Paradigm

by Helen Stringer

  “What are you looking at?”

  Nathan was grabbing his belongings and shoving them into his small backpack.

  “Nothing,” Sam turned and walked back into the room. “Ready?”

  Nathan nodded.

  “We have to go out the back.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Someone tried to kill me.”

  “Again? Man, for someone who does nothing but read you’ve certainly pissed off a lot of people.”

  They stepped onto the elevator and rode it down to the ground floor, then ducked through various service corridors until they arrived at the vast kitchens. Sam had to ask directions twice, but they eventually emerged into the paltry sunlight near the hotel’s composting tanks.

  “This way.” Sam set off again.

  “Sam, wait! Where’s the box? The box that you had last night. You said it was important.”

  “It is. We’re going to get it now. I hid it.”

  “You hid it?”

  “Yeah. I couldn’t risk someone finding it in the hotel.”

  “I don’t remember you hiding anything.”

  “Big surprise there.” He grinned at Nathan and pushed on, leaving the wide streets in the city center for the narrower lanes of the poorer residential district.

  “We went this far and I don’t remember it?” Nathan sounded worried.

  “It’s not that far, really. Just a couple of blocks from the bar. See—there’s the parking lot.”

  Nathan looked up and saw the huge parking structure a few streets away. The relief on his face was palpable. He followed Sam through a short alley and across an empty lot to a row of derelict buildings.

  “Wow. I wouldn’t have expected any empty houses. Everyone’s so packed in.”

  “They’re old. I’m guessing the city is planning something grey, faceless and tall. You wait out here. Yell if you see anyone coming.”

  Nathan nodded and crouched near the entrance while Sam stepped into the cool darkness of the old house.

  It reminded him of the San Francisco house: narrow and built of brick, with a wide bay window in the front and the remains of a large kitchen toward the back. It was the kitchen in the San Francisco house that he remembered most. There had been marvelous smells and toys and laughter. Elkanah and Marion had laughed a lot back then. And it seemed that the house was always full of their friends from the research institute, or people they’d met at the various classes they took. They had made friends easily and were always taking classes—Italian cooking, yoga, French, poetry. Sam looked around the Century City kitchen at the rusting oven and broken, stained sink but he saw that other kitchen: yellow and green and bright with flowers.

  “Sam? What are you doing in there?”

  “Nothing! I’ll be right out.”

  He ran up the rickety staircase to the top floor and into the back bedroom. There was a old narrow fireplace that had been boarded up, though the nails holding the boards had long since worked their way loose of the surrounding mortar and fallen away, leaving a slender black hole in the wall.

  Sam dropped to his knees and reached up the chimney to the small shelf created by the damper. He slid the box down, blew the soot off it and tucked it under one arm.

  “Got it!”

  He ran down the stairs, taking the last flight by sliding down the aged banister and hurtling through the door and into the sunlight, giddy with the thought that they were on their way to the GTO and the Wilds once more.

  He should have known better.

  Chapter 7

  “WHAT ARE THEY doing?”

  “I’m not sure. Waiting maybe.”

  Sam shifted the box to his other hand and peered around the corner. The small square in front of the parking lot entrance had been all but empty the day before, but now there were three men in blue and gold uniforms hanging around the elevator entrance.

  “Let me have a look.” Nathan pulled Sam back and peeked out. “They look like police to me. Oh, man…they’re searching people.”

  “What!?” Sam yanked Nathan back and took another look at the uniformed men.

  Nathan was right. They were patting down everyone who came past, whether they wanted to get into the parking lot or not.

  “I don’t get it,” he muttered. “They can’t be Carolyn Bast’s men. The uniforms are too fancy.”

  “Who?”

  “Carolyn Bast.”

  “And she would be…?”

  Sam ducked back into the narrow alleyway and sighed.

  “She runs a company of…I don’t know… mercenaries, I guess. She found the box and took it, probably for a client. And then this other guy…some kind of monk…stole it back. But they chased him and killed him. Well, fatally wounded him. He died in my arms and gave me the box.”

  “And this all happened when?”

  “Yesterday. After I left the antiques shop.”

  “In the street?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So the cameras probably caught the whole thing.”

  “That’s why I thought an expensive hotel would be better. Kind of hiding in plain sight.”

  “But she found you.”

  “Well, her hired assassin did.”

  “But he didn’t do the job.”

  “She…she didn’t do it, no.”

  “Because…?”

  “Because it was Alma.”

  Nathan just stared at him.

  “Alma is a hired killer?”

  “Apparently.”

  Sam peeked out again. The policemen were still there, chatting with each other and laughing. Their uniforms were very neatly pressed and far too ornate. Not functional at all. There was no way they were hired mercenaries.

  “We have to get out of here.”

  “D’ya think?”

  “Okay, look…here’s the plan. You go out there and create a diversion and I’ll sneak out and take the stairs.”

  “Why do I have to create the diversion?”

  “Because I have the box and the box is what they want.”

  “So give me the box.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if this gets screwed up I want it to be my fault. Plus, you’re better at diversions than me.”

  Nathan sighed and looked around the trash-cluttered alley, before walking over to a heavy green dumpster and lifting the lid. The reek of week-old cabbage and rotting fish surged out and across the alley.

  “Gah!” gasped Sam. “Shut it! Shut it!”

  “You’re the one that wants a diversion,” said Nathan, grinning.

  Sam tried to hold his breath while Nathan dug around and finally produced a cardboard container a little larger than the Paradigm Device. He heaped some of the rotting vegetable matter into it and closed the lid.

  “Right. Are you ready?”

  Sam nodded.

  Nathan ran on the spot for a few moments, then took a deep breath, charged around the corner and made for the elevator door.

  “Stop!” yelled one of the policemen.

  “What?”

  “We have to search all containers. What’s in the box?”

  “Nothing!” said Nathan, his eyes darting around.

  “Well, let’s have a look then.”

  “No!”

  Sam smiled. Nobody could do crazy-eyes like Nathan. Sure enough, the second policeman was drawn in.

  “Look, kid, you can’t go into the parking structure without showing us what’s in the box.”

  “Why?”

  “Because those are the rules.”

  “They weren’t the rules yesterday.”

  “Well they’re the rules today. Order of the mayor. Now show us the box and you can be on your way.”

  Nathan looked from one to the other and started backing away from the elevator.

  “That’s okay. I don’t need to go into the parking lot. I’ll go this way.”

  Now the third policeman stepped over.

  “Open the bo
x and stop being stupid.”

  “There’s nothing in it.”

  “Look—”

  Nathan glanced from one to the other, then spun around and ran. Predictably, all three policemen took off after him. Sam shook his head as he strolled over to the entrance to the stairs and started walking down. Based on his experience of both paramilitary forces, it looked like Carolyn Bast had snagged the cream of the crop. Apparently good pay beats out a fancy uniform.

  The GTO was right where they’d left it, tucked away in a corner as far as possible from any other vehicle. Sam popped the trunk and stashed the box under Nathan’s household junk, then he unlocked the door, slid into the drivers seat and leaned back.

  It felt good. The slight gasoline odor that had made him ill when he’d first won the car now just smelt like home and even the broken spring in the seat back seemed somehow welcoming.

  He replaced the cigar lighter, closed his eyes, and turned the key. The guttural roar echoed through the parking lot, almost masking the sound of running feet approaching from the left.

  Nathan jumped in and slammed the door.

  “Let’s go!”

  Sam backed out and headed for the exit.

  “Where’d you take them?”

  “Up and down a few streets then into the hotel, up one elevator and down the stairs. I lost them in the kitchen.”

  Sam smiled and turned the car onto the ramp. Daylight and the outlands were just ahead, and from there a short drive back to the old freeway and the Wilds. Then he stopped.

  “What is it?” asked Nathan, his voice tense.

  “They’re waiting for us.”

  “No, I told you—I lost them.”

  “There’ll be more than three policemen in the whole of Century City! I’ll go check.”

  Nathan looked at him, his eyes narrowed.

  “Sometimes I think you do this on purpose.”

  “Do what?” said Sam, innocently. “I said I’d go. Wait here.”

  He opened the car door and started to get out.

  “Don’t be stupid. You’re driving. I’ll go.”

  Nathan opened his door carefully and crept up the ramp, keeping his body low, then trotted back to the car and climbed in.

  “Well?”

  “You’re right. The barrier’s down just like before, but there are two old cop cars just beyond blocking the way out.”

  “What kind of cars?”

  “Police cars, I just said. Old fashioned ones. Black and white.”

  Sam rolled his eyes, got out of the car and inched up the rise until he could see the cars, then he made his way back, climbed in and put the GTO in reverse.

  “Crown Vics,” he said. “They don’t look in good shape. We should outrun ‘em easy.”

  “Outrun? Sam, they’re blocking the way! What are you—”

  “I saw this in a movie once,” said Sam, grinning. “You might want to hold on to something.”

  Nathan opened his mouth to complain, but Sam had already revved the car to a high whine. He released the brake and the old GTO screeched off the mark, gathering speed as it climbed the ramp.

  “Here we go!”

  The wheels left the ground ten feet in front of the barrier and soared over the police cars as the officers stood in open-mouthed amazement. They were still staring as the old car hit the ground and screamed away up the street and into the outlands.

  Sam glanced in the rear-view as they scrambled into their cars and took up the pursuit. He made a hard right and sped up a narrow lane and out onto one of the wider thoroughfares, narrowly avoiding four pedestrians and a skinny dog. The sound of sirens could be heard not far behind.

  “Oh, jeeze!” Nathan looked back. “They’re catching up!”

  “No they’re not.”

  Sam took another turn, then another. He was staying in front, but not gaining much ground.

  “I thought you said we were faster.”

  “We are, but they know the streets better.”

  He blinked and shook his head. Nathan looked anxious.

  “D’you need one of your pills?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  He wasn’t, of course. The all too familiar scratching at the back of his head had begun as soon as they cleared the garage and now he could hear the buzzy-whispering again. To make matters worse, every time they sped past one of the digivends there was a surge that made his head feel like it was going to explode. Sam gritted his teeth and took another corner, only to find his way blocked by another barricade of rusty Crown Vics. He slammed the GTO into reverse, then hit the brakes. The car skidded to a halt and did a one-eighty. He floored the gas and rocketed in the opposite direction.

  “Whoa!” Nathan grabbed at the dash as they swung around another corner, the sirens wailing in the distance.

  The streets had seemed fairly deserted when they’d arrived, but now it seemed like everyone and his brother was meandering around the place. Sam swerved to avoid yet another cluster of dazed digivend users only to have to mount the sidewalk at the next intersection when a bunch of kids ran into the road after a ball.

  “We have to get off these streets,” he muttered.

  “Try the hills. The streets’ll be narrower and I’ll bet the cops aren’t as familiar with them.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Look around. See any other cars? I bet they never have to chase anyone more than a few blocks.”

  “Good point.”

  Sam skidded into another u-turn and passed the police cars coming the other way. This created the usual confusion as they all screeched to a halt and tried to get the big cruisers to do a u-turn.

  Sam turned up the first alley he saw and headed toward the hills that surrounded the outlands. A few more evasive maneuvers found them speeding up a twisting hillside road, surrounded by dusty trees and tangled manzanita.

  “Hear that?” said Nathan.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. No sirens. I think we’ve lost them.”

  He was right about the sirens, but Sam wasn’t taking any chances. He turned onto even smaller side-roads and doubled back a few times before he felt confident enough to slow down. Finally, the last dirt road opened into a clearing and he stopped the car. The whispering in his head had gone but he felt exhausted, as if he’d been pushing the car instead of driving it.

  He got out and walked around, stretching his long legs and breathing deeply. The air near the city was more acrid than the stuff he was used to in the Wilds, but even that seemed sweet now that they were finally on the road again.

  “Whoa! What is that?!”

  Chapter 8

  THE PROBLEM WITH NATHAN’S reactions to things was that he tended to use the same vocabulary whether it was something good or something that was about to kill them and grind them up to make its bread. Sam spun around, his heart suddenly racing, but it was just a building.

  Well, not just a building. A really spectacular one, or the remains of it. Sam walked toward it, his eyes wide. He’d seen pictures in old books, but had never imagined that any still existed.

  “It’s an observatory,” he said, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

  “A what?”

  “An observatory. They used them to look at the stars. At least, that’s what I’ve read.”

  Silence.

  “Wait.” Nathan was suddenly at his elbow. “So they really do exist? Stars, I mean.”

  “I guess so.”

  Sam stared at the building. It was long and curved gently from one end to the other. A great pillared entrance portico was in the center, with the remains of statues and carved words in a language he didn’t recognize. But it was the structure on the right-hand side of the building that was really stunning. It was round for a start. People didn’t build round buildings any more—too much trouble when squares and rectangles were so easy.

  And then there was the roof.

  It was a dome. Or half of it was, the other half had fallen in, b
ut the clean line along the central edge made it look as if there had always been some sort of gap between the two halves. Sam smiled.

  “There would have been a telescope,” he explained. “A huge one. It would have poked out through the gap between the sides of the dome. And the dome would move… I mean, it would rotate, so they could point the telescope at whichever part of the sky they wanted to look at.”

  Without saying a word, they both walked toward the building.

  The observatory was surrounded by clusters of old eucalyptus trees and the occasional clump of stubborn grass. Some rusted metal posts to which signs had probably once been attached poked from the hard ground near the remains of a gravel path, though the signs themselves were long gone. But no one had taken the stone. Why not the stone?

  They stepped through the porticoed entrance and into a massive room, open to the sky. Time and weather had taken its toll on the great space, but it was clear that it had once been faced in the same white stone as the outside, cold and beautiful in equal measure. Now, however, it was green with moss and algae and smelled damp—which seemed strange in such an arid landscape.

  “How many people lived here?” asked Nathan.

  “No one. People just worked here.”

  “So most of the time the building was empty?”

  Sam nodded and led the way out of the entrance hall, through a plain doorway and into the domed observatory itself.

  “Okay,” said Nathan. “But why isn’t anyone living here now? It seems a lot nicer of a place than most of those shacks down—”

  “One more step and I’ll blow both o’ your thieving heads clean off!!”

  “Oh.”

  Standing on the opposite side of the observatory, on a railed walkway that circled the base of the dome above their heads, was the oldest man Sam had ever seen. His face was sunken and taut, like a skull with the skin stretched thinly across it, and his bald head was like parchment, dull and cracked. The rest of his body was skinny and frail, his clothes seeming to hang from his shoulders as if he were nothing more than a wire frame, an outline of the man he had once been. The most noticeable thing about him, though, was the really big gun he was pointing right at them and the rock steady grip with which he held it.