The Traveler (22 page)

"So what's changed?" Michael asked. "Why haven't you killed me?"

"Our scientists started working on something called a quantum computer and received unexpected results. I'm not going to give you the details this evening, Michael. All you need to know is that a Traveler can help us achieve an incredible breakthrough in technology. If the Crossover Project works, history will be changed forever."

"And you want me to become a Traveler?"

"Yes.
Exactly."

Michael got up from the couch and approached General Nash. By now he had recovered from his reaction to the infrared scanner. Perhaps these people could read his heart rate and skin temperature, but that wasn't going to change anything.

"A few minutes ago you said that your organization attacked my family's house."

"I had nothing to do with that, Michael. It was a regrettable incident."

"Even if I agreed to forget about the past and help you, that doesn't mean that it's possible. I don't know how to `travel' anywhere. My father didn't teach us anything but sword fighting with bamboo sticks."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. Have you seen our research center?" Nash motioned with his hand and Michael looked out the window. Security lights illuminated the guarded compound. Nash's office was on the top floor of a modern office building connected to three other buildings by covered walkways. In the middle of the quadrangle was a fifth building that looked like a white
cube.
The marble walls of the cube were thin enough so that the interior light made the building glow from within.

"If you have the potential to be a Traveler, then we have the staff and technology necessary to help you achieve this power. In the past, Travelers have been instructed by heretical priests, dissenting ministers, and rabbis trapped in the ghetto. The whole process was dominated by religious faith and mysticism. Sometimes it didn't work. As you can see, there's nothing disorganized about our operation."

"Okay. It's clear that you've got some big buildings and a lot of money. That still doesn't mean I'm a Traveler."

"If you succeed, you'll help us change history. Even if you fail, we'll set you up in a comfortable environment. You'll never have to work again.

"And what if I refuse to cooperate?"

"I don't think that's going to happen. Don't forget, I know all about you, Michael. Our staff has been investigating you for several weeks. Unlike your brother, you're the ambitious one."

"Leave Gabriel out of this," Michael said sharply. "I don't want anybody looking for him."

"We don't need Gabriel. We have you. And now I'm offering you a great opportunity. You're the future, Michael. You're going to be the Traveler who will truly bring peace to the world."

"People will still keep fighting."

"Remember what I told you? It's all just fear and distraction. Fear will get people into our Virtual Panopticon and then we'll keep them happy. People will be free to take antidepressant drugs, go into debt, and stare at their television sets. Society might seem disorganized, but it will be very stable. Every few years we'll pick a different mannequin to give speeches from the White House Rose Garden."

"But who's really in control?"

"The Brethren, of course.
And you'll be part of our family, guiding us forward."

Nash put his hand on Michael's shoulder. It was a friendly gesture as if he were a kind uncle or a new stepfather.
Guide us forward,
Michael thought.
Part of our family.
He stared out the window at the white building.

General Nash turned away from him and walked over to the bar. "Let me pour you another drink. We'll order dinner—sirloin or sushi, whatever you wish. And then we'll talk. Most people go through life never knowing the truth about the major events of their time. They're watching a farce performed at the edge of the stage while the real drama is going on behind the curtain.

"Tonight I'll raise the curtain and we'll walk backstage and see how the props work and what's behind the set and how the actors behave in the dressing room. Half the things you've been taught in school are just convenient fictions. History is a puppet show for childish minds."

Gabriel woke up in the motel room and saw that Maya was gone. Without making a sound, she had left her bed and gotten dressed. He found it strange that she had neatly tucked in the blanket and folded the two pillows into the frayed cotton bedspread. It was as if she wanted to erase all signs of her presence, the fact that the two of them had spent the night in the same space.

He sat up in bed and leaned against the creaky headboard. Ever since they had left Los Angeles, he had thought about what it meant to be a Traveler. Was everyone just a biological machine? Or was there something eternal within each living thing, a spark of energy that Maya called the Light? Even if that was true, it didn't mean that he had the power.

Gabriel tried to think about another world, but he found himself overcome by random thoughts. He couldn't control his mind. It jumped around like a chattering monkey in a cage, throwing up images of old girlfriends, motorcycle races down a mountain, and lyrics from a song. He heard a buzzing sound and opened his eyes. A fly was bashing itself against the windowpane.

Angry with himself, he walked into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. Maya, Hollis, and Vicki had risked their lives for him, but they were going to be disappointed. Gabriel felt like a gate crasher at a party who was pretending to be someone important. The Pathfinder—if he existed—would laugh at his pretensions.

When he returned to the main room, he saw that Maya's travel bag and laptop computer were sitting beside the door. That meant that she was somewhere nearby. Had she taken the van and gone to buy food? Not possible. There were no restaurants or grocery stores in the area.

Gabriel got dressed and stepped out into the courtyard parking area. The old lady who ran the motel had switched off the neon sign and her office was dark. The dawn sky was a lavender color with thin silvery clouds. He walked around the south wing of the motel and saw Maya standing on a concrete slab in the middle of some sagebrush. The concrete looked like the foundation for a house that had been abandoned to the desert.

Maya must have found a steel rod at the construction site. Holding it like a sword, she ran through a series of ritual forms and combinations, similar to the ones he had seen in his kendo school.
Parry.
Thrust. Defend. Each motion glided gracefully into another.

From a distance, he could observe Maya and stay detached from her single-minded intensity. Gabriel had never met anyone like this Harlequin. He knew she was a warrior who would kill without hesitation, but there was also something pure and honest in the way she faced the world. Watching her practice, Gabriel wondered if she cared about anything other than this ancient obligation, the violence that had claimed her life.

A discarded broom was lying beside the motel's dumpster. He broke off the broom section and carried the stick over to the concrete slab. When Maya saw him, she stopped moving and lowered her improvised weapon.

"I've taken a few kendo lessons, but you look like an expert," he said. "Do you want to practice sparring?"

"Harlequins must never fight Travelers."

"I might not be a Traveler, okay? We should accept that possibility" Gabriel waved the broomstick around. "And this isn't exactly a sword."

He gripped the stick with both hands, and then attacked her at half speed. Maya parried gently and swung her weapon around to his left side. The soles of his motorcycle boots made a faint scraping sound as they moved across the concrete rectangle. For the first time, he felt like Maya was looking at him, treating him as an equal. She even smiled a few times when he blocked her attack and tried to surprise her with an unexpected move. Fighting with grace and precision, they moved beneath the enormous sky.

It began to get hot as they crossed the state border into Nevada. The moment they left California, Gabriel pulled off his motorcycle helmet and tossed it into the van. He slipped on some sunglasses and roared ahead of Maya. She watched the wind touch his shirtsleeves and the cuffs of his jeans. Turning southeast, they headed toward the Colorado River and the crossing point at Davis Dam. Red rocks.
Saguaro cactus.
Waves of hot air shimmering on the blacktop.
Near a town called Searchlight, Maya saw a series of hand-lettered signs by the side of the road.
PARADISE
DINER.
FIVE MILES. LIVE COYOTE! SHOW THE KIDS! THREE MILES.
PARADISE
DINER.
EAT!

Gabriel gestured with his hand—let's
have
breakfast—and when the Paradise Diner appeared he turned into the dirt parking lot. The diner was a flat-topped building that looked like a railroad boxcar with windows. A large air-conditioning unit was installed on the roof. Holding the sword carrying case, Maya got out of the van and studied the building before she decided to go inside. Front entrance.
Back entrance.
A battered red pickup truck was parked in front of the diner and a second pickup with a camper shell was parked on the side.

Gabriel strolled over to her. He shifted his shoulders around, relaxing his knotted muscles. "I don't think we need that," he said and motioned to the sword case. "We're just eating breakfast, Maya. It's not World War Three."

She saw herself in Gabriel's eyes.
Harlequin craziness.
Constant paranoia.
"My father trained me to carry weapons at all times."

"Relax," Gabriel said. "It'll be all right." And she saw, in some new way, his face and eyes and brown hair.

Turning away from him, Maya took a deep breath and placed the sword inside the van. Don't worry, she told herself. Nothing's going to happen. But she checked the two knives that were strapped to her arms.

The coyote was kept in a chain-link cage built near the front of the restaurant. Sitting on a concrete slab dotted with piles of scat, the captive panted from the heat. This was the first time Maya had ever seen a coyote. He looked like a mongrel dog with a wolf's head and teeth. Only his dark brown eyes were wild; they watched Maya intently as she raised her hand.

"I hate zoos," she told Gabriel. "They remind me of prisons." "People like to see animals."

"Citizens want to kill wild creatures or put them into cages. It helps them forget that they're also prisoners."

The diner was a long, narrow room with booths near the windows, a counter with stools, and a small kitchen. Three slot machines were near the front door and each one had a garish theme.
Circus of Jackpots.
Big Winner.
Happy Daze.
A pair of Mexicans wearing cowboy boots and dusty work clothes sat at the counter eating scrambled eggs and corn tortillas. A young waitress with bleached blond hair and a pinafore apron was emptying one ketchup bottle into another. Maya saw a face peering through the kitchen serving window: an old man with bleary eyes and a scruffy beard.
The cook.

"Sit anywhere you want," the waitress said, and Maya picked the best defensive position—last booth down, facing the entrance. As she sat down, she stared at the silverware on the Formica table and tried to visualize the room in her mind. This was a good place to stop. The two Mexicans looked harmless and she could see any car that approached the building from the road.

The waitress came over with glasses of ice water.
"Mornin'.
You two want coffee?" She had a chirpy little voice.

"Just some orange juice," Gabriel said.

Maya stood up. "Where's the restroom?"

"You got to walk outside to the back. Plus, it's locked. Come on. I'll take you there."

The waitress—whose name tag read "Kathy"—led Maya around the diner to an unmarked door fastened with a padlock and latch. She kept chattering as she searched through her pockets for the key. "Daddy's worried about people coming in and stealing all his toilet paper. He's the cook and the dishwasher and everything else around here."

Kathy unlocked the door and switched on the light. The room was filled with cardboard boxes of canned food and other supplies. She bustled around, checking the paper-towel dispenser and wiping out the sink.

"You got a real cute boyfriend," Kathy said. "I'd like to drive around with a good-looking man like that, but I'm stuck at the Paradise until Daddy sells this place."

"You're a bit isolated here."

"Nothing but us and that of coyote.
Plus a few people driving down from Vegas.
You been
to Vegas?"

"No."

"I've been six times."

When she finally left the room,
Maya
locked the door and sat on a stack of cardboard boxes. It bothered her that she might feel any kind of attachment to Gabriel. Harlequins weren't allowed to become friends with the Travelers they protected. The proper attitude was to feel somewhat superior to the Travelers, as if they were little children who were innocent of the wolves in the forest. Her father always said there was a practical reason for this emotional distance. Surgeons rarely operated on family members. It might cloud their judgment. The same rules applied to Harlequins.

Maya stood in front of the sink and stared into the cracked mirror. Look at yourself, she thought.
Tangled hair.
Bloodshot eyes.
Dark, drab clothing.
Thorn had turned her into a killer without attachments, someone who lacked the drone desire for comfort and the citizen desire for security. Travelers might be weak and confused, but they could cross over and escape from this worldly prison. Harlequins were trapped in the Fourth Realm until they died.

When Maya returned to the diner, the two Mexicans had finished their meals and driven away. She and Gabriel ordered breakfast,
then
he leaned back in the booth and watched her carefully.

"Let's assume that people really can cross over into other realms. What's it like there? Is it dangerous?"

"I don't know that much about it. That's why you need a Pathfinder to help you. My father did tell me about two possible dangers. When you cross over, your shell—your body—stays here."

"And what's the second danger?"

"
Your
Light, your spirit, whatever you want to call it, can be killed or injured in another realm. If that happens, then you're trapped there forever."

Voices.
Laughter.
Maya watched the door as four young men entered the restaurant. Out in the parking lot, the desert sun gleamed on their dark blue SUV. Maya evaluated each person in the group and gave them nicknames. Big Arms, Shaved Head, and Fat Boy all wore a mixture of sports team jerseys and workout pants. They looked as if they had just run from an athletic club fire and had grabbed their clothes randomly from different lockers. Their leader—the smallest man, but the one with the loudest voice—wore cowboy boots to make himself look taller. Call him Mustache, she thought. No.
Silver Buckle.
The buckle was part of an elaborate cowboy belt.

"Sit anywhere you want," Kathy said.

"Hell yes," Silver Buckle told her. "We were going to do that anyway.

Their loud voices, their desire to be recognized, made Maya nervous. She ate quickly, finishing her breakfast, while Gabriel smoothed some strawberry jam onto his toast. The four young men got the restroom key from Kathy and gave their breakfast orders, changing their minds and demanding extra bacon. They told Kathy they were driving back to Arizona after watching a boxing match in Las Vegas. They had lost a large bet on the challenger, plus additional money at the blackjack tables. Kathy took their order and retreated behind the counter. Fat Boy exchanged a twenty-dollar bill for some singles and began to play the slot machines.

"You finished eating?" Maya asked Gabriel.

In a minute."

"Let's get out of here."

Gabriel looked amused. "You don't like those guys."

She rattled the ice in her water glass and lied. "I don't pay any attention to citizens unless they're in my way."

"I thought you liked Vicki Fraser. You two were acting like friends ..."

"This is a goddamn cheat!" Fat Boy pounded his fist on one of the slot machines. "I just put in twenty bucks and I didn't even get one back."

Silver Buckle was sitting across from Shaved Head in a booth. He stroked his mustache and grinned. "Wise up, Davey. It's set to never pay off. They don't make enough money from this bad coffee so they rip off a few more bucks from the tourists who play those machines."

Kathy came out from behind the counter. "It pays off, sometimes. A trucker got a jackpot about two weeks ago."

"Don't
lie
to me, honey. Just give my friend his twenty dollars back. It's gotta be a law, or something, that you're supposed to pay a percentage out."

"Can't do that.
We don't even own those machines. We just lease them from Mr. Sullivan."

Big Arms came back inside from the restroom. He stood near the slot machine and listened to the conversation. "We don't care about that," he said. "The whole damn state of Nevada is just one big rip-off. Give us the money or a free meal."

"Yeah," said Shaved Head. "I'll go for a free meal."

"The food doesn't have anything to do with the slot machines," Kathy said. "If you ordered a meal, then—"

Fat Boy took three steps over to the counter and grabbed Kathy's arm. "Hell, I'll take something other than a free meal."

His three friends howled their approval.
"You sure about that?"
Big Arms asked. "Think she's worth twenty dollars?"

"If she does the four of us, it's five dollars apiece."

The door to the kitchen popped open and Kathy's father came out with a baseball bat. "Let go of her!
Right now!"

Silver Buckle looked amused. "Are you threatening me, old man?"

"You're damn right! Now get your stuff and go!"

Silver Buckle reached across the table and picked up the heavy glass sugar container next to the little red bottle of Tabasco sauce. He sat up slightly and flung the container as hard as possible. Kathy's father jerked back, but the container hit his left cheek and cracked open. Sugar sprayed everywhere and the old man staggered back.

Shaved Head slid out of the booth. He grabbed the end of the baseball bat, twisted it out of the old man's hands, and held him in a neck lock. Using the butt end of the bat, Shaved Head struck the old man again and again. The old man went limp and Shaved Head let his victim drop onto the floor.

Maya touched Gabriel's hand. "Go out through the kitchen." "No."

"This has nothing to do with us."

Gabriel looked at her with contempt and Maya felt as if she'd been slashed with a knife. She didn't move—couldn't move—as Gabriel stood up and took a few steps toward the men.

"Get out of here."

"And who the hell are you?" Silver Buckle slid out of his booth. Now all four men were standing near the counter. "You're not telling us
nothing
."

Shaved Head kicked Kathy's father in the ribs. "First thing we're going to do is lock this old bastard up with that coyote."

Kathy tried to get away, but Fat Boy held her tightly. "Second thing we do is inspect the merchandise."

Gabriel showed the uncertainty of someone who had only practiced fighting at a karate school. He stood there, waiting for the attack. "You heard what I said."

"Yeah.
We heard." Shaved Head waved the baseball bat like a policeman's nightstick. "You got five seconds to get lost."

Maya slid out of the booth. Her hands were open and she felt relaxed.
Our kind of fighting is like diving into the ocean,
Thorn once told her.
Falling, but graceful.
Pulled by gravity, but controlled.

"Don't touch him," Maya said. The men laughed and she took a few steps forward, moving into the killing zone.

"What country are you from?" Silver Buckle asked. "Sounds like England or something like that. Around here, women let their men do their own fighting."

"Hey, I want her involved," said Big Arms. "She's got a nice little body."

Maya felt the Harlequin coldness overcome her heart. Instinctively, her eyes measured distances and trajectories between herself and the four targets. Her face was dead—unemotional—but she tried to make her words as clear and distinct as possible. "If you touch him, I will destroy you."

"Oh, I'm real scared."

Shaved Head glanced at his friend and grinned. "You're in big trouble, Russ! Little Missy looks mad! Better watch out!"

Gabriel turned to Maya. And, for the first time, he seemed to be in control of their relationship: like a Traveler commanding his Harlequin. "No, Maya! Do you hear me? I order you not to—"

He was half turned toward her, ignoring the danger, and Shaved Head raised the baseball bat. Maya jumped on a stool, then onto the counter. With two long steps, she ran past the ketchup and mustard containers, jabbed her right leg forward, and kicked Shaved Head in the throat. He spat and made a gurgling sound, but still held the bat. Maya grabbed the end of it and jumped down, wrenching it out of his hand with one motion, then swinging the bat at his head with a second motion. There was a loud cracking sound and he fell forward.

At the edge of her vision, she saw Gabriel fighting with Silver Buckle. She ran toward Kathy, holding the bat with her right hand and pulling out the stiletto with her left hand. Fat Boy looked terrified. He raised his arms like a soldier surrendering in battle and she drove the point of the stiletto through his palm, pinning his hand to the wooden paneling. The citizen gave a high-pitched scream, but she ignored him and continued toward Big Arms. Fake to the head, but swing lower. Break the right knee. Crack. Splinter. Then follow through to the head. Her target fell forward and she spun around. Silver Buckle was on the floor, unconscious. Gabriel had finished him off. Fat Boy was whimpering as she marched toward him.