by Tonia Brown
Dodger stepped forward for a closer look, but Feng stopped him with a quick gesture.
“Stay back,” Feng said. “Notice I said it allows me to travel. The last thing you want to do is go through that door.”
“It only works for you?” Dodger asked.
“Why would Rex want something like that?” Boon asked. “What good would it do him?”
“I never said it only worked for me,” Feng said. “I just said you don’t want to use it.” He motioned to the door behind him. “Whoever travels by this machine is changed, greatly, in both body and mind. There is no way in the world I would allow you to use it. Not that you could right now.”
“What is wrong with it?” the doc asked from the opposite doorway.
Feng looked across the cab to his old companion, but said nothing.
“Let me have a look,” the doc said as he stormed across the cab, but Feng stopped even the creator of the device from approaching it.
“It isn’t broken,” Feng said.
“Then what is wrong with it? And don’t try to tell me there isn’t anything wrong, because I can see it in your eyes, Feng. You look like you’ve lost your best friend.”
Feng hung his head at the accusation and sighed deeply. “You’re almost correct. Maybe not my best friend, but definitely a good one.”
“Show me.”
With some resignation, he opened the metal box on the wall, revealing a panel of switches, buttons and flashing lights. He pushed a few buttons, then flipped the largest switch. The gadgets on either side of the door leaped to life with a loud hum, the orbs arcing with blue sparks. Feng grabbed the handle of the door and slowly pulled it open.
Nothing lay beyond the door.
Not just a hole in the cab wall.
Not just another layer of copper and steel.
Nothing.
Dodger stared at the empty space beyond the doorframe, into a black void of nothingness. Looking at it made his head ache, like the distant pain of a tooth in need of pulling. At the same time, it was as soothing as a mother’s kiss. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the terrible welcoming sight. The emptiness called to him, the blackness whispered his name, beckoning him forward into the void. It was very much like the blackness that had almost claimed him so many times before, when he teetered on the precipice of death, swaying between this life and the next.
The spell broke when the Celestial closed the door again.
“What in the hell was that?” Boon shouted.
“Nothing,” Dodger said.
“I could see that. I mean what was that nothing doing there?”
“It shouldn’t be there at all,” the doc said in a gruffer voice than Dodger was used to hearing from the old man.
“I’m sorry, Heironymous,” Feng said.
“When did this begin?”
“Just after our battle with the Thunder Gang. When you returned the cylinder to me, I wanted to pop out for some coffee, but I found it like this.”
Dodger nodded. The elder’s words explained an awful lot. No wonder he seemed to have never-ending access to the most unusual of ingredients.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this right away?” the doc asked.
“Because you have enough to worry about as it is,” Feng said.
“I see. And you understand the implications of this?”
“I’m afraid I do.”
“Well, I wish you would explain it to me,” Boon said. “Because I am having a hard time understanding any of this.”
“I know this is a lot to take in,” the Celestial said, “so bear with me, and I will break it down for you. The door to the TAP normally leads to another place in time. I can control both the year and the location from this panel.” Feng touched the metal box again. “Due to some fault of the mechanics, I can only travel one hundred or more years from my present timeline, and never backward.”
“Fault?” the doc said with a huff as he crossed his arms. “You make it sound like I didn’t plan that. I will have you know that was specially designed to keep a man from running into his future self and causing a paradox.”
Feng leaned toward Dodger and added with a whisper, “Paradox schmaradox. I’ve had lunch with myself on numerous occasions.”
Dodger stifled a chuckle. “I take it this was the young Hieronymus’s attempt to help hide you so many years ago?”
“Unfortunately. Like I said, if he offers you his help, be prepared for the consequences.”
“What are you two whispering about over there?” the doc asked.
Louder, Feng said, “All of this amazing interaction requires a special key. A key I suspect was created to keep a leash on me.”
“Not true,” the doc said. “I have always made keys for my gadgets. It makes the owners feel like they have more control.”
“Either way, the doc removed the key to keep me from running off before our big showdown with Lei Gong.”
“Now, that is true. And I would do it again.”
“Much appreciated. But when he returned the key to me, I found that the door no longer led to the programmed time or place. Instead, it leads to that void. That … emptiness.” Feng paused here, taking on a pained look, as if the next bit were the hardest to put into words.
And Dodger reckoned he knew why.
But neither man got a chance to explain. Boon beat them both to the punch.
“If it leads to the future,” Boon said, tapping his chin, “then does that black void mean there is no future for it to lead to?”
Feng blinked in surprise at Boon’s deduction. “Yes. Yes it does. The void means that one hundred years from now, nothing exists. I checked it before our rooftop escapade, and things were fine. Something happened during our battle with the Thunder Gang that changed the way of things.”
“Something I did?” Dodger asked.
“There is no way to be sure.”
“But that is what you think.”
“Not at all. I’m of the opinion that it was all of our faults. By surviving our run-in with Lei Gong and his minions, we allowed you to meet up with Rex, and thus, he was able to deliver his demands. Otherwise, he may never have had the chance to get his hands on the train and all of this.”
“But the TAP is no good now,” Boon said. “It doesn’t go anywhere.”
“True,” the doc said. “Yet the science behind the TAP is still accessible, and this train is rife with other innovations that could do more harm than good if they fell into the wrong hands.”
“Or the wrong paws, in this case,” Feng said.
“Can we fix it?” Dodger asked.
“I’m not sure,” the doc said. “It depends on what caused it in the first place. The future is always fluid, always changing. Something as simple as sleeping ten minutes late can alter the course of a man’s life. There is absolutely no way to tell the exact cause, though I suspect the answer lies within that maniac’s lust for glory. If he gets the Sleipnir in his control, there will be no stopping him.”
Feng tapped the TAP. “And here is the proof that the man is crazier than a bedbug on opium.”
Dodger didn’t need any extra proof that Canus Rex was insane.
He reckoned the fact the dog existed was proof enough.
****
back to toc
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Chapter Five
Flash from the Past Part II
In which Dodger remembers the summer of 1848
“Are you certain you want to do this?” Al asked.
“I sure am!” Rodger declared. “I know for a fact that you can’t keep me tied up for long. No matter what you do.”
Al tutted as he swung the end of the rope back and forth. “Are you sure? You’ve only had a week’s practice.”
“I only needed a week. I’m a fast learner. You’ve seen how well I’ve done. You said yourself that you’ve never seen the likes of it.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Oh come on, Al. You know I’m the best ag
ent you’ve ever trained. I shoot the best, throw blades the best. Why, just last week, you said you’ve never seen a kid my age who could track the way I do. It’s only natural that I would be so good at escaping.”
“Is it?”
“Sure.” Rodger patted the old man on the shoulder. “It’s okay to keep trying to teach me stuff, even though I am better then you at most things.”
Al nodded. “I reckon you’re right. You are pretty good at everything I done taught you.”
“Good? I’m the best.”
“Yes, son, you’re the best. But, still, this last rope work is really hard to overcome. I’ve never had much luck at it myself.”
“Then I should be able to get out real easy.”
“Makes sense that you could, but I just don’t know.”
Rodger huffed. “I’ll tell you what: You tie me up the best you can, and if I can’t break out of it, I will massage your bunions for a whole week without you having to ask and without griping about how much I hate touching your nasty, gnarled-up feet. Deal?”
Al looked up to him. “You mean that? You won’t gripe about it? A whole week? Every night?”
“And every morning if it means you will just tie me up already.”
“You got yourself a deal, boy.” Al whipped the end of the rope with a bright snap, readying it for the bet. “I’ll try to make this real hard on you. That way you might have to struggle before you just slip right out. Make it look hard so I don’t feel so bad about not being able to do it myself. Sound good?”
“Sure. Sounds great.”
Al did as asked, binding Rodger with the rope.
Two hours later, Rodger began to wonder what had gone wrong. He struggled with the binding and with breathing. Al had tied him up pretty tight this time. But, to be fair, it was what Rodger asked for.
“Having trouble breathin’?” Al asked for the umpteenth time.
Rodger didn’t answer.
His first lesson in being tied up was to puff up his chest with a deep breath and hold it while being bound. That way, he could use the slack of his normal breathing to escape. That he had done, but it didn’t help much. The second lesson was to conserve his breath for the task of escaping. Hence his silence on the matter. His third was to try to free his hands first so he could untie the other ropes later. The fourth lesson was to kick off his shoes so he could slip the ropes down his ankles. But Al didn’t just tie up his ankles this time. Or just his wrists.
This time, Al hogtied him.
Rodger lay face-down in the dirt, hands and feet bound together in an intricate pattern of twists and knots. Al went the extra mile by wrapping the rope a few times around his chest too, taking long enough to force Rodger to exhale and allow all of that precious slack to slip away. By some mercy of fate, or probably because Al knew Rodger would try to chew the rope, Al chose not to thread the rope through Rodger’s mouth. He wriggled and writhed, but it was no good. The ropes were too tight. The pattern was too constrictive. He glanced to the porch, from which Al watched him.
Al rocked his chair slowly, grinning like an ape at Rodger’s discomfort. “Give up, son?”
“No … sir …” Rodger said between gasps.
“Sounds like you’re having trouble catching your breath. Now you tell me if that gets too tight. No sense in killing yourself just to prove I was right. I don’t reckon our boss men would appreciate that much.”
Rodger snarled at the idea. Mostly because Al was right.
When Al started tying Rodger down earlier that week, the old man explained that the art of escape, like so many other things, would take some time to perfect. Yet Rodger seemed to take to the task right away. The first ten times, he escaped in five minutes or less. As the week progressed, he escaped time and time again, usually without much effort, and always within minutes of being bound. But now, face-down in the yard with his chest burning and his eyes stinging and his mouth full of dirt, Rodger was pretty sure Al had conned him, and that he and those awful bunions had a week-long intimate engagement.
“Come on,” Al said. “Just admit you were wrong and I was right.”
“You … tricked … me …” Rodger gasped.
“No. I just lulled you into a false sense of security.” Al got up from his rocking chair and hopped down off the porch to join Rodger on the ground. He leaned in close and grinned. “You feeling pretty embarrassed right about now?”
Rodger nodded as best he could.
“Good,” Al said. “Easiest thing I ever taught anyone. You’re right; you are a fast learner.”
While Al laughed aloud, Rodger got it. He understood the real lesson Al had been teaching all week long. Letting Rodger get all confident about something he knew nothing about, then turning the tables on him when Rodger clamped down and swallowed the bait of his own wretched assuredness. The whole thing sort of hurt his feelings. He thought Al liked him. Why trick him like this?
“Why?” Rodger asked.
“Because,” Al said, losing the grin in favor of a serious look, “you were right about that other stuff too. You are the sharpest shot I have seen in a long time. You can throw a blade better than the best man I can remember teachin’. You track like a hunter with twice your experience. And yes, you did get out of a few of my best rope tricks this week. But you’ve also been strutting and crowing about yourself a bit too much here lately. Rodger, you got to learn some humility, son. Just because you are good at something, it don’t mean you need to show off. In fact, it’s best if folks don’t know just how good you are. Makes the job easier when a man underestimates you. A humble man draws no attention, so when the dust settles, no one remembers him. Understood?”
“Yes … sir.”
“Admittedly, it might be part my fault for praising you so much here lately, but I praise you because you’ve worked so hard, and because you deserve to know just what your limits are, even if they are pretty darned unlimited. Still, you need to keep in mind that it’s better to be a nobody who knows exactly what he can do, than somebody who can’t do anything at all.”
“Yes … sir.
“Do you want me to let you go?”
“Not … yet,” Rodger gasped, lest he spend a week rubbing those awful bunions.
“That pride is gonna get you dead one day, son. I’ll tell you what. I’ll start working these knots loose, and if you can answer me one question before I am done, we will call off the bet, like it never happened. If you can’t, well, you owe my aching feet some attention. Deal?”
Rodger groaned. Was this really the best time for such nonsense? His pride wanted him to get free on his own, but his body was screaming at him to take the riddle, or even rub those damned feet for a week. Anything to breathe normally again!
“Ask,” Rodger whispered.
Al rubbed his hands together and squatted beside Rodger. “It changes its size when it spreads, not grows. Harbors white stallions lined up in their rows. It can hide the truth, no matter what shows. The answer is sitting right under your nose.”
While Al set to untying the knots—at an exaggeratedly slow rate, for which Rodger was grateful—Rodger turned his mind to the riddle. Spreads, not grows. That meant something that got wide, not tall. White stallions in a row? No, rows. More than one. What could that mean?
“Fourth of the way done,” Al said.
Rodger closed his eyes and thought hard about the stallions. White and in rows. Like racehorses chomping at their bits? Darn it! What was it?
“Halfway,” Al said. “Time’s a-wastin’.”
“I’ll … get … it,” Rodger gasped.
“I’m sure you will. Eventually.” Al chuckled again.
Rodger ignored the laughter and squeezed his eyed so tight that they sparked with lights behind his lids. It hid the truth, no matter what showed. So it looked like one thing but could mean another. That didn’t help. The answer was under his nose. What was under his nose now? Dirt. Dirt. And more dirt.
“Not much longer now,” Al said
.
Rodger was fairly sure the answer wasn’t dirt. He had so much of the stuff in his teeth and mouth now that …
Teeth and mouth.
White horses chomping at the bit.
Hiding the truth.
Something that spread out, not grew up.
Rodger knew the answer.
“A smile,” Rodger said.
“What was that?” Al asked, still working the knots free.
“Smile! Smile! Smile!”
Al slipped the last bit of rope free, allowing Rodger to relax and roll away from him.
Rodger coughed and sputtered as he rubbed at his wrists. “Did I get it?”
“You sure did,” Al said. “Good work, son. I knew you could.”
Sitting up, Rodger felt his face go hot with embarrassment again as he gathered the courage to say what needed to be said. “Al? I’m real sorry I’ve been so cocky.”
“Don’t sweat it. We all get proud. The real trick is not to wear it like a fancy multicolored coat, or else someone will kill you for it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come on, then,” Al said. “Let’s get you some water, and then you can take the rest of the day off. I think you’ve learned enough for one mornin’. Don’t you?”
Al helped Rodger to his feet, brushing the dirt off as he did.
“Thanks,” Rodger said.
“You should thank yourself,” Al said. “You did good on that riddle. Thinking under fire is a hard task. You did me proud.”
Rodger nodded, but he didn’t grin or smile or beam. The praise he’d thought he deserved just a few hours before now left him humbled. He wasn’t sure he would be ever able to accept praise again.
****
back to toc
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Chapter Six
Ghostly Grumbles
In which Dodger has to pacify an angry spirit
It took the better part of a day to reach the outskirts of Kansas, then another few hours to arrive at the old ranch where Dodger spent the later part of his troubled youth. There was a pause along the way to jerk some water, but again the train failed to stop in search of fuel. This was a pressing issue in Dodger’s mind, but one that could wait until later to discuss. There were far more important things to think about instead of the seemingly endless fuel source, though Dodger supposed that was yet another reason Rex wanted the train in the first place.