The Broken Universe (17 page)

“Yeah, but this is so much bigger,” she said.

“I think you can do it, Grace,” John said.

She frowned. “I know I can do it!” she said. “But I don’t … trust myself to be fair about it.”

“What do you mean by that?” John asked.

Grace looked at John closely. “Do I seem normal to you? Do I seem like my old self?”

“More so than when we were in 7651,” John said.

“The depression is gone at least,” Grace said. “I’m glad to have something to do with the company. I’m happy to be busy. I … feel safer when I confide in my twin.”

“Sure,” John said, remembering the conversations he and Civil War John had had on the way to Kelleys Island.

“But all that dark emotion has been replaced with something darker still,” she said. “If I had all these resources at my disposal, I’d hunt the Alarians to the ends of the multiverse and eradicate them.”

“We don’t know for sure where they are,” John started.

“I’m sure Gesalex would confirm the destination universe once I place red-hot pincers on his testicles,” Grace said matter-of-factly.

“Oh.”

“Which is my way of saying, you should be in charge of this thing,” she said. “It’s safer.”

“You seem so…”

“Calm?” she said with a laugh. “My rage is quite rational.” She leaned in close and put her arms around John’s neck. “I don’t blame you, John. Don’t ever think that. I know how Henry feels. He blames himself too. But don’t think for a second that my anger is because of you.”

“Grace—”

“It’s mine, it’s all mine, and nurturing it gives me solace.”

“Grace—”

She stroked his face, and kissed him on the cheek.

“I appreciate what you’re going to say, but shut the hell up and just accept this for what it is,” she said.

“Okay, fine.”

“Good.”

In the end, John became president of Pinball Wizards, Transdimensional. All the rest of the team became board members. Each universe was managed by a single one of the board members, Prime in 7533, John Gold in 7458, Casey in 7650, and Grace Top in 7651. Those were the settled universes. They adopted Grace’s nomenclature for the universes. Instead of Universe 7533, they called it Prime. 7458 became Civil War Gold, truncated to Gold. 7650 was Home Office, or just Home. And 7651 was Top, their upper goalpost universe. Going beyond 7651 would always be risky since there was no guaranteed way back. If they went too low, the portable device could always take them higher.

Their mission statement was a more elegant version of John’s speech. The company existed to help people, whatever people each universe manager decided for his or her universe. For people in unsettled universes, it required a board vote. To open a new settled universe, the board voted as well. John and the Henrys would handle the research and development of the technology. All other projects would be at John’s discretion, with majority veto power of the board.

Their final bylaw provided membership into the company of any version of John, Henry, Grace, or Casey in any universe they deemed settled.

“It is our company,” Grace Home explained when she proposed the bylaw. “And by ‘our,’ I mean every version of us. Who else shares our beliefs, our mores, our vision? Who else will help us in what needs to be done?”

And so they voted, adopting the bylaws unanimously, and each signed their names. Under each signature, they printed the number of their universe. In this way, Pinball Wizards, Transdimensional, was born.

*   *   *

John decided that for 7458 and 7533—Gold and Prime—they would start construction of a static transfer gate immediately. He was reluctant to keep the old transfer gate operating in 7650, to prevent the Alarians from stealing it.

“I think we can get around that through obscuration,” Henry Home said. “Make it nearly impossible to run the gate without know-how.”

“Security by obscuration—” Henry Top said.

“—is no obscurity at all,” Henry Home said. “I know.”

“They probably have plans of it already, don’t they?” Civil War John said.

“And seeing another completed one would show them the error of their ways,” John said.

“We can’t risk them having an operational transfer gate,” Grace Home said.

“It makes travel in and out of 7650 hard,” John said.

“Maybe,” Henry Top said. “We have a solution for that, I think. Civil War John and I have been working on this.”

“What?”

“A precise timetable.”

“Huh?”

“The fixed gate—and I assume the portable one—doesn’t just go from one universe to the next,” Henry Top explained. “It swaps the matter in the transfer zone between the universes.”

“So?”

“It’s why we don’t have a sudden pop of air rushing into vacuum. The air in one universe changes places with the air in the other.” John remembered when he powered up the transfer gate in 7650 to a universe where there was still topsoil over the quarry area instead of bare rock. A huge sphere of dirt had appeared and slouched over immediately.

“Oh, I get it,” Henry Home said. “We just have to place whatever we want to move between universes in the right spot at the right time and it’ll get transferred over.”

“Yeah, exactly. If 7650 is the Home Office universe, it doesn’t need a working gate, just the timetable of when the transfer needs to take place.”

“This universe is Grand Central Station,” Casey said. “Grand Central Universe.”

“Sorta, yeah,” Henry Top said.

“I like it,” John said. “So, it sounds like in each settled universe we need to do the following. One, buy the land near the quarry and build a large factory or work structure. Two, buy the land near Bird Rock on Kelleys Island and ‘accidentally’ discover a few gold coins.”

Grace Home nodded. “That’ll get us seed money in each universe.”

“Then we can start building gates in 7458 and 7533,” John said. “The Johns there can start managing those universes.”

“And recruiting the Caseys, Henrys, and Graces in those universes,” Casey said. She looked at Civil War John. “Is there a Casey in your universe?”

Civil War John blushed. “Yes, but we haven’t … haven’t … uh … dated.”

“Well, you don’t have to date her,” she said with a smile, “but you’ll have a chance to talk to her.”

“Yeah, sure, but I don’t think she’ll believe me,” said Civil War John.

“She’d believe me!” Casey said.

“Which is a good point,” John said. “Recruiting our doppelgangers won’t always be easy.”

“That’s true,” Civil War John said.

“We need to figure out the best way to get them on board,” John said. He paused. “So, for the near term, we have our assignments. Any questions?”

Prime cleared his throat. “What about the expedition to find John Superprime?”

“Not for revenge—”

“No, no,” Prime said. “I just want to know where the device came from.”

“Corrundrum was shocked when he saw the personal device,” John said. “He only knew of devices that were also vehicles, ones that transferred multiple people inside them.”

“Thomas and Oscar,” Prime said. He paused. “Two … renegades I met in my travels felt the same way. The personal device isn’t normal.”

“Nor is the standing gate,” Henry Home said.

“No,” Prime said. “It’s a lead we should follow up on.”

“I agree,” John said after a pause. “All in favor of launching an expedition in search of John Superprime say aye.”

It was unanimous.

CHAPTER
13

John and Prime sat in the thicket near the Rayburn house in 7423, trying to spot John Superprime.

Prime watched intently, while John’s memory drifted, remembering bits and pieces of his childhood. He’d played in these brambles, picking blackberries in summer, tracking hares in winter. He reached out and plucked a succulent berry from the thorned bush. He crushed it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, feeling the hard seeds. He let the juice fill his mouth and then crunched the seeds.

Prime sighed and looked away from the house. They’d been there for three hours, hunched in the thicket about a hundred meters from the house, and had yet to see anybody around. Bill Rayburn’s old truck sat in the driveway, but there was no sign of any other car.

“You’re sure it was 7423?” John asked.

“As sure as you are that yours is 7533,” Prime replied.

“Was.”

Prime didn’t answer.

They’d left a few days after their first meeting, long enough to order the parts for two more transfer gates, one for 7458 and one for 7533.

“The grass is long,” Prime said. “It hasn’t been mowed. That isn’t like Dad.”

“Yeah.”

“The barn needs paint. He should have come out to feed the animals at least. Something.”

“If he’s home,” John said. “He could be away for the day, running errands. We’ve been here only a couple hours.”

“I know.”

Prime leaned back, picked one blackberry after another, then he jammed the entire handful into his mouth.

They waited another hour, and still there was no sign of movement in the house. Finally, Prime stood up. “Let’s find a pay phone.”

“Okay.”

They dashed across the road and crossed the old quarry lot to the far side where the new subdivision was. There was a gas station at the end of Bell Avenue, an old Clark station. Next to the air-pressure valve stood a pay phone, bolted to an overhead lamp. Hanging from a chain in a plastic sleeve was a phone book.

“Look, John Rayburn, Franklin Street,” Prime said.

“He’s living in town,” John said.

“Come on.”

Prime wore a baseball cap, while John went hatless. Still he was certain they appeared identical from any distance. The same gait, the same height, the same face. But even if they were seen by someone who knew John Superprime, did it really matter? They were practically pros at transdimensional travel now. They knew what to do, what to say if they were spotted, questioned. How many worlds had they been to combined? Hundreds.

Franklin Street was part of the oldest area of Findlay. The bigger houses had been broken up into apartments.

“Casey and I used to live around here,” Prime said. “Not here, but you know what I mean. One street over.” He paused, seemed to shudder.

“Not good times?”

“No,” Prime said. “Carson.” The one word explained it all. Ted Carson was John’s nemesis in every universe, it seemed, a troll, a petulant bully.

They found the house, and John spotted a yellow Trans-Am in the alleyway behind the house.

“Look,” he said. “Some things don’t change.”

“He’s here,” Prime said.

“Let’s knock.”

They entered the vestibule of the house. A table under four mailboxes built into the wall was covered in magazines, newspapers, and circulars. J. Rayburn and E. Finch were in 2B. They climbed the stairs.

“He has a roommate,” John said.

“Yep. You know any Finch?”

“No, do you?”

“No.”

They stopped at the door to 2B, listening through the door to a TV blaring a baseball game. They shared a glance, and Prime knocked.

They heard a voice. “You wanna get that, Elliott?” Even muffled through the door, they recognized the voice.

“Yeah,” someone replied.

The TV volume slackened and someone clomped to the door. Prime took off his hat as the bolt slid away.

“Yeah?”

Elliott Finch was a tall, stringy fellow with a scraggly beard and bloodshot eyes.

“Oh, shit, man,” he said. He turned and called, “It’s for you, John.”

“I’ll be right there,” John Superprime called. Then he appeared from the bathroom at the end of the hall wiping his hands on his pants.

His smile faded to a look of shock as he saw Prime and John standing in his doorway. He took a step, stumbling as his knee failed to hold him.

“Oh, two of you. Yeah, sure.” He caught himself on the edge of the couch.

Elliott shook his head as if he had water in his ear. “Whoa,” he muttered.

John watched Prime for some sign of intent or aggression, but he seemed relaxed.

Prime said, “John, we need to talk.”

*   *   *

John Superprime was shaking as he took the steps one at a time, both hands gripping the rail. Prime watched him intently, staying at the top of the stairs until he had made it halfway. John followed Prime, casting a quick glance at Elliott Finch; he returned the look with wasted eyes and slack features. John had not failed to notice the drug paraphernalia on the table—a water bong, matches, leafy substances—and the smell of incense.

“Yeah, we do,” John Superprime mumbled. “We do need to talk. Got a lot to talk about. Helluva lot.” His foot missed the last step and he stumbled, almost landing face-first on the wood floor.

“He’s wasted,” Prime whispered.

“Or scared to death,” John replied.

“Both.”

“Better take his arm,” John said.

Prime took the rest of the steps three at a time, reaching John Superprime as he flung about for a hold on something.

“This way.”

He walked him out the front door and around the side of the house toward the alleyway. A small wooden shed painted the same tan as the house abutted the alley. The Trans-Am sat next to it.

John Prime pushed John Superprime against the wall of the shed in disgust. Superprime kept touching his face, looking up at them, and touching his face again.

“This is real, right?” he said finally.

Prime snorted.

“Yeah, it’s real,” John said.

“Yeah? But why are there two of you? Huh? Why two?” John Superprime put his face in his hands and started sobbing. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Yeah, well, you did,” Prime said.

“I didn’t mean to kill her,” Superprime continued.

Prime stared at him. “What? Did you hurt Casey? What the hell?”

“It was dark, you know? Rainy. I was fine, but she—”

Prime grabbed Superprime by the collar. “What did you do to her? What did you do?”

“I was fine, totally fine. But she got thrown and she was dead right there.”

“How could you have done that to Casey, you bastard?”

John pried Prime’s hands off Superprime’s throat. Superprime slumped against the shed, landing hard on the ground.