He did as Bernie suggested. As before, he focused on breathing deeply, finding the center of his internal energy, and gently pushing it into circulation just under his skin. After several seconds, Winston felt the first flush of heat in his limbs and head.
As Bernie guided them through the cavernous labyrinth of Area X, or whatever this was now, Winston noticed how some areas were finished to the point of having fixtures installed and crates of furniture lining the walls. Others lay bare like the former metalworking shop. Some sections remained hardly more than carved-out caves within the desert’s stone underbelly. Every once in a while, dust billowed up around their footfalls and cast sparkles around Little e’s tube tips, but mostly the site remained remarkably clean. Nowhere did Winston notice any trace of bomb destruction or even so much as a smoke stain. Nevertheless, the endless shadows beyond Little e’s glow were as ominous as the ever-following echoes of their steps.
They climbed one long stairway, seemingly backtracked their progress, then climbed another stairway. In one area, they came to a balcony where Winston could look over the railing and see down at least three very long stories into the depths below.
“I feel like we’re in Moria,” Winston said. “I’m Frodo. I suppose you’re like Legolas. Or maybe Gollum.” He caught the surly tone in his voice and added, “That’s a joke. I’m not trying to be racist or anything.”
Bernie only stared ahead, as if he were barely listening.
“I’m sorry,” Winston said. “And thank you. You saved my life.”
Bernie’s head bobbed slightly.
This time, the praise went down slightly easier.
After an awkward silence, he asked, “Why is the whole place empty?”
“What are you saying? This place is like some kind of T.A.R.D.I.S.?”
Bernie took a moment before replying, and Winston guessed he was downloading background on Doctor Who in order to answer accurately.
“So, you…what? Teleported all the rock away and carved out a new Area X?”
Winston cast another glance around the sprawling, rough-hewn emptiness visible in Little e’s illumination and shook his head. “I’ll take your word for it. I just can’t imagine hollowing this place out after an atomic bomb.”
“Holy crap!”
The alien appeared reluctant to say any more.
Another twenty minutes brought them up two more flights of stairs and countless turns and hallways. If there was a pattern to the place, Winston had yet to figure it out. He was impressed by Bernie’s stamina, though. He didn’t know how long the alien had been locked up in here, but he kept a good pace and showed no sign of fatigue, which was doubly impressive since Bernie had no shoes or socks — and only three toes on each foot. He wondered what Bernie’s time would be on the mile and a half.
When they reached what Winston took to be Area X’s top level, they returned to the large, oval chasm that stood framed by at least a dozen balcony levels. Winston ran his hand along the balcony railing, fashioned from the same bedrock as the surrounding walls and floors. He was surprised at how glossy smooth the carved stone felt under his fingers.
“Are there people in the terminal?”
Winston had never been in Portland’s train station or airport, but he had seen such facilities in shows and movies. He must be misinterpreting Bernie’s terminology, because he thought of terminals being places swamped with foot traffic and transportation. This place was still an empty cave with no one but ghosts to hear the echoes of his footfalls.
Unlike the rest of this hollowed-out Area X, the twin lobby doors were broad and crafted of smoked glass etched with ornate, swirling patterns that reminded Winston of Celtic knots. He pressed on one of the doors, expecting it to swivel inward or at least offer some resistance. Instead, his hand passed right through the pane, as if it were nothing but air.
“What?” exclaimed Winston as he turned his hand over and waved it through the space the glass also appeared to occupy. “Is this a hologram?”
“Simpler,” Winston mused. “Got it.”
Visualizing the door as nothing more than mist gave Winston the confidence he needed to step into and through what appeared to be a very solid glass object. Once he was through, Winston discovered that the so-called terminal was nothing more than an empty room, albeit one of phenomenal beauty. The walls, floor, and ceiling appeared to be made of pearlescent glass shot through with ribbons of emerald and gold.
As Winston walked into the room, he noticed that his steps radiated small bursts of blue and white sparks, as if he were stomping into liquid pools of energy. As the sparks absorbed into the floor, they ignited glowing fuses within the glass that wended away from Winston. The fuses coalesced at various points in the room, and where they joined the floor brightened into thin curves of light that grew upward into tall undulating sheets. Winston reached for one of these, expecting his hand to pass through it, only to discover that it was perfectly solid glass — or something that felt exactly like it.
As he watched, the seven panes that sprouted about the room blossomed into light with scenes from Winston’s past. On one, he was in Miss Carville’s third-grade classroom, scribbling down answers on a math worksheet. On another, he was a toddler sitting next to his mom on their couch as they watched a cartoon and ate toast with peanut butter. Yet another showed Winston, perhaps two or three years ago, asleep in his bed. Every scene was ordinary — boring, actually. And yet he found himself smiling at them fondly.
“What’s all this for?” he asked Bernie, who hung back near the doorway.
Winston set one fingertip against the pane showing him asleep and dragged it from the center to the edge. As he did so, the view changed. At first he had been looking at his face from somewhere near his feet, but the perspective shifted to behind his head, gazing down past his footboard and into the shadowy room beyond.
“Nifty,” he said. “What about you? Do we get to see baby Bernie pics?”
Winston wasn’t sure what to make of the comment, although it seemed well-meaning.
“Bernie,” said Winston. “I appreciate that, but I’m a little confused. You’re sending me off to be Bledsoe’s slave, but you want to bring up all this sentimental stuff? I do
n’t get it.”
Bernie approached Winston on silent feet. The floor did not respond to him as it had Winston.
Winston gave him a bittersweet smile and shrugged. “Why will it matter? I’ll just be Bledsoe’s monkey boy until he decides to kill me.”
Bernie stood before Winston, easily a head taller, staring down at him with those freakishly fascinating eyes.
Winston felt his outrage flare anew. “Bernie, there’s no way that—”
Winston swallowed and frowned. He didn’t feel important. He felt like his whole life had led up to being someone else’s tool. But why was Bernie showing him this? Why now?
“Is there something you’re trying to tell me, Bernie? Do you know what’s going to happen and why I need this morale boost? I mean, besides watching my folks get beat up and almost blown up and all that.”
“The heart, you mean.”
Winston still wasn’t sure he entirely understood, but he felt better about going forward.
“All right, man. I appreciate the thought, but I don’t need a Dumbledore mirror or whatever this is. Let’s do this. I’ve got good people to bring back.”
Bernie nodded slowly and took a deep breath.
Winston barely had time to wonder why he needed to be still, then the soft whites and glossy sheen of the terminal morphed into the harsh glare of the desert sun on brown, blasted rock and earth. The temperature instantly rocketed by twenty or thirty degrees as the crescent of cliffs around them reflected the sun’s heat onto the flat ground where they stood.
Winston quickly got his bearings.
“Wait,” he said. “This is the spot outside of Area X.”
“Right. I just figured…there would be an exit.”
Winston glanced behind himself at what had once been the complex’s parking area. Within the overhang’s shadows, Winston could see massive boulders and debris filling the interior. There would definitely be no entrance without some highly unusual help.
Still, he was back in 2013 in his true present. At last.
I’m home, thought Winston. Hold on, guys, I’m coming.
With that thought, Winston remembered that he still needed to go backward. In this moment, they were already dead.
“All right.” Winston took a deep breath and turned to Bernie. “I got on a helicopter with everybody, but I woke up on a plane. So, wherever we made that switch, that’s where we should go.”
Bernie gave a single nod.
Winston continued to stare at him, waiting.
“Great,” he said at last. “Then let’s…go.”
Bernie stared back at Winston for a moment, then raised his empty hands.
Winston felt a disturbing hollow sensation begin in the pit of his stomach.
“What do you mean how? You help take us there!”
“With—” Winston spluttered. “What do you mean? With your—” He waved Little e at the alien’s head. “With… Oh, come on!”
“So, you can’t—?”
Of course he couldn’t. Winston wanted to sink to his knees and howl with frustration.
“It’s not like we can hitchhike out of here! Damn it, Bernie, I’ve only got one water left!”
He paced about, grinding his heels into the sand and dust. Just when he was starting to think the alien was softhearted and a true friend, he pulled this.
Bernie remained calm as ever, hands at his sides, large eyes slowly following Winston’s movements.
Winston pointed at the roadway running through the gap in the cliffs. “We need out of here! We need another helicopter or something.”
Winston paused and squinted. “I don’t know! Airplane? A stray biker gang passing through?”
The corners of Bernie’s lips folded, possibly a sign of irritation.
He strode to Bernie, standing toe to toe with him. Winston knew he was being unreasonably aggressive, but he felt unable to control it. “I am getting really tired of you not giving me any useful information.” He poked his index finger into Bernie’s overalls. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s not like I can reach into a magic hat and pull out the—”
He froze.
“No. No, no. You can’t be serious. Not already.”
Bernie waited, motionless and silent.
Winston spun away from him. His mind frantically ran in circles, searching for any alternative. If he were anywhere else but here, stuck in the middle of nowhere with no water, he might have been able to find another time from which he could build another plan. Here, there was nothing.
He needed the geo pieces. There was no alternative.
“I suppose you can contact him.”
“He won’t help. Are you even thinking this through? As soon as we tell him the plan, he’s going to laugh his butt off and then figure out a way to kill me along with everybody else.”
Bernie sighed.
“The geo pieces.”
“No. Bernie, there’s no way he’s going to just hand the geo pieces over!”
The corners of Bernie’s mouth gave the barest curl upward.
***
The waves rolled in one by one to crash over the black rocks far below. White foam lay in a thick band across the surf as dark, long-legged birds stood upon stones in the shallows, patiently gazing into the water for a chance treat.
As he sat at his restaurant table far above, a particularly strong Mai Tai in one hand, Bledsoe reflected on how much he resembled those birds. Just sitting here, waiting…and waiting. Fate might deliver a next meal to him or leave him to starve. His entire life had built to this moment, and now he had nothing to do and nowhere to go. He felt utterly powerless. The boy had denied him total victory, and, to Bledsoe, that felt like defeat.
His waiter appeared at the table. A white apron lay against black slacks. The man held a small spiral notebook against his apron with one hand and tapped at its cover with a red pen.
“May I get you anything else, sir?” the waiter asked, doing a passably polite job of hiding his annoyance.
The rest of the patio thrummed with finely dressed couples and families. The King’s Point was reputed to be the finest restaurant on the south shore of Kona. Without a doubt, the view was spectacular. Bledsoe had a 270-degree panoramic view of the Pacific, with only a smattering of clouds spread like gauze across the far horizon. A hint of ocean salt wafted on the steady breeze. The place radiated peace and aching beauty.
Bledsoe had arrived sometime around three o’clock, when the patio was all but empty. Three hours later, Bledsoe still monopolized a valuable table that might otherwise be fetching hundreds of dollars. He sat, sipping his drinks ever so slowly, waiting like a bird for the world to revolve and offer hi
m a tidbit from the sea.
“What do you say?” he asked the waiter. “Should we mix things up a bit?”
The man appeared hopeful. “Certainly, sir. Are you ready to order dinner?”
Bledsoe offered a thin smile. “Nah. But how about this time we make it a…” He glanced at the cocktail menu on the table. “a Kona Coffee-Tini? Heavy on the tini.”
The waiter kept his eyes blank, but he couldn’t hide the twitch in the corners of his mouth. He took a deep breath and lifted his notepad, then decided against writing on it. “Heavy…tini. Yes, sir.”
Bledsoe’s smile widened as the man glided away. He knew he shouldn’t take pleasure in such trite things. Oh, well.
He had always wanted to travel to Hawaii. Long, long ago, he had fantasized about bringing Amanda here on their honeymoon. Wasn’t that what couples were supposed to do? Travel to Hawaii? Then hit Disneyland five or six times with the kids?
That obviously hadn’t happened. After Area X, Bledsoe had thrown himself into his work with single-minded determination. Even through the long years of drone-like laboratory research, he had never seriously thought about finding someone. When his plans came to fruition, he would have his pick of anyone in the world.
As if there was anyone else worth having.
If Bledsoe were being totally honest with himself, he might be a bit morose about killing Amanda. He knew it didn’t really matter. Once he had the complete Alpha Machine, he could dive back in time and scoop her up in any year he pleased. Nothing that came after that would matter, since he would remake the intervening history from scratch. However, something about the act of killing her bothered him in a way he couldn’t describe. It irritated him like the smallest bit of straw poking through the fabric of his clothes.
Or maybe it wasn’t that he had killed her. Perhaps it had more to do with the fact that she had defied him, spurned him, and never repented.
Next time. It would be different next time.
He raised his glass to his lips and felt ice cubes chill his upper lip in sharp contrast to his sun-roasted face. The alcohol burned the back of his throat, and his head wobbled with the unmistakable looseness of having imbibed too much on an empty stomach. Bledsoe drained the glass and set the tumbler down on the tabletop. He absently ran a fingertip around the circular lip.
Winston Chase and the Omega Mesh Page 17