Kill Switch (31 page)

“How … how bad is it?” asked Prospero, his voice thick with pain and shock.

“Your face is still pretty, if that matters,” said King.

“It hurts,” moaned Prospero. “You got anything?”

King held out the Coke bottle. “It's high octane.”

He helped Prospero sit up and steadied the bottle while his friend sipped. Prospero gagged at first. It had to be at least three-quarters vodka. But he took a breath and took a second sip. And then a couple of gulps.

King sat back and took a pull, too.

“El Comandante told me that you won't be leaving us tomorrow,” he said. “I think he had a boner when he said it. Your dad must have written him another check.”

Prospero nodded.

They passed the bottle back and forth.

King sipped some booze. “What exactly is the God Machine anyway? You said it was some kind of EMP thing?”

“That's only part of it. It's not an EMP, it's a null field. It interrupts electrical conductivity above a certain level. Anything stronger than the central nervous system of a person. Machines.”

“He already has that, though. I mean … isn't that what he took when you were a kid?”

Prospero nodded again. He felt like something was broken inside and could not tell if that was true or not. It felt like he was dying.

“He stole a prototype. It was the best I could do at the time, but it wasn't right. I've … learned so much since then.”

“And—?”

“And it doesn't work. There is a brief null field when you switch it on, but the core processors melt down. It's useless. I've been working on fixing it, and I've been giving him bits and pieces of it. What I really need are the last of the Unlearnable Truths. There's a code hidden in some of the books. I think I've figured out how to find it, but I don't have all the right books.”

“A code for what?”

“It's complicated.”

“Tell me anyway,” said King.

Prospero wiped a trickle of blood from his ear. “The God Machine is built like a particle accelerator, only instead of colliding particles it superaccelerates them to open a doorway.”

“To—?”

“Another world,” said Prospero. “If I'm right, then maybe to an infinite number of other worlds.”

“You lost me. You talking like Mars and Jupiter and shit?”

“No. I said it wrong. Imagine that there are an infinite number of worlds. Each is almost identical to Earth except in one little way. Like in one world I have blue eyes instead of green. Like that. Some of the differences would be so subtle that you could never tell. You might never see where the difference is. But some would be radically different because of cause and effect. If the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs had hit another chunk of space rock first it might have broken up and been smaller, which wouldn't have killed all the dinosaurs. Or it might have been bigger and destroyed the world. Or it could have hit later in the day and because of planetary rotation hit a different part of the world. You see how many possibilities there are? It's chaos theory applied to interdimensional physics.” Prospero took a ragged breath. Talking was helping him regain control. His knowledge was the level place on which he could find balance. “Now, imagine the possibilities. If we can access all these worlds, we can find worlds where, for whatever reason, humans never evolved. Those worlds would have no pollution and all of the natural resources would be untouched. You could mine them for minerals or you could move there. Or just let humanity expand outward through an infinite number of worlds.”

“Wow. And that's what your dad wants?”

“I wish. Right now he wants to use the side effects. The null field and some other stuff. I don't know that he even believes in the omniverse.”

“But you do?”

“Yes. I think I came from one of those other worlds. Somehow. I don't know how. But I believe it. And I think my god is not the god of this world, but the god of some other universe, and I can feel him calling me home.”

King took a sip, thought about it, took another, and handed the bottle back. “That is some deep, deep shit.”

“I know. It's the fundamental belief in my personal faith.”

“Um. Sure. So what's the problem? Why not just finish the machine you built here and go the fuck home?”

“I wish. The problem is that in order for the God Machine to cycle high enough to open the door, the power has to be very precisely regulated through a network of crystals. Gemstones.”

“Like the ones you have to check out of Stark's office every morning.”

“Yes. But having the gems doesn't solve the problem. The sequence of channeling power through the crystals is the key. There is only one way to do it to allow the God Machine to cycle up to full power. Use the wrong sequence and as soon as you rev above a low idle there are catastrophic errors.”

King grinned. “Like when you blew the ass off this place?”

“Like that, yes.”

“Have you figured it out? Do you know the sequence and are just keeping it from your old man?” asked King. “I mean … have you actually solved it?”

Prospero turned and took a long, hard look at his friend. “Why are you asking me this?” Fear suddenly leapt up in Prospero's heart. “Oh my God … please don't tell me you're in on it.…”

“In on…?” Then King stopped and smiled. “You think I'm a snitch for Stark? You think I'm a snitch for your dad?”

Prospero was too frightened to say anything. He felt lost. Totally lost. He wished he still had the stone carving of his god, but Stark had taken that from him on his first day at Ballard.

King nodded. “Yeah, I can see how shit-scared you are right now. You're paranoid as fuck and I don't blame you. Your dad—your own dad—sold you out and he's keeping you here as a slave. That's some rough shit. And you're a cash cow for Stark. Your dad must be shoveling gold at him.” King shimmied closer. “Now, you listen to me, man, and you listen good. I don't give a high-flying shit about much. I hate my family and I hate everyone in this shit hole of a place. I'd burn it to the ground if I had somewhere else to go, and yeah, that's fucked up because I don't have anywhere else to go. You want to know how many times I laid in my bunk and thought of killing myself? I could do it, too. There are a lot of ways to do it right and I know them all. Here's the thing, though; you want to know why I haven't hopped the night train? You want to know the only goddamn reason I'm still alive and still want to be alive?”

He leaned forward and poked Prospero in the chest.

“You. Laugh if you want to. Make fun of me, or do whatever, but it's true. You are the only friend I've ever had. That's sad, too. Cry me a river, but there it is. Since you came here it's been you and me. I don't like anyone else and I sure as shit don't trust anyone else. You and me, Prospero. A couple of rejects kicked to the curb by everyone who is supposed to give a damn. Sad, sad story. Someone should make a movie. Girls would cry buckets.”

He poked him again.

“Now, you want to start thinking I'm with them? Really? Me? Holy fuck, Prospero, you want to go and do that to me?”

There were tears in King's eyes.

“You're my brother,” he said, almost snarling the words. “You're the only one who ever gave a shit about me and you're the only one I ever or will ever give a shit about. We live out in the storm lands, man. Don't cut me loose now. Don't let me drown. Fuck … I'd die for you.” He caved forward and pressed his forehead against Prospero's. “I'd fucking die for you.”

It took a lot for Prospero to move, or to want to move, but he did. He lifted his aching arms and wrapped them around the weeping boy's shoulders. He held him.

And it occurred to him that he had never held anyone like this before. Not even his mother.

King kept repeating what he'd said.

“I'd die for you.”

After a long, long time, Prospero whispered something to him. A statement and a question. A counter to King's promise.

“I don't want you to die for me,” he said. “But would you kill for me?”

 

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

SCRIPPS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL LA JOLLA

9888 GENESEE AVENUE

LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA

SEPTEMBER 7, 7:41
A.M.

The following morning Sam told me that Rudy was stable and resting. Church had arranged for the top orthopedic surgeon in California to fly in and do the repair work, but the prognosis was that Rudy would likely need more work later. Sam said that he heard them talking about a total knee replacement. That was the leg Rudy had smashed in a helicopter crash a couple of years ago. A replacement was inevitable, so they'd schedule it as soon as his other injuries were healed.

The neck sprain was bad because neck sprains are always bad, and they were keeping him heavily sedated while they assessed it. His nose was a mess and he'd probably need to get some work done on that, too. I felt absolutely horrible. Rudy was my best friend. He was a gentle person and a far better man than I'll ever be. No one had a clue as to why he'd gone crazy. Sam said that the blood tests they'd taken all came out negative. We were waiting on results of a CT scan and other tests.

Except for Sam, I was not allowed to have any other visitors. The DMS lawyers had to earn their retainers by keeping me from being arrested. You know the expression “cluster-fuck”? Yeah, well this is pretty much going to be the gold standard example of that henceforth.

I tried to pump Sam for news about Gateway, but he parried my questions by claiming ignorance—which was probably bullshit—and by saying that Mr. Church planned to debrief me personally. That meant that he was probably told to play dumb, and you can't trick information out of Sam Imura.

The only good news was that they decided to let me go home. Or, maybe it was that they were happy to get rid of me. I'm a terrible patient. Lots of bitching, yelling, threats, escape attempts. I don't make life easy for anyone and the staff seemed happy as hell to wheel me down to the front door. Pretty sure the orderly thought long and hard about shoving my wheelchair into traffic.

Junie was there, waiting for me at the curb. She came running to grab me, hold me, damn near squeeze the life out of me, showering my face with dozens of small kisses, tears in her eyes. Ghost was with her and he barked very loudly and bounded around like a puppy until I gave him a big hug and a kiss on his furry head. From the haunted look in Junie's eyes I could tell that she knew some of what had happened. Maybe not the Gateway stuff, but about the flu and about Rudy. I heard her whisper to Sam and heard him tell her that Rudy was stable.

“Stable” is a nice word but it's often used as a lie, a comfort pill.

Sam drove me home, with Junie holding me in the back of a DMS SUV and Ghost staring at me from the front shotgun seat. At home, I had to lean on Junie and Sam to make it from car to elevator and elevator to bed. After Sam left I used a cane left over from a previous injury to thump my way onto the balcony. The Pacific was a gorgeous blue and there were spouts from whales migrating north. Seagulls and pelicans floated on the breeze. Junie made coffee and kept feeding me high-protein foods. I'd lost weight and energy and she was doing her level best to fatten me up and bring me back to life.

It was working, too. I felt better as the day went on and by the following day the cane went back into the closet. Let me clarify that … I felt physically better but my head and my heart still hurt.

Rudy. Damn it.

The tough part was trying to fill in the blanks of everything that had happened while I was out. And a lot had happened. I got some of it from Junie, and Sam had doled out a few thin slices of news, and some of it came from my secretary, Lydia-Rose, who kept calling every five minutes to make sure I hadn't wasted away and died.

Top and Bunny were okay. Both of them had come out of it sooner than me. Bunny was back in the gym as soon as he could walk, and when the physical therapists asked him to do ten reps he did twenty. He'd already put back a lot of the weight he lost. Lydia was taking very good care of him. Bunny and Lydia had maintained a relationship for years that was technically against DMS protocols. But since I'm his boss and I broke that same fraternization rule within two weeks of signing on I was not about to throw stones. Top and I gave him a big-brother chat once, and he told us to go fuck ourselves, so there was that. Since moving to San Diego he and Lydia had bought a cottage on the beach in Encinitas. Cute little place. Never would have figured Bunny for having a green thumb, but he does the gardening. He taught Lydia how to surf and she taught him how to dance. Love, baby. It keeps the old world spinning.

Top was another matter. He's not as young as Bunny. He was almost ten years older than me and I was eight years older than Bunny. None of those had been easy years for Top. He'd been marked by our war. Marked by bullet and blade, fang and claw. And now by disease. He was back to work at the Pier, but on light duty.

I kept trying to get Church on the line but he was always busy. Lydia-Rose and Sam had both been evasive about why. Something was going on and they had clearly been instructed not to tell me. Maybe it was because Church didn't want to overload me before I was well enough. Or maybe not. I learned that he was at the Pier, and so I informed Junie that I was going into work the next day.

We had a big fight about that. Shouting, throwing of things. Some tears. Some very careful make-up sex.

In the morning she gave me the car keys she'd hidden. Along with a paper sack filled with protein bars, vitamins, and lots of other healthy crap. She made me swear, hand to God, that I wouldn't toss it in the Dumpster in the parking garage.

That night, while we were lying there, naked and sweaty and entwined, I found out that Junie was dealing with problems other than her drowsy and frequently irritable boyfriend. Someone had broken into FreeTech, the company she runs. Church set the company up and hired her to run it, and mostly she takes some of the less lethal technologies the DMS confiscates from the bad guys and mad scientists we fight and then repurposes them for humanitarian aid around the world. Funny how there are useful side effects even from evil science. Crazy old world. In any case, when Church sent me to San Diego to open the Pier, he moved the headquarters of that company out here, as well. Junie now has seven hundred employees in forty-six countries, but only a handful of them know the source of these radical technologies.