by Melko, Paul
He’d been to universes where he was dead. He’d known universes where he’d never existed. But to know that his decisions had led to the death of one of him. That he was dead and gone in one universe …
Everyone was looking at him. He met the eyes of each John. He knew they were all feeling the same guilt, the same anger. He stood up, and Casey was there to steady him on one side, while Grace was on the other.
“John in this universe is dead. He died in the explosion of the transfer gate four days ago. Based on what we know, it was to defend it and our technology from some interuniversal force.” He swallowed. The Vig? “That this … entity is still here, still actively pursuing who is left in this universe, means that Grace, Henry, and Casey of this universe are probably still alive. We have to do everything we can to find them. Let’s redouble our efforts. I’m counting on all of you to do everything possible to save them.”
John Prime entered the door, looking at the faces, hearing the last of the speech.
“What happened?” he whispered to a John.
“John Champ died at the transfer gate.”
“Oh,” Prime said. “At least it wasn’t us.”
CHAPTER 32
John examined the photographs that the private investigator had taken earlier in the day.
A sharp-faced, bulky man had walked into the apartment building, looking left and right, and then bent to examine the package that had been delivered. There was a picture of him waving a wand of some kind—metal detector?—over the package, then he’d walked back to the black van. There were pictures of the van, the van’s license plate, and even an interior shot when the van door opened. There were three other men inside the van. The image of them was too vague to make out features.
“Ever see him before?” John asked.
“Never,” Grace said.
“Is the van still there?”
“As of thirty minutes ago when the PI called in,” she replied. He was back in place after developing the pictures and couriering them over.
“What if we roust the van?” John Prime asked. He nodded at the rack of automatic weapons.
“These guys are skilled soldiers,” Grace said. “We’d lose more good people.”
“But we’d have some people to question. We’d get some goddamn answers,” Prime said.
“Torture, John? Really?” Grace said with contempt.
He shrugged.
Casey looked up from one of the phones.
“Hey, get this! One of the packages at the office in Smerna has an address listed as ‘Pinball Wizards, Transdimensional.’”
John rubbed his scalp. “That may be a clue for us. Bring it in.”
* * *
“We have a team in the house across the street from Grace’s and Henry’s house,” Grace reported.
“No one noticed?”
“Gray beard and gray-dyed hair,” she said. “Canes and a walker. Hopefully no one saw anything but an older couple.”
“What is the plan?”
“They’ve already noted a black van in the neighborhood. Same Tucker Comet model. License plate matches. They can watch it from an upstairs window.”
“Do we have direct communication with them?” John asked.
“Yep. Phones were turned on today as well.”
“Good.”
Another Grace put down a phone. “That was the private investigator. Police just rousted the people in the van. Hauled them all off in a paddy wagon.”
“What?” John turned until he found John Prime standing with a smile on his face. “What did you do?”
“You said to apply some heat.”
“I said to think about it.”
“Thought and done.”
“What did you … Never mind. Don’t tell me.”
“They pulled some heavy weaponry from that van,” Grace said. “I think they’ll be held for a while.”
John nodded, his thoughts turning for a moment. “Have the team in the house across from Grace’s and Henry’s report a suspicious van to the local police. Let’s use this situation to our advantage.”
“On it,” Grace said.
“We know where two of the vans are,” John Prime said. “I wonder where the others are?”
“One is probably watching John Champ’s parents’ house,” John said. “The other?”
“Should we drive by the farm and see?” Grace asked.
John shrugged. “Maybe. Let’s wait on that.” He felt how thin they were. Half the team was out in the field. He didn’t want any more unaccounted for.
“Let’s check on everyone’s location,” he said. “Just to … check.”
“Right.”
“Package from the Smerna office is here,” Grace said. A Grace and Henry entered carrying a box about ten centimeters on a side. They placed it on a table.
John read the label. “‘Pinball Wizards, Transdimensional.’ No one but one of us would know to use that name. Dated the day after the attack.”
He lifted it. It weighed less than a pound.
Taking a knife from his waist belt, he slit the packing tape and lifted the flaps open.
Inside was a sheet of paper.
He read it aloud, “‘We’re at the place it all began for us.’ It’s signed with the letters C, G, and H.”
“Casey, Grace, and Henry are okay,” Grace said.
“As of five days ago.”
John’s mind raced. Where it all began?
“The farmhouse?” he said aloud.
“That’s where it began for you,” Grace said.
“The quarry?” a Henry asked.
“No, the school lab,” Grace said. “They probably still have their student IDs, probably are still enrolled in classes. There will be lots of students around. And they have those cots for when you pull an all-nighter.”
“Send a team over,” John said.
“Hold on,” John Prime said. He was standing by one of the windows, peering at the street. “We got trouble.”
* * *
The window to the street was mostly frosted over, except for one pane of glass that gave an abbreviated view of the sidewalk and curbside out front of the warehouse. John Prime had been keeping a lookout there when he didn’t have anything better to do. They were dealing with professionals here, and he’d had a feeling something bad was about to happen. They’d been running over the opposition too easily.
A black Tucker Comet van pulled up to the curb just outside the door. They must have had the Smerna office under surveillance. What did they expect? The Wizards had no idea how to shake a tail or even know for sure that someone was following.
“Hold on,” he said. “We got trouble.”
“What is it?”
“Black van just pulled up outside.”
“All right, team, let’s bolt,” John Farmboy said. “This site—Site A—is compromised. We have two other locations—Sites B and C—fed by locations in the Home Office. Let’s abandon this place now.”
John Prime surveyed the room. There were twelve people left in the warehouse, too many for just one transfer. Maybe six could squeeze in the large zone and not worry about severed limbs.
Prime slammed the lock on the door. He ran to the gun rack and grabbed an M16.
“Grab what you immediately need!” John Farmboy screamed. What had started as an orderly evacuation was turning to panic as Graces all grabbed papers and Henrys all tried to configure the gate at the same time.
“Calm down, people!” John Prime yelled. “You!” He pointed at one of the Henrys. “Set the gate for 7650 and a thirty-second timer. Six of you go through first. John and I will bring up the rear.”
John Farmboy smiled grimly and joined him at the gun rack. Prime watched him scan the room, looking at it defensibly.
It was far from ideal, just an open room, with several ground-level windows and two sets of doors. Prime glanced at the second set of doors. They were already locked, thankfully. But each set of windows was an easy entry
way for commandos. At the far end of the room were a couple of cots for people to crash on. On the other side a hallway led to the back of the building, bathrooms, a supply closet, but what else he didn’t know.
He glanced over at the group of Graces, Caseys, Henrys, and Johns milling about the transfer gate.
“Let’s go, people,” Prime yelled. “Count off six and transfer now!”
One Grace and one Casey were phoning the away teams, one by one, letting them all know Site A was compromised.
“Powering up,” the Henry cried. “Huddle in tight.”
Six Wizards huddled closely in the transfer zone.
“Fifteen seconds!”
Running shadows crossed the frosted glass near the front of the building.
“Ten seconds.”
Prime found himself spinning, trying to watch every window and both doors at once. There was no cover in the center of the room.
“Five!”
There was a banging on the door. The locks rattled. Muffled words echoed as everyone looked in that direction.
The six Wizards disappeared to Universe 7650.
“Reset the gate!” Farmboy said.
Prime aimed his rifle at the door and fired a single shot into the metal.
It thunked there, leaving a depression.
“Thick door,” Farmboy said.
“I’d feel safer if the windows were all the same material,” Prime said.
“They wouldn’t be windows.”
Six Wizards remained. Farmboy, Prime, two Henrys, a Grace, and a Casey. Not his Casey, Prime knew instantly. The ring that he had brought her from 9000 wasn’t on her finger. Maybe she was Farmboy’s Casey.
“Thirty seconds!” the Henry cried.
Farmboy put his weapon down and pulled Grace and Casey into the transfer zone.
“Twenty seconds!”
“Faster!” Prime called.
A pane of glass shattered and a spirally, billowing gas grenade entered the warehouse.
“Tear gas!”
“Transferring!”
The box disappeared and with it Casey and Grace. That left the two Henrys and the two Johns.
Prime realized he should have brought gas masks too. The gas spun out of the gas grenade in clouds. He backed away from it.
Farmboy urged one of the Henrys to the transfer zone, while he reset the device. As soon as he was in the center, John transferred him out.
Prime felt the sting in his eyes. His throat constricted. He forced himself to remain calm. It was just a chemical irritant. Rubbing at it would only make it worse.
Prime backed away from the center of the room until he was against a cement wall. He coughed.
“You next,” Farmboy said to the last Henry.
Henry doubled over in a coughing fit. He couldn’t even stand in the middle of the transfer zone.
“Lift him!” Prime said. “I’ll send you through.”
Farmboy lifted Henry up over his shoulder. Prime ran to the control board and cycled him through to 7650.
The window shattered and dark shapes entered the warehouse. And Prime was on his own.
* * *
John doubled over as soon as he appeared in the clear air of the warehouse in 7650. Coughing shook his body. His nostrils and eyes burned.
“Don’t rub your eyes,” Grace said.
Cold water flooded his eyes and face.
“Get him out of the zone!”
Hands dragged him away from the transfer zone. He leaned heavily against the wall, breathing. The same warehouse, but empty of tear gas, empty of assaulting troops.
“Who’s left?” Grace asked.
“Just—” His throat spasmed. “Just—Prime,” he managed to say.
Grace snapped orders.
“Someone get to the Pleistocene and make sure no one—no one!—comes through to Universe Champ,” she said. “I want everyone who was in Champ accounted for. There are Wizards who don’t know the warehouse has been taken. I don’t want anyone going back.”
Casey—his Casey—handed him a bottle of water.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m good.” He coughed after he spoke. “Well, maybe not.”
“Why isn’t Prime back here already?” she said softly.
Grace—super-competent Grace—looked over at John, worry on her face.
“Do we send someone back?” she asked.
John shook his head.
“No, we don’t have gas masks. Anyone we sent back would be a target.”
She nodded. “But where’s John Prime?”
* * *
John Prime reset the system and powered it back up, setting the timer to ten seconds. His eyes burned, and he realized he couldn’t tell where the transfer zone was marked on the floor. The gas as well as his watery eyes made it impossible to see.
“Crap,” he said, instantly regretting the flow of gas into his mouth.
He fired the M16 into the windows, blowing them out, one after another. He needed to air the warehouse out, and noise might bring the police. Though how he’d explain the mess was beyond him. That was the least of his worries.
He ducked behind the controls, half hidden by the table they sat on, but not safe. He counted three dark shapes in the warehouse, advancing, scanning. They were probably expecting a more docile, surprised quarry. The Wizards were lucky he’d spotted the bad guys arriving or they would have been taken by surprise. Now the only one to be taken was him.
The system activated and Prime looked up in surprise. The timer had reached ten, and he hadn’t realized it.
Cold wind was coming through broken windows. The air was actually clearing, and with it, his cover. He aimed and fired at one of the approaching figures. All of them took cover behind boxes or flush against the floor. They returned fire, and Prime was forced to duck.
He glanced toward the second door. A soldier blocked the way. He was trapped. He couldn’t stand in the middle of the room and transfer out. He couldn’t reach a door.
One of the soldiers was advancing on him, nearing the transfer zone.
He smiled grimly, reached up, and reset the gate again. No timer. He pressed the switch.
The soldier couldn’t even scream as half his body jumped to 7650, while the other half remained in 7351.
Surprise, Farmboy, Prime thought.
One down, four more to go. Five?
Blood flowed across the transfer zone, further obscuring the location.
What now?
The self-destruct mechanism. Enough charge to destroy the device. Enough to concuss everyone in the room. Prime looked behind him. He had twenty meters of empty warehouse behind him. He caught sight of a pile of blankets, next to the cots where some of the Wizards had been sleeping. Maybe it would afford enough of a shelter from the blast. How much C-4 had Henry used?
He reached up with both hands, dropping his weapon first, to press the two buttons on the self-destruct system.
“Bomb!” he cried. “There’s a bomb in the room!”
Then he ran, firing blindly into the air. How long was the countdown? Thirty seconds, he remembered.
He skidded into the cots and draped the blankets over his head, burrowing down.
He heard the soldiers moving, barking muffled orders. They weren’t panicking. They weren’t running.
“Throw down your weapon!”
Prime looked up from under the blanket. Two soldiers stood over him. He couldn’t see their faces due to the mirrored masks they wore.
“Yeah, sure. But there really is a bomb over there,” he said.
“It does not look like a bomb,” a soldier said. “Roll over onto your stomach.” In the distance two soldiers were looking at the device. He shrugged and rolled.
Then the device blew.
* * *
“Jesus!”
John looked up to see a body appear in the transfer zone. Half a body.
He stood, dragging a blanket off a nearby cot, and threw it ove
r the corpse. It wasn’t Prime.
“Get a mop and bucket,” he said. “And trash bags.”
He and another John donned rubber gloves and dragged the corpse from the transfer zone. Then they forced it into a doubled plastic bag.
“Universe 7535,” he said. “We’ll dispose of it there.” The Pleistocene universe was far too convenient for dumping bodies.
Prime was using the gate as a weapon.
“Keep the zone clear!” he shouted.
Another emergency transfer could happen at any time.
But as the minutes ticked on, nothing more came through. The urge to go back to help Prime became overwhelming.
“Have we heard from the team that we sent to the university lab?”
“Not yet,” Grace said. “I don’t even have confirmation that they know the warehouse is taken.”
“Did you send someone to meet them to let them know that?” John said.
“Yes, of course, John,” she said.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
John checked his watch. It had been fifteen minutes since he’d come through from 7351.
“Do we own this warehouse in Low?” John asked.
One Grace looked at him and shrugged. Another paged through a notebook. She said, “We don’t but it’s empty.”
“Send me there,” John said, entering the transfer zone.
* * *
John Prime’s ears rang. His eyes, filled with grit and dust, hurt when he blinked. His head throbbed. He lay under something heavy. Something black. The world had reverberated, thumped as if it were a giant drum.
He felt a moment of panic and pushed and clawed at the weight atop him.
It was the body of a solider, deadweight. He pushed it away, scrambling back and away. He coughed, but couldn’t hear himself do it.
Blinking, he looked down at the soldier.
Deadweight was right. The soldier had shards of wood embedded in his back, debris from the explosion. His arm was nearly shredded.
“Too many pieces of people today,” he mumbled. “Too many.”
Prime stood up and grimaced in pain. Red flowed from his thigh where a piece of the table that had held the transfer gate controls had embedded itself. It looked like vampire slayers had decided his leg was Count Dracula. The stake of wood pointed perpendicular to his muscle.
