Winston Chase and the Omega Mesh
Page 21
“Look, you obviously had to go back for Bernie, and that couldn’t have been easy. And I can’t imagine you would have done that and left everyone…” His face tightened as he began to see the situation’s probabilities. “…unless you had a good reason. So, what do you need me to do? After I go pee.”
Winston planned to let Theo find a way to slip the QVs into Alyssa’s and the Colonel’s breakfast and was about to say as much when a couple of footsteps sounded outside the bedroom door followed by a soft rapping at the door.
“Theo?” The voice was low and gruff. “Everything OK?”
At first, Theo looked concerned, but then gave Winston and Bernie a faint smile. “The Colonel remains a bit skeptical of our cause,” he whispered. “Meeting you would seal the deal in a second.”
Winston nodded.
Theo stood and gripped the door handle.
“Colonel,” he said softly, mouth near the door jamb. “I’m going to show you something you’ll want to see, but you have to promise to remain calm.”
“Are you safe?”
That sure wasn’t the response Winston expected.
“Yes,” Theo chuckled. “Quite safe.”
The Colonel hesitated, then said, “OK.”
Theo opened the door. Colonel Bauman’s gaze went instantly past Theo and scanned the room for danger. He brushed over Winston as if he were barely there, missed the Alpha Machine altogether, and quickly settled on Bernie. The Colonel’s eyes grew large, then larger, then his bottom lip parted ways from his mustache, leaving a gaping round shape.
“Colonel Bauman,” said Winston. “I’m Winston Chase. And this is Bernie.”
The Colonel took one step into the room, then paused. “Yes, I know,” he said in a soft, almost musical tone that sounded nothing like he had a moment before. Something in his expression looked exactly like a little kid who just won an all-you-can-carry-out grand prize from his favorite toy store.
Winston wondered if this would be the perfect time to ask if he could date the man’s granddaughter.
24
Fufu to the Rescue
Winston had wanted desperately to see Alyssa, even just to have a glimpse of her, but ultimately Theo talked him out of it. He would slip the serum into her morning orange juice, and she’d be none the wiser. Meanwhile, there was no chance of her seeing Winston and possibly messing up the timeline.
That left the difficult drop-off: Shade.
Winston was still mulling over the best time to infect his best friend, but good opportunities were rare. They had spent so much time side-by-side, especially around meals. Winston couldn’t get him the QVs too late because of the incubation time or too early because of possible sickness and a risk of discovery.
When he heard a door open and close a few seconds later, followed by Colonel Bauman calling a bit too loudly “Good morning, sweetie!”, Winston knew it was time to act.
Using the Alpha Machine, Winston had spectrally followed behind Shade after they’d parted ways in the woods near the Air Museum. Shade had made his way to the highway and managed to hitch a ride with an older, disheveled woman in a rusty pickup by flashing a ten-dollar bill rather than his thumb. She dropped him at the bus stop in front of Fred Meyer, where he caught Theo’s arranged taxi back to Portland. From there, he had hooked up with Winston and the rest of the group at Cartlandia. By then, it was only six hours or so until Council Crest — too late.
Winston scanned backward along the preceding day. They had joined up when Shade rescued Winston from those FBI goons in the woods. Before that, they had been apart, with Shade left to set booby traps and sleep in the woods. Before that…Bledsoe causing his father’s death at the Air Museum, the bike ride to the museum, the gear shopping at the store, the bus ride from Astoria… And would Astoria be too early? Maybe.
They hadn’t gotten off the bus until the end. And they’d never been apart during shopping…except for one time. That gave Winston the beginning of an idea.
He worried over their lack of energy marbles. Getting a free jump out of Area X was definitely helpful, but the hardest work was still to come, and Winston didn’t know if they would have enough fuel. He set the worry aside, knowing there was nothing he could do about it now.
Winston scouted their destination as quickly as he dared. The bathroom was out because Bernie’s distinctly alien feet would have been visible under stall partitions. A changing room was too risky since he wouldn’t be able to respond verbally if someone asked how he was doing. Winston decided on the storage room located atop a short stairway near the clothing department restrooms. The spot was crowded with everything from office supplies and old cash terminals to empty coolers and seasonal sale signs. Winston was willing to bet that he could leave Bernie there for ten minutes without being discovered.
Winston left Bernie with Little e and the Alpha Machine and pointed to a group of four naked mannequins in the corner. “If you get lonely, you could try making conversation with some new friends.”
After tiptoeing down the stairs, Winston paused and forced himself to think. Had he been wearing the same clothes? Was his backpack as full when he and Shade had gone into Fred Meyer as it was now?
No, he realized. He’d had Little e in his pack then. It wouldn’t look as full now. Would Shade notice? No, not if he was suitably distracted.
Winston waited behind the door, knowing that the restroom would be his first stop in the store. Fortunately, it was a longer stop, complete with face washing and teeth brushing, since he hadn’t known when his next chance might be for such things.
As soon as Winston heard the restroom door open and close, he asked,
Winston ducked quietly into the short hallway and slipped past the restrooms. Only then did he realize that he had no idea where Shade would be. Sporting goods and food, the two most likely candidates, were at opposite ends of the store.
Trying to keep his head down, Winston headed straight for the cold soft drinks aisle and found one of Shade’s favorite consumables in the entire world: Fufu Berry-flavored Jones Soda. Winston was a Mountain Dew man to the bitter end, but Shade had a thing for the Seattle-based Jones drink family.
That would be well out of sight.
Winston found the curiously off-pink bottle and headed for the closest checkout lane. With the item paid for from pocket change, Winston circled back into the main grocery area, targeting the far aisle with baby supplies and adult diapers. Nobody ever hung out there. Confirming that no one was watching, he unscrewed the soda lid and downed an inch of it. Then he withdrew the last QV vial from his inside pocket, dumped it into the bottle, and replaced the lid. So far, so good.
He reached the aisle’s end and headed to the right, aiming for the large overhead signs reading Sporting Goods and Home & Garden.
Winston found Shade with a hand basket at his feet and a pack of fishing line in his hands. For an instant, Winston wondered why they might need fishing wire, but the question vanished as Winston paused in mid-stride. His friend was right there, head down in thought, thick brown hair all mussed up, alive and well. Winston’s heart gave an almost painful clench, and tears sprang to his eyes. In only a few hours from this moment, Shade would be dead.
No. No, h
e wouldn’t. That would change — starting now.
Winston trotted to his friend, who glanced up and immediately spotted the Jones Soda bottle.
“Dude, I thought you were going to hit the can.”
Just hearing his voice made Winston have to fight down a grin.
“I found free samples!” he said. “Last one, and it had your name written all over it.”
Winston offered the bottle to Shade.
“Free?” Shade hesitated. “Maybe it’s an omen.”
“It’s not an omen. It’s Fufu Berry. Take it. I really have to go still.”
Shade took a deep breath and pressed the fishing wire to his heart. “I…I can’t.”
“Why?”
“It’s too much.”
“It’s twelve ounces.”
“It’s too big of a gift.”
That was when Winston realized that Shade was messing with him, trying to prolong the discomfort of his call to nature.
“You suck,” he said. “Fine. I’m gonna go flush this down the nearest toilet if you don’t want it.”
Winston made a show of turning about and starting away. Right on cue, he felt Shade grab the top loop on his backpack and halt him in mid-step.
“Kidding! Geeze!” said Shade, who seized the bottle from him. “Can’t believe you’d say such a hurtful thing.”
Winston knew he had to leave. He might only have a couple of minutes. The fallout from his other self running into him could be catastrophic, and he still needed to leave enough time to look like he’d had a full bathroom break. Still, he found the thought of leaving Shade almost impossible to bear.
“Well…taste it,” he said lamely. “Make sure it’s OK.”
Shade gave him an odd look and studied the bottle. “Didn’t you already try it?”
“Yeah, but…” Winston berated himself for not doing the smart thing and just leaving. “It seemed a little off to me. Maybe that’s why they were handing out samples. I wonder if they changed the recipe.”
“What?!” Shade seemed genuinely outraged. “They wouldn’t dare.”
Winston realized he’d said the perfect thing, and he kept his mouth shut to not jinx it.
Shade undid the lid and chugged down several swallows. He lowered the bottle, frowning, eyes darting from side to side with worry.
“I think it tastes…fine,” he said.
Winston raised one eyebrow. “You don’t get weird taste? Like they changed sweeteners?”
Shade had a nearly religious devotion to the superiority of cane sugar over corn syrup. Without hesitation, Shade downed another couple of inches from the bottle.
“You must be on drugs,” he proclaimed as he lowered the bottle. “It tastes like someone filled a swimming pool with raspberries and strawberries, poured in a tanker of Kool-Aid, and then invited all of Beaverton High’s cheerleaders to have a wrestling match in it. With me.”
Winston snorted, and this time he couldn’t hide the smile spreading wide across his face. He wanted to throw his arms around Shade. Instead, he reached out and patted his shoulder.
“Dude,” said Winston. “I’m not touching that bottle again.”
“Your loss.”
Winston gave his shoulder a final squeeze.
“Toss the bottle so they don’t charge us for it, all right?”
This time, he forced himself to actually leave. Just before he turned at the end of the aisle, though, a thought struck him, and he glanced back at Shade, who was already hard at work finishing off the bottle.
“You can thank me now,” said Winston.
Shade seemed dubious. “Why?”
“So you won’t have to do it later.” Winston shrugged. “They are the magic words.”
“Um, OK. Thank you, Mr. Chase. You are a great human being.” Shade cocked his head and seemed to reconsider the words. “Kind of.”
Winston shook his head and let his best friend have the last word.
Shade now had QVs. Mission accomplished.
Winston headed left toward the front of the store, giving a wide berth to the route that other Winston would take directly from the restroom through groceries and on to Sporting Goods.
That would be after washing my face, Winston thought. Getting close.
But he still had to brush his teeth. It would work.
As quickly as he dared without drawing attention, Winston walked through the store, skimming along the checkout aisles, then cutting back toward the store’s rear through produce and the bakery.
Just as the handle clicked shut, Winston heard footsteps as his other self exited the restroom.
Winston bowed his head in relief and smiled, remembering his conversation with Shade. Moments like those were what living was all about. There would be more — many more.
And if all went well with the rescue? Would Winston get to have those essential chats with his best friend? Would Bledsoe let him out for occasional visits?
A flash of worry and hopelessness returned to Winston, but he pushed it aside. First things first. He had a rescue to plan.
25
Command One and Control
“We understand that you want to couple with Amanda Dabrowski,” said Command One as if discussing a small business loan, “but we assure you that this is a distraction entirely at odds with your ultimate aims. You can have the world, or you can have Amanda. The likelihood of having both is effectively zero.”
Originally, Bledsoe had pretended to take offense at the blatant insinuation that he had aims of taking over the world, but when Command One seemed uninterested in his denials, he gave up the pretense. Apparently, Management was OK with him becoming a global dictator. Who knew?
Before Bledsoe could reply, the waiter rolled up beside their table with a cart bearing the most sumptuous meal Bledsoe had eaten in years — a bacon-wrapped filet mignon, scallops in a lemon wine sauce, a crackling-fresh salad of spring vegetables topped with savory-sweet pecans, and a raspberry and chocolate mousse swirl that looked light and fluffy enough to float out of its crystalline glass. Learning from the waiter that the meat was all grown in underground tissue vats did not dampen Bledsoe’s appetite in the slightest. It smelled divine and tasted even better.
Bledsoe was content to eat in silence for a bit, savoring the meal and considering how he should respond. Nothing irritated or motivated Bledsoe more than being told he couldn’t have something. Give up hope on possessing Amanda? That would never happen. Somehow, at some time, he would have her — and the world.
Command One’s manners were impeccable and slowly graceful. He seemed perfectly content to let Bledsoe think and made no move to fill the emptiness with small talk. Around them, the Giza monuments lay in their timeless bath of moonlight, and every so often Bledsoe thought he could hear a breeze rustle the sandy plain.
“All right,” Bledsoe finally said as he recovered from the velvety mousse making his tongue nearly cramp with happiness. “Let’s move on to the obvious question. How do I end up in the year 24-whatever?”
Command One dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a white linen napkin. “With the fifth Alpha Machine piece, naturally.”
“So I do recover it.”
“After a fashion. Winston recovers it. You take it from him.”
Bledsoe felt a flush of satisfaction as he imagined how the boy would feel to surrender the last piece and his final hope of realizing Claude’s plan. Then his skepticism set in. Nothing was ever that easy.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to tip your hand about the future. Why are you telling me this?”
Command One met Bledsoe’s eyes with stern deliberation. Bledsoe
fought the urge to squirm under that gaze, which spoke of long experience and a vantage that surpassed regular judgment.
“It’s a long story, but the ending is that we are running out of time. The Omega Mesh has determined that some likely conditions and outcomes may have to be divulged in order to increase the likelihood of our desired outcome.”
“Which is?”
“That the future opens up beyond 2479. That the world will continue.”
Bledsoe mulled that one over as another mouthful of mousse melted in his mouth. “And you’re saying that I’m the key to that happening.”
“All evidence points to that, yes.”
“Which is why you don’t mind if I rule the world,” Bledsoe realized. “Because if I don’t, then the world dies sooner.”
“In a sense, yes.”
“Ha!”
Bledsoe leaned back in his seat, suddenly realizing that he was full. They really were giving him a blank check to do anything he liked.
Except have Amanda. Knowing that remained a sliver in the back of his mind, constantly annoying and occasionally flashing out sharp pains. Perhaps a way would emerge to have his mousse and eat it, too.
He forced himself to restrain his excitement. This seemed a little too easy, a little too good to be true. He leaned toward Command One and narrowed his eyes.
“So, what’s the catch?”
Command One’s eyes were so dark, especially in the dim restaurant lighting, that Bledsoe felt as if he were looking into two black mirrors.
“Catch?” he asked.
“You’re essentially handing me the planet on a platter. There’s got to be something more I’m not seeing.”
Command One made a low humming sound in the back of his throat as he folded his finely manicured hands on the table before him. “There is. What you’re not seeing is yourself.”
Bledsoe chuckled and put his head back, gazing up at the artificial starry sky. “Please, oh, please don’t tell me that your next statement involves me opening up about my troubled childhood.”
“Not at all.”
As if on cue, their waiter arrived at the table and gently deposited a small, black handgun before Bledsoe. The contoured, rubber-coated grip lay closest to Bledsoe, and he knew, if loaded, it housed a magazine of 9 mm shells. The serrated barrel bore the words Walther CCP.