by E. R. Mason
It had been a very busy evening for the Nighthawks, despite the fact that all but three members were locked away in jail, awaiting trial. The best part was that the night was not over! It was still only 4:10 am. The protective shroud of early morning darkness, necessary cover for most gang-related activities, would last another hour or two. Already the small group of delinquents had successfully broken into the largest auto dealership in the area and cleaned out the locked cabinet that held the master keys. They had stolen the most expensive customized van on the lot and had spent a good deal of the evening cruising the city in search of some careless, good-looking lady to abduct.
It was annoying that they had been unsuccessful at that. Such rudimentary amusements were becoming more and more difficult to accomplish these days. People were getting wise; not taking chances; protecting themselves.
As a consolation for not having found someone to rape and maim, the Hawks humored themselves by letting the van drive itself into a roadside canal where it sputtered, listed, and sunk partially into the muck. Temporarily satisfied, they continued on foot through a short stretch of woods and into the sleepy neighborhood of Professor Cassell, where they searched for a fast car to steal—one vulnerable to their newly acquired set of master keys.
So it was not purely by chance that they happened upon Markman’s sleek, black Mustang. One Hawk watched the house while a second stood guard by the street, a practiced routine. The third checked one key at a time in the car’s passenger door until the correct one unlocked it. Quietly he opened the door and signaled to his friends.
The two look-outs immediately converged as their associate leaned inside to search for valuables. He backed out with a shiny, metallic box in his hand, fumbling and almost dropping it as he examined the sealed cover.
“Whacha holdin’ there, Icky?” asked Big Dog as he joined his friend.
“I don’ know. Maybe jewelry or sumptin’. How’s it open?”
“Gimme it. I kin do it....”
The two of them stood in the glow of the car’s interior light, struggling with the intriguing little box as Mace, the third gang member looked nervously around. “Bust that sucker on the cement. There’s gotta be somethin’ in there.”
“Man, we gonna wake these crackers up. Pitch that thing and let’s take this ride; get our ass out’a here,” insisted Icky.
It was then that Big Dog noticed that the shiny silver box had opened slightly. A narrow edge of amber light marked a split in the cover’s seam. Without speaking, he pulled the cover back fully and peered inside. Icky pushed in closer and stared with him down into the fluorescent interior of the stolen artifact. A moment of breathless excitement passed as they struggled to focus on what they were seeing.
Icky reacted first. “Whoa . . . oh man . . . whoa . . . .” Startled, he lurched back from the group. He clasped his hands together and looked left, then right. He turned and began to trot away down the street, moaning, “Whoa . . . oh man!” As he ran, he twisted back around, swatting at things behind him that were not really there. His labored footsteps and frequent moans continued long after he had disappeared into the shadows of the night.
Big Dog was still holding the box—staring hypnotically down into it. He looked up with a sour smile locked on his face, his eyes wide and dilated, and began shaking his head. “I get it. I think I get it.”
Mace, the third Hawk, lost interest in anything Big Dog had to say. His own perplexed gaze drifted up from the open box and became fixed on the dew droplets that had formed on the deep, black surface of the car’s roof. He watched as a single drop slid in slow motion to the edge of the open passenger’s door and hung in suspension for a lingering moment, then fell free. It twisted and sagged and turned in the moist night air, plummeting through the depths of night space, finally reaching the surface of the hardened driveway and exploding into a kaleidoscope of tiny beads of waterlight that formed a miniature cascading umbrella at his feet.
Mace looked up at Big Dog. Big Dog’s mouth was moving, but no sounds were coming out.
“I get this, Mace. I understand. I get it!”
Mace said nothing. He backed away and began to stagger along the sidewalk. Moon shadows pointed him in the correct direction. He stared down at the dirty runoff around a grating built into the curb. A pool of brown, stagnant water was seeping downward into the drain. Mace realized how beautiful and perfect it was. He was going home now. It didn’t matter which road he took. They all led there eventually.
Big Dog tossed the silver box back into the car. It bounced once on the seat and rolled onto the black, carpeted floor. He shut the passenger door, and pulled the gray sweatshirt he was wearing over his head and threw it aside, exposing his bare, hairless chest. “I’ve got the answer!” he cried and took off between houses, heading for the main highway a few blocks away.
Halfway to his intended destination, Big Dog stopped momentarily to unlace and discard his army boots, then resumed his quest in bare feet. As he hurried along, he unbuckled his baggy green trousers and pushed them off also. By the time he reached the main intersection of Route 50, he was completely naked. He ran onto the four-lane highway beneath the amber street lights, waving his hands, jumping up and down, and yelling at the early morning commuter traffic, “I’ve got the answer! I understand! I know the answer!”
He danced precariously among the early morning traffic. Drivers swerved wildly to avoid the nude man waving in the middle of the road. An off-duty reserve police officer finally came across the extraordinary event and pulled over to call for backup.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee awakened Markman. He found the hallway bath unoccupied and wrestled through a quick shower. He dressed from the small travel bag, stuffing yesterday’s jeans back in where today’s had been, and then followed his nose to the small, but tidy kitchen. A large empty mug that read “Ignorance can hurt you,” was waiting conspicuously on the counter, as was a tray of warped-looking biscuits and other unidentifiable breakfast delicacies. They all tasted unexpectedly good. Feeling full and mildly guilty, he retrieved the spare slide bolt that he had brought from his ransacked apartment and installed it on the front door using tools from the trunk of the Mustang—partial payment for his room and board. With a third, steaming cup of coffee in hand, he headed downstairs for the SCIP lab.
As expected, Cassiopia was already there, hanging over an open chest panel on Tel as it stood patiently by the Drack stacks. She wore a snug, tan, jumpsuit. A brown leather shoulder bag, that looked overstuffed, lay on the floor next to her. She glanced up nervously as he entered.
“Wow, did I just scare myself,” she said.
“What happened?”
“I was rushing through some fairly complex autonomy enhancements on Tel, and crashed the whole system! The personality stuff somehow got into my father’s analytical base. What a catastrophe that could have been!”
“It’s okay now?”
She snapped the panel shut and straightened up. “God, that scared me. The screen went completely black. I didn’t think it was going to come back. Then, thank heaven it just fixed itself! He was down for a good five minutes before he came back on. My father must have had virus protection or something in there, although I can’t imagine him taking the time to do something as nonessential as that.”
The robot waited quietly. Cassiopia patted it affectionately on its shoulder. “Tel, systems check.”
“Self-test complete. Ambulatory systems check complete. All systems nominal.”
“Guess I should quit while I’m ahead,” she said, with a sigh of relief. “Tel, bring up the SCIP.”
The robot responded immediately by taking small, slightly rocking steps to the left until it was facing the Drack control station, then began to methodically enter the requested start-up sequence.
“Oh boy.” Markman winced.
Cassiopia glanced up and smiled. “That’s right, Mr. Markman. Get ready.” She put a hand on the shoulder of the TEL and stood alongside as it finished clicking
in the SCIP start up sequence.
“There are some things I think you should know about what happened at the university.”
She stopped and gave her full attention to him, listening with intense interest as he explained the colorful, though sordid details of the runaway computer virus that had infiltrated the college’s central computer. She seemed distressed by it and found none of the scandal humorous. As he sympathetically recounted the description given of the unlikely old man who was suspect, she became even more disturbed.
“I know my father, Mr. Markman. Obviously that was not him, for several reasons. Certainly he could not endure a three-story jump. That had to be one of the college’s athletes.”
“And I agree with you. I just thought you should know about this before we continued.”
Cassiopia shook her head. “Thanks for filling me in. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing. It’s appalling.”
The Drack computer had begun to hum efficiently. Having completed its current task, Tel waited patiently at the controls for further requests. Cassiopia seemed momentarily distracted by Markman’s troubling report. Finally, she returned her attention to the robot. “Tel, engage the SCIP.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Very simple. This time we will maintain physical contact going through the door.”
“How do we do that?”
“It’s simple. We’ll hold hands. I think then we will emerge to a common environment on the other side. If it works, it will explain quite a bit.”
“Such as?”
“There’s no way I can go into right now. Just trust me until we get back. Then I’ll go over all of it with you. We’ll leave one of the homing devices just inside to show the way back. If it works, I’d like to leave it behind so that we can look for it on our next trip. That will tell me if there’s relativity between any one door manifestation and the next.”
“Personally I’m still really worried we might not be able to get back.”
“Thinking of backing out on me, Mr. Markman?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’m more concerned about the time distortion. It’s possible we could exit Dreamland and find ourselves in the past or even the extended future, never mind being trapped forever in a world that doesn’t make sense. It wouldn’t surprise me if you changed your mind.”
“Who are you trying to talk out of it, you or me?”
“We’ve done pretty well so far.”
“Man, that’s stretching it a bit, isn’t it?”
Cassiopia cast a discerning look. “I’m surprised more by you than anything else, Mr. Markman. You have no kindred interests in all of this, and yet you persist in helping me. You are in just as much danger as I am. Why do you continue?”
“I go where life leads me, Ms. Cassell. You probably wouldn’t understand my end of it.”
She paused and looked at him with a narrow stare, then turned and spoke to the robot. “Engage the SCIP transformer, Tel.” Before she had finished speaking, the robot was moving to comply. “Let me know if you start having any new second thoughts, Mr. Markman.”
“You’ll be the first. I promise.” An uneasy moment of silence followed, as though they both expected each other to back down. Neither did. The SCIP door crackled to life beside them, a stark reminder of the seriousness of what they had committed to. The sparkling mirror became alive again, ready and waiting, breaking the impasse.
Cassiopia stooped down and briefly rearranged her utility bag. She stood up, hoisted the strap over her head and shoulder, and came up beside him. They exchanged a quick look and headed up the blue ramp together, taking positions facing each other, next to their surreal, electronic reflections. With a touch of fear in her eye, she took his hand in hers.
“Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
They pushed through the silver membrane of the first mirror and found the empty corridor beyond. In unison they stepped across and into the vertical pool of the second mirror and pushed brazenly through to the other side of reality.
Chapter 13