“Where do you people live around here? This lab is massive,” Mara said, her head craning and swiveling as she stepped inside.
“Living quarters are on the third floor. The steam lab takes up most of the south side of the house while the fabrication shop occupies the north. The kitchen, pantry and utility rooms run behind the back wall of the lab,” Ping said.
A loud hiss and a clunk startled her. She jumped backward and bumped into Ping’s hip. He reached out and steadied her. “That’s just the compressor.” He pointed to a bank of tall copper pipes stacked vertically along the back wall fronted by a broad console of dials, levers and knobs. It reminded Mara of a pipe organ. One of the pipes hissed again, and a cloud of steam filled the air near the ceiling.
“What does it do?” Mara asked.
“It provides distilled steam under pressure for your—er, Mara’s—experiments,” he said. He pointed to the top of the copper pipes and indicated the smaller tubes branching from them, mounted along the ceiling and fanning out to the sides of the room where massive transparent cylinders stood in copper-framed alcoves lining the walls. Each was as thick as a tree trunk and reached the ceiling.
Giant test tubes.
While the cylinders and alcoves were identical, the clouds that roiled inside were distinct. Some glowed with color, and others were almost imperceptibly different. Yet others luminesced, and some seemed shadowy, to absorb light.
“How much steam does this girl need to perform an experiment?” Mara asked, her gaze passing over the huge alcoves.
“The large cylinders along the walls contain production steam—finished product ready to be distributed to the rest of the world. Technically this is a manufacturing facility as well a development laboratory. Most testing and experimentation is done here at the counter once a steam sample has been synthesized. If the results are satisfactory, then Mara will fabricate any related hardware that might be needed. Of course that’s done in the fabrication shop.”
“Of course,” Mara said with a tinge of sarcasm. “So she makes steam and sells it? People around here can’t boil a pot of water?”
“You haven’t been paying attention. Recall the digisteam from the miders?” Ping asked.
“How could I forget? Little arach-notes crawling everywhere.”
“Arach-notes. I like that. Too bad we didn’t think of that when we first came up with the concept.” Ping chuckled, then cleared his throat. “First off, the progenitor doesn’t sell her steam innovations. They are freely distributed from here through a network of underground pipes. Second, as you have witnessed, the steams she creates here are quite remarkable and useful.”
“Like the copter’s gravisteam.”
“Exactly.”
Mara walked over to the counter, picked up an empty beaker and examined it. She supposed she could see getting into this sort of thing if she hadn’t gotten attached to gadgetry at such a young age. It all seemed related to understanding how things worked. Yet she couldn’t see anything on this counter, as large as it was—and as covered as it was with a mish-mash of paraphernalia from chemistry, biology and engineering—that explained how ordinary water vapor could carry digital information or make a vehicle fly.
She set down the beaker and surveyed the rest of the counter. “I don’t get it. This appears to be a scientific endeavor, but it doesn’t make sense. Why steam?”
Ping was about to reply when Mara pointed to the far side of the counter at a board set up like an easel, a dozen lightbulbs mounted to it. “That looks interesting,” she said. “What is that?”
She walked around the perimeter of the doughnut counter to get to it, but Ping took her arm.
“It’s quicker just to go this way,” he said. He grabbed the edge of the countertop and lifted. A segment folded upward, giving them access to the center of the circular counter. He bowed and waved Mara toward the opening. She passed through and walked straight to the board with the lights.
“This is the first thing I’ve seen since I arrived that looks like real technology,” she said. “Is Mara on the verge of discovering electricity?”
Ping caught up with her and shook his head. “Of course not. We are fully familiar with electricity,” he said. “Remember where we came from—a world of technologically sophisticated people who built their own bodies.”
“If you people are so tech-savvy, why the obsession with steam? And why are people pulling around wagons with horses? And, by the way, where the hell did the horses come from? I don’t think the people in your technologically advanced world are keeping farm animals in receptacles. They crossed over with you?”
“Remarkable,” Ping said, shaking his head.
“What’s remarkable?” Mara asked.
“How you can believe that you came from another realm, that you are now in a different realm created by the mind of your counterpart, but you continue to doubt so much? How can you reasonably believe one thing and not the other?”
Mara shook her head. “It’s not doubt. Not anymore. I used to question everything because I couldn’t believe it. Not now. Now I’m asking questions because I want to understand, to understand why things are the way they are. Like why there is no electricity when you people understand how it works.”
She turned to the board of lightbulbs and touched one with her finger. A tiny arc of lightning jumped from her fingertip. For a second, the inner space of the bulb glowed, but then it exploded, leaving an actual gaping black hole floating in the air where it had been. One bulb next to it had shattered, spraying glass across the board.
Ping grabbed Mara’s wrist, pulling it back. “How did you do that?”
“It was just a little spark of electricity. A tiny bolt, not more than a little static.” Mara stared at the black hole floating over the spot where her finger had been. It looked like someone had punched a hole in space. Other than the broken bulb, the board itself was undamaged, apart from the missing portion taken by the black hole.
“Is that one of those chasms you talked about?”
Ping eyed it, uncertain. “It appears the same, but this one wasn’t spontaneous. You caused it with that little bolt of yours. How did you do that?”
“It’s an ability I have. I tried to get the bulb to light up,” she said.
The black hole faded, and they could see the missing piece of the board reappear.
“Don’t do that again, not even a little. There’s a reason you don’t see electricity in this realm. It’s incompatible with the environment here,” Ping said.
“Incompatible?”
“Yes, incompatible. This world consists of thought, dreams, if you will. Thoughts are electrical impulses, and those impulses can be disrupted when exposed to random spikes of electricity. That’s why you don’t see it deployed as a power source or in any technology here.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I was unaware you would shoot lightning from your fingertips, young lady. Are there other abilities of yours that I should be aware of?”
CHAPTER 11
Sam and his father sat at the front of a plain open wagon being drawn by a single horse, heading north toward the low-slung skyline of the Portland a couple miles away. While Sam had been in this realm for several days and had gotten acclimated to its somewhat rustic charms, he found the experience of riding behind the horse fascinating. The smells, the rhythmic tug forward, the clap of the horse’s hooves on the dusty road all slowed his pounding heart. He couldn’t believe that here he sat next to his father, holding the reins and smiling into the afternoon sun. They hadn’t said a word since turning off the manor grounds five minutes ago.
“How do you steer this thing?” Sam asked.
Christopher Lantern nodded toward the horse and said, “Usually there’s not much steering involved. Bella has an instinct for getting us where we need to go. But, on the occasion where she needs a hint to turn, you tug the rein in that direction. If you want her to stop, you pull gently on both.” He held out
the reins to Sam. “Here. Why don’t you drive for a while?”
Sam took them, extending his arms.
His father eyed Sam and asked, “What’s that on your forearm?”
Sam held it up in the air and said, “It’s a tattoo. Haven’t you seen one before? I guess you wouldn’t have, seeing as you went into a receptacle when you were ten years old. It seems unlikely that your synthetic alter ego would have gotten one either.”
“How did you get it?”
“A tattoo is ink injected into the skin. My mother had it done after I was born. It’s a symbol of her Basiliscan cult. They worshipped lizards, reptiles, dragons, stuff like that.”
“Diana? Worshipping snakes? That’s difficult to imagine,” he said. “Diana is your mother, right? I mean, there’s a Diana in the realm you come from?”
“My mother is Diana, but the one from my realm is dead. I now live with Mara—the one you met back at the house—and her version of Diana in their realm.”
“What happened to your mother?” his father asked.
“Mara killed my mother when that Diana possessed her mother’s body to bring her cult followers into Mara’s realm. My mother—my Diana—was not a very nice person, I guess you could say.”
“I guess not,” his father said. He seemed to need a moment to think but then asked, “So Mara’s mother adopted you after all this?”
“It’s not so strange. I mean, she is my mother—just a different version of her in a different realm. Metaphysically she is the same person.”
“What about her version of Sam? Didn’t Mara have a brother?”
“He died when he was a baby. Mara didn’t even know about him until after I showed up.”
“Your Diana must be open-minded. I have to admit, the versions of her you describe differ from the Diana I know,” he said.
“Where is Mom?” Sam asked.
“She never crossed over to this realm. She’s still in her receptacle, sharing the life of her physical counterpart in the other realm.”
“Everyone in the receptacles didn’t cross over to this realm?”
His father shook his head. “No, we think about half of the receptacle occupants are here. It takes a certain mind-set to cross over. The Diana I know embraces traditional thinking. I don’t think she would ever willingly cross over. It’s not in her to do that.”
“That’s hard to imagine,” Sam said, his voice drifting off. He watched the tall trees lining the road crawl by, and let the rhythm of sun and shadow through their branches roll over him. He stared at the leathery reins in his hands.
“You seem disappointed. Were you hoping to meet your mother here?”
“No, it’s not that. Just wondering why I’m dead in all these realms. I’ve met other Maras, other Moms and even other Pings, but not anywhere have I encountered my counterpart. I wonder what it means.”
“Maybe it means you’re one of kind, or you haven’t visited enough realms yet.”
“Maybe.” After another silent moment he asked, “Do you think you’re more open-minded than the Diana you know?”
His father smiled, looked down at him and said, “I’m here, in this realm, riding in a wagon with my son. Aren’t I?” Throwing an arm over Sam’s shoulder, his father pulled him closer for a second and winked.
Sam smiled too and looked away so he could blink back the tears.
They rode in silence for another fifteen minutes when his father pointed to the right toward an opening in the trees. “Tell Bella to turn here.”
Sam tugged on the reins, and, with a snort, the horse made the course correction toward the narrow path. “Is someone sick here?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. The Jonesboros—Alice and her mother, Janette—live about a quarter mile down here. Alice sent me a message this morning that her mother wasn’t feeling well and wanted me to stop by.”
“What if it’s something serious? Should we take her to the hospital? There are hospitals here, aren’t there? I don’t recall seeing any,” Sam said.
“Yes, there are hospitals, but our medicine is a little different than what you have experienced in a physical realm. Here, illnesses and injuries are psychosomatic. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Yeah, it’s all in their heads.”
“Exactly. In most cases, there are two sources of illness or injury. The first manifests itself if the patient’s physical body in the receptacle is experiencing an issue. For example, say the patient is getting a little older and develops arthritis of the knees. It’s possible for the patient to display symptoms here. The other source of illness or injury comes from the patient’s experience here, in this realm. Say you fell off this wagon and the wheel ran over your leg. What do you think would happen?”
“It would break my leg,” Sam said.
“If you think that’s what would happen, then it would,” his father said. “Your thoughts create your Reality here. Do you follow?”
“I think so, but, if that’s the case, why would anyone get sick or hurt? Everyone knows it’s just in their heads, right?”
“On an intellectual level, people know, but their instincts and experiences tell them otherwise. We are hardwired to respond to harm or danger. We even have occasional outbreaks of flu simply because someone gets a stuffy nose, and then convinces himself and those around him that he’s sick.”
“Strange. How do you cure someone of something that’s in their head?”
His father chuckled. “Like you do in the physical world. For a broken leg, you align the bone and apply a splint. After a couple weeks, the patient believes the leg is healed, and you take off the splint.”
“But they never had a broken leg.”
“Around here, the leg is broken if they think it is.”
“Why not just convince them that their leg is fine?”
“Most of the time, it’s easier to let people convince themselves, but other procedures can be used in emergencies,” he said.
Sam eyes narrowed as he thought about the whole concept. “So people in this realm can’t die? Wait! They can die if they think something has killed them. Is that right?”
“It’s true that a traumatic event in this realm can cause a sudden death, and we think the shock of that causes death in their physical body. However, most people here die when their bodies die in the physical realm first.”
“What? They up and die one day?” Sam asked.
“That’s how it happens no matter what realm you live in. Right?” He pointed to the tiny red house with the silver tin roof they approached on the path. “There’s the Jonesboros’ place. Let’s keep the discussion of death and maiming to a minimum in front of the patient. Okay?”
CHAPTER 12
A pale, haggard woman—who could have been anywhere between twenty-five and forty years old—met them at the front door as Sam and his father stepped onto the tiny covered porch, more accurately described as a stoop. The small house, qualifying as a cottage if it were cuter, was well-maintained. Sam wondered, in a world born of people’s thoughts, why this family decided not to think bigger. He supposed, like in other realms, imagination and desire shaped the people who lived here.
Whatever makes them happy.
He hung back a step and watched Dr. Lantern shift his medical bag to his left hand and hold out his right to the woman. “Hi, Alice. How are you holding up?”
“Oh, I’m fine. It’s Mom that needs your help.” She held the door open and waved them into a neat living room with a maroon sofa and an overstuffed leather chair to the side. A large round throw rug reminded Sam of the one in his mother’s living room and covered the wood floor here.
Setting down his small black case, Dr. Lantern took a seat on the couch and indicated that Sam should join him. “Your message said your mother was sick, but you didn’t say what was wrong. How is she doing?”
Alice took the leather chair and said, “She’s asleep right now, but she’s been a wreck since she got back from town this morning.” H
er gaze swept over Sam, and her eyes narrowed with curiosity, but she didn’t ask about him.
“Oh, I’m sorry. This is my son, Sam,” Dr. Lantern said.
Sam’s face reddened. He smiled and nodded.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” she said.
“Neither did I until this morning,” he said. He waved a hand at her raised eyebrows and added, “Let’s just say it’s been an eventful day. A story for another time when we don’t have your mother to worry about. Tell me what’s happening with her.”
Alice took a deep breath, as if gathering her strength, and said, “Today’s grocery shopping day, so she got up early and headed into town as usual. She had heard about the dirigible crash yesterday, and, like everyone, she was nervous about encountering one of those chasms that have been popping up everywhere. Boy, I hope your daughter makes it back before the whole world comes apart.”
“Actually Mara is back, and the chasms have stopped appearing,” Dr. Lantern said.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Mom will be thrilled once she’s better.”
“Now, about your mother …”
“Right. She got her shopping done and was loading up the wagon when Mrs. Clancy happened by, so they stopped for a little gossip, I’m sure. Anyway, while they stood there outside the grocery store, one of those holes opened in the air about thirty feet above them. It spooked them and the horse. Then, out of nowhere, a swarm—this dark cloud—tried to fly into the chasm, but it closed too fast.”
“A swarm? A swarm of what?” the doctor asked.
“Mrs. Clancy told Mom that she thought it was a swarm of mosquitoes.”
With a perfect poker face that impressed Sam, his father said, “I see. What happened next?”
“The swarm swirled above them for a time, and then it attacked them. It flew down and surrounded them, got in their eyes and ears. Mom said she could feel them crawling all over her skin, even under her clothes. She has welts and bites all over,” Alice said. “After a few minutes of screaming, dancing around and waving their arms, the swarm flew away. Somehow Mom made it home, but, shortly after she got here, she ran a fever, and she’s getting progressively worse.”
Broken Dreams (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 5) Page 6