The Traveler fr-1

by John Twelve Hawks

  “You killed my father.”

  “Did we?” Kennard Nash raised his eyebrows. “Our staff searched what was left of the house, but we never found his body.”

  The casual tone of Nash’s voice was infuriating. You bastard, Michael thought. How can you sit there and smile? A wave of anger surged through his body and he thought about flinging himself across the table and grabbing Nash by the throat. Finally there would be payback for the destruction of his family.

  General Nash didn’t seem to realize that he was on the verge of being attacked. When his cell phone rang, he put down his drink and pulled the phone out of his suit-coat pocket. “I asked not to be disturbed,” he told the caller. “Yes. Is that so? How very interesting. Well, why don’t I just ask him?”

  Nash lowered the phone and frowned at Michael. He resembled a bank official who had just found a small problem in a loan application. “Lawrence Takawa is on the phone. He says that you’re either going to attack me or try to escape.”

  Michael stopped breathing for a few seconds while his hands gripped the edge of his chair. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “Please, Michael, don’t waste your time being deceitful. Right now you’re being monitored by an infrared scanner. Lawrence says that you show an increased heart rate, elevated skin galvanic response, and heat signals around the eyes. All this data is a clear indication of a fight-or-flight reaction. Which leads me back to my original question: Are you going to attack me or run away?”

  “Just tell me why you wanted to kill my father.”

  Nash studied Michael’s face, and then decided to continue the conversation. “Don’t worry,” he said to Takawa. “I think we’re making progress here.” The general switched off the cell phone and dropped it back into his pocket.

  “Was my father a criminal?” Michael asked. “Did he steal something?”

  “Remember the Panopticon? The model works perfectly if all humanity lives inside the building. It doesn’t work if one individual can open a door and stand outside the system.”

  “And my father could do that?”

  “Yes. He’s what we call a ‘Traveler.’ Your father was able to project his neural energy out of his body and travel to other realities. Our world is the Fourth Realm. There are fixed barriers one must pass through to enter the other realms. We don’t know if your father explored all of them.” Nash stared directly at Michael. “The ability to leave this world appears to have a genetic origin. Perhaps you could do it, Michael. You and Gabriel might have the power.”

  “And you’re the Tabula?”

  “That name is used by our enemies. As I told you, we call ourselves the Brethren. The Evergreen Foundation is our public institution.”

  Michael stared down at his drink while he tried to figure out a strategy. He was still alive because they wanted something. Perhaps you could do it, Michael. Yes. That was it. His father had disappeared and they needed a Traveler.

  “All I know about your foundation is the commercials I’ve seen on public television.”

  Nash stood up and walked over to the window. “The Brethren are true idealists. We want what is best for everyone: peace and prosperity for all. The only way to achieve this goal is to establish social and political stability.”

  “So you put everyone in a giant prison?”

  “Don’t you understand, Michael? These days people are frightened of the world around them, and that fear is easily encouraged and maintained. People want to be in our Virtual Panopticon. We’ll watch over them like good shepherds. They’ll be monitored, controlled, protected from the unknown.

  “Besides, they rarely recognize the prison. There’s always some distraction. A war in the Middle East. A scandal involving celebrities. The World Cup or the Super Bowl. Drugs, both illegal and prescribed. Advertisements. A novelty song. A change of fashion. Fear may induce people to enter our Panopticon, but we keep them amused while they’re inside.”

  “Meanwhile you’re killing Travelers.”

  “As I said, that’s an outdated strategy. In the past, we responded like a healthy body rejecting different viruses. All the basic laws have been written down, in a multitude of languages. The rules are clear. Mankind just has to learn how to obey. But whenever a society was close to some degree of stability, a Traveler came along with new ideas and a desire to change everything. While the wealthy and the wise were trying to build a vast cathedral, the Travelers kept undermining the foundation-causing trouble.”

  “So what’s changed?” Michael asked. “Why haven’t you killed me?”

  “Our scientists started working on something called a quantum computer and received unexpected results. I’m not going to give you the details this evening, Michael. All you need to know is that a Traveler can help us achieve an incredible breakthrough in technology. If the Crossover Project works, history will be changed forever.”

  “And you want me to become a Traveler?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  Michael got up from the couch and approached General Nash. By now he had recovered from his reaction to the infrared scanner. Perhaps these people could read his heart rate and skin temperature, but that wasn’t going to change anything.

  “A few minutes ago you said that your organization attacked my family’s house.”

  “I had nothing to do with that, Michael. It was a regrettable incident.”

  “Even if I agreed to forget about the past and help you, that doesn’t mean that it’s possible. I don’t know how to ‘travel’ anywhere. My father didn’t teach us anything but sword fighting with bamboo sticks.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. Have you seen our research center?” Nash motioned with his hand and Michael looked out the window. Security lights illuminated the guarded compound. Nash’s office was on the top floor of a modern office building connected to three other buildings by covered walkways. In the middle of the quadrangle was a fifth building that looked like a white cube. The marble walls of the cube were thin enough so that the interior light made the building glow from within.

  “If you have the potential to be a Traveler, then we have the staff and technology necessary to help you achieve this power. In the past, Travelers have been instructed by heretical priests, dissenting ministers, and rabbis trapped in the ghetto. The whole process was dominated by religious faith and mysticism. Sometimes it didn’t work. As you can see, there’s nothing disorganized about our operation.”

  “Okay. It’s clear that you’ve got some big buildings and a lot of money. That still doesn’t mean I’m a Traveler.”

  “If you succeed, you’ll help us change history. Even if you fail, we’ll set you up in a comfortable environment. You’ll never have to work again.”

  “And what if I refuse to cooperate?”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen. Don’t forget, I know all about you, Michael. Our staff has been investigating you for several weeks. Unlike your brother, you’re the ambitious one.”

  “Leave Gabriel out of this,” Michael said sharply. “I don’t want anybody looking for him.”

  “We don’t need Gabriel. We have you. And now I’m offering you a great opportunity. You’re the future, Michael. You’re going to be the Traveler who will truly bring peace to the world.”

  “People will still keep fighting.”

  “Remember what I told you? It’s all just fear and distraction. Fear will get people into our Virtual Panopticon and then we’ll keep them happy. People will be free to take antidepressant drugs, go into debt, and stare at their television sets. Society might seem disorganized, but it will be very stable. Every few years we’ll pick a different mannequin to give speeches from the White House Rose Garden.”

  “But who’s really in control?”

  “The Brethren, of course. And you’ll be part of our family, guiding us forward.”

  Nash put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. It was a friendly gesture as if he were a kind uncle or a new stepfather. G
uide us forward, Michael thought. Part of our family. He stared out the window at the white building.

  General Nash turned away from him and walked over to the bar. “Let me pour you another drink. We’ll order dinner-sirloin or sushi, whatever you wish. And then we’ll talk. Most people go through life never knowing the truth about the major events of their time. They’re watching a farce performed at the edge of the stage while the real drama is going on behind the curtain.

  “Tonight I’ll raise the curtain and we’ll walk backstage and see how the props work and what’s behind the set and how the actors behave in the dressing room. Half the things you’ve been taught in school are just convenient fictions. History is a puppet show for childish minds.”

  32

  Gabriel woke up in the motel room and saw that Maya was gone. Without making a sound, she had left her bed and gotten dressed. He found it strange that she had neatly tucked in the blanket and folded the two pillows into the frayed cotton bedspread. It was as if she wanted to erase all signs of her presence, the fact that the two of them had spent the night in the same space.

  He sat up in bed and leaned against the creaky headboard. Ever since they had left Los Angeles, he had thought about what it meant to be a Traveler. Was everyone just a biological machine? Or was there something eternal within each living thing, a spark of energy that Maya called the Light? Even if that was true, it didn’t mean that he had the power.

  Gabriel tried to think about another world, but he found himself overcome by random thoughts. He couldn’t control his mind. It jumped around like a chattering monkey in a cage, throwing up images of old girlfriends, motorcycle races down a mountain, and lyrics from a song. He heard a buzzing sound and opened his eyes. A fly was bashing itself against the windowpane.

  Angry with himself, he walked into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. Maya, Hollis, and Vicki had risked their lives for him, but they were going to be disappointed. Gabriel felt like a gate crasher at a party who was pretending to be someone important. The Pathfinder-if he existed-would laugh at his pretensions.

  When he returned to the main room, he saw that Maya’s travel bag and laptop computer were sitting beside the door. That meant that she was somewhere nearby. Had she taken the van and gone to buy food? Not possible. There were no restaurants or grocery stores in the area.

  Gabriel got dressed and stepped out into the courtyard parking area. The old lady who ran the motel had switched off the neon sign and her office was dark. The dawn sky was a lavender color with thin silvery clouds. He walked around the south wing of the motel and saw Maya standing on a concrete slab in the middle of some sagebrush. The concrete looked like the foundation for a house that had been abandoned to the desert.

  Maya must have found a steel rod at the construction site. Holding it like a sword, she ran through a series of ritual forms and combinations, similar to the ones he had seen in his kendo school. Parry. Thrust. Defend. Each motion glided gracefully into another.

  From a distance, he could observe Maya and stay detached from her single-minded intensity. Gabriel had never met anyone like this Harlequin. He knew she was a warrior who would kill without hesitation, but there was also something pure and honest in the way she faced the world. Watching her practice, Gabriel wondered if she cared about anything other than this ancient obligation, the violence that had claimed her life.

  A discarded broom was lying beside the motel’s dumpster. He broke off the broom section and carried the stick over to the concrete slab. When Maya saw him, she stopped moving and lowered her improvised weapon.

  “I’ve taken a few kendo lessons, but you look like an expert,” he said. “Do you want to practice sparring?”

  “Harlequins must never fight Travelers.”

  “I might not be a Traveler, okay? We should accept that possibility.” Gabriel waved the broomstick around. “And this isn’t exactly a sword.”

  He gripped the stick with both hands, and then attacked her at half speed. Maya parried gently and swung her weapon around to his left side. The soles of his motorcycle boots made a faint scraping sound as they moved across the concrete rectangle. For the first time, he felt like Maya was looking at him, treating him as an equal. She even smiled a few times when he blocked her attack and tried to surprise her with an unexpected move. Fighting with grace and precision, they moved beneath the enormous sky.

  33

  It began to get hot as they crossed the state border into Nevada. The moment they left California, Gabriel pulled off his motorcycle helmet and tossed it into the van. He slipped on some sunglasses and roared ahead of Maya. She watched the wind touch his shirtsleeves and the cuffs of his jeans. Turning southeast, they headed toward the Colorado River and the crossing point at Davis Dam. Red rocks. Saguaro cactus. Waves of hot air shimmering on the blacktop. Near a town called Searchlight, Maya saw a series of hand-lettered signs by the side of the road. PARADISE DINER. FIVE MILES. LIVE COYOTE! SHOW THE KIDS! THREE MILES. PARADISE DINER. EAT!

  Gabriel gestured with his hand-let’s have breakfast-and when the Paradise Diner appeared he turned into the dirt parking lot. The diner was a flat-topped building that looked like a railroad boxcar with windows. A large air-conditioning unit was installed on the roof. Holding the sword carrying case, Maya got out of the van and studied the building before she decided to go inside. Front entrance. Back entrance. A battered red pickup truck was parked in front of the diner and a second pickup with a camper shell was parked on the side.

  Gabriel strolled over to her. He shifted his shoulders around, relaxing his knotted muscles. “I don’t think we need that,” he said and motioned to the sword case. “We’re just eating breakfast, Maya. It’s not World War Three.”

  She saw herself in Gabriel’s eyes. Harlequin craziness. Constant paranoia. “My father trained me to carry weapons at all times.”

  “Relax,” Gabriel said. “It’ll be all right.” And she saw, in some new way, his face and eyes and brown hair.

  Turning away from him, Maya took a deep breath and placed the sword inside the van. Don’t worry, she told herself. Nothing’s going to happen. But she checked the two knives that were strapped to her arms.

  The coyote was kept in a chain-link cage built near the front of the restaurant. Sitting on a concrete slab dotted with piles of scat, the captive panted from the heat. This was the first time Maya had ever seen a coyote. He looked like a mongrel dog with a wolf’s head and teeth. Only his dark brown eyes were wild; they watched Maya intently as she raised her hand.

  “I hate zoos,” she told Gabriel. “They remind me of prisons.”

  “People like to see animals.”

  “Citizens want to kill wild creatures or put them into cages. It helps them forget that they’re also prisoners.”

  The diner was a long, narrow room with booths near the windows, a counter with stools, and a small kitchen. Three slot machines were near the front door and each one had a garish theme. Circus of Jackpots. Big Winner. Happy Daze. A pair of Mexicans wearing cowboy boots and dusty work clothes sat at the counter eating scrambled eggs and corn tortillas. A young waitress with bleached blond hair and a pinafore apron was emptying one ketchup bottle into another. Maya saw a face peering through the kitchen serving window: an old man with bleary eyes and a scruffy beard. The cook.

  “Sit anywhere you want,” the waitress said, and Maya picked the best defensive position-last booth down, facing the entrance. As she sat down, she stared at the silverware on the Formica table and tried to visualize the room in her mind. This was a good place to stop. The two Mexicans looked harmless and she could see any car that approached the building from the road.

  The waitress came over with glasses of ice water. “Mornin’. You two want coffee?” She had a chirpy little voice.

  “Just some orange juice,” Gabriel said.

  Maya stood up. “Where’s the restroom?”

  “You got to walk outside to the back. Plus, it’s locked. Come on. I’ll take you
there.”

  The waitress-whose name tag read “Kathy”-led Maya around the diner to an unmarked door fastened with a padlock and latch. She kept chattering as she searched through her pockets for the key. “Daddy’s worried about people coming in and stealing all his toilet paper. He’s the cook and the dishwasher and everything else around here.”

  Kathy unlocked the door and switched on the light. The room was filled with cardboard boxes of canned food and other supplies. She bustled around, checking the paper-towel dispenser and wiping out the sink.

  “You got a real cute boyfriend,” Kathy said. “I’d like to drive around with a good-looking man like that, but I’m stuck at the Paradise until Daddy sells this place.”

  “You’re a bit isolated here.”

  “Nothing but us and that ol’ coyote. Plus a few people driving down from Vegas. You been to Vegas?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve been six times.”

  When she finally left the room, Maya locked the door and sat on a stack of cardboard boxes. It bothered her that she might feel any kind of attachment to Gabriel. Harlequins weren’t allowed to become friends with the Travelers they protected. The proper attitude was to feel somewhat superior to the Travelers, as if they were little children who were innocent of the wolves in the forest. Her father always said there was a practical reason for this emotional distance. Surgeons rarely operated on family members. It might cloud their judgment. The same rules applied to Harlequins.

  Maya stood in front of the sink and stared into the cracked mirror. Look at yourself, she thought. Tangled hair. Bloodshot eyes. Dark, drab clothing. Thorn had turned her into a killer without attachments, someone who lacked the drone desire for comfort and the citizen desire for security. Travelers might be weak and confused, but they could cross over and escape from this worldly prison. Harlequins were trapped in the Fourth Realm until they died.