Rogue

by Mark Frost

  “I see.”

  “We need to talk to ‘the Perfessor,’ ” said Nick.

  “No autographs today, kids,” said the man.

  The big man started to close the door. Will stuck his foot in the way.

  “We don’t want his autograph,” said Will. “This is important.”

  The man looked them over for a longer moment, curious; then he adopted a self-conscious formality. “And whom should I say is calling?” Will heard a note of Brooklyn in his rumbling tones.

  “Tell Henry this is about an old friend of his from Flagstaff, Arizona,” said Nick.

  The man’s beady eyes, set deep in his massive skull, narrowed and darted back and forth between Will, Nick, and Ajay.

  “Wait here,” he said.

  The door closed and he lumbered away.

  “You know who that is?” whispered Nick.

  Will and Ajay shook their heads.

  “Dudes, that’s the Barbarian,” said Nick, barely able to contain his excitement.

  Will and Ajay looked at each other and shrugged: No idea who that is.

  Will gestured for the others to be silent; all three leaned in to listen. They heard the rear door open, then voices in the back, one rising in volume. A moment later they heard the door open again and the crushing footsteps hustled to the door, rocking the whole wagon from side to side.

  They took a step back as the door opened all the way. This time the giant man—Will figured him for at least six foot six and well north of three hundred pounds—waved them inside. His black wavy locks shook with every step and fell all the way over his shoulders. He wore no shirt, just swim trunks printed with tropical fish and a pair of flip-flops. His heavily muscled torso was hairless and roughly the color and texture of a buttery tan leather sofa.

  The three boys stepped in and followed the man through the trailer to a rear door on the opposite side. He had an oddly delicate habit of shaking his hair away from his face as he stomped. He held the back door open and waved them through.

  “After you,” said the Barbarian.

  They stepped down into the little courtyard formed by the four trailers, a forlorn patch of broken concrete punctuated with spindly weeds. A pale red tent stood in the center of the space, tall and surprisingly spacious. Faint gypsy music played somewhere and the smell of garlic and barbecued meat hung in the air. They stepped to the open flaps of the tent and looked inside.

  Plush carpets, pillows, hanging lamps, and throw rugs gave the interior an Oriental atmosphere. Smoke lingered in the air, exotic flavors of incense and spice. A tall, well-muscled woman in a one-piece swimsuit—long blond hair gathered casually on top of her head—stretched out on a tiger-striped divan reading a paperback novel. A table with a big stone chess set, halfway through a game, sat nearby.

  A man sat on an elevated chair that looked a little bit like a throne, studying the chessboard, his chin on his hand, legs crossed. He wore a retro Chicago Bulls jersey, red sweatpants, and a pair of classic Air Jordans. He sported a natty goatee and appeared to be about forty. His body was well proportioned but he couldn’t have been more than four and a half feet tall. His eyes traveled to the boys as they entered and he waved them forward. He looked bored and relaxed, with a lazy smile, but Will noticed a cold steeliness in his eyes that belied the diffident pose.

  “Greetings, sports fans,” said the man, his tone wry, his voice full of easy authority and an octave lower than they expected.

  “Hello, sir,” said Nick.

  “Thanks for seeing us,” said Will.

  They both nudged Ajay, standing between them. “Indeed a pleasure, Mr. Perfessor, sir.”

  “Do you represent the Lollipop Guild, or is this a visitation from the local chapter of my fan club?” asked the Perfessor.

  “Neither, actually, sir,” said Nick, then lowered his voice. “Although, if I may, I’d like to inject that I am in fact your biggest fan.”

  “Interject,” said Ajay.

  “So to what, then, do I owe the pleasure of your company?” asked the Perfessor.

  “Actually, Henry, we have something kind of unusual to share with you,” said Will.

  At the mention of the name, the Perfessor’s eyes flicked over to the languid blonde, who was watching them all intently over her paperback, and she arched one exquisitely shaped eyebrow. Although she hardly seemed to move a muscle, Will saw her body tense and coil; some kind of menace that he had no interest in finding out about radiated off the woman.

  “About Flagstaff,” said the Perfessor.

  “Yes.” Will took a photograph from his pocket, a faded and yellowed snapshot. “To be more precise, Mr. Nepsted, it’s about your father.”

  He extended the photograph—a shot of a smiling young couple holding an infant outside a hot desert town hardware store—and the Perfessor’s eyes widened as he took it from him. The blonde saw the concern on his face, put down the book, and sat up. The Barbarian took a couple of steps in from the entrance.

  “We believe that’s you, in the picture,” said Will. “With your mother and father.”

  “My father died in a car accident,” said Henry cautiously. “Forty years ago.”

  “I know that’s what you were told,” said Will. “But he’s alive. And we know where he is.”

  The man’s gaze hardened and flicked around their three faces, settling on Will’s. “This is not the kind of adolescent prank I’m going to find endlessly amusing.”

  “I understand why you’d feel that way,” said Will as sincerely and urgently as he could. “But a prank about something this personal is the last thing we would ever try to pull. What we have to share with you is as serious as a heart attack.”

  “Where did you get this?” he asked.

  “Your father gave it to us,” said Will. “And we can take you to him.”

  The Perfessor’s eyes flicked over to the Barbarian and the blonde. Will saw him subtly signal them that they could stand down; the conversation would continue.

  “Oscar,” he said to the Barbarian, “let’s not forget our manners. Why don’t you bring our guests something to drink?”

  “Beer?” asked Oscar.

  “Use your head, Oscar,” said the Perfessor patiently. “You wouldn’t want to contribute to the delinquency of a minor, would you?”

  Oscar thought about that, which took visible effort; then he snapped his fingers and pointed at the boys. “Root beer.”

  The Barbarian stomped out of the room. The blonde pretended to go back to her book. The Perfessor gestured for the boys to sit on the pillows in front of his chair, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

  “I’m all ears,” he said.

  WILL’S RULES FOR LIVING #4:

  IF ANY TASK YOU UNDERTAKE REQUIRES YOU TO “DIE TRYING,” YOU MIGHT WANT TO RECONSIDER YOUR PLAN.

  Will figured he had about half a minute before the elevator reached the topside level where Elise and the others were waiting. Maybe another two minutes after that for the car to come back down to the hospital. He’d never been worried about Franklin as a physical threat, but he knew that Hobbes, Clegg, and the Hodaks would be a challenge for him to handle alone.

  “Perhaps Dr. Abelson’s decided to join us,” said Franklin, glancing up. “Lemuel, would you see if that’s Dr. Joe on the elevator and assist him, please?”

  Clegg left the room. Will blinked on the Grid and watched the man’s heat signature through the wall as he moved across the space outside toward the elevator. He also picked up that Hobbes and the Hodaks were just outside, watching him closely, so when he turned to glance back at the Carver, nestled in its case, he blinked off the Grid and moved his head slowly, betraying no intentions.

  Will heard a low rumble of turbulent sound coming from the other room and wondered if he was somehow tuning in to their thoughts. Franklin had mentioned that the “gifts” he’d been given should continue to develop over time; maybe his power to pick up things from other people’s minds was expanding.


  “Can you explain to me what these things are for, or how they’re used, Grandfather?” asked Will.

  “I’d be delighted to, Will,” said Franklin, reaching over and tousling his hair.

  Will had to exercise every ounce of self-control not to react.

  But if he touches me like that again, I’m going to break his arm.

  “This metallic cube, here on the right,” said Franklin, “I would best describe this as a power source, given to us by our friends, that can be used to awaken some of the creations they left behind.”

  “What sort of creations?”

  “Oh, I believe you’ve encountered a few of them already,” said Franklin, smiling vaguely. “During your ill-advised foray down below.”

  Will shuddered at the memory of the hideous treelike creatures that had chased them as they made their escape from Cahokia, the ones that pulled themselves out of the ground and came to startling life after he’d seen Hobbes use this very same cube.

  “But what are they?” asked Will.

  “I might best describe them as…forms of artificial life, built for specific purposes and hidden away in important places. Concealed, until they’re called upon, as a sort of secret weapon, if you will. Our friends call them sleepers.”

  “Are you saying they left more of those killer tree things lying around up here?” said Will, pumping up more dismay than he felt.

  “No, no, not the ones you encountered before precisely,” said Franklin, amused at his discomfort. “Similar, to some extent, only in that they’re all hybrids—that is to say, genetic fusions of our life-forms with theirs.”

  “Where are these things?” asked Will.

  “They haven’t disclosed to us where most of these ‘sleepers’ are located as of yet, but I’m confident that they’ve left a goodly number of them behind. Strategically situated near areas where they felt they would eventually be needed, ready to be activated when the moment is at hand. The moment of truth. And I can assure you, Will, that time is drawing near.”

  Will listened carefully; the faint hum of the elevator had stopped moments earlier, at the top of the shaft. He pictured his friends stepping on board as the doors slid open. He quickly opened up a channel, reaching out to find Elise.

  Hobbes is down here. So are the Hodaks and Lemuel Clegg. I’ll update you. Be ready.

  It seemed an eternity—maybe two seconds in real time—before he heard her answer:

  Roger that.

  “What about this one on the left?” asked Will as he pointed to a flat, round silver disc, about six inches across, fashioned from some kind of slick advanced polymers.

  “Ah, this one’s a medical device,” Franklin rattled on, full of pride. “Astonishingly effective at repairing human tissue at the cellular level. They work only once but fortunately they’re not difficult to produce. I’ve used them myself, many times, on everything from a sprained ankle to the common cold.”

  “How do they work?”

  “To be honest, we’re still trying to find that out ourselves—something to do with how the signal it emits interacts on an electromagnetic level with the bacterial biome of the injury itself. I’d say there’s more than a little money to be made with that one, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Will nodded, countering Franklin as he moved around, stepping behind the steel container in order to put it between himself and the door. He momentarily sent his senses far above and detected the slightest shudder as the elevator began to descend again. He started a countdown in his head for the time it would take to reach them; there was still a lot more he needed to learn from Franklin. A few minutes’ worth at least. Will felt his pulse kick up a notch, adrenaline starting to thump through his body.

  Franklin glanced back at the elevator, distracted, as he realized it was descending toward them. Will didn’t want him thinking about that.

  “Now this one I’ve seen before,” said Will, pointing to the device in the center of the shelf’s container.

  “Yes, I know you have,” said Franklin, tapping it with a fingernail. “We call this one the Carver, which I think you know as well.”

  “That’s the one Lyle took.”

  “Yes. As I’ve explained, we should never have put our faith in that Ogilvy boy, for any number of reasons.”

  “I saw him use it,” said Will, “but I still don’t understand exactly how it works.”

  Franklin’s fingers traced delicately over the Carver’s elaborate handle. “It allows us to open a temporary passage, between our world and the space where our friends reside. We’ve also learned we can use these symbols along the handle here to call certain kinds of their creations over to our side. On an as-needed basis.”

  Like the ones you sent to kill me in Ojai before you knew who I was, thought Will.

  “How?”

  “You simply switch it on, here, and point it where you want to create the portal,” said Franklin as he picked it up and demonstrated, without actually activating the device. “Like so.”

  “Isn’t that something?” said Will, resisting the impulse to touch, or grab for the device, just yet.

  “And then hold on tight. Both hands. I’m told it can deliver quite a kick.”

  “I’m a little confused, sir. I mean, if they want so badly to find their way back into this world, why don’t they just build one of these things themselves and use it to carve a hole over there?”

  “That’s another astute query, Will,” said Franklin, holding out the Carver for Will to look at more closely. “Our friends sent Dr. Abelson the design for this, exactly as you see it here. They depended entirely on our engineering skill to construct it—as with everything else they’ve shared with us—because they apparently do not possess the technology or natural resources to manufacture anything this sophisticated over there.”

  “Really? What kind of world are they in?”

  “One utterly unlike our own, as I’ve come to understand it. Primitive, violent, and, what’s the word I’m looking for…remade in their image? I’m told they’ve transformed it utterly, which is nothing I’m in any great hurry to personally experience, I can assure you.”

  “Has anyone from our side ever gone over there?”

  “You mean, through one of the passages we’ve opened?” asked Franklin. “Good heavens no, son. That’s an appallingly bad idea.”

  “Why?”

  “We have no idea how we’d be greeted there, to begin with.”

  “But you told me they were our friends.”

  “That’s our word for it, not theirs. Which doesn’t mean there’s any certainty they wouldn’t treat us with the extreme savagery they routinely demonstrate against each other.”

  “In other words, you don’t trust them.”

  “Let’s just say it could prove to be most unfortunate if they ever got their hands on this,” said Franklin as he held up the Carver, thoughtfully looking it over as he turned it around in his hand.

  Will tried to conceal his shock. This was some of the worst news he’d heard yet. “I had no idea. I thought they were our allies.”

  “All the more reason for keeping them where they are, don’t you think? As I mentioned to you before, we have no intention of ever allowing our friends free and open access to our world.”

  “But you told me you made a deal to do exactly that—”

  “No, no, no—”

  “—to help them come back here in exchange for everything they’ve given you.”

  “Not in so many words,” said Franklin. “I’m not saying they would necessarily agree with our interpretation of the arrangement, but that’s not really our concern. We have no contract here. As far as diplomacy is concerned, the only true interest is self-interest. It’s called realpolitik in our world, Will. Another subject I believe Professor Sangren covered for you.”

  Will had started a countdown in his head for the arrival of the elevator—less than thirty seconds now—but he pushed past the line of what felt safe to learn a l
ittle more now; he wouldn’t get another chance. “When you open a passage, what stops them from coming through it whether you want them to or not?”

  Franklin chuckled. “Thankfully the passages only last for a short period of time, and as I mentioned, the Carver has the ability to summon only specific variations of their kind. We’ve never brought through any of their life-forms other than the ones we’ve called for, and given how briefly the passages exist, there’s never time to bring over more than a handful at a time.”

  “Okay, so what if one of us did go over there?” said Will. “All you’d have to do to come back would be to carve another hole, on that side, and go through it?”

  “Theoretically,” said Franklin.

  For the first time, Franklin looked at him with concern about the nature of the question itself, but Will was beyond caring what the old man thought now.

  Fifteen seconds.

  “And where would you end up back on this side? Somewhere close to where you went in?”

  “We don’t really know, never having tried,” said Franklin. “Is there a particular reason you’re so interested in this line of inquiry, Will?”

  Will blinked on the Grid, took a final look into the room outside, then reached out to Elise:

  Hobbes is just outside the door, to the left. Clegg is on the right. The Hodaks are standing together, in the doorway to the storage room. None of them know you’re coming.

  Then Will turned all his attention to his grandfather. “Yes. Yes, there is.”

  He reached out and snatched the Carver out of Franklin’s hands. The old man stared at him with complete puzzlement, uncomprehending.

  Good. He never saw it coming.

  The elevator doors in the next room opened. Will covered his ears. A blast of sonic energy that sounded like a revving jet engine issued from inside. Using the Grid, he watched the blast lift Hobbes off his feet and throw him back against the far wall. Will then saw four more heat signatures charge out of the elevator.

  In the doorway, the Hodaks looked stunned for a moment before they ran toward the elevator.

  Will pushed the button Franklin had showed him on the Carver and felt it jolt to life in his hand. He had to grip it with both hands to keep it from flying around.