The Walls of the Universe

by Paul Melko

  Flywheel? he wondered. Steam?

  Despite his predicament, John was intrigued by the engineering of the trucks. After ten more minutes of walking, past two motels and a diner, he came to the city square, the Civil War monument displayed as proudly as ever, cannon pointed toward the South. A few people were strolling the square, but no one noticed him.

  Across the square was the courthouse. Beside it stood the library, identical to what he remembered, a three-story building, its entrance framed by granite lions reclining on brick pedestals. There was the place to start figuring this universe out.

  The library was identical in layout to the one he knew. John walked to the card catalog-there were no computer terminals-and looked up the numbers for American history. On the shelf he found a volume by Albert Trey called U.S. History and Heritage: Major Events That Shaped a Nation. He sat in a low chair and paged through it. He found the divergence in moments.

  The American Revolution, War of 1812, and Civil War all had the expected results. The presidents were the same through Woodrow Wilson. World War I was a minor war, listed as the Greco-Turkish War. World War II was listed as the Great War and was England and the United States against Germany, Russia, and Japan. A truce was called in 1956 after years of no resolution to the fighting. Hostilities had flared for years until the eighties, when peace was declared and disarmament accomplished in France, which was split up and given to Germany and Spain.

  But all of those things happened after Alexander Graham Bell developed an effective battery for the automobile. Instead of internal combustion engines, cars and trucks in this universe used electric engines. That explained the trucks: electric engines.

  But even as John read about the use of zeppelins for transport, the relatively peaceful twentieth century, his anger began to grow. This universe was nothing like his own. John Prime had lied. Finally, he stood and found the local telephone book. He paged through it, looking for Rayburns. As he expected, there were none.

  He checked his watch; in eight hours he was going back home and kicking the crap out of John Prime.

  By the time the library closed, John’s head was full of facts and details about the new universe. There were a thousand things he’d like to research, but there was no time. He stopped at a newspaper shop and picked an almanac off the shelf. After a moment’s hesitation, he offered to buy the three-dollar book with one of the twenties Prime had given him. The counterman barely glanced at the bill and handed John sixteen dollars and change. The bills were identical to those in his own world. The coins bore other faces.

  He ate a late dinner at Eckart’s Cafe, listening to rockabilly music. None of it was familiar music, but it was music that would be playable on the country stations at home. Even at ten in the evening, there was a sizeable crowd, drinking coffee and hard liquor. There was no beer to be had.

  It was a tame crowd for a Saturday night. He read the almanac and listened in to the conversations around him. Most of it was about cars, girls, and guys, just like in his universe.

  By midnight, the crowd had thinned. At half past midnight, John walked into the square and stood behind the Civil War statue. He lifted his shirt and toggled the number back to 7533.

  He paused, checked his watch, and saw it was a quarter till one. Close enough, he figured.

  He pressed the button.

  Nothing happened.

  There was no sensation of shifting, no pressure change. The electric car in the parking lot was still there. The device hadn’t worked.

  He checked the number: 7533. His finger was on the right switch. He tried it again. Nothing.

  It had been twelve hours. Twelve hours and forty-five minutes. But maybe Prime had been estimating. Maybe it took thirteen hours to recharge. John leaned against the base of the statue and slid to the ground.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Prime had lied to him about what was in Universe 7534. Maybe he had lied about the recharge time. Maybe it took days or months to recharge the device. And when he got back, he’d find that Prime was entrenched in his life.

  He sat there, trying the switch every fifteen minutes until three in the morning. He was cold, but finally he fell asleep on the grass, leaning against the Civil War Memorial.

  He awoke at dawn, the sun in his eyes as it streamed down Washington Avenue. He stood and jumped up and down to revive his body. His back ached, but the kinks receded after he did some stretches.

  At a donut shop off the square, he bought a glazed and an orange juice with the change he had left over from the almanac. A dozen people filed in over the course of an hour to buy donuts and coffee before church or work. On the surface, this world was a lot like his.

  John couldn’t stand the waiting. He walked across the square and climbed the library steps and yanked at the door. It was locked, and he saw the sign showing the library’s hours. It was closed until noon.

  John looked around. There was an alcove behind the lions with a bench. No one would easily see him from the street. He sat there and tried the device. Nothing.

  He continued to try the lever every ten or fifteen minutes. As he sat on the steps of the library, his apprehension grew. He was going to miss school. He was going to miss more than twenty-four hours. He was going to miss the rest of his life. Why wouldn’t the device work like it was supposed to?

  He realized then that everything Prime had told him was probably a lie. He had to assume that he was the victim of Prime’s scheming, trapped in another universe. The question was how he would return to his life.

  He had the device. It had worked once, to bring him from Universe 7533 to Universe 7534. It would not allow him to return because it wasn’t recharged yet. It took longer than-he checked his watch-twenty hours to recharge the device apparently.

  He stopped. He was basing that logic on information he got from Prime. Nothing that Prime had said could be used as valid information. Only things that John had seen or gotten from a valid source were true. And Prime was not a valid source.

  The twelve-hour recharge time was false. John had assumed that it meant the length of time was what was false in Prime’s statement. What if there was no recharge time at all?

  There were two possibilities that John could see. First, there was no recharge time and he was being prevented from returning to his universe for some other reason. Second, the device no longer worked. Perhaps he had used the last of its energy source.

  For some reason he still wanted to believe Prime. If it was simply a mechanical issue, then he could use intelligence to solve the problem. Maybe Prime was truthful and something happened to the device that he didn’t know about. Maybe Prime would be surprised when John never returned with the device, effectively trapping Prime in John’s life. Prime might even think that John had stolen his device.

  But mechanical failure seemed unlikely. Prime said he had used the device one hundred times. His home universe was around 7433. If he’d used it exactly one hundred times, that was the distance in universes between John’s and Prime’s. Did that mean he only used the device to move forward one universe at a time? Or did he hop around? No, the numbers were too similar. Prime probably moved from one universe to the next systematically.

  John decided that he was just too ignorant to ignore all of Prime’s information. Some of it had to be taken at face value.

  The 100 number indicated that Prime only incremented the universe counter upward. Why? Did the device only allow travel in one direction?

  John played with the theory, fitting the pieces together. The device was defective or designed in such a way that only travel upward was allowed. Prime mentioned the recharge time to eliminate any possibility of a demonstration. There was perhaps no recharge time. The device was of no value to Prime, since he planned to stay. That explained the personal questions Prime had asked; he wanted to ease into John’s life. Some things Prime knew, but other things he had to learn from John.

  The fury built in John.

  “
Bastard!” he said softly. Prime had screwed him. He’d tempted John with universes, and he had fallen for it. And now he was in another universe, where he didn’t exist. He had to get back.

  There was nothing to do, he realized, but test the theory.

  He pulled his backpack onto his shoulders and checked around the bench for his things. Then, with a quick check to see if anyone was looking, he toggled the device to 7535 and pulled the lever.

  He fell.

  CHAPTER 6

  Monday morning at school went no worse than expected. John Prime barely made it to homeroom and ended up sitting with the stoners by accident. He had no idea what the word “Buckle” meant in the Hopkins poem. And Mr. Wallace had to flag him down for physics class.

  “Forget which room it is?” Mr. Wallace asked.

  “Er.”

  There was no Mr. Wallace in Prime’s home universe, and he had to dodge in-jokes and history between him and Johnny Farm Boy; the class was independent study! Prime realized he’d have to drop it. He was grateful when a kid knocked on the door.

  “Mr. Gushman needs to see John Rayburn.”

  Mr. Wallace took the slip of paper from the acne-ridden freshman. “Again? Read the assignment for tomorrow, John. We have a lot to cover.” The man was disappointed in him, but Prime couldn’t find the emotion to care. He hardly knew him.

  Prime nodded, then grabbed his stuff. He nudged the freshman hall monitor as they walked down the hall. “Where’s Mr. Gushman at?”

  The freshman’s eyes widened like marbles. “He’s in the front office. He’s the principal.”

  “No shit, douche bag,” Prime said.

  Prime entered the fishbowl and gave his name to the receptionist. After just a few minutes, Mr. Gushman called him in.

  Prime didn’t have anything on Gushman. He’d come to Findlay High School in the time Prime had been away. The old principal had fucked a student at his old school and that had come out in one of the universes that Prime had visited. That bit of dirt would be no good in this universe.

  “Have you got the letter of apology for Mrs. Carson?” Mr. Gushman asked.

  Prime suddenly realized what the meeting was about. He’d not written the letter.

  “No, sir. I’ve decided not to write the letter.”

  Mr. Gushman raised his eyebrows, then frowned. “You realize that this will have grave consequences for your future.”

  “No, I don’t think so. In fact, I’ve contacted a lawyer. I’ll be suing Ted Carson.” Prime hadn’t thought of doing that until that moment, but now that he’d said it, he decided it was a good idea. “I’m an honor student, Gushman. I’m a varsity player in two sports. There will be fallout because of this. Big fallout.”

  “It’s ‘Mr. Gushman,’ please. I’ll have your respect.” His knuckles were white, and Prime realized that Gushman had expected him to cave. Well, maybe Johnny Farm Boy would have caved, but not him. He had dirt on the education board members. He had dirt on the mayor. This would be a slam dunk for him.

  “Respect is earned,” Prime said.

  “I see. Shall I have your mother called or do you have transportation home?”

  “Home? Why?” Prime said.

  “Your three-day suspension starts right now.” Prime had forgotten about that. He shrugged. Johnny Farm Boy would have shit a brick at being expelled. To Prime, it didn’t really matter.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “You are not allowed on school property until Thursday at noon. I’ll be sending a letter home to your parents. I’ll also inform Coach Jessick that you are off the roster for basketball and track.”

  “Whatever.”

  Mr. Gushman stood, leaning heavily on the desk. His voice was strained as he said, “I expected better of you, John. Everything I know about you says that you’re a good boy. Everything I’ve seen since you walked in this door has made me reevaluate my opinions.”

  Prime shrugged again. “Whatever.” He stood, ignoring Gushman’s anger. “We done here?”

  “Yes. You are dismissed.”

  At least he didn’t have to worry about learning basketball. And three days was enough time to get started on his plans. He smiled as he passed the receptionist, smiled at the dirtbags waiting in the office. This was actually working out better than he expected.

  Prime took the two o’clock Silver Mongoose to Toledo, right after he stood in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles trying to convince the clerk to file the paperwork for his lost license.

  “I am positive that it won’t turn up,” Prime said.

  “So many people say that and then there it is in the last place you look.”

  “Really. It won’t,” he said slowly.

  The clerk blinked at him, then said, “All righty, then. I’ll take that form from you.”

  He was tempted to rent a car, but that would have raised as many eyebrows as hiring a patent lawyer in Findlay. Prime had to go to Toledo to get his business done. Three days off school was just about perfect.

  As the northern Ohio farmland rolled by, he wondered how hurt he’d be if he had to transfer out right now. He was always considering his escape routes, always sleeping on the ground floor, always in structures that were as old as he could find. His chest itched where the device should have been. It was Johnny Farm Boy’s problem now. Prime was free of it. No one would come looking for him here. He blended right in. No police would come barging in at 3:00 A.M. No FBI agents wanting his device.

  What an innocent he’d been. What a piece of work. How many times had he almost died? How many times had he screwed up within centimeters of the end?

  For a moment, he had a twinge of guilt for the displaced John. Prime hoped that John figured out a few things quickly, before things went to hell. Maybe he could find a place to settle down just like Prime had. Maybe I should have written him a note, he thought.

  Then he laughed to himself. Too late for that. Johnny Farm Boy was on his own. Just like he had been.

  The first lawyer Prime visited listened to him for fifteen minutes until she said she wasn’t taking any new clients. Prime almost screamed at her, “Then why did you let me blather on for so long?”

  The second took thirty seconds to say no. But the third listened dubiously to Prime’s idea for the Rayburn’s Cube. He didn’t even blink at the cash retainer Prime handed over for the three patents he wanted him to research and acquire.

  Prime called Casey from his cheap hotel.

  “Hey, Casey. It’s John!”

  “John! I heard you were expelled for a month.”

  “News of my expulsion has been greatly exaggerated.”

  “What happened?”

  “Just more of the Ted Carson saga. I told Gushman I wasn’t going to apologize, so he kicked me out of school. You should have seen the colors on his face.”

  “You told Gushman no?” she asked. “Wow. He used to be a colonel in the army.”

  “He used to molest small children too,” Prime said.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why? He sucks.”

  “But it’s not true.”

  “It could be true, probably is in some other universe.”

  “But we don’t know for sure.”

  Prime switched subjects. “Listen, I called to see if you wanted to go out on Saturday.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said quickly. “Yeah.”

  “Movie?”

  “Sounds good. What’s playing?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She giggled. “No.” After a moment, she added, “Didn’t your parents ground you?”

  “Oh, shit!”

  “What?”

  “They don’t know yet,” Prime said. He looked at the cheap clock radio next to the bed: eight thirty. “Shit.”

  “Do you think we can still go out?”

  “One way or another, Casey, I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  He hung up.

&
nbsp; His parents. He’d forgotten to call his parents. They were going to be pissed. Damn. He’d been without them for so long, he’d forgotten how they worked.

  He dialed his home number.

  “Mom?”

  “Oh, my God!” she yelled. Then to his father she said, “Bill, it’s John. It’s John.”

  “Where is he? Is he all right?”

  “Mom, I’m okay.” Prime waited. He knew how Johnny Farm Boy would play this. Sure, he’d never have gone to Toledo, but Prime could play the suspension for all it was worth. “Did you hear from Gushman?”

  “John, yes, and it’s okay. We understand. You can come home. We aren’t angry with you.”

  “Then, Mom, you know how I feel. I did the right thing, Mom, and they took everything away from me.” It was what Farm Boy would have said.

  “I know, dear. I know.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “I know, Johnny. Now where are you? You’ve got to come home.” His mother sounded pitiful.

  “I won’t be home tonight, Mom. I’ve got things to do.”

  “He’s not coming home, Bill!”

  “Give me the phone, Janet.” Into the phone his father said, “John, I want you home tonight. We understand that you’re upset, but you need to be home, and we’ll handle this here, under our roof.”

  “Dad, I’ll be home tomorrow.”

  “John-”

  “Dad, I’ll be home tomorrow.” He hung up the phone and almost chortled.

  Then he turned on Home Theatre Office and watched bad movies until midnight.

  “It turns this way, this way, and this way!” Prime made the motions with his hands for the fourth time, wishing again that he’d bought the key-chain Cube when he’d had the chance.