The Walls of the Universe

by Paul Melko

  “John, you know I can’t offer legal advice,” Kyle said.

  “Yeah, but what do we do?” Henry said. He sounded as desperate as John felt.

  Kyle sighed. “There’s nothing in here that looks outrageous,” he said. “And…”

  “And?”

  “And it’s four million dollars. Jeez!”

  “We know,” Henry said.

  “We’re conflicted,” John added.

  “You should be.” Kyle wrote down a number and a name. “Professor Andropov, in the business department. He taught our business contracts class. Ask him to look at it.”

  “A Russian?” Henry said.

  “If you want a balanced opinion on Capitalism,” Kyle said, “ask an Americanized Russian.”

  …

  Andropov was a bespectacled man in a tweed coat. His office was lined with tomes, in Cyrillic and English.

  “Here,” he said. He handed the contract to John. It was marked heavily with red ink.

  Henry looked over John’s shoulder. “Are there any words left from the original?”

  Two hours before, Professor Andropov had listened to their story with a blank face. John was certain he didn’t care at all.

  “In four months, you have gone from prototype to moneymaking venture?” he asked.

  “Some money,” John said.

  “In quarters,” Henry added.

  “And now you have an offer for four million for majority ownership.”

  “Yes,” John said.

  “And we don’t know what to do,” Henry said.

  “Why should you? You are engineers,” Andropov said. “But engineers can do well in business.” He took the contract. “I’ll read it. Come back in two hours.”

  “Did it suck?” John asked, flipping through the pages.

  “No, pretty good,” Andropov said. He pulled a sandwich from his desk drawer. It was dark outside; John and Henry had spent all day in the law school and the business school. “Some weak language. One bad encumbrance. Otherwise, it’s okay.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “Oh, someone other than an American wrote this.”

  “What?”

  “The syntax is off in places,” Professor Andropov said. “Grammar is correct, but phrasing is odd.” He shrugged. “No big deal.”

  “They asked for fifty-five percent,” John said. “Is that too much?”

  “For four million, they should have asked for ninety percent,” Andropov said with a laugh, the first John had seen from him. “It’s a good deal.”

  “So we should take it?” Henry asked.

  “That I can’t answer,” Andropov said. “But think of this. You made one company in three months. If this doesn’t work out, you can just make another one.”

  On New Year’s Eve, John, Grace, and Henry sat at John’s table. The revised contract lay before them. Ermanaric Visgrath’s legal team had accepted nearly all of Andropov’s changes. A ballpoint pen sat atop the fresh contract.

  “So,” John said.

  “So,” Grace replied. She grinned nervously but otherwise had nothing more to say. Unusual for Grace.

  John slid the contract in front of Henry.

  He opened the contract to the last page. “Signing it all away for fifteen percent,” he said. He signed his name with a flourish.

  Grace took the pen from his hand and signed her own name.

  “Our new president,” Henry said.

  John took the contract then. He smoothed the page. It wasn’t permanent. It wasn’t forever. And it was only binding in this one universe anyway.

  He signed his name.

  “Pinball Wizards, Incorporated,” he said, “is flush with cash.”

  CHAPTER 30

  The barred door clanged shut behind him. In the two days he’d been in the Hancock County Jail, John Prime hadn’t learned to ignore the finality of the sound. But it would be over soon. Casey had found a bail bondsman to handle the bail. It was just a matter of time and he’d be out of there.

  He stood for a moment looking for Casey in the visiting booths cutting the center of the room. None of the visitors on the far side of the Plexiglas was her. When he’d heard he had a visitor, he’d assumed there was some last-minute question on the bail agreement, or some consultation with his lawyer.

  “Number three,” the guard said.

  Prime took a step toward the third chair involuntarily.

  A man sat behind the glass, a plain man wearing a wool coat, a hat, and glasses. A beard covered most of his face. Prime was sure the man was wearing a disguise. He looked too… different.

  “Go on,” the guard said.

  Prime paused again, then took three steps, pushing himself down into the plastic chair. He studied the man, but disguise or no, Prime was sure now that he’d never met him before.

  “What?”

  The man grinned suddenly. He leaned forward and spoke through the perforated opening in the Plexiglas.

  “Too bad you can’t just leave all your worries behind,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know you,” Prime said. “What do you want?”

  “We’ve spoken before.”

  “When?”

  “Not long ago.”

  “Do you get your jollies off visiting prisoners in jail?” Prime said. “Because I really don’t care for it.”

  “No, not any prisoner,” the man said. “But you, yes. This seemed like a very controlled way to visit. What with your volatile temper. I’m sure jail hasn’t relaxed you any.”

  “Who are you then?”

  “We spoke two days ago.” He paused, expecting Prime to guess. Two days ago he’d been arrested.

  “So?”

  “I called.”

  A light dawned on Prime.

  “Ismail Corrundrum,” he said.

  “Yes!”

  “You crank-called me. So?”

  “I’m just surprised you’ve gotten away with this for so long.”

  Prime thought for a moment he meant Ted Carson’s murder, then remembered what Ismail Corrundrum had said on the phone. He’d mentioned that the Cube usually came out in 1980.

  “I don’t follow.”

  “They watch for these things, you know,” Corrundrum said. “Any sort of technology like that. I can’t believe no one noticed. But maybe because it’s a game, and maybe because you screwed it up, they didn’t notice.”

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Is this an exile?” Corrundrum asked. “Is that what you’re doing here? Me too, in a sense.”

  Prime shook his head. “You’ve made a mistake,” he said. He stood.

  “Wait!” Corrundrum called. “Maybe it’s not an exile. Maybe you’ve got a… way back.”

  Prime turned, staring hard at the man.

  “That hardly seems possible,” Corrundrum continued. “How could you have a device? Well, if you did, you don’t have it now, do you?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Maybe it’s at home with that lovely wife of yours,” Corrundrum said. “Does she have it?”

  “You go near my family and I will simplify all your questions,” Prime said. He turned and walked to the barred gate, waving the guard to open the door.

  Prime paced the corner of the TV room, his mind racing. He knew people were exiled in universes without devices. He’d run across them before; he’d killed two, Oscar and Thomas, when they’d tried to steal his device. What if there were exiles everywhere, in every universe? Who was exiling them? And why?

  He kicked the bolted chair.

  “Hey!” one of the guards yelled at him from the overhang.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. He sat down.

  Corrundrum was one of those exiles. Or he seemed to be. He seemed to know a lot. He’d indicated that Prime had made a mistake in marketing the Cube. That it would draw attention. Whose attention? Corrundrum was watching; he’d detected it. But Corrundrum had said they watched for any technology.

  Damn it
! He was just trying to get along! Why wouldn’t everyone leave him alone?

  He felt the urge to hide, to run. But he wasn’t going to give it all up, not after he’d finally made it with the Cube. He and Casey had expenses now: the house, the cars, the nanny. He had a career. No way was he running out.

  The fear of prosecution for Ted Carson’s death had faded away. Ted Carson was alive somewhere in the multiverse; if one of him was dead, so what?

  What else did Corrundrum know? Could Prime use it? What if there were observers? What if there were other devices? Could he get his hands on one?

  Corrundrum had come to see him in disguise. He’d been careful, because he feared detection. Perhaps he feared Prime. He didn’t know if Prime was an exile or an innocent or a traveler. Corrundrum had felt safe when Prime was in jail or when he called Prime at the office. But Corrundrum was playing it safe. What did he fear?

  How would Prime lure him out? How would he get the information he needed?

  If he had a device again, he wouldn’t have to worry about Ted Carson.

  What would Corrundrum find irresistible? A device, of course. If someone was trapped in a universe, he or she’d do whatever it took to escape. Hadn’t Prime done the same?

  Now how to get hold of Corrundrum?

  Casey was silent on the ride back to Toledo. Prime didn’t feel like talking either. He needed a shower; he needed some new clothes. In the backseat of the SUV, Abby slept.

  Finally, halfway home, Casey spoke.

  “You didn’t tell them anything, right?” she said.

  For a second, Prime thought she was talking about Corrundrum.

  “How do-” Then he realized she meant the police. “No, nothing.”

  “They haven’t figured something out, have they? They don’t have some new evidence? Something we missed?”

  “No,” Prime said. “They expected me to admit it. They were fishing.”

  Casey exhaled. “They searched the house.”

  “I know.”

  “They took your… papers.”

  “I know.”

  “There wasn’t anything in there…”

  “Casey, they’ve got nothing. They took a gamble, that they could scare me, and when they couldn’t they threw me in jail. They don’t have a case.”

  “That’s what the lawyer said,” Casey said.

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “I needed to hear it from you.” They turned off at their exit. “The office called.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Family emergency,” she said. “But it’s been in the papers.”

  Prime shrugged. “It’s only been two days. It’ll be all right. Money makes everything all right.”

  “Does it?”

  “Absolutely,” Prime said. “It bought us this house, didn’t it? And this car.”

  Christmas lights hung from their eaves.

  “What do you think?” Casey said. “I wanted something special for when you got… home.”

  “It looks nice,” Prime said. “You didn’t…”

  “Dad came over and helped.”

  “What did you… tell him?”

  “The truth. That it’s all a horrible misunderstanding. He gave us half the bail money.”

  “It is a horrible misunderstanding,” Prime said. He pulled into the driveway, looking up and down the street. There were a couple of dark cars, but Prime couldn’t tell if they were occupied. Could Corrundrum be watching? Prime caught a flash of movement in one of the cars. They pulled around the back of the house into the garage.

  “Has Carson’s father been around? Or… anyone else?”

  Casey shrugged. “Not that I’ve seen. I haven’t been here, really.”

  “Yeah.”

  She grabbed Abby and climbed the three stairs into the back foyer. Prime sat in the car for a moment.

  “Coming?”

  “In a moment,” he said. “I want to walk around front. Look at the lights. Can you unlock the front door?”

  “Sure.”

  Prime walked out the garage door and waited until Casey had shut the inner door. Then he slipped through the hedge into his neighbor’s yard. He sprinted across the back lawn, dodging the piles of snow. Between the neighbor’s house and the next, Prime saw the car. From his vantage, he saw someone within, someone who could watch their house from where the car sat.

  Prime hid behind a tree trunk. Then he dashed across the driveway, coming to rest behind a shrub not far from the car. A man sat within, his eyes on their house. Was it Corrundrum? He couldn’t tell for sure. The man had been wearing a disguise at the jail visiting room. It could be the police.

  Prime stood and walked over to the car. He leaned in and stared at the gaping, surprised face. It was Corrundrum.

  Prime rapped on the window and waited until Corrundrum rolled it down.

  “So?” Corrundrum asked.

  “You have information I need,” Prime said. “What do I have that you want?”

  CHAPTER 31

  EmVis allocated office space for them at the headquarters in Columbus. They had desks, phones, and doors in a corporate office building on a wooded plot on the north side of the city. The main office was a three-story glass building that seemed half-empty, except for the guards who manned the front desk and cruised the halls regularly. John saw more of the guards than he did of any of the EmVis personnel. Behind the main office was a fenced area within which was a second and third building. The only way through the barbed-wire enclosure was via a double-gated tunnel.

  “What do they do in there?” Henry asked, looking out John’s office window.

  “Clearly we’re not the only business EmVis funds,” Grace said. “Maybe weapons research.”

  “Development of a better mousetrap?” John suggested.

  “Reusable toilet paper!” Henry cried.

  “You don’t reuse yours?” John asked.

  “Ew!” Grace replied.

  They’d spent the last couple days at the office, working on project plans, and sales projections, and business plans. Not a minute had been spent on anything related to the pinball machines. It chafed Henry the most.

  “School starts next Monday,” Henry said. “We won’t have to come down here as much. We can spend our time at the new office.”

  They’d moved out of the dilapidated factory as soon as they could, into a new building in Winterfield, one with an office and reception in one corner and the rest of the ten thousand square meters shop floor and production facilities. John had moved the lease of the old factory into his own name.

  John’s intercom chimed.

  “Mr. Wilson?” It was Stella, his no-nonsense secretary. John had tried to kid with the beehive-haired woman on the first day, but she’d stared at him blankly. She seemed always poised to respond to anyone’s next need, as if that was what she was programmed to do.

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Charboric is ready for you.”

  “Charboric,” Henry said softly. Henry did not like the second of the four board members from EmVis. Visgrath was palatable, in his sincerely intense way. Charboric, similar in Nordic features to Visgrath, was brooding, angry, and mean-at least in appearance. He’d had contrary suggestions already on design and implementation that Henry took personally. The two other EmVis board members were Mr. Alabathus and Mr. Zorizic, neither of whom they had met yet.

  “What does he want?” Henry asked. “More ideas for flipper design? The perfect coin box?”

  “Henry,” Grace said. “Be nice.”

  “Patent stuff,” John said.

  “Great.”

  John grabbed a notepad from his desk. “Be back in a bit; then we can head back to Toledo.”

  “Sure.”

  Stella was standing outside the door to his office. He wondered if she listened in on them so that she could time her appearance perfectly. Perhaps she had just been standing there waiting. Her subservience disturbed him.

  “This way
, sir.”

  “I think I can find it.”

  “No, I insist, sir.” She took his arm and led him down the hall to an elevator bank. She kept a strong grasp on his bicep while they waited for the elevator. An EmVis employee passed them, and neither acknowledged the other, though John gave the man an unreturned nod and half smile. The conference room was down one floor. Charboric was already there, sitting at the head of a table. A video camera was pointed at the chair to his left.

  “Sit,” Charboric said, pointing to that chair.

  John took the chair to Charboric’s right.

  Charboric looked at him for a moment blankly, then stood and adjusted the camera. John resisted the urge to move.

  “I will record this meeting,” Charboric said.

  John shrugged.

  “We are here to discuss the patents for pinball,” Charboric said, his Germanic or Slavic accent even heavier than Visgrath’s. “We need to determine any instances of prior art.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before we file patents, we must know if there is prior existence of similar devices.”

  “Shouldn’t the lawyers be doing this?” John asked.

  “They will,” Charboric said shortly. “This is for their benefit. Now, are there prior art examples for pinball?”

  “You know there are.”

  “What?”

  “I saw pinball machines in Las Vegas when I was a kid.”

  “Where?”

  “Las Vegas,” John said. He felt Charboric’s anger growing.

  “Where in Las Vegas?”

  “A casino.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Was it called pinball?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which casino?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Think.”

  “I told you I don’t remember.”

  “We need to know!”

  “I’m telling you, I was five years old. I barely remember.”

  “They would not allow a five-year-old into the casino.”

  “It was outside the gambling area.”

  “Was this with your parents?”

  “Yes.”