As she leaned toward the mirror to touch up her right eyebrow, her cell began to vibrate and Claude’s number glowed on the screen. She pulled the cell close and, with the tip of the tweezers, activated the speakerphone.
“Why are you up so late?” she asked.
“Holy profit,” Claude said, cursing with relief.
“That’s a weird hello. What’s wrong? How’s your headache?”
“Headache? Oh, no. I mean, I’ve got a headache now, but I didn’t before. I lied because I…”
“You lied? What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain but basically everything is upside down. I’m really sorry I lied. I can’t tell you how good it is to hear your voice.”
She was stuck on the fact that he’d said he’d lied. To the best of her knowledge, he’d never lied to her before. “You lied about the headache so you could leave the meet? Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to be late for this stupid party my mom and Millstone were having, but I hadn’t told you about. Like I said, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. I was being an idiot.”
“I can’t follow this. Start at the beginning,” she said. “Wait. Does it have something to do with a boy?”
“Why would you say that?” He sounded defensive.
“Just a feeling.”
“I guess it sort of has to do with a boy, but that’s not the point.”
She scowled at the phone. Why were boys always thinking about sex?
“Go on.”
“I’m sorry I lied. I plead temporary insanity.” He sounded very upset. “You’re way more important than Jayesh. You know that, don’t you?”
“Jayesh? Hilovasian? Are you messing with me? What have you been doing with Jayesh?”
“I don’t know.” He sounded miserable. “It’s a long story. And he’s a donkey hole.”
“Right-o, bud,” she said. How had he and Hilovasian been fooling around and she not have known? Hilovasian was a total nokopf jerk—and Claude was, too, for keeping it a secret.
“Forget Hilovasian. There’s way more important scheisse happening.”
She scowled at her reflection as she leaned so close to the mirror that her breath steamed the glass. “Like what?”
“I need help.”
“Ouch.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The pain of personal grooming is what’s wrong,” she said, examining the hair at the end of the tweezers.
“Huh? Are you giving yourself another tattoo?”
“Never mind.”
“Listen, can you meet me at my dad’s office?”
Carolien looked at the clock. It was 4:16 in the morning. “Now?”
“Yes.”
She turned off the speaker and picked up the cell. “What the Hades is going on?”
“I’ll explain when I see you.”
“You think I’m going to go to your dad’s office in the middle of the night without any explanation just because you’re asking me to?” She was surprised by the harshness of her tone, and she realized she was upset about Jay. Claude could date whomever he wanted, but she was hurt that he’d kept it a secret.
“You’re my best friend, and I need you,” he said.
She heard his vulnerability and knew he was being sincere. Instantly, her anger melted away. “I’ll be there. I’m just surprised about Jay.”
“I know. I think he brainwashed me. Seriously.”
“Or maybe guys just think with their crotches.”
Claude laughed. “Yeah. That’s true.”
“So what’s going on? I’m all worried now.”
“This is going to sound crazy, but I need to break in to my dad’s office.”
Carolien sat up straight. “What do you mean ‘break in’?”
“I mean ‘break’ as in ‘break’ and ‘in’ as in ‘in’.”
“Don’t be an asshead.”
“Sorry.”
“Claude. You’re scaring me.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m going to make you feel any better by telling you that Dad invented a time-traveling machine and is trapped in the past.”
“Not funny,” she said, her heart pounding. Claude had to be joking, and yet she knew him well enough to recognize that he was being sincere.
“If it makes me any more credible, I agree a hundred percent that it’s not funny.”
“But it can’t be true,” she said.
“Dad’s stuck in the past. And if he’s not, then he’s the one playing games, not me.”
“OK. I believe you.”
“You do?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’ve got proof.”
“I said I believe you. But what proof?”
“A note—a really old note. Decade’s old. From Dad. Signed by him. For me specifically. Asking for help. And he’s disappeared and I can’t reach him. And someone broke into our house and changed the lock at the university, and his friend says he probably really truly invented a time buggy.”
“Yow.”
“I’m going to look for the key card to Dad’s office. But if I can’t find it, you’ll have to hack the lock. I need you.”
She looked at herself in the mirror. The new curve of her eyebrow looked hot. “I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”
“Great,” he said.
“But I don’t get how…” she started to say, but Claude had already hung up.
Chapter Sixteen
Secrets of the Mansion
As Claude galloped up the drive, a stable-PAL rushed to meet him, blocking his path. “Whoa,” he said, tugging the reins to bring Trax to a stop.
“Guten morgen, Claude Altide,” the PAL said. A sliver of morning sunlight bounced off the machine’s chrome casing.
“Guten morgen,” Claude said grimly. He had less than an hour to get what he needed; if he failed, he might never see his father again.
“Allow me to escort your mount to the stable,” the PAL said. It began reaching with a titanium arm for the Missouri Fox Trotter’s reins, but Claude raised his hand.
“No. I’m not staying,” he said.
The PAL froze. Claude heard what sounded like a sigh but must have been a micro-piston popping or a Swiss-made dial spinning somewhere in the machine’s chassis. Its holographic head, which was shaped like a horse’s, nodded. “Yes, Claude Altide,” it said as it withdrew its arm.
Claude clucked and snapped the reins, and Trax trotted and then galloped down the drive, the PAL following on humming treads to the mansion’s main door.
As Claude dismounted, the PAL grabbed Trax’s reins.
“Keep him here.”
“Yes Claude Altide.”
As he approached the door, Claude reminded himself of the two things he was seeking: the key card and the old photo. The more important item was the key card, which he hoped was still in the drawer in Millstone’s closet.
A house-PAL greeted him in the foyer. “Welcome Claude Altide.”
“Hi,” Claude whispered, wishing he could make himself invisible. He looked around. The place was crawling with PALs. One was stacking chairs, another loading a service elevator with tables. Some were buffing the floor and several others were straightening pictures and patching what appeared to be a scuff or crack in a wall. Still another was assembling vases of fresh flowers. All in all, there must have been several dozen of the machines, working to restore the mansion to its spotless pre-party condition.
“Are my parents still asleep?”
The PAL’s head flickered. It had abandoned the 19th century barkeep face and costume, returning to the usual countenance of a Millstone house-PAL—thin lips, long philtrum, and squinty eyes, which began to blink rapidly.
“Yes,” it said.
“Do you know what time Millstone—my stepfather—usually gets up?”
“His alarm is set for 5:40.”
It was 4:47.
Claude considered asking the PAL whether there were sensors in the master bed
room that might detect his presence but decided that the question would attract unnecessary attention. As Donna Millstone’s son, he had so far enjoyed unfettered access, so there was no reason to think he couldn’t confidently enter Millstone’s closet, as he’d done yesterday, ostensibly to return the belt.
In the ballroom all traces of the party were gone. Even the stage had been removed. Several PALs, all wearing the same thin-lipped, squinty-eyed face, were tidying things in various corners.
“It took 67 minutes and 23 seconds to return the ballroom to its customary condition,” the PAL said. Claude whipped around. Not only had he been unaware that the PAL had followed him but he had the uncomfortable feeling that the automaton had read his mind.
“How… how did you know I was thinking about that?”
The PAL’s transparent lips quivered slightly, as if suppressing a smile. “You were looking at the room with an expression of inquiry, surprise, and respect. I therefore inferred…”
“I get it,” Claude said, cutting him off. He had to be more cautious around these expression-reading windups.
He headed for the family wing, and the PAL continued to shadow him. After a few more steps, Claude turned and scowled. “Stop,” he said sternly, trying to adopt the tone he heard Millstone use on subordinates. “Don’t follow me.”
The PAL’s expression shifted slightly—a brief widening of eyes, a flare of nostrils, a tiny pout to the mouth; the overall effect was one of injury or insult, as if Claude had hurt its feelings.
He waited for the PAL to say something or turn away but when it did neither, he took several deliberate steps down the carpeted hall; the PAL followed. “Stop following me,” he barked. But he immediately regretted his anger. What if the PAL had already read in his face his plans to steal the key card?
The machine’s eyes began to blink rapidly, almost as if it were nervous. “The number I gave you yesterday was inaccurate,” it said.
He thought PALs were programmed to obey, not offer unsolicited information, especially non-sequitors.
“Number?”
“Yesterday, I reported the party cost $1,640,000 but the final total is $1,711,000.” The PAL spoke rapidly but without emotion, offering no context for this odd revelation. If it had been human, its tone might have conveyed irony, regret, dutifulness. Claude could only guess that the thing had been programmed to correct itself; if it obtained revised information about a previous inquiry, it was apparently compelled to report it.
“I see. Thanks.” After waiting a few seconds to see if the PAL was going to say more, he added in a polite but serious tone, “You can go now.”
The PAL blinked rapidly. “Why did you ask if 301 and 243 had names?” it asked.
Claude didn’t know what to say, suspecting now that there was more than rote programming behind the laborer’s odd behavior. It made sense that through the central server it would know that he’d asked the two PALs last night whether they had names, but less sense that it would ask about his motivation.
“To be nice, I guess,” he replied. “I mean, you guys know my name, so I wanted to know your names. Although 301 and 243 aren’t really names. You guys talk and act a lot like humans, so it feels like you should have human names.”
The PAL’s head seemed to fade and then burn brighter. “I would like to be called Mars,” it said. “Is that acceptable?”
Claude was dumbfounded. Having a name—even more, choosing your own moniker—was a first step in establishing a unique identity.
“Sure. That’s great. Mars. So you’re Mars now. Although, I sometimes have trouble telling you guys apart so you might have to remind me who you are, the next time I see you.”
“In your presence, I will show my name thusly.” The word MARS appeared like a magic tattoo in large letters across the PAL’s forehead.
“That’s great. I wish I could do that,” Claude said, smiling. “Listen. I’m enjoying our chat but I’m tired. Unlike you guys, humans need sleep. But let’s talk more another time. Besides, you probably have a lot of work to do.”
“Yes,” the PAL said. Its head was flickering so much it was hard to be certain, but Claude thought it was smiling. “There is a full schedule today.”
“I’m sure. So see you. Bye Mars.” He stepped back, away from the machine. He was relieved to see that it didn’t follow.
“Good-bye Claude Altide.” The PAL moved away, its head making a 180 rotation in a blink.
Claude proceeded to the master bedroom, but kept looking back. He wished there was a way to know if the PAL was still trailing him. He stopped and listened but didn’t hear anything. He walked backwards and peered around the corner. Nothing. Still, as a precaution, he decided to stop in his own bedroom first. He’d wait there a few minutes, ear to door, and make sure he was alone, and then hurry to Millstone’s dressing room.
Claude opened his bedroom door slowly and carefully to avoid making a sound. But as soon as he stepped in, he froze. Jay, who’d been sitting in a chair facing the door, sprang to his feet. He looked distraught, as if he’d run a marathon in his suit.
“Scheisse,” Claude muttered.
“Thank the profit,” Jay said, clearly relieved.
“How’d you get in?” Claude asked.
“I’ve been so worried about you.”
“But how’d you get in?” Claude pressed, even as he remembered that his mom had giving him access to the whole mansion.
“I don’t know. No one stopped me,” Jay said, confused by the question. “Didn’t you get my messages? I quilled and called. I’ve been worried sick.”
Claude felt a wave of panic. How the Hades was he going to get out of here? He needed to scram but instead had to deal with questions from a donkey hole, who was pretending like he genuinely cared about him. He felt anger override the panic. He wanted to punch the lying piece of scheisse.
“You look upset,” Jay said, approaching slowly. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Going on? You know better than I do,” Claude said, scowling.
Jay looked worried, and Claude wondered if he’d said too much. “I… I don’t know what you mean. You said to meet in the library, remember? But you weren’t there and no one knew where you’d gone….”
“And you’ve been so concerned about where I’ve been,” Claude said, sarcastically.
“Yes. Is that a crime, honey?” he asked, taking another step closer.
Claude cringed at the word “honey” but also knew he needed to do a better job of hiding his feelings. He needed a strategy. His only hope of getting out of there quickly was to trick the trickster.
“I… I…,” Claude stammered. “I’m sorry if I’m being weird. It’s just I’m surprised to see you.”
“You seem mad,” Jay said.
“I do? I’m mad at myself, I guess. I really screwed things up, huh?” He realized he needed to act like he didn’t know about Jay’s betrayal. In order to do that, he needed to pretend like he still liked the scheisse-eater, so he tried to recall the thrill of their first kiss.
Jay took a step closer, and Claude smiled. “How’d you screw things up?” Jay asked.
“I fell asleep.” It was the only thing he could think of to explain his disappearance and failure to answer Jay’s calls and quills.
“Where?”
“I forgot something at my house—my dad’s house—and then I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to.”
“Your dad’s house? But why didn’t you tell me? Why did you just leave?”
“It was the gas. I thought I’d left the gas on and I got so nervous I just ran. Stupid, huh?”
“Well, I guess. Kind of. But everything was OK?” Jay didn’t seem to know—or was at least acting like he didn’t know—that his house had been ransacked.
“Yep. Everything was fine.”
“That’s good,” Jay said, taking the last few steps to close the space between them. He smiled and tried to kiss Claude, but Claude stepped back.
&
nbsp; “My breath,” Claude said. “Let me brush my teeth.” He stepped to the door, hoping to make a quick escape, but Jay grabbed his hand.
“I don’t care about that.”
“But I do,” Claude said, slipping his hand free. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable. Get out of that suit, and we’ll have one of the tin cans press it while you and I get cozy.”
Jay grabbed his hand and pulled him close, wrapping his other arm around his waist. Claude really wanted to punch him now but instead forced a stiff smile. “Just one kiss?”
Claude could smell him—cologne mixed with a humid salty pungentness. “In a minute,” he said, trying to free himself.
“Relax,” Jay said.
“I don’t want to relax, OK?”
Jay tried to plant a kiss but Claude turned, and the kiss landed on his ear. “What’s your problem?” Jay asked, now wrapping his arms around Claude and throwing his weight against him so that they landed on the bed.
“Get off,” Claude gasped.
“No,” Jay said, changing his position, so that he was straddling Claude, pinning him down at the waist. He yanked Claude’s t-shirt up, but Claude yanked it back down.
“Get off me,” Claude said, struggling to extricate himself.
Jay grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed. “Why are you fighting? We both know you want it.”
Claude stopped fighting. “Why are you being such a bully?”
Jay smiled, as if he’d been offered a compliment. “Is that what I’m being? I thought I was just being passionate.”
“Listen. Let me brush my teeth, and then we can resume. OK?”
Jay seemed to think about it a bit and then relaxed his grip. “OK. But I’m going with you. I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”
Claude didn’t like that idea. “I’ll be back in a minute. Or three. Don’t worry.”
Jay climbed off him and stood. “No. I’m coming with. I’ve spent enough hours worrying. I don’t want to take a chance that you’ll disappear again.”
“Why are you so worried about my disappearing?” Claude asked.
The Alternate Universe Page 12
