Asimov's Science Fiction: April/May 2014

by Penny Publications

  Refreshed, focused, intent, he strode the hallways as though they led directly to his passageway. The putty-colored walls seemed products of his imagination. The approach to his door grew narrow. Peripheral sight fell away. Within his diminished vision, his hand rose from a blank place to grasp the door's lever.

  What happened next, he observed as if watching a film from a comfortable seat. Though mildly surprised by his actions, he felt assured of their rightness. It was not, he later told his questioners, as if he were watching the behavior of a stranger. It was as if, instead, he finally saw his true self.

  14. The Elements

  The explosion was followed by a single snap as the hotel window broke, not collapsing, cracked but sustained, and Jimmy propelled himself up and forward so he half-fell off the foot of the bed. Already dressed, he was the first one in the courtyard, but others came foggily and slippered from other doors just after him. He saw light in the air above the downtown and realized he was seeing a fire one street over. The next explosion, only a block away, also along the town's Bavarian-style main strip, all the wakened people saw. The swelling bloom of sound struck the little group and surrounded them. Jimmy felt sweat spread in dots across his back. Then he said aloud, ordering himself, "Move," already moving, while most others, half-dressed, retreated to their rooms.

  As he hurried down the sidewalk, downtown residents appeared in flight, while others stood in the doorways between shops. A dozen people came running, spread out across the street, all the same in their fear and desire, like the thirtyish woman whom Jimmy fixed on, her long hair stretched back as if connected to what she fled, wearing a skirt that seemed too long for such a hot day, her arms wildly swinging as if, rather than running, she were falling, batting out meaninglessly at the air in an attempt to undo her descent. Some yards behind her, a boy held the hand of a man who was likely his father, but then he lost his grip on the man's hand and landed sideways on the blacktop. One pickup headed toward the conflagration stopped in the street. Another huge concussion resounded, the thunderous boom rolling down the street and bounding from the buildings like a tremendous cannonball, and the truck eased backward. Jimmy stared. There'd been a fireball in the middle of the road, with nothing to ignite except air.

  Jimmy wished Quarles were with him, or, better, the whole team from Perilous Base. He knew enough to pick a still spot, away from the twin flows of people moving—some few toward, most away—to better assess the situation, though if the explosions were as random as they appeared to be, there might be no secure place. Fire behind a storefront on the opposite corner threw light on the pictures of houses and apartments taped inside the window of a real estate office at his back. A blaring klaxon atop a pole summoned firefighters, and Jimmy looked about for signs of cars headed to a station. Then, from behind the storefront opposite, an explosion came, flinging glass into the street, rippling the walkway under him, knocking him from his feet.

  In the rapid aftermath of moments, he heard panicked sounds, but they might have come from any direction. He didn't panic: the scene was too familiar, though he had never been among civilians when the shelling came, only among people who knew their jobs and went about their business till the riotous time subsided. He sat up. On the ground like this, inactive, only watching, he might have been anyone, another civilian. Putting a hand to a wall, he got up. He had to do something, to help, to prevent further harm.

  The fire opposite him surged, and half the building emptied itself into the narrow lane beside it. A man's voice, clear above the clatter and roar, made a sound of anguish. Jimmy ran toward it.

  The only light came from the fire within the building at his side, though now that the building had given way, the fire seemed subdued, faintly crackling on the lower floor. Jimmy kicked aside smoldering wood, stumbled, then stopped to listen. A voice formed a pained syllable, and Jimmy moved forward again. Past the debris, a slender man lay on his back, easily visible in what looked to be a white or yellow suit.

  Clearing a space for himself, he knelt. The man's left arm had perhaps been caught in the blast, the sleeve shredded, his hand soot-black. The hand clutched a stick. "I'll flag down an ambulance," Jimmy said.

  "No need," said the man, who coughed and moved to rise. As he did so, Jimmy caught sight of eyeglasses on the ground near one shoulder.

  "Your glasses," Jimmy said. A white scratch crossed one absurdly thick lens. He aimed to restore the spectacles to the man's face, but he began collapsing backward, and Jimmy moved, instead, to support him. He tucked the glasses in the man's interior coat pocket.

  "Tried to disable it," the man said, speaking directly upward. "Took too long."

  "What's that?"

  "Make sure," he said, but then appeared uncertain about the point he meant to make. Jimmy worried the man might be declining into shock.

  "Tell me your name."

  "Cane." His eyes slid to the side, toward the stick he still grasped.

  "Your cane is here," said Jimmy. "What's your name?"

  His eyes met Jimmy's. "Call me Cane."

  Then the cane wobbled upward as the hand swung it slowly about. The point touched a metal box tumbled amidst bits of siding.

  "Make sure," he said.

  "Talk to me," said Jimmy. "Tell me something about yourself."

  "The work."

  "What do you do? What's your job?"

  "The work." Jimmy had his hand under the man's head, which kept rolling to the side. Gently, Jimmy turned Cane's long, pale face toward his own. The eyes fluttered.

  "And a library aide," he said.

  The man's other hand lay near his waist, and Jimmy took hold of the slender fingers, the hand shuddering like a small animal struggling to right itself. Cane's grip tightened, and Jimmy reassured him, telling him he'd stay with him, that help was on its way. Jimmy looked plaintively toward the alley's end.

  "Neck," the man said. "Necklace." Cane tugged Jimmy's hand. In the faint light, Jimmy wasn't sure what he saw around the man's neck, but assumed it was a medical tag on the necklace, a warning that Cane couldn't take certain drugs. But the object was bullet-shaped, with a blue button at one end. "Press it," said Cane. The button clicked, and when he took his thumb away, the button glowed.

  Out on the street, an ambulance went wailing past. Jimmy knew he would have to leave the alley to flag down some assistance.

  "Old Man's coming," Cane said, and slipped into unconsciousness. Jimmy felt he had entered one of his too-vivid dreams from Perilous Base. The Old Man. He knew who was on his way.

  Lightly, but with enough force to rouse Cane if he could be roused, Jimmy slapped the man's face. He felt for a pulse. He shouted his name. Ideally, the next step was to order anyone else in the vicinity to go for help, and he looked about; he heard, far off, shouts and the groan of engines. Intending to begin compressions, he opened the man's shirt, then saw that something slender had pierced him just below the armpit. Jimmy pressed the shirt to the wound.

  Face close in the dim light, he scanned the length of the man's body. Below the knee, the pants had torn, a flap of fabric peeled back to show, in the faint light from the street, another wound.

  Jimmy began compressions, one-handed, the other hand pressing against the wound in the side, counting off, pausing, calling to the man. Doing it again. It occurred to Jimmy, in the same way as any good idea arrived at when he was focused on something else, that he might have more than one means available to keep the man alive. He shut his eyes and reached outside himself, thinking, You found the device, thinking, half fearing what it meant, The Old Man is coming. The walls of the passageway were flung up swiftly, puzzle pieces shaping themselves out of the dark chaos and conjoining. Jimmy called to the figure who stood, one hand gripping a cane, at the far end. You need to stay with me now. The Old Man is coming. You found a device. What you most want is to stay with me. You want to wake up. You want to see another day. Wait for the Old Man. He's coming.

  Face to face, he stood with Cane. Can
e's mouth moved, but no words came out; distantly, Jimmy was aware that he continued to count off compressions. He knew the compressions wouldn't save this man; he knew, too, that as long as they stood in each other's company, Cane wasn't gone. Cane tried to speak. Jimmy knew what Cane wanted to say. Cane was reassuring Jimmy. The Old Man would arrive in time.

  "I'll take over," someone said in his ear, and Jimmy was, gently but firmly, lifted back and set down. The man he'd known as Methusaleh snapped open a black bag, extracted a syringe, and bent over Cane. Another man, small and frail as an adolescent, but with a mature face, put out a hand to offer Jimmy help up, and Jimmy took the hand.

  "What did you do here, Lieutenant?" the old Man asked, not turning.

  "I did... I made a connection." Uncertainly, he added, "It's what I tried to do with you."

  "That's good."

  The small man was English. "Nice work, mate," he said. "The Old Man has it from here." Another man stood a few feet off, not watching the proceedings. A disk of unpolished gray metal or plastic covered his left ear and a portion of that side of his bald head. He appeared overdressed for the heat in a loose-fitting camel-colored duster.

  A small packet from the bag was slipped under Cane's prone form. Cane's body lifted from the ground as a grayish cushion swelled and expanded beneath him, till finally it supported him head to toe.

  "Cane tell you anything?" the Englishman asked.

  "He found something," Jimmy said, pointing, not able to elaborate, and the Englishman picked up the metal cube. He turned it, brushing it off.

  "How's that look?" the Old Man asked, reaching into his bag again.

  "Perfect on the outside," the Englishman said. He told Jimmy, "We destroyed two others. They usually self-destruct. The one we found last time wasn't a complete loss. Helped us know what kind of signal to look for. This one doesn't appear to have immolated itself. Definitely come in handy. Maybe allow us to figure out how to block the signal if there's a next round."

  "He likes to explain," said the man in the coat.

  A woman's voice came from the near alley entrance. "We got off easy." A slender, tall figure, she put out her arms to balance herself across the rubble till she reached the little group. "There's damage and displaced people, but no one was inj—oh, dammit."

  "He's going to be all right," the Old Man said.

  "Dammit anyway." Firelight from inside the shattered building lit her face. Jimmy figured she was in her seventies, silvery hair pulled into a ponytail, the tail tugged through the back of a baseball cap. She made a sour face toward the flames. "Anyone planning to put that out?"

  The man with the metallic headpiece said with confidence, "More engines are on the way. The building is empty."

  The woman poked Jimmy's shoulder. "Who are you?"

  "Jimmy Randolph."

  The Old Man said, not turning, "He kept Cane alive."

  "Thanks for that," she said, her voice low and sincere. "I'm Sully." "Sally?" " Sully. " She indicated the Englishman, still fiddling with the metal box. "That's Reg."

  "Only to my most dear friends."

  Jimmy said, "What... what is happening here?"

  "Bubbles of quantum improbability," the Old Man said over his shoulder.

  "Things which shouldn't happen," said Sully, "but which are possible. Taking advantage of quantum fluctuations. Making them all turn one way at the same time. Resulting in these wild events. My guess here is he caused pockets of oxygen to ignite."

  "We're calling him the Improbable Man," said the man in the coat. "Though I don't know why we assume it's a he."

  Sully said, "It's a he."

  "Maybe we should call him the Historian." Reg directed this to Jimmy. "He put clues in newspapers, clues he meant us to see. All relying on a knowledge of the past, a past he duplicated. The sinkholes occurred in a town that experienced a tremendous mine collapse back in the 1950s. Gas lines broke. Sinkholes manifested. A lot of damage."

  "In Maryland," Jimmy said. "Ferrisburg had a record hailstorm decades back."

  "Correct. And this place went to cinders in a great fire in 1920."

  "But," said the man in the coat, "he's left us no clues about his next attack."

  Sully said, "That's Lopez." Jimmy saw the man stiffen. "He's petitioning to be called El Tigre."

  For the first time, the man looked at Jimmy. "There's a story of great historical significance to accompany that name."

  "Another time," said the Old Man. He rose from Cane, snapping swiftly to his full height. Though perhaps not what he was in his youth, his stature and stance bore grace and power. His face was not how Jimmy remembered it, the eyes more alive, the skin tighter. Here at last was the man who had held his silence all those years, maintained his strength and mental acuity, and waited for opportunities to present themselves. The night having leached away color from the scene, Jimmy might have been staring at a newsreel depicting a hero of a former age.

  "Lopez, call the hospital in Demorest. Let them know Dr. White is coming."

  Jimmy made a soft, quizzical twitch, and the Old Man conveyed the merest suggestion of a wink.

  Reg held out the metal device. "I'm going to need more equipment."

  "We'll stop in Atlanta." The Old Man turned to Lopez. "Contact—"

  "Donigan."

  The big man nodded.

  "Sending a message now," Lopez said, though he hadn't moved. Catching Jimmy's eye, Lopez tapped the metallic piece obscuring his ear.

  The Old Man bent toward Jimmy. "I don't approve of his enhancements."

  "Says the perfected man," Lopez said. The big man gave a grim look. "Someday you'll need reading glasses, Boss."

  "Not likely." Without pause, he added, "We don't need further clues. I know what's next. Earth, air, fire..."

  Sully said, "Come on, really? How would you program such a device? Thematically?"

  "Maybe it's a literary device," said Reg.

  Sully tugged down the brim of her cap. "I can't believe you said that."

  The big man stepped close to Jimmy. He said, quiet but clear, "Best and the brightest." Then, to Lopez, "Where's the car?"

  "En route."

  A fire engine wailed past the alley's end and continued for a moment more. The truck must have stopped nearby.

  With the Old Man still standing close, as close as when a prison wall had kept them apart, Jimmy couldn't help saying, "I wanted to know what you know."

  "These people and a thousand others are why you can't know what I know. I have to keep them safe. Or try to keep them safe. Along with all the lives we'll be called upon to rescue. I'm responsible for the well-being of many. Surely you appreciate such a calling."

  A wash of air pushed smoke and dirt through the alley, throwing particles into Jimmy's face. When he'd taken away his hands, an open-topped car sat just past the debris.

  Reg smiled admiringly. "I'd forever wanted a flying car."

  "The future is here," Lopez said. "We had to keep ourselves busy while you were away."

  The Old Man gave the vehicle a glance. "It has proven its usefulness."

  They all, Jimmy included, joined to lift Cane on his mattress into the rear of the vehicle. Sully climbed in back with him and lifted his shirt, inspecting his bandages.

  Rather than get in, the Old Man clutched the vehicle's side, standing on a narrow running board. He saw Jimmy's look. "I prefer an open view," he said, as he pulled a cable from beneath the side mirror and hooked it to his belt buckle. "I hope the aftermath wasn't too difficult."

  "I—no, it was fine."

  "They didn't hold you responsible."

  "That's true," Jimmy said, but it felt like a lie, a technical evasion allowing him to believe there was a distance between his will and his actions.

  "Good." And as if he understood exactly Jimmy's fractured nature, he said, "Now you have a choice to make, Lieutenant. Stand clear." Jimmy stumbled backward over broken wood, but stayed upright.

  The car lifted up on the sound of
a thousand startled birds. In moments, it was gone. Jimmy was still looking up when flashing lights fluttered through the alley. Firefighters jumped down from their vehicle. Jimmy steadied his feet, then went out to see whether he could lend a hand.

  15. Seen and Unseen

  The storm brought steady rain, but no great downpour and no tremendous winds, so the exercise area stayed dry. Lightning ripped down in the distance, never getting nearer than the mesas. The thunder, though: that was the show, protracted and rolling, unhurriedly approaching each final concussion.

  Two dogs and four men accompanied Methusaleh. From the first, the dogs seemed off, sniffing the air, distracted, inattentive to commands. Covey didn't like it. He shouted over the thunder, then moved closer to the dog handlers in order to be heard.

  "It's the storm," he said. "They don't like it. We should—" he said, when both dogs went for him. "Restrain them!" he shouted, but the dogs were wild, ferocious. The final guard held his ground, attentive, somewhat, to the kneeling, shackled man. Waving toward the security room windows and the camera above Covey, the guard shouted for support. The dogs abruptly settled, Covey got a breath, but they lunged again, tangling their lines, pulling one handler into the other. The final guard moved to secure the prisoner, to hustle the man inside, but then the dogs abruptly turned on him. One broke its handler's hold and ran breakneck over the armed guard, knocking him down, then turning and running over him again. Covey, up against the fence, raised his weapon.

  Thunder exploded. In the middle of the yard, the ground gave way before the prisoner's knees. Methusaleh rolled forward and was gone. The dogs suddenly calmed, and Covey and the guard on the ground rushed to the breach. There they hesitated, beginning, it appeared, to kneel before crumpling alongside one another. Covey shrieked (days later, he would say he felt arrows fly into his body) while the other man lapsed, fetal, into moaning (he told investigators he remembered nothing). The dogs observed coolly in the company of their handlers, who shouted uselessly to the fallen men. Why had no alarm sounded? A medical kit was presumably needed. Handing over his dog, one man ran inside.