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“That’s impossible,” said Darla.
“Not when you have his gifts, my dear.” Pauling clapped as he stood behind them.
“I hate when he does that,” said Darla. “Sometimes I think he’s a hologram.”
“It looks like we have a new record, Darlana. Welcome to Wintersal, Naz. Glad to see you’re getting acquainted.”
“Naz?” said Darla.
Naz knew if Darla had had any contact with her sister over the past months his name was likely to have come up, and it was just a matter of time before she would put it all together.
“Why don’t you show him the M-cubed simulator, Darlana.”
M-cubed? Naz couldn’t wait to see this. Pauling stood with his briefcase on the floor next to him, his hat in one hand and his suit jacket draped over his other forearm, an image that had been burned into Naz’s memory long ago.
Darla typed on the control panel, the maze doors closed, the numbers disappeared, and they all walked further down the hall.
Four doors down Darla called, “Fiat lux.”
This time when she typed on the panel, the door slid open, and a large viewing window opened up on the wall next to the open door. The room had a copper-colored floor and ceiling and continuous copper-colored two-inch bands alternated with two-inch wood bands that ran diagonally along all the walls, broken up only by sections where shapes had been carved out. There were things strewn about on the floor: a teddy bear, several toy cars, a Frisbee, a tennis ball, two larger foam balls, a slinky, a yo-yo, and large blocks of differing colors that mirrored the shapes cut out of the walls.
“Is that a tennis ball?” asked Harvis.
“What happens in here?” asked Naz.
“How about a demonstration, Darlana?” asked Pauling.
Darla entered and stood in the center of the room.
“You know, your father helped me conceive and design this place. It’s come a long way since then to be sure, but the initial designs are all Dr. Andersen’s. Fiat lux.” The control panel disappeared and reappeared in front of Pauling. He typed into it, causing a humming sound.
Darla closed her eyes and put her arms out slightly from her sides, her palms facing the ceiling. To Naz’s surprise, the teddy bear rose from the floor and hovered in midair. Next, one of the foam balls levitated, followed by a toy car and the tennis ball.
“Look ma’ no hands. Fascinating,” said Harvis.
“The copper floor, ceiling, and bands on the walls create an energy field when properly charged,” volunteered Pauling.
“Charged?” asked Naz.
“Yes, the electromagnetic field in the room combines with the frequency of the mind and voila … M-cubed.”
Darla opened her eyes, levitated a triangle shaped block and placed it in the triangle shape carved out on the wall.
“You mean it amplifies what the mind is trying to do?”
“Precisely. This is the one point on which your father and I disagreed. He didn’t believe in help from outside sources such as nature. He thought we should use the gifts we were born with and develop those. Easy to say when you’re the smartest man in the world.”
“It’s not dangerous?” asked Naz as he took advantage of Pauling reminiscing about Cory. He read Pauling’s mind and witnessed an argument about electricity and the mind. The exchange got heated, and Cory forced Pauling to turn off the electromagnetic field. Naz shuddered to see his father angry for the first time, and his feelings toward Pauling soured even more.
Darlana was clearly struggling to keep several objects in the air while placing a square block into a square hole on the wall.
“Why you sound like your father, but I assure you, my dear boy, it is completely safe. We’ve been doing this for years.”
“Well, why do you still need the machine … the electricity to help?”
“That’s why you’re here. Would you like to try?”
“I’m sure you already know I don’t need that.”
“Ah, but what if you could manipulate matter on a molecular level, maybe change the shape of an object, its temperature … or even its color. You’d be surprised what kind of artifacts could turn up.”
Naz hadn’t thought of that.
“Why don’t you ask your friend Harvis. He’s pretty smart. Let him decide.”
“Son of a…” said Harvis.
Pauling typed on the panel. Everything fell to the floor in the room, and Darla came out, visibly agitated.
“What made your father a great scientist was his IQ, something I’m sure you’ve inherited. What made your father a great man was his courage to take chances, to push the envelope, and go where no one else was willing to go. That’s something you don’t inherit.”
“What do you think, Wordsmith?” asked Naz.
Darla looked confused.
“Go for it. The girl looks OK. Eyes are on you. You’re too valuable for anyone to let something happen to you. But turn off the locator, so it doesn’t overload or anything, and turn it right back on when it’s over.”
“OK.” Naz nodded to Pauling while he turned off his locator.
“Smart friends are good to have,” said Pauling.
Naz went into the room, and before Pauling could type on the panel, Naz made every object in the room levitate. He smiled.
“How did he do that?” Darlana asked, her eyes wide.
“My dear, he is only just beginning.” Pauling smiled and typed on the panel, engaging the electromagnetic field.
Naz closed his eyes and put his palms out as Darlana had done minutes before. Images of Cory and Camille popped into his mind. As soon as one left another took its place. For the first time in days, he smiled. Cory’s image morphed into Bearn, and he furrowed his brow.
Turn it off. A thought of Darlana’s slipped through, followed by Pauling’s, Wait!
As the images continued to flash by, Naz laughed out loud and then grimaced in pain.
What’s wrong with him? Another thought from Darlana passed through along with Pauling’s A little longer.
Every object fell to the floor at the same time. Naz had a brief moment of calm as he breathed deeply. He opened his eyes and made a cut sign across his neck. Pauling disengaged the field. Naz walked out of the room and switched on his locator.
“I don’t believe it.” Darla stood frozen, eyes wide, shaking her head.
“Exhilarating,” said Naz. “Thank you.” Naz gave Pauling a firm handshake.
“The pleasure is all mine,” said Pauling.
Pauling had no idea what went on in that room—its liberating effects, and Naz had no intention of telling him, not right now.
“It’s about time for me to head back,” said Naz.
“Do come again, my dear boy. There’s much work to be done.”
“Will do.”
“Darlana will show you out.”
When Naz got to the front door, Darla grabbed his arm.
“Are you, OK?” she asked him.
“Never better.”
“Please find my sister.” She hugged him.
“I promise you. I will.”
Naz turned back to look at Wintersal one last time, contemplating what the place had given him.
“Naz, you OK?” asked Harvis.
“You won’t believe this, Wordsmith.”
“What? What happened?”
“I remember.”
“You remember? You remember what?”
“I remember everything.”
On the way back to the station Naz didn’t have much to say to Harvis except that the M-cubed simulator had restored his lost memories, and he didn’t know how. The three questions he and Harvis both pondered were, did Pauling know the effects the simulator would have on Naz? If he did, had he orchestrated the whole event, and at what level beyond that was he involved? But Naz’s mind went immediately back to D. He felt guilty that he took pleasure in Pauling’s simulator while someone held D captive.
On
the ride home, Naz told Harvis he was tired and wanted to get some sleep, but the truth was he was tired of talking about finding D. He needed to find her—now!
When he arrived in Marshal Park, it would be time to keep his promise to Darla and Mrs. Dinwiddie to find D. He had to show D that he was a young man of his word when he said he would die a thousand times to protect her. He could will the train to go no faster, so for the next hour and a half he would search his past memories long forgotten and see if anything within them held the key to finding his girlfriend.
Naz closed his eyes. “Now I remember going to Wintersal.” He saw himself bouncing up and down on Cory’s hip, and all the boys and girls tried to touch his leg. He didn’t remember Darla, but he remembered crawling through the mazes and Pauling looking exactly the same.
He remembered the LEGOs he played with for hours on end and the riding lawnmowers that kept him both intrigued and terrified at the same time, although he couldn’t explain why on either count.
He recalled not just the lines from his favorite science fiction movies, but the times he watched those movies with Cory, eating popcorn and candy and drinking frozen sodas. He and Harvis used to spar while Cory and the General watched, their arms crossed, no emotion, just a nod here and there.
He reminisced about playing basketball in the mountains, could even hear the sound of Fears’ booming voice. “Move your feet, Son,” “put a hand in his face,” and “put your hands on your head, Son, not your knees; don’t let ’im know you’re tired.”
And there was French. “I can speak French. Je parle français.” He had just started learning Spanish, his mother’s first language, before he came to live with her in the Exclave—not Spanish.
From nowhere an image of D invaded his thoughts. He reached out to touch her, but she was too far away. He resisted trying to move toward D for fear of her retreating away to nothingness. He tried something new; instead of going toward her, he willed her to come to him. It worked. She got closer to him the harder he focused until she was close enough to touch. When he reached out, she disintegrated.
He opened his eyes and gave his head a shake. “Was I dreaming? I’d have to be asleep to dream, and I don’t remember falling asleep.” He didn’t know if his dreams were premonitions, but they convinced him of one thing—Harvis is right; I need to use everything at my disposal … everything within my power … or powers!
Whatever he was doing was getting him closer to D, so he kept at it.
He could remember the grueling, daily workouts with Cory, running high in the mountains, gasping for air and Cory’s words spurring him onward. Meditating with Master Chibana was boring, and he always wanted to get back to fighting.
He remembered his piano teacher, Mrs. Gebhart, the daily practices he hated so much. He couldn’t wait for the recitals. Camille sat in the back sometimes but always left before he had a chance to say hi.
He reminisced about his childhood friend, Adam, how he could appear and disappear like magic and then Cory explaining that Adam wasn’t real, a hologram—like Samandalyn—and how he cried the rest of that day. That was the day he moved one of his blocks without touching it—dad was so happy. I could tell he was proud of me. That was also the first time he heard his mother and father arguing, but it wasn’t the last, and he didn’t see her as much after that.
He could see it clearly now, that day at the park with Tommy, although he didn’t know his name back then, the story Meri and Harvis had told so enthusiastically. Cory took him by the shoulders and said, “Never use your abilities to hurt anyone again”—but I didn’t mean to hurt that boy, just stop him from choking Harvis.
Shortly after that, the training missions with Cory started, sometimes fun, sometimes difficult, sometimes dangerous, but always a mystery until that last day when the men in black suits came, only we weren’t training that day. It was real.
Naz wondered if other people remembered their past so vividly as if everything happened yesterday—except for when the men came. That part’s hazy, especially after the light blue pill, being chased, the gun, jumping out of the truck…
“Naz,” said Harvis.
The explosion.
“Naz.”
Daddy.
“Naz!”
“Huh.” Naz shook his head.
“Your stop is coming up.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Welcome home.”
“Thank you. How long will it take you to get here?”
“To MeeChi’s?”
“Yes, I think I know how to find D now.” Naz stared out the window.
“About two hours. Something you found out at Wintersal?”
“Yeah, but I have to smooth things over with Mr. Tesla first. I’m sure by now he knows about me being expelled.”
“You’ll figure it out. Tell me what you learned.”
There was one more thing Naz remembered, something Cory had discovered and Master Chibana had helped Naz develop. The mind was both a transmitter and receiver of electrical impulses, and Cory had found a way to teach Naz how to tap into those impulses and translate them both ways. Just as anyone could use their five senses to locate someone, Naz could use the senses of his mind to do the same, but there was a wrinkle.
Naz explained it to Harvis this way. You find people by the way they look, sound, and smell and to a lesser degree, using the other two senses. The first thing a private detective will ask for is a picture. That’s why D’s photo is at the top of the missing person poster. With the mind, it’s the same in the respect that he could find a mind if he’d been inside it before and could recognize it. But instead of just summoning a person’s thoughts, as he had been, he’d have to go deeper. You’d have to transmit your thoughts, something Naz hadn’t done yet, at least not since he’d lost his memory, and wait for a response from the receiver: the ricochet, Naz called it, that would lead him to D.
You find the mind you’ve found the person—well almost. It was easy enough, at least for Naz to see and hear a person’s thoughts, but to get inside someone’s mind, you had to know something about the person. The only problem was how D would know his thoughts from her own and then respond to them? Did he know enough about D? He was about to find out.
“Well, I’m on my way. Godspeed,” said Harvis.
“Thank you.”
Naz went straight to his room when he arrived at MeeChi’s. He nodded at Tone and returned Jerrod’s usual greeting with a nod, but he was on a mission. He sat cross-legged on his bed, relaxed his body for meditation mode, and closed his eyes.
“Don’t forget to breathe deeply.” Mr. Tesla stood by the stove.
Naz’s eyes shot open. “I … I didn’t see you, Mr. Tesla. I-I can explain about school.”
“No need.” Mr. Tesla put his hand up. “Time is of the essence. I was just on my way out. Remember, every problem has a solution.” He opened the door to leave.
“Mr. Tesla.”
Mr. Tesla stopped.
“Thank you.”
Mr. Tesla nodded and closed the door behind him.
Naz closed his eyes again and focused inward on everything he knew about D that connected them, their infectious laughter at the same silly things, their crazy ideas about deep stuff, and of course the fact they had a strange chemistry that pulled them together time after time. If he could make a connection with her, he could use that link to get clues to her whereabouts and information about her captor.
He thought about the first time he had seen her at the drinking fountain. What are you looking at? Well don’t just stand there; say something. Can you talk? He didn’t know it then, but those were D’s thoughts. He sent them out. Nothing returned.
Naz thought about basketball try-outs and all the games she had attended—nothing. He thought about how she sat with him at the cemetery after Meri’s funeral and then all the times she followed him there after that—still no ricochet.
He thought about D’s drawings and photos of him, and he had an idea. He t
urned around and sat facing the two foam boards she had given him, now mounted on the wall next to his bed. He examined them in greater detail than he had before and transmitted those thoughts to her. After a few minutes and no response, he realized the futility of his actions. She had created the art. She would know it better than anybody, not something that came from him—how stupid can I be?
He remembered her directness when she caught him spying on her at The Union Press, her kindness with the stray dog, and her helplessness when her father held her captive, but nothing caused her to respond. He was starting to doubt she was there at all.
“This shouldn’t be this hard. I’m supposed to be smart.”
Maybe something happened on the Helix ride to the festival, something that would distinguish his thoughts from her own, something the blind woman or Pauling had said. She knew his abilities, knew what he was capable of—she knows that I can read her mind. “Reach out, D. Talk to me.”
He was getting confused. Any thought he made up or that she wasn’t familiar with, she would think was her imagination, not Naz’s thought entering her conscious mind. If Naz transmitted a thought they previously shared together, D would assume the thought originated with her.
The police officers that had stopped them that day, the palm reader, the basketball hoops, the tents, sitting near the river, D braiding his hair, there was nothing he could use. He got lost in his emotions when he thought of D braiding his hair that day, talking about running away together. She compared them to Romeo and Juliet. His heart fluttered and then shuddered. He sent—nothing. Remembering how much she loved Shakespeare, he recited in his mind the first lines of Othello like they did that day, hoping she would join him.
Sweet soul, take heed, take heed of perjury; thou art on thy deathbed. He waited—again! Sweet soul, take heed, take heed of perjury; thou art on thy deathbed. He kept repeating the line thinking of nothing else until fear and despair cut in, along with a thought that was not his own.
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