by Dima Zales
“Were you about to suggest something?” I think, this time directing it toward Mimir.
“Well, to start, I know someone who can identify Caleb,” Mimir explains. “Once he does, we’ll have to improvise as we go.”
A new collection of neurons suddenly appears in front of me.
The being is alive, with its synapses firing frantically, same as Mimir’s. This being is noticeably smaller than Mimir, though—about six times smaller to be precise.
“Yet I’m twice as big as you, kid,” a new voice in my head says. “Besides, it’s not the size of the mind that matters, but how you use it.”
“You’re another Omni.” I’m overcome with awe at this realization. “The one that’s me and Caleb combined, right?”
“No, you’re actually schizophrenic, with two voices speaking in your head, not to mention delusions of grandeur.” This thought comes with a smirk. “Obviously that’s what I am. Call me Daleb.”
Ignoring the spike of anxiety his joke provoked, I reply, “You just combined our names together and put the ‘D’ of my name first. Does that mean mine is the dominant personality that makes you ‘you’? Your tone sure sounds more like Caleb’s.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Daleb responds, seriously this time. “I’m both, but neither one. There is no predominant anything. I’m me, not one of you.” Then, with another mental smirk, he adds, “I’m Daleb because I didn’t want to be Carren, which sounds like a female.”
“So you think of yourself as male?”
“Gentlemen,” Mimir’s thought intrudes. “We’re trying to save Caleb. I would think of all of us, you, Daleb, would not want to put his life in jeopardy.”
“The mighty Mimir is right,” Daleb replies. “The one that’s slightly farther from the cluster is Caleb. Easy to spot. Please save him, Darren. I’ll owe you big time if you do.”
“How did he herd them all into one spot like that?” I wonder. “I wish he hadn’t.”
“Read him to find out,” Daleb suggests. “Maybe he has a visual of where they’re each standing.”
I teleport to the big cluster and single out Caleb. I intend to do what Daleb suggested: Read Caleb to find out how his mission went.
Coherence comes quickly this time, and with it, I enter Caleb’s mind.
* * *
We run toward the Temple doors, ignoring our pursuers’ bullets. We focus on those doors as though they’re the gates to heaven.
Then we half jump, half slide—a culmination of all those times we stole base as a kid. We’re inside. We jackknife to our feet and turn to close the doors. We’re going to make it. The heavy doors are almost shut; there’s only a sliver left.
The cursed sword manages to slide in through the crack.
Our environment slows down a little, as it often does while we’re in battle mode.
The sword jabs toward our torso. We dodge, but don’t let go of the doors. Then the sword slices to the left and excruciating pain follows. Stupefied, we see the surreal image of our left hand falling to the ground. Realizing what just happened intensifies the pain in our arm.
We keep fighting, forcing our body to stay alert to prevent it from going into shock, which would undo everything.
All wounds heal once we exit the Mind Dimension, we remind our freaked-out lizard brain.
With our bulletproof vest, we lean on the sword.
The weapon doesn’t break, though it should have, but the bitch wielding it decides to pull it back, probably planning to thrust it right back in.
Capitalizing on the temporary reprieve, we shut the doors and then stick what’s left of our left arm into the door handles, the way one would with a stick. With our right hand, we also hold the handles shut. We know our forearm can only take a few seconds of pounding.
We wish we could look at the watch, but it’s on the floor, attached to our severed hand.
It’s way past eight, kid, we think. What the fuck are you doing to me?
A kick on the door generates a bone-breaking surge of agony—
* * *
I’m back in Level 2, welcoming its pain-free emptiness.
Those were the last moments of Caleb’s mission. He clearly did as we asked by pulling Kate and the others in, but the delay Eugene and I experienced caused him a lot of hassle and pain. The reason Kate and her team are clustered so closely together is because they’re standing next to each other in the Quiet, by the door of the Temple.
Remembering the pain Caleb suffered to get this plan to work makes me mentally shudder again. At least his pain will be temporary. Once I’m done in Level 2, he’ll be back on the battlefield, wrestling with Eleanor, with all his limbs still attached to his body.
“He’s a tough mofo,” Daleb’s thought reassures me. “And he’s been through worse pain.”
“We have a big problem.” The tone of Mimir’s thought is full of concern. “We still don’t know who is who.”
“Why is that such a big issue?” I wonder, shaking off the terror.
“Because, obviously, if you start with the Super Pusher, he will join us in Nirvana.” Daleb’s thought is snide in that irritating, Caleb-like manner.
“Do we know for certain that he’s even among them?” I reply as calmly as I can. As with real Caleb, I can’t let him get to me, but the dilemma I face is that if Daleb is anything like Mimir, he can read my mind, annoyance and all.
“Nothing is certain,” Mimir interjects. “But I’m fairly sure the Super Pusher is one of these four.”
“Oh, come on, kid,” Daleb adds. “You already know who he is. On some level, you’ve known since all this shit went down.”
He’s right, but I haven’t wanted to admit it, because admitting it would mean I’ve been taken for a fool.
Since I can’t hide my thoughts from the two Omnis anyway, I allow the thought to surface in my mind.
“It’s George, isn’t it?”
Chapter 25
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, kid,” Daleb thinks at me. “It could’ve been anyone.”
“It only became apparent after his double cross.” Though Mimir’s thoughts are attempting to soothe me, I’m getting more and more livid.
“It was George who suggested that each of us walk with five or six cops,” I think, as much for my own benefit as the Omnis’. “The fucker did it so he could kill me once he got the one thing he needed from me: the Temple’s location.”
“Right.” Daleb’s synapses shine a little brighter as I perceive his thought in my mind. “The Enlightened must’ve been his target all along.”
“But why?” I let my Level 2 vision move from the giant network that is Mimir to the smaller one that is Daleb. “He works for the Elders. He’s an Ambassador. He should want what they want. I’m pretty sure they weren’t lying to me about wanting peace. Frederick especially.”
“You’re right.” Daleb’s thoughts are surprisingly serious now. “I don’t think the Elders ordered this. George is clearly acting on his own. As to why, that’s something I’m wondering too. Maybe my brainier brother has a clue?”
“I don’t have a lot.” Mimir’s mini-universe is on fire now. I’m not used to seeing him so bright in front of me. “If I did, I would’ve known George was our man, and I would’ve warned Darren when he was in Frederick’s Nirvana. However, I can venture a guess as to his motivations. Mary, a woman who hates Guides, raised him. He’s a fairly traditional man, someone who places emphasis on family values. That and his close association with Hillary’s parents link him to the Traditionalists.”
“Family values, my foot,” I think and wonder whether my neurons are also red with anger. “He’s a hypocrite. I’m his family, and he wants to kill me.”
“He probably sees it as a necessary evil,” Mimir replies.
“There’s another clue.” Daleb’s thought feels almost excited. “Caleb thought George was acting like the leader of Kate’s team. He’s insightful when he wants to be, that Caleb, and in this cas
e, he was right. George is in charge. He’s using his fellow Guides as puppets.”
“Now that I think about it, other little things are also falling into place,” I think, again half for me, half for them. “Like the way his eyes lit up when I mentioned the Enlightened.”
“Mentioning them probably saved your life,” Mimir adds. “Otherwise, he might’ve had Hillary stab you in the back or would’ve done it himself in her parents’ house.”
“My life was saved at the cost of so many others.” I finally figure out what’s really been bothering me and think, “He used me.”
“He did use you, but now it’s backfiring.” Daleb’s thought is not as soothing as Mimir’s, but he’s clearly trying. “Him using you made sure he brought you here, and now you’re undoing the damage he’s created. All the death that’s happened is on his head, not yours.”
“I should’ve seen it, somehow.” I mentally lash myself. “He had a black kimono on, before he took me to see Mary.”
“So did the majority of the guests on the Island,” Mimir points out.
“He was surprised when he saw me for the first time,” I counter.
“It could’ve just as easily been Hillary who surprised him,” Daleb retorts.
“My boss, Bill, mentioned that George was the Ambassador from New Jersey,” I think more calmly this time. “That puts him near enough to New York, near enough to have been pulling Kyle’s strings. And speaking of Kyle, George was probably at the fucker's funeral—that would explain why Anne was upset he was leaving so soon. He must've arrived just before us with his private plane.”
“He did something that threw you off—something that threw us all off,” Mimir thinks with a hint of something like shame. “He taught you how to Teleport.”
“Yes,” I realize. “The bastard even openly admitted that he was teaching me so I would trust him.”
“It was pretty clever,” Daleb thinks. “He thought you wouldn’t survive long enough to master the skill, but teaching it to you made you trust him.”
“Except, ironically, it’s thanks to that skill that I’m alive,” I think. “When I saw the flare, I phased in and randomly ended up a few feet away from the cops with a good view of what they’d been Guided to do. There was a very good chance they would’ve shot me in the back had George not taught me how to Teleport.”
“And he underestimated you in general,” Mimir adds. “It’s a mistake many have lived to regret.”
“Yeah, he shouldn’t have attacked you personally on the Island,” Daleb agrees. “He was overconfident, where someone wiser would’ve Guided Kate to assassinate you.”
“Maybe he was afraid to do something like that in front of the Elders?” I counter. “Also, once he was pulled in by Fred, he wouldn’t have been able to Guide anyone. Can’t get to Level 2 from someone else’s Quiet. What I really want to know is: why did he attack me at all?”
“It’s not like his attack would’ve killed you. It would’ve just made you Inert. When Martin and his people forbade you to make anyone on the Island Inert, they wouldn’t have cared if you yourself became Inert. George probably only brought you to the Island to earn your trust, so that you in turn would bring him to the Temple,” Mimir suggests. “He didn’t actually want you to talk to the Elders. If anything, he was probably worried you’d tell the Elders about the Super Pusher. They might’ve taken that information very seriously.”
“I thought one of the Elders was the Super Pusher,” I think defensively.
“And that was reasonable,” Mimir responds, “but George didn’t know that was your theory, or maybe he thought you might blab regardless.”
“So he brought me to the Island and then tried to make me Inert, but to what end?”
“Probably so he could offer you help,” Daleb projects. “Being Inert would’ve made you more open to accepting his help. He would’ve suggested a rescue team of his own, with people already loyal to him. When making you Inert didn’t work, his plan needed only a slight readjustment, given that it was Frederick who provided you with a team. Since George was able to Guide them, he still almost got what he was after.”
I process all that for a moment, and then think, “Something else just occurred to me. Hillary suspected that George might become an Elder. She all but told me he was as powerful as one of them. I just didn’t fully—”
“I hate to interrupt this dialogue, especially given how cathartic it is for you, Darren,” Mimir interjects, “but you might run out of Depth at any moment, and we still have an important task for you to do. As Daleb pointed out, George almost got what he was after, and you need to make sure he doesn’t.”
“Okay, so how do I avoid pulling George in?” I think, refocusing my attention on the present.
“No idea,” Daleb replies.
“Me neither,” Mimir echoes.
“And if I do pull him in?”
“He’ll attack, and you’ll likely end up Inert.” Mimir’s thought is tinged with sorrow. “And I know you’re about to ask if we can help, but we can’t.”
“And let’s not forget that you going Inert will lead to the monks dying, and Mira and Thomas remaining in danger,” Daleb adds.
“Why can’t you help?” I wonder.
“We do not want the Elders to know of our existence,” Mimir explains. “And we have a moral code that strictly forbids us from interfering with a mind, even George’s. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Or approve,” I think, projecting my grudge as best as I can through my thoughts. “Fine, you don’t want to mess with minds. I can sort of understand that. But what about this secrecy? You mentioned it on the Island, which, I may add, caused me a lot of confusion. What you never explained is why? Why can’t the Elders know about you?”
“Why don’t Readers and Guides let Unencumbered know about their existence?” Mimir asks. “Why did you hide your true Depth from your friends?”
“Fine,” I reply. I’m convinced there’s more to it than he’s suggesting, but I’m confident he’ll remind me that time is running out if I press.
“Time is running out, though.” Mimir’s mental voice sounds mischievous.
“Any last-minute suggestions?”
“Use your instincts,” Daleb thinks at the same time as Mimir projects, “Pick at random.”
I pick the brightest constellation of the bunch—the one closest to me—and teleport there effortlessly.
Both Mimir’s and Daleb’s lights disappear.
“Guys, wait,” I think, but no response comes.
They’re gone.
Fine, I think pointedly. I’ll manage without you.
With that, I reach for my intuitively, or randomly, chosen victim.
* * *
The Leacher we’re tangled with is strong—strong enough to provide us with a rare challenge. Cutting through the battle rage is an unwelcome thrill of feminine awareness.
I, Darren, disassociate with disgust. I’m in the mind of Eleanor, who, despite the Super Pusher’s command to kill him, is lusting after Caleb. Without further ado, I start Guiding her:
The man you’re fighting is not your enemy. You will say the words, “Caleb, Darren did it. I’m now on your side. Help me take down the man responsible for all this shit.” Then you will get up and apprehend George. That’s your primary goal. If you see James or Kate trying to hurt the monks, try and stop them. That’s your secondary goal.
And with that, I exit Eleanor’s head.
* * *
As the floating sensation of Nirvana returns, I decide that perhaps my choice was more intuitive than lucky. Perhaps I have some idea, on a subconscious level, of who’s who. A more skeptical part of me reminds me that my chances of choosing correctly were three in four.
I pick the next pattern carefully, letting my intuition do its job, in case it’s actually working. I teleport to my choice and envelop it, ready to start Reading, but nothing happens.
Then I notice a new pattern has shown up near me.
It’s a moving version of the pattern I just engaged.
If I had eyes, I would be blinking them to make sure he’s here for real, but I have to settle for the mental version of this, which consists of becoming more certain that there’s a live mind in front of me.
There’s only one reason for this happenstance.
My intuition isn’t worth a damn.
I just pulled George in.
Before these thoughts finish running through my head, the collection of neurons that is my enemy gets uncomfortably close to me.
I’m not sure whether my perception of his pattern is colored by my anger and disgust with George, or by his own intentions, but for the first time, a mind in Level 2 looks positively repulsive to me.
Gone are the outer-space visuals. Instead, there’s something about him that reminds me of creatures from the deep sea. His synapses, in particular, look slimy and unwholesome, like the stingers of some giant jellyfish that luminesces to lure in its prey. His neurons similarly remind me of the lights on tips of dorsal spines of monstrous anglerfishes; I can’t help but imagine rows of sharp teeth and ugly faces hiding behind each speck of light.
And then, to my sheer mental horror, this abomination envelops me.
Chapter 26
I instantly realize that George initiated Assimilation—the strange, empathetic mind meld that Frederick and I engaged in on the Island.
An avalanche of anxiety hits me, quickly evolving into a tornado of debilitating fear. It’s as if I received a shot of adrenaline directly into the fear center of my brain. Rationally, I know this is due to my fear combining with any trepidation George is feeling, but that doesn’t make it better. Fear is never rational.
I try fighting it, but as soon as I regain some semblance of sanity, I feel a wave of emotion that I can best describe as rejection. It’s my negation of what George is trying to do to me, and his version of the same emotion. We both feel as if the sanctity of our minds is being violated. Describing the feeling is difficult. All I can compare it to is pain, only it’s much worse. It makes the pain Caleb endured when he lost his hand feel like a scrape in comparison.