by Michael Vu
******
“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”
Quin groaned in irritation and swatted at John’s hand as it poked him repeatedly in the skull.
“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. I am not going to go away until you say, ‘Well, hello, John, how lovely to see you.’”
Quin grunted.
“Okay, close enough.” John sat back and stopped poking him in the forehead.
They were in a white hospital room, and Quin blinked at the brightness of the light.
“How long,” he mumbled, wondering if he was even coherent.
“Oh, about twenty-four hours,” John replied. “It was the funniest thing watching you faint. You know, I’ve seen you fall over hundreds of times, but it’s usually because someone is punching you in the head or ramming you in the stomach with their shoulder. This time it was just as if an invisible brick fell out of nowhere and knocked you right on the noggin. And then what was even funnier was that – well, you know how everyone is just a little bit afraid of you? Well, they’re even more afraid of you when you’re unconscious! They must think that you’re going to magically wake up and start strangling them or something. They even strapped you down in the ambulance. But by the time we got here I convinced them that you wouldn’t strangle anyone and you didn’t. Which I appreciate.”
Quin tried to nod, but a piercing pain zapped right through his head.
“They gave you the White Lady,” John said. “You know – the tranquilizer? They were pretty scared. Sorry I couldn’t prevent it. It kept you asleep for a long time while they patched you up. The Doc said you’re going to have some nice scars.” He reached over and picked up a cup that was on the table next to the bed. “Here, drink this. I’ll call a nurse.”
The next few hours were torturous. His brain cleared out about thirty minutes after the detox John gave him, and then the nurses and doctors came in and poked and prodded and read his chart and yammered on about unintelligible and unimportant things. The doctors wanted to keep him under observation for three days.
When Quin protested, the doctors gave him a load of hogwash about resting, and staying calm until his injuries had healed fully. He would have none of it.
“I’m fine!” he exclaimed. “There is nothing wrong with me that hasn’t been wrong before.”
“Your ears are bleeding!” the doctor scolded. “You may have had gunshot wounds and bear bites and torn muscles before, but bleeding ears is serious. It appears to be a ruptured eardrum, but it’s the strangest we’ve ever seen and we can’t let you out until we are sure you will be fine.”
The doctor strode out of the room as Quin looked accusingly at John.
“What?” John asked, dabbing his own ears gently with a cotton swab. “I took yours out before anyone saw!”
Quin narrowed his eyelids further.
“What do you want from me?” John protested. “I’m a mathematician, not a doctor!”
Raising his eyebrows, Quin tilted his head slightly. “What happened?”
“As near as I can figure, the translation devices are making our ears bleed. It doesn’t appear to have affected my hearing, and it probably won’t yours. But I’ll have to make some tweaks to the design.”
“What do you think is causing it?”
“I’m not sure, but the next set I make will just translate for the wearer and not send a wave outward. That might be putting extra stress on your eardrums… I’m making things up here. I told you – I’m not a doctor!”
“Well, maybe you should consult a doctor before letting someone else stick those things in their ears,” Quin muttered.
“I left them in your pocket in case you want to use them again,” John said, waving towards Quin’s clothes.
Quin shook his head and changed the subject. “Grise is already far enough off. If I let the doctors keep me here for three more days, we’ll never find him!”
“We probably won’t ever find him anyway,” John said. “I mean, we found him once, but we won’t ever find him again.”
Quin gave John a look. John could never resist the look.
“Okay, okay, I’ll get you out of here.” John ran over to the door, looked down the hallway both ways, and then turned back and shook his head. “Too many people.” He then ran over to the window and looked out. “Second floor?” He looked back at Quin.
“When’s my next checkup?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
Throwing the blankets into a heap on the floor, Quin grabbed his pants, which had been cleaned, folded, and placed in a drawer. His shirt was nowhere to be seen – probably because it had been wrapped around his bleeding arm. It seemed likely that the hospital staff had decided to burn it.
John looked out the window again. “I think I’ll just go out the front door, then.” He walked out the door, closing it behind him.
The windows were made to stay closed, so Quin picked up a chair and threw it through. An alarm sounded. Ignoring the broken pieces of glass, Quin hoisted himself through the window and began to climb down the wall. A few people gasped and pointed at him from the ground, but he didn’t see any authorities or anyone who might arrest him close enough to stop him from escaping. As soon as he hit the ground, he began to jog, heading for the Globe. He passed John coming out the front doors of the hospital.
“Way to set off all the alarms!” John called out as Quin sprinted by. “That is going to cost you some serious cash!”
Not long after, Quin entered the Globe, shirtless, bleeding again, and dripping with sweat. The secretary, Bob, looked up.
“Hello, Mr. Black,” he said without blinking. Quin was pleased by the fact that the man didn’t even glance at the gash across his stomach. “I will tell Mr. Drake you’re here. Head on up.”
Quin nodded and made his way to the elevator. Twenty-seven floors later, the doors slid open and Mr. Drake stood looking at him angrily.
“Somebody get this man a shirt!” he yelled at no one in particular. A passing graduate student scurried off, either to acquire a shirt or hoping that no one had seen him. “What the hell game do you think you’re playing, Quin? The hospital just called to say you’d escaped!”
“Next time put the guards in my room, not outside,” Quin replied. “I have information. Need to hurry if you want to catch Grise.”
“It’s too late for all of that. He’s gone,” Mr. Drake said. “Come with me.”
They walked down the oddly-decorated hallways of the Globe, and into Mr. Drake’s office. Tom stood by a window, gazing out. Drake gestured to a chair and Quin sat.
“Your father has contacted us,” Tom said immediately, turning around to face them, “although we are unable to determine his location. He has given us some rather useful information.”
“Oh?”
“Combined with the story John gave us – which I assume will be rather similar to yours – it appears that the only actual rule you broke was going through the Door in the first place, which John assures me was his fault – not hard to believe, of course. Unless there was something else that happened?” He turned to look at Quin, one eyebrow raised.
Quin frowned. He could mention the fact that he chose to not go back when he had the chance, that he broke into the Globe and stole the book, ruined the Pomegranate City relationship with Great Forest on the Bay, made decisions that were above his pay grade, discussed confidential issues with civilians, let his father get away…
“No sir,” he replied. “There was nothing else.”
“We understand the severity of what Grise tried to do,” Tom added, “and realize that your decision-making was based on extreme circumstances. We of course will not be awarding you any honors—”
Drake snorted.
“—and we will be taking some minor disciplinary measures, but we will not be punishing you for too long. John will be restricted for longer, due to his part in the initial venture through the Door, but I doubt that will bother him much as he will probably spend the time figuring
out how Grise made the thing in the first place.”
“What about Oliphant?”
“I highly doubt he will get off with less than a life sentence. If Grise were here, he would be tried the same – as a traitor, stealing government secrets, spreading said secrets – you get the gist.”
Drake stood at this point and slammed a book down on the desk in front of Quin. “And since we’re on the topic of that two-faced bastard, he gave us this. It’s from Grise. Some sort of message our cryptologists couldn’t figure out.”
The book was A Dialogue of Worlds. Probably the same copy he had originally left in Quin’s living room – the one that Quin had stolen from the artifact room. They must have left it on Path somehow – or the old geezer had stolen it. Then again, maybe it was a different copy entirely. Enough of them seemed to be lying around.
“It looks exactly the same as the copy in the artifact room,” Tom said, “but that one is still there.”
Quin nodded and opened it to the third page.
There, plain as day, was the message. It was in Grise’s old shorthand that no one but Quin and John could read, though undoubtedly with enough time a cryptographer could figure it out eventually. It seemed that Grise had decided that using his newer code was ineffective.
The note said, “Midday, 12-12, cold grey.” Quin swallowed, uncertain of what to say to Mr. Drake and Tom.
“I…” he paused. He could tell them what it meant, but it wasn’t as easy as that. It would also mean explaining pieces of his past that he wasn’t sure he was comfortable doing. “I don’t know what it says. I’ll need to look at it for a while and compare it to some old notes to see if I can decipher his old code.”
“Well, take the damn thing with you,” Mr. Drake roared. “And don’t come back until you can give us some bloody answers!”
Tom shot a look at Mr. Drake, which clearly was some sort of scolding, but Quin couldn’t precisely read it.
“Quin,” Tom interjected. “You’ve had quite a traumatic few days. I think you should take it easy for a little while. But take the book, and if you have time to think on it, please do. Let us know if you find anything. Within the week we want to take a team through to this new planet, so we can interview some of the residents about what happened and get testimonies for the case against Oliphant. We also want to attempt to find Grise if at all possible, although I’m sure he is out of reach by now.”
Quin nodded, conflicted. He could lead them directly to Grise, but…
He stood, holding the book. “Thank you, sirs.”
“Oh, and stop by the med room and get that looked at.” Tom gestured to Quin’s stomach wound, where blood was dripping down his skin and was beginning to stain the waistband of his pants.
Nodding, Quin saluted and exited the room. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he heard Tom and Mr. Drake begin to argue. Not wanting to know exactly what they were saying, he strode quickly away. On his way back towards his office, he ran into John.
“You are bleeding again!” John exclaimed, throwing up his hands in defeat. “It’s like you’re never going to get better.”
“It was the climb,” Quin muttered.
“So now you’re blaming me!” John shook his head. “You decide to climb down the building and suddenly it’s my fault you’re bleeding! Some friend you are. Come with me!”
Rolling his eyes, Quin allowed himself to be dragged towards the Globe’s med center – a place where they kept test subjects, stored doctors and medical technology of all sorts, and conducted experiments which Quin chose not to think about. He assumed they were ethical, but didn’t want to know the details – he imagined that any medical research they were doing in this building was probably too gruesome to think about.
The doctors there knew John, and before long, Quin was sitting on another hospital bed being bandaged up by his friend. John had not stopped talking since grabbing Quin’s arm, but he seemed to be winding down.
“…so I think we should go back and see how much information we can get from Tobias and Meriym about the different cultures that have all conglomerated on Path and how many of them are refugees from the Cadrellian War. I also want to talk to Kip more – did you hear him talking!? – because he’s a really, really intelligent kid. Reminds me of me when I was his age.” John sighed reminiscently and then continued. “And then we need to figure out what’s happening with all those kids Dad kidnapped – if he really kidnapped them – and if we can’t find their families, we need to make sure they are provided for in terms of food, organization, education, and all that good stuff. Are you still with me?”
Quin nodded. Something in John’s last spew was niggling him. It was as if he was supposed to remember something – supposed to feel something. He frowned.
“Also I want to get some more of Meriym’s soup!” John added as he finished taping Quin’s stomach. “Delicious!”
A passing doctor looked at John strangely, as he had been talking at Quin’s stomach.
Meriym. That was what Quin had been trying to remember. He wanted to see her again. Soon.
“So where are you going next?” John asked, washing his hands.
“Home,” Quin stated, standing up.
“Want me to come?”
Quin shook his head.
“That’s good. I’m on probation anyway. Need to grab a few things before the security folks get around to locking me out of some of the labs. Don’t want to be short on equipment!”
They went in separate directions as they exited the medical room.
This next part was not going to be easy, Quin thought. He took the elevator down the twenty-seven flights instead of running, waved at the secretary, and walked out of the building. He didn’t bother to hail a cab, but instead walked straight through town. The William Oliphant, bookseller store was blocked off with tape and scientists were gathered in huddles outside. There were transportable labs parked outside, and gawkers peered from behind books and whispered in groups.
It was, at least, a beautiful day for gawking, if that was something you enjoyed. He walked right past, nodding politely to the scientists and police officers that he recognized, and headed out of town. It took about forty minutes at a slow pace to reach his house, but long before he arrived, he could see that guards were still posted around the house. Scientists were probably in and out as well.
He stepped into the entry pod and waited patiently as it took him to the door. The crowd had greatly lessened since he had stepped through from the other side, but a few graduate students still stood there with their machines and pencils. Mr. Brown and Mr. Green were there as well, leading the pack.
Stopping just inside his living room, Quin frowned a little. He didn’t like having all of these people in his house.
“Hello, Mr. Black!” Mr. Green exclaimed. “Good to see you!”
Quin nodded. He looked around again and then said, “How long are you going to be?”
Mr. Brown turned to look at him, seeming confused; then his face cleared. “Oh, this is your house! I forgot!” He and Mr. Green looked at each other.
“Well,” Mr. Green said, “we will still need to use the Door for research purposes, but with the help of Mr. Drake, I think we can arrange a schedule that will allow you privacy until we can move the Door back to the Globe. Would that work?”
“Thank you,” Quin replied.
“And,” Mr. Brown added, “since you are still recovering – we all saw your dramatic entrance! – I don’t think Tom would be too upset if we cleared out for today and worked with you tomorrow to set up the schedule.”
Quin noticed that Mr. Brown didn’t mention Mr. Drake – probably because everyone knew exactly who would be upset at this interruption.
“That would be great,” Quin replied. “I’ll just be upstairs if you need me.” He took the stairs two at a time and then threw himself on his bed. He wasn’t sleepy, but if he kept running around like this, he would never stop bleeding. He debated grabbing ano
ther shirt, as well, but fell asleep before he could make any decisions.
