The Walls of the Universe

by Paul Melko

  “Flashlights,” Prime hissed. “We should have brought flashlights.”

  “Let’s go back and get some,” John replied.

  “God, I hate this,” Prime said. John listened in the darkness to Prime’s fast breathing, the stress in his voice.

  “You’re okay, man,” John said. “We’re okay. You can calm down now.”

  Prime laughed, almost hysterically. Then he paused and said, “Yeah, thanks.”

  John spun slowly around. The air was moist. They were underground, not in the open at all as they had expected. Perhaps this was just as well.

  “We missed the parking lot,” Prime said.

  John reached out, felt cold cement blocks.

  “We’re lucky we missed that wall,” he said.

  “Shit.”

  John reached along the wall. His elbow knocked into something that clattered, and then his fingers found a light switch. The room lit up.

  It was a basement room, twenty meters long, filled with odds and ends, buckets, mops, old equipment, scuba gear. Rows of shelves were stacked with boxes. It was empty of any people, Goths or otherwise, save dead Corrundrum.

  “Oops,” Prime said.

  “What?” John asked.

  “That’s how big it is.” The device’s field hadn’t quite reached Corrundrum’s feet. The corpse had been amputated at the shins. “Someone is going to get a surprise tomorrow morning.”

  Blood flowed across the floor in a wave, reeking of iron. John’s stomach flipped and he looked away.

  “I had been twenty-five percent sure he’d turn on us,” Prime said. “Guess I was right.”

  “There were other ways to deal with him,” John said.

  Prime stared at him for a moment. “This cleans up a lot of loose ends for me.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  There was a single metal fire door. John twisted the knob and pulled it open. It squeaked like old bedsprings. John paused, peering beyond the door into darkness. He could just make out stairs leading up. He jerked the door open, turning the long, slow squeak into a quick squawk.

  “Upstairs,” Prime whispered. “It’s where we gotta be.”

  The steps felt slick under his boots. The stairway smelled of mold.

  At the top was another metal fire door. John placed his ear against the door but heard nothing. Prime knelt at the base of the door and pressed his eye against the crack.

  “I don’t see anything,” Prime said.

  “Nothing to hear,” John replied. He nodded and opened the door.

  They were in a dim hallway, lit by sconces every few meters. There was a half-glass door across the hall, leading into a dark office. Prime slipped across the hall and tried the door. It opened. They stepped inside.

  Prime turned the small desk lamp on. John hoped no one would notice the light; the window shades were drawn.

  “ ‘Arturto Ildibad,’ ” Prime said, reading the name off the placard on the desk.

  A manila folder lay open on the desk. A credit card receipt lay atop the papers, and the name on it was Grace’s.

  “Look at this!” John cried.

  “What?” Prime said.

  John handed him the credit card statement.

  “So?”

  “That’s the part list for a transfer device. That’s how they found us out,” John said. “Grace put it all on her corporate card. They noticed.”

  “Maybe, or they went looking after they found you guys out,” Prime said. “Don’t knock yourself out. These guys are professional assholes. Look at all this junk.”

  Ildibad’s desk was cluttered with newspaper clippings and journal papers. Most of the clippings were from the U.S. Examiner, one of those disreputable tabloids. John noted the large number of UFO stories. There was also one about a modern dinosaur roaming Columbia, South Carolina. The accompanying picture showed a Tyrannosaurus Rex grabbing a Volkswagen Beetle in its teeth.

  Also on the desk were pictures of the Rayburn farmhouse, close-ups of the barn, the fields, and John’s parents.

  “These guys are rather thorough,” Prime said.

  “Wouldn’t you be if you were obsessed with getting home?” John said pointedly.

  “Uh, yeah.” Prime actually looked guilty for a moment.

  Prime pulled open Ildibad’s desk drawers, looking for something of use. He found a brochure for the company and inside was a map of the campus, including the fenced-in areas.

  “Why do they have a brochure?” Prime asked.

  “I dunno,” John replied. “Do they actually hire anyone from the outside?” John guessed no person from this universe had ever set foot inside the fenced area. Except for Henry. Except for Grace.

  John looked over Prime’s shoulder. Building One was labeled “Administration.” The buildings beyond it were labeled “Laboratory One” and “Laboratory Two.” Walkways attached the three buildings.

  John looked up and saw an emergency drawing. It showed the office, the corridor, the nearest fire exits, and a silhouette of the rest of Building One. A “You Are Here” sign indicated that they were on the eastern side of Building One.

  “We’re in Building One. I think we need to get to the laboratories,” he said.

  “If I were part of an evil group of renegades, that’s where I would store my hostages,” Prime said. He knelt down in front of the bookcase and pulled a thick volume out. He checked the table of contents, then put the book in his bag.

  “What are you doing? What was that?” John said.

  “Concise encyclopedia,” he said. “You never know what might be useful back home.”

  “Right.” John hitched the duffel on his shoulder. Prime would never change. Yet he was here now, helping. “Let’s find my friends.”

  The hallway was still empty. Prime led them in the direction toward the laboratories. As they neared a set of double doors, one of them swung in and a security guard stepped through, oblivious to them.

  He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the handgun in Prime’s hands. Prime motioned him forward silently.

  “Come on,” Prime whispered. “In case there’s someone behind you.” The guard came forward, but no one followed him. He was alone. Prime slid the man’s pistol out of his holster, handing it to John. It was cold and heavy in his hands. He held it awkwardly for a moment until he slid it into his pocket, safety on.

  “This way,” Prime said, and they led the man back to Ildibad’s office and pushed him inside.

  “Where are my friends?” John asked the man.

  He sneered, then said, “Zulo! Marikoi!”

  Prime said, “I guess that means he doesn’t want to tell us.”

  “What language was that?” John asked.

  “The Language, you ass,” the man said. His English was accented just like Visgrath’s.

  “Well, he speaks English, as well,” Prime said. “That means he’ll understand when I say he better start talking if he doesn’t want to die with a bullet in the head.” Prime raised the pistol, aiming at the guard’s forehead. John almost reached out to push the gun away. But they needed to know, and John assumed-prayed!-that Prime was bluffing.

  “Pikutara joan!”

  “Listen, you dumb son of a bitch. To me, you’re just an animal that needs to be put down. Speak or face oblivion.”

  “Your friends are dead. Just like you’ll be.”

  “Not the right answer!” Angry, Prime slammed the side of the pistol against the guard’s face.

  “What are you doing?” John cried out.

  “Quiet!”

  “Me be quiet?” John stuck his head out the doorway, looking both ways. Empty. “You can’t torture this guy.”

  “Watch me,” Prime said. “Isn’t this why you brought me along? For the dirty work?”

  Blood welled up at the guard’s mouth. He spat at Prime, who dodged it with a smirk.

  “Where are they?”

  “Kabroi! You can’t stop our glorious return to Alara. We will take
your transporter and leave your bodies for the dogs.” He spat again.

  Prime smashed his face again with the gun, and this time the guard collapsed unconscious. John looked down at the bleeding man, his head spinning.

  “That was going nowhere,” Prime said.

  “You could have killed him,” John said. He crouched down and felt for a pulse.

  “Leave him,” Prime said. “He’s garbage.”

  “Listen to yourself! It’s not about being fierce, or killing, or attacking. Calm down.”

  Prime looked at John. There was coldness in Prime’s eyes that frightened John. “I’ve seen this type before. They’ll do anything to get what they want. We have to attack them or die!”

  John put a hand on Prime’s shoulder.

  “I know how you feel, John,” he said. “I want to kill them all too. They’ve shot my Casey. Consider that. But we need stealth and speed. Violence and anger will get us killed.”

  Something changed in Prime’s face, and he nodded.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry,” Prime said. “We aren’t really the same anymore, are we?”

  “Not that far apart,” John said. “But it’s been two years.”

  Prime cuffed the guard with his own handcuffs, then dragged him behind the desk. He turned and headed back toward the double doors. Prime waited with his palm against the cold metal until John caught up. Prime listened at the door for a moment, then pulled it open. Beyond was a set of glass doors leading outside.

  “The lab buildings,” John said.

  “Halt!”

  Prime turned at the sound. Someone was running down the hallway toward them.

  John pulled Prime inside the atrium and slammed the door shut. Prime paused for a second, then kicked it open again, and fired into the hallway three times.

  “Stealth wasn’t working,” Prime said, with a grim grin.

  John rolled away with his arms around his ears. Prime was going to get them killed!

  Prime kicked the door again. John glanced up when no bullets came flying and saw the body of the guard, dead, lying in the hallway. Prime ran forward and rifled through his pockets, finding a set of keys.

  “Come on. They know we’re here now.”

  Prime led the way outside, following a sidewalk that joined the buildings. A metal door leading into the Laboratory One building opened, and Visgrath stepped out.

  “Hold it,” Prime said, his gun trained on the man. He stopped and raised his arms. Instead of fear, the man’s face showed a smirk.

  “Visgrath,” John said. “Where are my friends?”

  “The brave John Wilson. Two of you. How interesting.”

  “Where are they?” John repeated. His anger was boiling up inside him. He reached into his pocket for the pistol.

  “Not here.”

  Prime pointed his handgun at Visgrath’s elbow. “This is going to hurt, and I have no qualms doing it.”

  Visgrath blanched. “How can there be two of you? Your device is broken. Unless you’ve been successful in-”

  Prime touched the gun to Visgrath’s elbow. “Where are his friends?”

  Visgrath stared at Prime closely, perhaps deciding if he had the guts. He clearly valued his life more than the guard did, because he finally said, “They’re in Lab One. Right here.”

  “Let’s go get them,” John said. “Keep your hands behind your head.”

  John took a quick look around him. He hated being in the open. The shots Prime had fired should have drawn a lot of attention.

  “Hurry.”

  “How can I open the door if my hands are behind my back?”

  “Open the damn door.”

  “You’ll never get out of here. There’s fifty armed guards. Certainly more guards than you have bullets.”

  They stood in an atrium similar to the one in Building One. “Which way?” There were two pairs of doors.

  “Through there.” Visgrath nodded his head.

  “Go.”

  Visgrath hesitated.

  “Go.”

  John Prime saw Visgrath hestitate and knew he was planning something. Prime opened his mouth to order Visgrath away from the doors.

  Visgrath glanced back once at Prime, then yelled and dove out of Prime’s arc of fire.

  Prime pulled the trigger and splattered the door with three shots. His face stung and his ears rang. He pushed at the door, and got a glimpse of the lab within.

  Three technicians in white coats turned at the sound. And there was a woman, naked and strapped to a table. Blood dripped from the red lines drawn across her arms and torso.

  Farm Boy cried out in rage, and Prime was shocked to see him aim his gun and fire on the technicians. The closest man crumpled with a spray of red. Prime fired three more shots, then paused to reload.

  He had no idea where Visgrath was, but he wasn’t focused on that. The two remaining technicians turned to run. Prime ran into the room, leaping over a tray of scalpels and surgical instruments. He caught the second man in the back with a shot. The third slipped behind a row of cabinets, and Prime’s shot missed his head by centimeters, thunking into the concrete wall with a spray of powder.

  Prime scanned the room, caught the closing door as Visgrath skittered through. He was the leader of this group of renegades, and he might bring reinforcements. Prime dashed across the room and opened the door slowly.

  Beyond the door was an empty hallway. Visgrath had disappeared. He walked slowly past doors, checking the knobs. They were locked, and the labs beyond were dark. What were these bastards doing? Probably just what he’d done. They were trying to make their marooned lives better while trying to get their lives back. But these people were nothing like him. They tortured and killed…

  He killed too. He had killed Oscar and maybe Thomas. They had been the first, a hundred universes away. He had killed Corrundrum and Ted Carson. And he had done despicable acts to get his life back. What anyone would have done. Even Farm Boy had tried it, though he’d failed at the last minute.

  Prime paused in the hallway to pull the rifle from his shoulder. Ahead of him, the hallway bent to the right, and he heard running feet approaching. He pushed himself into a doorway on the right side.

  Two men, carrying nasty machine guns, rounded the corner.

  Without hesitation, he fired his rifle into their chests, once each. They crumpled, each face marked by an O of surprise.

  You never expected to die coming around a corner, Prime thought. He took one of the machine guns and stowed it across his shoulder. He was trading his ordnance up, he thought with a smile.

  Did these two guards have wives? Prime wondered. Had these two gone native to find women, or did they have a partner among the renegades? Perhaps they were themselves lovers. Prime chuckled grimly. Add two more to his total. Two more fucking bodies.

  He edged around the corner, but the hallway jagged again to the left and was empty. He took the next corner slowly too but found that the hallway ended in a set of windowless double doors.

  He turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open, then stepped back. Nothing. The door hushed shut.

  He pushed it open again and stepped through.

  Prime was in a warehouse connected to a loading dock; it was piled high with boxes on pallets. There are a lot of places to hide in here, Prime thought.

  Counting the stacks of boxes, Prime realized that these renegades were busy. They were acting. They were watching. It was as if they expected to find someone like Farm Boy, expected to exploit something, expected to find someone with a means to get to-what had Corrundrum said?-the Alarian Empire.

  Prime was struck by the invisible threads of action just below the horizon of the universes. Who put these renegades here? Who were they waiting for? Where was Corrundrum from? Universe zero? What was at the beginning of all this?

  Movement in the warehouse caught Prime’s eye. He ducked behind a pallet, and watched as two men moved from stack to stack surreptitiously.

  Prime edg
ed along the outer wall of the warehouse, trying to flank the two men. He heard voices as he neared, heard whispered orders. He hoped one of the men was Visgrath. He wouldn’t let him get away again.

  Prime glanced around a box and saw two men crouched and talking. One of them was Visgrath. Prime stepped forward and a weight landed on his shoulders. The rifle in his hand discharged and then spun away from him.

  He tried to roll, but the weight pressed against the back of his neck. Someone had ambushed him by jumping from the stacked boxes. They’d baited him.

  “Crap,” he huffed, barely able to breathe.

  From his prone position, he watched the smiling Visgrath approach until all he could see was Visgrath’s shoes.

  “Finally, the elusive John Wilson.”

  “Rayburn.”

  “I know you have built a new transfer device. I know you have another one in your possession. You are not of the Aratoan, yet you vex us.” Visgrath squatted and looked Prime in the eye. “Well, we will have much time to discuss these matters.”

  Prime knew the veiled statement meant torture.

  “Listen, Visgrath, I’m not the John you want. But I can get him for you. There’s no need for torture.”

  Visgrath laughed. “You kill several of my men, you try to kill me, and now you want to strike a bargain.”

  “I had to. John has the device. He shanghaied me to get me to help him. He’s worse than you. I think I can help you guys.”

  “I know you can help us. And you will.” He barked orders to the man holding Prime down in that same language the guard had used. “The sincerity of your offer will be tested soon.”

  The man on top of him cuffed Prime’s hands behind his back and dragged him to his feet. They searched him quickly, lifting his shirt, looking for the device.

  “Now we will find your twin.”

  CHAPTER 39

  John spun around, surveying the room for Visgrath and any other targets. He saw none. The gun handle was slick with sweat. His heart was pounding, and the smell of gunpowder was overpowering.

  John Prime was missing. Had he gone after Visgrath?

  The lab was crowded with equipment, so others might have been hiding, but there were three other doors leading out of the room. John heard a door swing shut and assumed it was the third lab technician. Where was Visgrath?