“You don’t think I blew it all up?”
“Well, whatever else happens, we’ve given away a lot of money and we’re about to trash this house. That wasn’t really my goal, but it’s something.” Aidan walked one hand along the length of Caleb’s shoulder, his fingers resting against the side of Caleb’s neck. “And we got a handsome, charismatic man to give an impassioned speech about runners’ rights on Sunday with Ken Garnett.”
“Yeah? Who was that?”
Aidan rolled his eyes, smiled, and averted his gaze. “It occurred to me that I was kind of an asshole earlier.”
“Oh?”
“I know that’s been… a pattern, and I’m sorry. We should talk about it. There are some things I should tell you,” Aidan said. He tilted his head toward the living room, which was now booming with music. “But maybe not with all these people here. And I don’t want to gloss over your moment. I really was moved. It was good, what you did.”
“It’s not really my moment. I just said things you’ve been saying for years.”
Aidan made a stop talking gesture. “You wouldn’t let me protest being called a hero earlier, so you’re not getting out of this. You did the right thing. Take credit for it.”
A bunch of strangers chanting his name did nothing for him, but a couple of sentences from Aidan could make him weak in the knees. Caleb hid his reaction as well as he could. He hadn’t forgotten this afternoon. “What did you want to talk about? You can’t tell me we need to talk and then put me off till later. It’s cruel.”
One of the guests walked into the kitchen.
Even with a black veil slanted stylishly over her face, Caleb could recognize an ex-girlfriend. “Anna?”
Her smile dimmed from brilliant to sheepish. “There are some things I probably should have told you.”
“That’s becoming a theme,” Caleb murmured. There was only one reason Anna would be in Quint’s mansion right now. “You’re in the Union?”
“Yeah. Please don’t feel hurt—it’s not that I didn’t tell you I was a runner, it’s that I didn’t tell anybody. Not even Aidan. He guessed.”
“I get it,” Caleb said. After all, he’d just ranted at a TV host about the difficulties of living openly as a runner. Whatever small hurt he felt at not being told, it drifted to the bottom of the sea of other emotions swirling through him. “It’s good to see you.”
“Thanks. I’m really happy for you. Both of you. I had a feeling this would happen, and I’m glad it finally did. Cheers.” Anna gave them both hugs and then left them alone.
Caleb had lifted the bottle he was holding, but he let his hand drift down without taking a drink. He still felt strange from his earlier jump.
Just like Deb, Anna had been expecting Caleb and Aidan to get together. She’d said as much when she’d broken up with Caleb, but he hadn’t understood. She’d been right about him back then; she still was. It made him wonder what it was Aidan wanted to say, and whether this was the first time he’d tried to share it.
“Hey, let’s go out there and say hi to everyone, and then you can go lie down if you want,” Aidan said, nudging him toward the living room. “You look like you might need that.”
“What I need is for you to spit out whatever it is you want to tell me.”
“There won’t be any spitting.”
“Aidan.”
“Oh, it’ll be mostly me acknowledging that you were right and I was wrong, followed by a lot of groveling. Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it.”
“Groveling, huh? What does that involve?”
“You gotta be awake for it,” Aidan said. “I’m not wasting my groveling efforts on someone who’s about to pass out. One victory lap and then you can collapse.”
This many jumps would be hell on his body. He’d tried to get Quint to give him some suppressant up front, in the interest of not getting all of his matter unfolded, but Quint was too shrewd a negotiator for that. He needed a runner, and Caleb was the only one he had. Quint would keep him around as long as he could. Caleb took comfort in the fact that he could dump Quint in the ocean as soon as he had the suppressant, if the whim took him.
Caleb had spent a day and a half trapped with Quint. He was feeling pretty fucking whimsical.
He was standing motionless in the one corner of Quint’s room that was invisible to the recently installed security camera. Caleb could have disabled the camera, but he didn’t want to alert anyone else to his presence. Oz would text them at any moment, and then they’d be gone.
“How did you become a runner?” Quint asked, not for the first time.
Quint was relentless. Caleb was finally bored enough to answer. “Look, I don’t know shit about the science, I just get the injection every two weeks and it works.”
“Tell me everything you can,” Quint said.
“Fine. I’ll start at the beginning because I don’t know how much you know—”
“A lot,” Quint interrupted.
“—and we need to be on the same page, so you know what kind of questions I can and can’t answer. It’ll be mostly can’t, I’m warning you now.” He took a breath. “People perceive three dimensions, plus time, but there are more than that. The others are all folded up. All matter in this reality, your reality, is folded in a certain way. In my reality, it’s folded differently. It makes no difference to our everyday lives.”
“Except that the Nowhere is unfolded space, and anyone with two or more different foldings in their body can pass through it easily and painlessly,” Quint said. “You can skip ahead a few steps.”
Just to spite him, Caleb slowed down. “So you get the principle of how to make a runner: something in their body, doesn’t matter what, that’s folded differently. It has to be a significant amount of matter. Born runners get it from having their parents come from two different realities. I get it from the injections. The serum that Heath gives me, it has a dimensional prion in it. You know what a prion is?”
“A misfolded protein, but in this case, you mean matter that changes the folding of everything it touches,” Quint said. “But we tried that and only had limited success. Why did it work for you?”
Caleb did actually know the answer to that. Heath had mentioned it, once, that not all dimensional prions were created equal. You needed a slow-acting one to ensure that the recipient had multiple foldings of matter in their body for a meaningful amount of time. In his case, it was two weeks. Instead of saying that, he shrugged. “Beats me.”
Some people had spiritual crises about becoming runners—if this injection refolds all the matter in my body, what does that mean, who am I, am I just my atoms, do I have a soul, blah blah—but he’d only cared about access to the Nowhere. He hadn’t bothered to learn any of this shit until he’d started showing symptoms of the shakes. It turned out the human body couldn’t sustain having all its matter refolded every two weeks, if you hadn’t been born a runner.
Caleb didn’t share that with Quint, who was obviously after the serum. It was useful to know what people wanted, and Quint might not want the serum if he knew its long-term effects. Caleb had no plan to divulge his condition, either. As far as Quint was concerned, Caleb wanted the suppressant for the same reason Quint did: to ground any runners who were personally inconveniencing him.
“Every two weeks, you said?” Quint asked.
“The tablet’s buzzing,” Caleb said. It would be Oz’s message.
They’d discussed the plan at length. It wouldn’t be hard to make the switch, but they had to pick their moment. Oz had to be able to slip away unnoticed. Caleb had to make three long jumps back-to-back. Minimizing the amount of time Quint’s room was empty meant minimizing their risk of getting caught. Yesterday’s endless arguing between Oz and Quint had made the whole thing feel like that riddle about how many ferry trips you needed to get a wolf, a rabbit, and a head of lettuce across the river.
Oz was the head of lettuce, that grasping coward. It had taken nothing but the promise of more money to fli
p his loyalties.
Caleb listed the steps in his head: down to the surface with Quint, up to space with Oz, back down to the surface to get the suppressant Quint had promised him. He’d be in dire need of it.
Then he’d crash somewhere out of the way until he regained his strength. He didn’t trust Quint enough to sleep in one of the man’s absurd palaces, but after three jumps to and from space, his body might not give him a choice. He’d play it by ear. Once he was able, he’d go home with as much suppressant as he could get his hands on and never come back to this place.
“They’re having a party in my house,” Quint said, staring at Oz’s message, then muttered, “Runners,” like Caleb wasn’t standing right there. Like his whole plan didn’t depend on Caleb.
Like he didn’t desperately covet the ability for himself.
Quint continued, “Oz will meet us in the garage. Have I described the location accurately enough that you can get us there?”
“I’ll get us there.”
The first jump was unpleasant. He felt the Nowhere’s strange push-pull more keenly that usual, and knew it was only a taste of what was to come. Hard to say how long he had until the glitching started. More than two jumps, he hoped.
The five-car garage was quiet except for the muffled sound of a raucous party happening on the other side of the wall, just as Oz had said. The din made Quint frown, so Caleb was fine with it.
Oz met them with a half-empty bottle of champagne in hand, tie loose and hair mussed. Wasted. He raised the bottle in greeting.
“You’re not supposed to be drunk,” Quint said, not so much emanating disapproval as whipping it directly at his double. “I’ve been in prison.”
These two definitely weren’t going to kiss. They might kill each other, though, and Caleb would happily watch that.
“I’ll hide it,” Oz said. “I’m a good actor.”
Caleb waited while they switched clothes. Even after Quint methodically messed up his hair, it was still amply clear which one was which, but Caleb knew them way better than he wanted to. If they weren’t side by side, it would be harder to tell.
When it was done, he grabbed Oz and said, “Don’t fucking throw up on me.”
Experience had taught him to warn passengers, especially drunk ones. The Nowhere was unkind to non-runners.
It wasn’t all that kind to him, either. The few seconds in the void speared through him, leaving pain in places he didn’t know he could feel pain. Christ. This might actually kill him.
They emerged into the room at Facility 17, which had been empty a scant few minutes since his departure with Quint. Caleb’s vision spotted black and his breath came in irregular gasps. He let go of Oz, who stumbled toward the bed.
Caleb didn’t step back into the Nowhere so much as collapse into it. It was only his determination not to show weakness in front of Quint that kept him on his feet when he reappeared in the garage. Fuck, he ached. Needles all over his skin, weight on all his joints, and the persistent, unsettling sensation that everything inside him had been disassembled and put back slightly wrong.
“At last,” Quint said, the ungrateful bastard. “Let’s go in.”
Quint could walk into his own home freely. Everyone inside would assume he’d stepped out for a moment alone and come back in, now that Oz wasn’t there to confuse matters. Caleb would have to be more circumspect. He wasn’t in a state to take risks.
“I’ll wait here and you can bring me the suppressant.”
“You have to come in,” Quint said. “The suppressant’s not here, anyway. We’ll get it tomorrow.”
God, his whole body was on fire. He was going to murder Quint as soon as he found the strength. “You lied.”
“I didn’t lie, I just didn’t give you all the details. I need you for a few more days. Help me expose their crimes and I’ll get you all the suppressant I have.”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“I’m offering new terms. Stick around for a few more days, pretend to be your double, and if you can get me some samples of the serum, I’ll give you the formula for the suppressant so you can manufacture it yourself.”
Caleb was in so much pain he had to drum his fingers against his thigh just to stay focused, to feel one sensation that didn’t hurt. “Where will my double be, while I’m pretending to be him?”
“I don’t know. Get rid of him. Isn’t that what you do?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Quint, I’m not a contract killer. I’m not going to murder an innocent person just because he’s an inconvenience.”
“He’s not innocent,” Quint said coldly. “None of them are. If you don’t want to come in, you can sleep out here. I’ll find you in the morning.”
He walked up a set of three stairs and entered the house.
Caleb caught his breath for a moment in the silence of the garage, nothing but the ocean of poured concrete under his feet and the five huge, sleek cars. He quashed an urge to break all their windows out of spite.
It was a huge house. He could find somewhere to sleep without being seen. Everyone inside was drunk, so it would be easy.
He mounted the stairs, every step more awful than the last, and slipped into a hallway. At the opposite end, there was laughter and music and shouted conversation. Caleb crept down the hallway, checking each room for people, weighing his options.
Some paranoid need to survey everything propelled him to the end of the hallway where he could peek into the giant living room without being seen. He pressed his back to the wall and craned his neck to count twenty-three people, with Quint making twenty-four. His double wasn’t in sight.
That should have been a relief. On the other hand, if he’d been there, at least Caleb would have known where he was and what he was doing. The unknown nagged at him.
He was just about to inch back down the hallway when someone said, “Caleb?”
Shit. Aidan. He was carrying a bin full of empty glass bottles and he set it down on the floor.
“Did you… change your clothes? Never mind. I thought you were going to bed. Are you okay?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Disappearing wasn’t an option. Neither was his gun. In other circumstances, he might’ve just punched the guy, but he was injured and trying not to draw attention and he hadn’t expected anyone to hold his hand.
Or touch his face and peer at him like—like—whatever that was. No one had ever made that face at him. He didn’t want to think about what it was or why he’d never seen it before or why he was reacting this way. Not even the pain had fucked him up like this.
“You’re really out of it,” Aidan said.
“Yeah,” he said, seizing the excuse. “I should go back to bed.”
He slithered away, more reluctantly than he’d ever admit out loud, and went back down the hallway the way he’d come. But he didn’t make it far.
“Caleb?” Aidan cocked his head toward the living room. “Our room’s that way.”
Where his double was asleep, no doubt. Shit.
“Maybe I should walk you there,” Aidan said carefully, advancing until he could take Caleb’s arm. He turned them toward the party. “What were you doing in this hallway, anyway? Going through the recycling?”
“I don’t know,” Caleb said. It wasn’t hard to sound bleary and confused.
There was nothing to do but follow Aidan’s lead. They cut through the party, and once it was quiet again, Aidan said, “Caleb. This is important. Did you jump there? I didn’t see you walk through the living room. If you jumped in your sleep or by accident, I need to know.”
“No, no, I walked. I just… I sleepwalked or something. I didn’t jump. I’m too tired for that.” That was true.
“Okay,” Aidan said. When they arrived at the closed door to the bedroom, he chewed his lip and said, “I guess I should have done a security check.”
Caleb already knew how unsecure the house was. “Mm.”
“I know you’re tired. I don’t need much. Maybe just… tell me what
we talked about earlier.”
Oh, that kind of security check. God fucking damn it. After a split-second of panic, some combination of training and instinct kicked in. The hand-holding, the face-touching, the concerned questioning, that look. Things had changed since he’d last run into Aidan and the poor guy had been scandalized by a hand on his thigh. His double and Aidan had fucked. Recently.
Caleb could work with that. He didn’t need a gun or the Nowhere to solve this problem. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t at full strength. He knew how to use his face.
He conjured up a smile. Stalling for time, he drew a finger along the underside of Aidan’s jaw.
“You said…” he started, and then stopped. He couldn’t provide any actual words. Better to be vague. “You made me a promise.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
Jackpot. “About when we were alone together,” Caleb added, growing more confident. He slipped his finger under the collar of Aidan’s shirt and traced the delicate stem of his clavicle.
“I also said it should wait until after you’d rested,” Aidan said.
Caleb yawned, taking advantage of his natural inclination and turning it into something theatrical. “You were probably right. Go back to the party. I can find my way from here.”
He pushed lightly on Aidan’s shoulder. Tried not to think about how warm he was. The sooner he was away, the better, since Caleb had to wrangle his goddamn double once he got in the room, and who knew what that would sound like.
“Okay. Get some sleep.” Aidan pressed a kiss to his mouth. It was quick, over before Caleb knew what was happening, and then Aidan was gone.
Caleb touched his lips, like an idiot, and then shook it off and went into the room to find his double.
18
Confessions
The party continued for hours after the second time he’d shepherded Caleb into their room. When Aidan finally shooed the last of his comrades out of the living room and kitchen, Laila had long since gone to bed. He debated leaving all the party debris in the house out of spite, but he couldn’t manage it. They were living here at least until Friday. What if Caleb got up in the middle of the night and stepped on broken glass? So Aidan collected and threw away all the takeout containers—he found one from Lima, another from Taipei, and a third from Franklin Station, people had gotten a little wild with showing off—and then went in search of empty bottles, which clinked as he deposited them in the recycling. He swept up all the shards of glass, shedding no tears for Quint’s expensive barware.
Out of Nowhere Page 20