirty percent of the time watching porn and cat videos.”

  Seb laughed and stopped in his tracks, apologizing to a small Korean woman who, having used his back as a windbreak for the last two hundred yards, walked straight into him. A few more steps took him to the corner of the street Walt had written down.

  “Just keep walking, nice and steady,” said Seb2, “but I should warn you there are six Manna users within a half-mile radius. Considering the number of Users currently in New York is one hundred and twelve, that’s a statistical anomaly worth noting. Not a coincidence. The first one is watching from the newsstand over the street. Be subtle, remember she can’t sense us.”

  Seb scanned the street left to right as if looking for a particular building. He spotted the woman immediately. She was trying to look like she was browsing the magazine rack in front of her. A copy of Time was in her hand and her head was bowed slightly as if she was reading, but her eyes were flicking backward and forward, checking the foot traffic on the opposite sidewalk. As Seb watched, she glanced right at him, then moved on to someone else.

  “There’s another one covering the other end of the street,” said Seb2. “Four Users are inside the building we’re heading for.”

  “Ok, I’m gonna walk straight past, go around the block then come back next time as me.”

  “Because?”

  “Because they must know by now they can’t sense me, and Walt must have told them I’ve learnt to change my appearance. But they haven’t seen it for thems
elves. They might think he’s exaggerating. If I come back looking like me, is there any way we can let a hint of Manna show? So they think my cloaking trick isn’t perfect.”

  “Yes, I can do that. Best that they underestimate us from the beginning. Good thinking.”

  Seb saw the second User standing by a parking meter at the far end of the street. He went straight past him, turned the corner and walked around the block. Halfway round, he ducked behind a car and came out as himself.

  “Shame,” he said. “I quite liked that beard.” Just before rounding the final corner, Seb2 allowed small amounts of Seb’s Manna use to escape. Seb pictured the process as being like lifting the lid on a casserole to let a waft of the rich aroma into a room. Seb didn’t need to look at the newsstand woman to know she had spotted him. Without him moving his head, Seb2 patched a live feed from a security camera outside a nearby store. To Seb it looked like a small window appeared to his left, showing the view across the street of the woman abandoning all pretense of reading her magazine and speaking into a mic on her coat cuff.

  “Neat trick,” said Seb.

  “I’m full of ‘em,” said Seb2. “Ok, we’re not expecting any physical threat from this meeting, but your apartment is lined up and ready to Walk to. You just need to think it and you’re there.”

  “We’re not going anywhere until we find Mee,” said Seb. He stopped in front of a door with three brass plaques boasting a lawyer, a tax attorney and a management consultancy firm. There were four buzzers to the right, three of them labelled, one blank. “That one?” said Seb.

  “That one,” said Seb2. Seb buzzed, the door clicked open and he walked upstairs to the first floor. A dimly lit corridor led to a heavy oak door. It swung open as he approached. Seb walked through it and saw the retreating back of a giant of a man, close to seven feet tall. The huge figure reached a second door and held it open for Seb.

  “This way, Mr. Varden,” he said. Seb walked through into a sparsely furnished office. A polished wooden floor, large utilitarian desk and two lamps. No bookcases or filing cabinets. On the desk was a laptop. Behind the desk sat three unsmiling figures. The first was a woman who looked to be in her eighties, sitting bolt upright, wearing a green tweed suit. The third sat lower than the other two, despite the fact that he was perched on a cushion.

  “Barrington,” thought Seb.

  “Got to be,” said Seb2. “I suppose we should have expected to meet the muscle of the operation. What do you make of this guy?”

  This guy was the middle figure behind the desk, a corpulent hippy with John Lennon glasses and long, greasy hair.

  “The Grateful Dead fan?” thought Seb. “He looks stoned. Or bored.”

  “Wrong on both counts,” said Seb2. “He’s using every trick he knows to find out about your Manna. This whole room is swarming with nano tech he’s controlling. He looks half-asleep because of his level of concentration. What he’s doing is astonishing, actually. I can feel millions of approaches by his Manna, interrogating ours, feeding back information.”

  “And how much information is he getting?”

  “Oh, I’m making sure he’s got plenty to talk about once we’ve gone. I’m currently telling him a story he’ll want to believe. They sure won’t want to believe you’re as far removed from them as you are.”

  “So what are you telling them?”

  “That you absorbed the Roswell Manna - they already know that, no reason to hide it. But they’ll think your body has been unable to work with what you picked up. They know you’re powerful, but I’m giving them the impression you’re volatile, too, that the new Manna is so far advanced, you can’t predict the outcome of any significant use with confidence.”

  “And they’re buying that?”

  “Sure, pretty much. And you’re about to give them the clincher.”

  “How?”

  “By passing out for a few minutes. If you don’t respond to what this hippy’s doing, they’ll wonder how you could be so cool about it. It’ll undo all the good work I’m doing making you look weaker than you are. So I’m going to hit back, send a kind of mini-EMP at John Lennon, knock out his Manna. Probably do him some damage, too.”

  “EMP?” thought Seb. “Electric magnetic something?”

  “Electro Magnetic Pulse. You won’t be out for long.”

  “Fire when ready,” said Seb, then slumped in his seat as he passed out. The large hippy screamed briefly and fell out of his chair. He lay on the floor, blood trickling from his nose. Barrington didn’t even glance at him and the older woman merely sniffed as if unimpressed. She turned toward the door.

  “Simon,” she said. The huge man entered the room, grabbed the hippy under his armpit with one enormous hand and dragged him unceremoniously out of the room.

  “Perhaps Walter Ford over-estimated him,” said the woman.

  “Perhaps,” said Barrington. They both waited, watching Seb. After three minutes, his eyes started to move behind his eyelids. Then he opened them and straightened in his chair.

  “Very impressive, Mr. Varden,” said the woman. “You’ll forgive me if we don’t introduce ourselves, but discretion is one of the linchpins of our organization. Mr. Mason wishes to talk to you.”

  “Where is he?” said Seb. “And where’s Meera?”

  The woman ignored Seb’s questions, pressed a button on the laptop, then swiveled it around to face Seb. The screen remained blank and the voice that spoke from the tiny speakers was no more than a whisper.

  “Mr. Varden, let’s get straight to business,” came the whisper. “My name is Mason. Mr Ford has told you a little about me. All you really need to know is I head up a large group of Manna users in this country. We ensure our power remains unknown to the public and, as Mr. Ford told you, we keep a light but firm grip on local and national government at home and abroad.”

  “Where’s Meera?” said Seb. “And why are you hiding? If you’re scared to face me because of what you did to Bob, you should be.” The response to that was a strange kind of hissing noise. It took Seb a second to work out that it was laughter.

  “Hmm, got to admit he’s clever,” said Seb2.

  “In what way?” thought Seb.

  “I’m trying trace the signal. It loops between countries via various satellites, but then it comes to a dead end completely sometimes, in different places each time. It’s some kind of random algorithm, no pattern at all. It’s the same thing they did with Mee’s call. I don’t know where he is.”

  The whisper could have belonged to anyone. There was no discernible accent.

  “I value my privacy, Mr. Varden,” whispered Mason. “Miss Patel is in good health. I will open a video link to her shortly so you can see for yourself. But first, we need to talk business.”

  Seb said nothing, not even wanting to acknowledge this twisted maniac with a response.

  “We know you went to Roswell and we know what happened there. Even before then, Walter Ford described you as the most powerful Manna User he had ever met.” There was a pause. “Although, it’s only fair to point out he’s never met me.”

  Behind the desk, Barrington and the old woman were as still as statues.

  “In Las Vegas, you were attacked by Sonia Svetlana, current leader of the Acolytes Of Satan, yes?” whispered Mason.

  “That’s who Walt said she was,” said Seb. “Although most of what he told me was probably a crock of shit.”

  “In this instance, his information was accurate. We have been waiting for Ms. Svetlana to make her move for several months now. After dispatching the strongest Manna users in the rest of the world, she had to come here if she was to complete her collection. I have long been considered the single most powerful user of Manna on Earth, so I was always going to provide the culmination of her killing spree. This is not pride speaking, Mr. Varden, but I would be a fool not to be aware of the nature of my own capabilities. I have led my organization for over three decades now and have no illusions. I am not here because I command
respect, or affection, only fear. I offer all my associates the same choice. They join me or die. And, since I ask so little of them, almost all of them choose to join me.”

  “Almost all?” said Seb.

  “There have been refusals along the way. Not many of them. Usually a small demonstration of my superiority convinces them of their error. If not, they die. My organization doesn’t have a single weak link, Mr. Varden.”

  Seb remembered Walt refusing to meet his eye and wondered if that was true.

  “The fact that Ms. Svetlana changed her plans so quickly when you appeared suggests one of two possibilities. Either she considers you a warm-up of sorts, a starter before she gets to my entrée, or she believes you are more powerful than me. Again, I doubt she has sufficient information to make that decision. However, I am not so vain as to assume I am the most powerful of the two of us. A truly great leader must be a realist. You may be stronger. You did, after all, absorb the Roswell Manna, even if your body may not be able to use it effectively.”

  “Looks like they bought it,” said Seb2.

  “Nice work,” thought Seb.

  “This presents me with an unusual situation. Ms. Svetlana needs to dispose of all challengers in order to fulfill various arcane prophecies. For such an obviously talented individual, her belief-system is embarrassingly medieval. I had preparations in place to confront her, but your arrival changes the picture considerably. She wants to take you on. That much is clear from the risks she took getting to you in Las Vegas. She has now retreated to the headquarters she’s set up here in New York. I need you to go there and kill her.”

  “No,” said Seb.

  “I hardly expected an immediate ‘yes’. First, let me briefly address your moral objections.” The screen of the laptop turned on. It was full of pictures of young men. “The Acolytes have taken to performing one of their many rituals on an ongoing basis since Ms. Svetlana took the reins. These young men have all gone missing in the New York area since she and her people arrived. They are only the ones we know about, but it is likely there are many more, as the information we have suggests she requires at least twenty sacrifices every month. The victims are crucified upside-down and their blood is slowly drained until they die.”