Slideways

by Jeffrey Grode

  Patrick used the rubber garden hose behind the house to wash his face and arms with cool water. Ginger hovered. He let her lap water from the running house. When finished, he put away the tools, walked to the shade of the cherry tree, and climbed aboard the hammock.

  Ginger stretched out below him.

  Patrick snorted. Gilligan’s lucky day. He fell asleep and dreamt.

  Chapter 15

  Ben arrived at the Carlston bus depot on the opposite side of town from Jack’s home on Keiser Avenue. The CSD agent no longer stood watch. Ben took a deep breath and let it bleed out through his lips. He had to be careful. In the last two years after the accident, he’d gotten taller, stronger, and more chiseled, but after Johnnie’s reaction, he realized he must still be fairly recognizable to his doppelganger’s friends and family.

  In the bus terminal, he found a gift shop and tried on sunglasses in front of the little display mirror. Within the mirror’s reflection, he saw a large man with curly red hair watching him. Ben turned around, but the man now faced the opposite direction and shook a snow globe. Ben shrugged, walked to the cashier, and purchased the sunglasses and a Pitt baseball cap. He donned the sunglasses and cap with the brim low over his forehead. I’m coming GranPat.

  Downtown Carlston on Earth filled twenty-five square blocks of commercial buildings, retail shops, service stations, and restaurants with a park in the center. Beyond the commercial area, sprawled five blocks of residential homes. The highest building reached four stories and consisted of brown brick, concrete, and glass. Ben could cross downtown by walking five blocks in any direction. If Terra was similar, he need only walk eight blocks to Keiser Avenue.

  Terra’s Carlston looked different with two high-rise office and apartment buildings in the center of town. Each building, about eight stories high, contained unfamiliar shops on the ground level. The old gas stations had disappeared and were replaced by repair, technology, and fast food shops.

  A few small parks with flowering shrubs and park benches dotted the area. The larger central park offered shade and a little shrine to someone called the Green Apostle. Though the face on the statue looked unfamiliar and a little sad, he didn’t bother to stop and read the plaque beneath.

  Women passed by wearing long blue, green, or purple dresses and hats. Men wore business suits with those brimmed hats from Earth’s last century. Younger girls and boys dressed in blue jeans and monochrome long sleeved shirts. Two girls stared at his red and blue striped polo shirt and giggled. He blushed. The portal watch felt naked on his wrist.

  Ben searched the block for a clothing store, but saw none. Across the street, he caught the curly haired man from the gift shop staring at him. The man turned his eyes away and walked further down the street.

  Ben reversed course, took a left on the next block, and found a clothing store. He bought new shoelaces and a loose long-sleeved blue shirt. Back in the fitting room, he took off his polo shirt, threaded a shoelace though the portal watchband, and tied the ends together. Placing the string around his neck, he let the watch ride against his chest. He wore the blue shirt out of the store and left the polo behind.

  Ben scanned the street for the curly haired man with the brown suit, but didn’t see him. Did CSD really have a tail on him? It could be a coincidence, but he didn’t want to lead them straight to his grandfather. Warning GranPat by telephone would be a mistake if the CSD monitored the lines. He needed a little more time to study this world before he put his grandfather at risk.

  Ben eyed the series of shops nestled below a high-rise parking lot, including a techno-boutique named Green Dreams and Cool Beans. A window banner claimed Science for Better Living. He walked inside.

  They sold solar batteries and panels for every size and purpose. These panels generated enough electricity to run household appliances, pumps, tools, cars, boats, electric fences, and telephones. They had a myriad of plugs, crystal adaptors, and modulators. Solar powered mechanical pets were on display. They fetched, barked at strangers, but never ate or pooped. More expensive models were available as service animals.

  Another techno shop, Forget Me Not, offered new and replacement memory chips, internal implants, and an outpatient clinic. Customers rested comfortably in recliners as a green or blue wire trailed from a data port just behind their ears. As far as he could tell, they received program updates to existing implants.

  A sign near the administrative personnel station explained how the insurance, credit levels, government subsidies, and clearance levels worked. He hadn’t noticed any specific product brand names. The human tech gear carried a Commonwealth logo and appeared as if the government controlled this market exclusively. Glancing at the ceiling, he saw surveillance cameras mounted throughout the shop. Shit. He hoped they weren’t watching him.

  Near the exit, Ben stopped at a kiosk offering coffee, tea, baked goods, and ‘Stimcaps’. The Stimcap jelly packets were small, but as expensive as the eight-dollar chocolate chip cookies behind the glass counter. He made his way to the door, but before he could exit, a tall woman in a white nurse’s uniform blocked his way.

  “Can I help you, young man?” She pursed her lips.

  “No, thank you, ma’am. Just looking.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” She pulled a scanning device from her hip belt. “I can check and see if they’re ready for you. Give me your wrist.”

  “No, ma’am.” His shoulders stiffened. “Just looking at the cookies. They look good, but I’m not really hungry.”

  She lowered her voice. “We have an implant to regulate hunger based on your body type and target weight. This pamphlet lists our available implants for memory, vision, general health monitoring, pain management, languages, and others. Please give this to your parents and come back if you need more information.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He accepted the pamphlet, and she left to help another customer.

  Give me your wrist? He’d noticed other customers with wrist tattoos like Albert’s. The Commonwealth might use them to track purchases, location, and money transfers . . . just like my smartphone. A consumer without a barcode would be noticed by shopkeepers, banks, or even the authorities. His skin prickled. The long sleeved shirt had saved him.

  Ben scanned the store for the man in the brown suit, but didn’t see anyone suspicious. Rather than exit the building, he took a hallway to the parking garage and rode the elevator to the rooftop.

  Garage level 6-East sat half empty. Solar panels above fed charging stations along the wall. The summer heat radiated from the concrete floor. Leaning over the four-foot tall concrete barrier, Ben searched the street below for the CSD agent. His stalker must be busy elsewhere. He crossed the lot and checked the adjoining streets. Also clear. The familiar buildings, however, sparked an idea.

  He jogged down a series of stairs to the west side of the garage, pushed open a metal door to the street, and turned left on the sidewalk. Across the street stood the Carlston First National Bank. The tower clock dial showed 4:45. A half block on his left awaited Allied Accounting, the three story stone building where his mother worked back home. Her Terran doppelganger, Patsy, might work here as well. He could ask her for help finding GranPat. She might be a little surprised, but so was Grandma Betsy, and that worked out fine.

  He walked down the street, opened the glass door, and entered the Allied office. The cool air conditioning gave him goosebumps. The first floor contained a reception desk, waiting area, and individual offices with floor-to-ceiling glass partitions to maximize the natural light. Large plants flourished along the base of the partition walls. On Earth, Mom’s office lay nestled all the way back in the far left corner. From the reception desk, he saw her office was occupied by two people, but the large plant fronds obscured their faces.

  “May I help you?” asked a young man from behind the reception desk.

  “Yes. I’m looking for Patsy Fuller.”

  “She has a visitor right now.” He glanced at an appointment book on
his desk. “I may be able to squeeze you in before she leaves. Your name?”

  “Charlie.”

  The man looked at Ben and waited.

  “It’s of a personal nature. She’ll want to see me.”

  The man nodded. “Of course. Please take a seat. I’ll let you know when she’s available.”

  Ben walked past the receptionist and sat in a chair across from a woman reading a magazine. The leather padding felt cool against his skin as he stretched his neck to peer through the glass office partition. He shivered.

  Patsy sat behind her wooden desk and spoke with someone hidden behind a large fern. She resembled Mom, but skinnier as if she just returned from an island survival show. As Patsy spoke, she elucidated each point with her hands, and prodded her index finger down on her desk. Mom did the same when she scolded him. After five minutes she stopped and stood with a smile.

  The curly haired man in a brown suit stood and shook her hand across the desk.

  Ben sucked in a quick breath. As they moved to exit the office, Ben stood up, turned, and walked past the raised eyebrow of the receptionist. Ben pushed through the door and into the warmer air on the street. Had she just struck a deal with his stalker? Is GranPat safe?

  Ben hurried past pedestrians to the end of the block and took a right. He jogged by a phone booth, a restaurant called ‘The Cuckoo’s Nest’, a small hotel, and the park. Following his hometown memory, he eventually came within a block of Keiser Avenue. He turned left on Hanson Street and slowed to a walk. His new shirt stuck to his sweaty body.

  A half block down Hanson, he turned right and cut between two houses. A large electronic Doberman dog barked at him from behind a glass storm door. Ben continued through their yards and between the next two houses. Only a four-foot high boxwood hedge separated him from Keiser Avenue and Jack’s house across the street. He kept low and peeked over the hedge.

  Oh. Jack’s house needed a paint job like a baby needed a wet-nap. The freshly cut grass meant someone might be home, but the front yard and the driveway appeared empty. If Jack owned a car, he may have already left for work. If GranPat waited inside, they could both use the portal watch to jump home. Ben ground his teeth. No. Not yet. I need to see Jack.

  Before Ben could step around the hedge, a car approached. He ducked back down and peeked through a small gap in the foliage. A brown sedan containing two men crawled down Keiser and stopped in front of Jack’s house. The man in the brown suit sat in the passenger seat.

  Across the street, a real dog sprang from Jack’s front porch and barked at the car through the picket fence. Ben smiled. Atta girl.

  The sedan drove away. Ginger huffed, sniffed the air, and wandered back around the house. Ben peaked over the hedge, but the sedan u-turned at the cross street, rolled back his way, and parked two houses down. The men sat in the car and watched Jack’s house.

  Ben shook his head. If GranPat hid inside, they could just pick him up. What were they waiting for? He sucked in a breath. They’re waiting for me . . . and the portal watch.

  Even if he raced inside Jack’s house and found GranPat, he wasn’t confident he could escape using the portal watch. GranPat might not know how to use it either. He couldn’t risk getting caught. If they captured him and the portal watch, they might never get back home.

  Ben kept low, backed away from the hedge, and took a different route downtown. He needed to find someone else who could help him. Someone who looked a lot like Jack.

  Patrick worked on his project in the cellar and stopped near midnight. He climbed the second floor stairs, and found his bed empty. Miss Betty stood on the balcony, crying.

  “What’s wrong, Miss B.?”

  “I heard it again. It won’t go away.”

  “What won’t go away?” Patrick heard the owl hoot. Once, Twice—

  “Dad! Wake up.”

  He jerked awake in the hammock. A thin angular women stood nearby smoking a cigarette. Patsy, a tougher version of his daughter Patty, had thick red hair and chapped skin. He blinked several times at her piercing green eyes that held little compassion for him.

  She folded her arms. “What are you doing here? Decide to drop by for a surprise visit?”

  “Yes. I did,” He took a deep breath and let the fugue drain away. From the position of the sun, he determined he’d slept a few hours. He rolled out of the hammock. “Hello, Patsy.” He tried to give her a hug.

  “Whoaa, hold on there, Padre.” She took a step back. “You don’t come by, or call, for six months, and want to give me a sweaty hug? I think I’ll pass.”

  “Oh, sorry. Must be from cuttin’ the grass.” He felt confused. His daughter would never have made him feel so small.

  “You did Jack’s job. I’m trying to teach him some responsibility. Don’t come round here, do a little work, and pretend all’s forgiven.”

  “Just tryin’ to help.” Unsure what to do with his hands, he left them at his side.

  “Well it’s too little and too late.” Her eyes flared.

  Uncertain how Albert might react, he remained silent.

  Patsy drew a long puff and studied him. “Mom told me you fell into some trouble at work. Looking for a place to hide?” Smoke billowed alternately from her mouth and nose as she spoke. She flicked cigarette ash at his feet.

  Patrick frowned. “I got a little sideways with the boss. I’ll be settin’ that straight soon enough.”

  “Well don’t bring any trouble my way. I have Jack to look after.” She dropped her cigarette butt in the grass and ground it with the ball of her foot. Several ants scurried for safety. “Did you come alone?” She studied his face.

  “Just me.”

  She looked away, but couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  Patrick smiled. “I spoke with Jack for a few minutes this mornin’. He’s a fine young man.”

  “Yes, he is. Today’s his birthday you know.” Patsy waited like a loaded mousetrap.

  “I remembered. Gave him a gift.” Her eyes softened a bit. He maintained eye contact, smiled, and offered his hand. “Peace?”

  Patsy shook his hand and let go. “Okay, c’mon. You can help take my groceries inside before the frozen dinners melt.” She squinted at him. “You look a little different.”

  Patrick’s heart raced. His success depended on her belief he was her father. He needed her help, and her Carlston First National Bank safe deposit box key. If he found a portal watch in the box, he could go home. “Yeah, been a while since I last visited. I’ve been workin’ too hard, and made some mistakes along the way. It changes you.”

  “Yes it does.” She nodded toward the house. “C’mon.” She tuned on her heel without a further remark.

  He blew out a breath and followed her inside.

  Chapter 16

  Ben slowed to a walk as he returned to downtown Carlston. At 5:30, the sidewalks and streets filled with Terrans going home for the night, just as his mother had done on Earth. She probably worried about his disappearance. Stranded on Terra, he couldn’t call her, or anyone who might help him. He felt alone in a world where he didn’t belong. Even his doppelganger lay dead and buried.

  Head down, he hurried to the phone booth near The Cuckoo’s Nest, stepped inside, and closed the glass bi-fold door. Ben thumbed through the yellow pages and found Johnnie Fuller listed as a sales representative for Dandridge Hardware. So Johnnie still works in Carlston. Had he and Patsy divorced? These weren’t his real parents, but he still felt sorry for Jack.

  He turned to the restaurant section of the yellow pages, and something banged on the glass door behind him. Flinching, Ben jerked his head around and stared into the eyes of a short woman with a red hat through the glass door. She pinched her lips together and signaled him to hurry.

  Ben turned his back on her, ripped a handful of yellow pages from the phone book, and stuffed them in his pocket. The woman glared as he opened the door, and he left without a word.

  After crossing the street, he re-entered the central p
arking garage through a stairway access door. His footsteps echoed in the stairwell as he jogged to the roof. At the far wall, he watched the entrance to Allied Accounting, but saw no sign of Patsy, the brown sedan, or the men who’d been watching Jack’s house.

  His brother had always kept a summer job, loved being around people, and enjoyed making pizza at Nino’s. This Jack might work anywhere, but checking restaurants first seemed logical. Ben pulled the yellow pages’ restaurant section from his pocket and searched for pizza. Nino’s wasn’t listed, but six other pizza shops were within walking distance, and Talarico’s occupied the same street address, 435 Maple Avenue, as Nino’s had on Earth.

  He shoved the papers back into his pocket, crossed the top floor to the opposite side of the parking garage, and grimaced. From his position, he spotted a burned and boarded up Talarico’s. A white pigeon flew through a large hole in the roof between blackened shingles and charred timber.

  He shook his head. This wasn’t going to be easy. He might need to check all the restaurants, and maybe other businesses as well. He whispered a small prayer and wondered if God could hear him on Terra.

  Ben roved through downtown Carlston wearing sunglasses and his hat brim low over his forehead. His hand strayed to his chest and felt the portal watch beneath his shirt. He would risk capture, and even death, if he could see Jack alive again. Just knowing a universe existed where his brother still lived, seemed an incredible gift.

  But he wanted to do more than just meet Jack. He needed Jack’s help to save GranPat and Albert. I made promises. If Ben failed, then . . . maybe he actually was the loser he abhorred on his darkest days. The tragedy of Jack’s death on Earth, and the guilt of his own survival, had haunted him since the accident. Physically seeing Jack alive and well on Terra may be proof God, fate, or the cosmos got it right here. He grit his teeth and kept moving.