Spider tried to imagine what that might be like. He remembered a couple of guys in WAPOL who’d gotten a bit that way, seen too much, nothing but trouble on the home front, self-medicating with booze and dope to get through the days, taking stupid risks, convinced there was no hope of helping anyone, everything was going to hell, society was in the toilet. You couldn’t help guys like that.
“So she goes back, meets up with James—”
“No, she goes to meet all of our target candidates. Only Rutherford goes along with it.”
“They have an affair?” Spider was thinking about James’s wife’s suicide, and his subsequent stay in hospital. Oh, James, what have you done, mate?
“The affair was not part of the brief. That just happened. We strongly suspect she wanted it to happen, strangely.”
“And that’s what got her killed?”
“We think so.”
Spider nodded. “Okay, then. So when are you bringing James in?”
“I never said Rutherford was the murderer.”
“But—”
“Spider, yes, we do know who killed Clea. We know the whole story of what happened that night, how she got hidden away in the two time machines, everything.”
“Why have I got a bad feeling about where this is going?”
“We do not have the resources to chase murderers. We’re not a police agency.”
“You could tell me, and I could go—”
“You are not yet one of us, Spider. Think about it. Operational security. If I told you how we know what happened, I’d be in the shit, and you could infer things about our intel-gathering capabilities, or Dickhead could, if he questioned you about it. At the moment our ability to snoop about is one of the only things keeping us going.”
“So Clea’s killer gets away with it?”
“I didn’t say that, either, Spider.”
“What?”
“The universe takes care of all things in time. Believe me.”
“Um…”
“Trust me, Spider. The killer does not get away with it.”
He didn’t know what to make of that remark. “It’s just, Good God, I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud, I need to know what happened to her. Her body fell right at my feet, and there she was, dead, murdered. She was a case, an actual case! Have you been doing this so long you’ve forgotten what it was like to be a cop? Is that it?”
“I haven’t forgotten. I remember that day in the Bat Cave very well. Thinking back, I remember, too, the way James Rutherford looked so sick when he saw Clea’s body.”
Spider seized on this. “Yes! Because he knew her.”
“Maybe he even knew what had happened, who killed her, everything.”
“Are you suggesting I go back and grill James?” Spider remembered that James wanted to talk to him “tonight”, about something urgent. The way he’d said he was in some kind of trouble. Did he want to confess everything? Was that it? Or was the real murderer putting some kind of pressure on him? Spider remembered that night in the shop’s break room, the way James had looked like he was starting to break down, and the way he stormed off without explaining, and then couldn’t be reached. Spider could feel that he was very close to sorting it all out — if he could just get through all this bullshit with Dickhead first.
“So, you can’t tell me anything. Is that right?”
“Right. If you eventually become me, of course—”
“If? What do you mean, ‘if’?”
Soldier Spider was getting fed up. “You are not guaranteed to end up as me.”
Spider remembered something his other future self tried to tell him, about timelines growing like weeds from every possible choice you make. “So there’s only a chance I end up like you?”
“Only a chance. In fact, there’s every chance that you die.”
“I could die?”
“Yup.”
“Shit!”
“Sorry.”
“Shit!”
“You did ask.”
“Yeah, but…”
“It’s just an eighty-four percent chance. It’s not inevitable.”
“Eighty-four percent! Fuck!”
It took Soldier Spider a long time to get Spider to settle down and see things differently, and it wasn’t easy. Spider had long nursed a sense of impending doom about this whole affair, and now, to make it worse, he had an actual number to put to it. “You’re saying I’ve got just sixteen chances out of a hundred to make it through to, I guess, being you.”
“I didn’t want to know the exact figure, either, believe me.”
He shook his head, feeling dismal. Then he thought about it a bit more, trying to look at it from different angles. “But in some timelines this plan of yours actually works out, we get Dickhead, I get Clea’s killer, and everything works out okay?”
“Except for Molly never speaking to you again, yes.”
Spider was still having a tough time dealing with that prospect. Try as he might to keep thinking of the greater good and all that, it was still a hard one to accept. “So how do I improve my chances? Can’t you guys shunt me onto a more favorable timeline. I mean, you’ve done it before, right?”
“That wasn’t us, Spider.”
“What? Are you saying it was—”
“Dickhead, yes. He’s pulling out all sorts of bullshit. Sometimes he wants to help you, and prevent you becoming me, other times he wants to kill you and stop you becoming me, too. And sometimes he just likes to mess with people, make ‘em crazy.”
“Well,” Spider said, astonished, “mission bloody well accomplished!”
Soldier Spider managed a weary smile at this. “Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”
“So you can’t make sure I turn into you?”
“Not really. That’s up to you.”
“So what did you choose at this point?” Spider asked. “I mean, here you are. You clearly survived.”
“Yes, I survived. Yes, I made it to now, and I’m old and pretty much had it, yeah, sure. The thing is, I never figured it out. I never had a bloody clue. Never saw it coming. I thought for sure James Rutherford was the guy, just like you, but somebody attacked me late one night, I never saw who it was, he came from behind, and I went down like a sack of spuds, and I woke up in hospital days later, and the doctors were all, “Oh, Mr. Webb, we very nearly lost you, blah de blah de blah. And that’s my inglorious tale, all right? I don’t know what happened. Just remember this: James Rutherford is trouble. Leave him the hell alone. The man’s lost his bloody mind, he’s self-destructive, and he’d be quite happy to take you down with him, just like he tried to do to me. You, my boy, get another chance. Rutherford will call you, wanting to see you. I went, and nearly died. If you go, you just might wind up in that 84% I told you about. You’ll never find out who killed Clea, you won’t stop bloody Dickhead, you’ll never get to sleep with Iris again, you’ll just be one dead stupid fucknuckle. So don’t go and see him, okay?”
“I get to sleep with Iris?” He knew this thought made him officially a giant scumbag, but there was a part of his mind that calculated, if Molly is going to hate me anyway, well, why not? He sighed, shaking his head.
“She kinda likes you, kid,” Soldier Spider said, waggling his silvery eyebrows.
“Cool.”
After that there wasn’t a lot to say. Spider moped about a bit, trying to take it all in. The thing that kept giving him trouble was this whole issue of multiple, even infinite, alternate timelines. That was hard to think about, whole armies of guys named Spider, each trying to crack the same case, each making different choices, reaching different conclusions, some succeeding, most failing, and some even dying. Soldier Spider took him aside after dinner, and tried to explain the Zeropoint problem in more detail. Spider wanted to k
now how people in other timelines, following their own decisions and so forth, could pose a threat to people in this timeline. Soldier Spider said, “Spider, at this point, we’re no longer confined to our own timeline, or even our own sheaf of timelines. We can go across to them, and they can come across to us. Every physically possible universe — well, at least all the inhabitable ones, anyway — is up for grabs. Whoever controls most of those universes wins, but if the other guys win — if Dickhead’s guys win — then the Vores will turn up a lot sooner and destroy everything before we even get started.”
“Uh-huh,” Spider said, still feeling way out of his depth. “Why would they do that? What’s in it for them?”
“We’re not exactly sure, to be honest. It seems like a crazy plan. Why would you want to bring forth your own destruction?”
CHAPTER 16
Spider sat back in his office chair, watching Dickhead trying to make up his mind. Spider hoped he’d done enough with the epic standoff over Malaria’s future to convince Dickhead he was the right man for the job. Then again, he thought, if Dickhead’s people had so many troops, and so many ships, and so much of everything, what possible difference could a schlub like himself make to anything? Surely it was already a lost cause. He didn’t get it. He was also watching Dickhead, who seemed like a perfectly ordinary twenty-first century businessman in his off-the-rack suit, cheap aftershave and ten-dollar haircut. Could this man be the crazy bastard Soldier Spider had told him about? Even now, as he sat there sipping bad instant coffee, lost in thought, was he thinking crazy thoughts about how the Vores would grant him and his followers some fabulous boon in return for helping them destroy the universe?
Dickhead, after a lot of thought, leaned forward, set his coffee on the edge of Spider’s desk, and looked him in the eye. “I’m, hmm, how to put this, sorry, um, for that business earlier, over Malaria. Not exactly my finest hour, huh?” He looked genuinely embarrassed about it. Spider let him talk. “It’s just, well, not that there’s any excuse, of course. I realize that. It’s just, I’ve got a lot going on right now. Lots of stress. Big plans in the works, very big plans.”
“Sure,” Spider said, tense but trying not to show it, “sounds exciting.”
“Yes, very exciting. Absolutely. Now, you and me, we go back a fair way, don’t we?”
“We do, yes indeed.” Spider thought it would be bad form to remind Dickhead of that whole “I own you” thing he’d used on him earlier.
“Yes. I was right about you, too. Didn’t I say to you, all those years ago, that if you just stuck with me, you’d do all right? I was going places, and I was taking you with me. Isn’t that right?”
“What’s on your mind, Dickhead?”
The big man shifted in his seat. He said, “An opportunity’s come up in one of my other business units, Spider. A big opportunity. Something I think you’d be well suited for.”
“Is that right?” Spider asked, trying not to be too eager.
“Now, this is exclusive stuff, Spider. Strictly need-to-know, all right? Not a word to Malaria, and not a word to Charlie, okay? Good. It’s just, well, I cannot tell you just how exciting this whole thing is going to be, Spider. It’s massive, it’ll be huge, and we’ll be right there in the heart of things.”
He was beaming, staring off into space, his eyes shining. Spider could see the man was quite insane, just as his future self had told him. Dickhead went on, now looking at Spider. “It’s called Zeropoint, Spider.” Smiling, he gestured in the air over in front of him, as if showing a theater marquee sign. “That’s ‘ZEROPOINT,’ all in caps!”
“Gosh,” Spider said, doing his best to mean it.
Dickhead said, “Zeropoint is a new kind of business, Spider. Something we’ve never seen before in the history of the world! New ideas! New thinking! And you’re the best man for the job, Spider, the very best man!”
“You going to tell me about this job, or do I have to guess?”
His phone went off again. Dickhead offered to step into the break room to give Spider some privacy, which made Spider peer at him, trying to discern hidden layers of meaning. He said it was fine. Dickhead said he needed to freshen his coffee anyway. “Talking too much,” he said. “Getting coffee mouth, blagh.” Spider waved him off as he left the room, then he answered the phone.
“Webb, hello,” he said quietly, and felt his gut clench afresh.
And sure enough, it was Molly, just back from Bangkok. Molly, who had a special role to play in the forthcoming events, but Spider could not tell her about it, warn her about it — or save her from it. This, he thought, was one of the last times he would ever speak to her.
“So”, Molly said, all tired and stressed, “Al! Where the hell are you?” He could hear a lot of people talking in the background, PA announcements, even a dog barking way in the distance. She was at the airport, and she believed he should be there to bring her home.
He said, his mouth suddenly all dry, “Hi Molly. You’ve just arrived?”
She told him, at great length, that yes, she had just arrived. Quarantine people had given her enormous grief about some “perfectly harmless bananas” and threatened to hit her with “this huge fine”.
He cut her off before she could get too much of a head of steam going. “It’s okay. Don’t panic. I’ll be right there.”
“You were supposed to be here now, Al!” she said, her voice taking on a certain tone he recognized only too well. This was her calm-before-the-storm tone, that very measured way she bit off the words in a quiet, precise voice. She only used it when she was bone-tired, on the verge of a sinus headache, or in situations where things were going absurdly bad and she was trying to retain a semblance of control. This was Defcon Two, Spider knew. You did not say you couldn’t help Molly out when she reached this point. You would live to regret it, and he had the scars to prove it.
He called out to Dickhead, who was still in the break room, “Look, can we pick this up tomorrow, maybe?”
Dickhead leaned into Spider’s doorway, surprised. “What?”
“It’s just, something’s just come up. I gotta go right now.”
A little confused, a little disappointed, Dickhead knotted his mighty brow, glanced out the window, then said to Spider, “I don’t know, Spider.”
“We can pick it up tomorrow. It’ll be fine. You can tell me all about Zeropoint. I’ll be all ears. It’s just, I’ve really got to go.”
“Hmm,” Dickhead said, thinking big thoughts. “I see. I do. It’s just…” He took a breath, stared into a realm of fantasy only he could see. “Zeropoint is special, Spider. It’s real special, and you’re just the fellow to carry out my vision, you see. It’s very important, Spider.”
Spider thought he was going to explode. “Yes, fine, good, but surely, tomorrow morning..?”
His boss lowered his gaze and met Spider’s eyes, cool and remote. “Tomorrow, Spider, this offer might not be there,” he said.
“What offer?” He knew very well what Dickhead was going to offer, but he had to play his part. “You haven’t told me a damn thing yet!”
Dickhead went back to the break room, and Spider could hear Dickhead ding-ding-ding-dinging his coffee cup again as he stirred.
His future self had not warned him Dickhead might be quite this unpredictable. “I thought you wanted me in on the ground floor, and I was just the person you needed, and all that?”
Dickhead called out, “Yes, that’s right. But if you’re too busy…”
Exasperated, he told Molly to hang on, he’d be right there. To Dickhead he said, “My ex-wife needs me to come pick her up. She’s at the airport.”
Dickhead came back into the room, bearing coffee. He said, “Opportunity knocks but once, Spider.”
“Look, we can pick it up later tonight.”
“The opportunity train is leavin
g the station, Spider. Are you on it or not?” Dickhead stood there doing a strange steam train impression, pumping his arms, making “choof-choof” noises, as he went back to the break room.
Even though he’d been told that this would happen, and even though he was doing his best to play his part, he found he did not have to fake anything. The exasperation, the infuriation, he felt about Dickhead’s manipulations were genuine. The bastard was driving him nuts. Then he had a terrible thought, one he wished he could unthink, but couldn’t. He found himself wondering if Dickhead was really working with Soldier Spider, not against him? What if Dickhead was, and always had been, part of the Masada crew, and he and Soldier Spider were working some con game on Spider to get him to do some terrible thing for them, or maybe it was some arcane initiation stunt. Surely not, he thought. That would be too evil.
Molly, meanwhile, was yelling on the phone, filling his head with loud and piercing abuse. The phrase “useless, spineless sack of shit!” came through very clearly. It was like old times. “Look,” he said to her, “I just need a minute—”
“Okay, fine. Thanks!” she said, hanging up, and sounding anything but grateful. Spider felt as though he’d let her down somehow. He shook his head, wiped his face, the tension unbearable. All he could think was that right now Molly was very likely starting to look for a taxi to take herself home. The sight of her mangled body on that morgue dissection table filled his mind.
Spider went to the break room. Dickhead was scribbling something on his watchtop, a cryptic smile on his huge face.
“Dickhead, I really gotta go. Molly, she’s—”
“At the airport?” he asked, faintly amused. “You said.”
“Yeah. Have to go get her. Said I would, apparently.”
Dickhead was now humming a little tune, and reading back what he’d written, looking pleased with himself. “So you’re saying no to my offer?”
“Look,” Spider said, genuinely frustrated and angry, feeling like an injured mouse caught in a game between two hungry cats, “I have to go. You don’t know what Molly’s like. And, shit, it’s only a day. Come back tomorrow morning, first thing, you can talk to me all you want about this zero-thingy, okay? It’s the best I can do.”
Time Machines Repaired While-U-Wait Page 20
