Authors: Joe Kimball
He smiles. The finger knife had been a last-minute addition to the suit—a precautionary measure in case the parachutes didn’t detach as designed. It turned out to be a very smart move. He never would have gotten the TEV from Talon otherwise.
Who could have predicted the mouse would have a Nife? Talon had played it smart, kept it hidden until the last possible moment. But in the end, even that hadn’t been enough.
Sata plummets into the Tesla field. He’s already pressed the ionizer button, shielding his suit against the incredible amount of electrical energy. The whole world turns bright blue.
Bringing the TEV close to his face, Sata squints at the clock.
1:01 . . . 1:00 . . . 0:59 . . . 0:58 . . .
This next part is going to be tricky. Sata should still be able to vanquish most of Chicago, but he’ll have to aim it manually. He won’t be able to implode as wide of an area, but—
Sata hears a tremendous thunderclap, louder than anything he’s ever experienced before, and at the same time sees a flash of superb right light.
Then he doesn’t see anything at all.
Sata understands what just happened. The ionizer is supposed to form a defensive antistatic barrier around his suit. But when Talon had slashed his visor, he’d also put a hole in the ion shield. Lightning, like water, takes the path of least resistance.
The Mastermind screams.
He screams at his miscalculation.
He screams at the ruination of his calculated plan.
He screams at the mouse, who somehow managed to beat him.
But most of all, he screams in pain, because both of his eyeballs have just exploded and are leaking all over his cheeks.
FIFTY-ONE
I braced my entire body as I fell into the Tesla field. You’d think I would have gotten used to being zapped by electricity by now, having been subjected to enough volts to power a small city for a year, but the thought of the ensuing pain still made me want to curl up in a fetal position and suck my thumb.
Incredibly, the pain didn’t come.
Everything became bright blue, and thousands—millions—of lightning flashes streaked sideways, diagonally, up and down, all around. Beautiful, and potentially deadly. But none of them zapped me.
I credited the ionizer button, and then tilted my body face-first, looking for Sata.
Incredibly, I found him.
Even more incredibly, he was the one curled up fetal, clutching the TEV to his chest. By dipping my shoulders I was able to increase my rate of descent. We both fell through the bottom of the Tesla field and into open sky just as I bumped into him.
The TEV went spinning off, away from us.
I stared at my mentor for a moment, saw the blood caking the inside of his visor, and wondered if he was even still alive. Then his fist shot out and he chucked me under the chin, knocking me away as he sailed off in the opposite direction.
It wasn’t even a choice of what to chase. I splayed out my arms and legs to slow down, then went after the TEV.
I didn’t know how much time I had left, but I figured I wouldn’t have a second chance if I screwed up. The TEV was spinning like a top. Depending on how long the wormhole stayed open, it could potentially swallow up a good portion of the earth, along with me, the moon, and anything else the lens passed over. I sidled up close to it and reached out a finger, giving the corner a tap. It slowed the spin enough for me to read the counter.
0:11 . . . 0:10 . . .
Rather than freak out, I brought my arms in closer to my body . . .
Increasing my speed . . .
And accidentally bumped the TEV out of reach.
0:08 . . . 0:07 . . .
The very definition of calm and cool, I once again accelerated . . .
Carefully stretched out my hand . . .
Accidentally bumping the TEV out of reach again.
I didn’t get this far to lose because of panic or impatience. Plus, my nudges weren’t a total loss. I’d managed to get it to stop spinning.
Unfortunately, the lens was now facing the earth. And, be it coincidence or some omnipotent force controlling the universe who enjoyed irony, the TEV was aiming right at Chicago.
0:05 . . . 0:04 . . .
The wind blew me off to the side. I dropped my right flank . . .
Sped up . . .
Got in close again . . .
And clasped my arms around the TEV—
—accidentally bumping it out of reach for the third time.
0:03 . . . 0:02 . . .
Fuck being careful.
I plowed into the damn thing hard, wrapped my arms around it, and aimed the lens at the giant blue expanse of Lake Michigan.
The TEV shuddered, and I heard a
whump
.
As I stared, a section in the middle of the great lake hollowed out, like a giant ice-cream scoop had been taken to it. Millions—maybe billions—of gallons of water vanished.
Then the water filled in the indentation, rushing back on all sides at once, causing the blue to turn white with an enormous splash.
Chicago was safe. Plus I still had the TEV, which could be used to bring Boise back.
I allowed myself a small grin. All in a day’s work. Cue the applause.
Compared to saving eight million people at the last possible second, the remainder of the free fall should be cake. I wrapped the TEV strap around my wrist and hit button “5” for
cruciform
.
The square parachute billowed open above me—a jarring sensation but nothing I wasn’t able to handle. The toggle ropes dropped down next to my hands and I grabbed them tight, braking and steering and making my way north up the coast of Lake Michigan, miles past Chicago.
Opening my chute this high above the earth’s surface meant a long and turbulent descent. I spent the time alternating between adjusting my course and scanning the skies for Sata.
I didn’t see him.
I postulated on his survival rate. From the blood inside his helmet, I guessed his eyes had popped in the Tesla field. He could have still released his chute and landed safely, but my fifteen-minute scan of the sky didn’t reveal him.
I turned my thoughts to Vicki, Alter-Talon, Teague, Boise, and the poison coursing through my system. Hopefully I’d be able to wrap up some of these loose ends, perhaps even with the authorities on my side. Certainly there were cameras at the Arthur C. Clarke Station, which showed Sata on his rampage. It would be nice to stop running and get some actual help instead. While I couldn’t figure out how the wormhole TEV worked, I had no doubt some government egghead could.
The wind got stronger, whipping me around. Though I was still a long way from safety, the adrenaline had worn off and I actually yawned. I adjusted my direction, heading toward Milwaukee and my wife.
That was when the first bolt of Tesla lightning hit me.
It was a big bolt, obviously from a Tesla Taser satellite. I should have guessed that once I fell into US airspace I was being monitored. My displacement of Lake Michigan water, instead of being viewed as a heroic act that saved a city, could have been mistaken for an attack.
Another bolt struck me, confirming my hypothesis. Luckily, Sata’s hypersuit deflected the charge. But I knew TTS would only be the first strike. Next would probably be—
—missiles. Two of them. Ground to air, coming up fast. I stared down between my legs and watched them rocket up at me, trailing long plumes of gray smoke.
FIFTY-TWO
Some days a guy just can’t catch a break.
If the TTS had locked onto me, the missiles had locked on as well. I guessed them to be airburst, which meant they wouldn’t even need to hit me to kill me. They would explode within a few hundred feet, the shock wave and shrapnel ripping me to shreds.
I tried to recall if anything in my peace officer training dealt with dodging missiles while parachuting at fifty thousand feet, and came up empty. But I hadn’t gone this far to get shot out of the sky like a fat, lazy duck.
Pulling up the TEV to chest level, I fumbled with the counter, trying to find a button or knob to reset the countdown. Sata wouldn’t make it obvious. But there had to be some way to program it, some way to reset the wormhole.
I glanced beneath me. The missiles had gotten much bigger, and I could hear the roar of their engines. I didn’t have much time left.
The normal TEVs—the ones that didn’t transport matter to dinosaur planets—worked by tuning in to the fabric of spacetime. When I pet the bunny and found the octeract point, I did it through concentration and slight adjustments of the control knob.
This TEV didn’t have a control knob. Or did it?
What if the knob wasn’t physical?
I remembered when Sata set the device. He’d done so without touching anything. He’d closed his eyes, and the LED had begun its countdown.
I closed my eyes as well, letting my brain stretch out into infinity, trying to block out the missiles, the environment, and all physical sensation. Not the easiest thing to do while parachuting, exhausted, and terrified, but I didn’t have time to fail. Instead of manipulating a knob, I imagined it, fine-tuning until my mind was flooded with light and the bunny appeared.
I pictured the bunny with a timer on its head that displayed 0:03.
When I opened my eyes, the TEV displayed three seconds, and was counting down.
The missiles were within airburst range. I pointed the lens and held my breath.
The counter reached 0:00.
The TEV shuddered.
The missiles disappeared. So did another chunk of Lake Michigan. I hoped I hadn’t hit any boaters.
“Can anyone hear me?” I asked. I had no idea what radio frequency the helmet microphone was tuned to, or how far its range was, but it was worth a shot. “This is Talon Avalon. I’m carrying a device that can destroy the entire city.”
“This is the Chicago Coast Guard,”
came the response.
“What are your demands?”
Demands? “Uh, it would be nice if you stopped firing missiles at me.”
“Why are you shooting your device at Lake Michigan?”
“It’s not my device. It belongs to Michio Sata. He programmed it to destroy Chicago, and I jumped out of a space station to stop him.”
No answer.
“Hello?”
I wondered if I’d gone out of range. I checked around for more missiles, but didn’t see any. Maybe they actually listened.
Leaving the TEV to hang from my wrist once again, I altered my course, continuing on to Milwaukee.
“Avalon, this is Mayor George W. Dailey. You really think you can force your demands on the great city of Chicago and get away with it?”
“My only demand is for you to stop shooting missiles at me.”
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists, Avalon. And we won’t bend in the face of extortion.”
“What am I extorting?”
“You’re scum, Avalon. There isn’t a place on earth you’ll be able to hide. We’ll hunt you down like the rat you are.”
So much for getting the authorities on my side.
“Listen up, Mayor Dipshit, because I’m only going to say this once. Leave. Me. Alone. Any further attempt to talk to me, shoot at me, or otherwise engage me in any way will be viewed as an attack and will be dealt with harshly.”
More silence.
“Hello? Mayor Asshole? You there?”
“Look, Mr. Avalon, my legal advisors have informed me that I may have come off a bit, um, harsh, and they’d like me to once again ask what your demands are. Under no circumstances do we want to provoke you any in way.”
I didn’t trust politicos, especially Chicago politicos. But if they thought I was a real threat, maybe they’d give me some breathing room.
“Here’s what I want, Dailey. I want you guys to check out the video from the space elevator station earlier today. I also want you to locate Neil Winston and interrogate him. He’s in Zelda Peterson’s apartment at thirteen twenty-two Wacker.”
“What do you want us to ask him?”
“Ask him what he knows.”
“Anything else?”
I thought it over. “Yeah. I want my neighbor, Norm Chomsky, to go on the six o’clock news tonight, and apologize to me for being a dick.”
“Which channel?”
“All of them. And better make it national news.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all. Now, stay out of my way, and don’t try to contact me again. My device is wired to my heartbeat. Any attempt to attack me will destroy fifty square miles.”
“You have my word I’ll do everything in my power to see your demands are met.”
Satisfied I’d be left alone, I drifted toward Milwaukee to save Vicki and face my doppelganger.
FIFTY-THREE
I was sure my every move was being watched when I landed without incident on a rocky beach several miles south of Milwaukee. I disconnected the chute, watching it blow into the water, and then retied the TEV to my chest.
The authorities apparently believed the “wired to my heartbeat” bullshit and gave me a wide berth. I kept my space suit on just in case someone got cute with the Tesla satellites, but had to remove my helmet to call Vicki. It was nice to breathe fresh air again, and listening to the waves lap against the shore was tranquil, almost peaceful.
“Hello?”
Hearing my wife’s voice brought tears to my eyes.
“Vicki? Are you okay?”
“Talon? Why are you calling me from the bathroom?”
My whole body tensed up. “Vicki, listen to me carefully. That’s not me in the bathroom. You have to get out of there.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Run away. Right now.”
“You’re not making sense. I’m with you right now.”
“The man you’re with looks like me, but he isn’t me. He’s the killer the cops are after. Tell me where you are right now.”
“I’m at—”
“Who are you talking to?”