Wildcard (40 page)

“What is the box?”

“It is an open situation. Possibility. It is
neither one thing, nor l’autre, Karl. It is…

“Not two, not one,” Trident said. “The
answer.”

The Portal opened like the wings of a
butterfly, sucking Karl in. He was sitting in a meadow with the
Jester.

The dream clarified to a waking world, every
detail real and exact. Not shifting, like she had grown used to.
The beautiful, sad woman was sitting in a clearing, breathing
distractedly, looking around, wondering where she was, wondering
what the dream had become. The air was clear, crisp, delightful. A
perfect day, a few light clouds drifted in a peaceful sky. A small
pond flowed under the touch of the breeze nearby, the sun
reflecting off the water in that way of scintillating ripples of
light stretched at the long angle on water, the sparkles thinning
out gradually, flickering here and there as her eye followed the
water closer to her.

Thousands of wildflowers in every shade
freckled the field, flowing patches in the breeze. She remembered
being a child, she had left her stuffed animal, lost it somewhere.
She was worried about it, sad because she had no mother to hold
her. She wanted a mother. The woman put her head on her knees, arms
wrapped around and began to cry softly. She rocked herself from
side to side, humming sadly and tunelessly. Nothing else to do,
nowhere else to go, she absorbed herself in the reverie. She wanted
to stay there. She felt distance from the Benefactor, a respite
from the awful sharing of minds.

“I want to stay here,” she said to an azure
flower with white edging between her heels. “I want to stay
here.”

“You’re not doing so well, are you, dear?”
It was an older woman with a British accent.

She stopped moving, stopped humming. She
wondered about the answer to the question. She turned her head to
look at the feet of the old woman. She liked her shoes. They were
blue, simple walking shoes with flat soles.

“No,” she said. “I’m pretty fucked up.”

“I know,” the old woman answered. She sat
down, wrapped arms and legs around and held her. “I felt your fear
when you arrived. You’re naught but pieces, child.”

Martha tried to tell her something, to make
an excuse for crying, but the old woman stopped her by sitting in
closer, pulling her head in more. She was only allowed to cry, and
when she realized what the old woman offered, a shoulder, something
else, someone else, she broke like a dam. She came undone straight
onto the old woman, who absorbed it all as if that were why she
lived. She held her as the young woman sobbed and built screams. A
few tears slipped from the old woman’s eyes as well.

She could only repeat the word “no” over and
over, in the staggered way of people who cannot stop crying. “Who
am I?”choked out occasionally. She could no longer hold anything
back, and the old woman let her know there was no need. She cried
until her eyes burned, cried for the pain of becoming what she now
was, from the wounds the Benefactor had burned into her being.

She moved so that she held the old woman
back. She grabbed her as tight as she could, clutching at anyone
who felt real. She needed someone she could finally touch. The old
woman let her squeeze as hard as she could, though it clearly hurt,
and stroked softly in return.

The horror of the lifetime of torture,
silence, imprisonment, the ruthless attack on her mind and her
being, it all flooded up, demanded release, came through, in huge,
tearing sobs and a river of tears. Her voice dragged out,
stuttering with the crying as her body shook like a child’s. It
lasted for an hour and the old woman held her, gently rocking. She
was unable to stop. The world ended there, on the point of her
terror’s release, her tears soaking the blouse. Nothing else needed
to happen, the old woman was content to let it go for as long as
she needed.

“It’s too much. No one can take that. It’s
too much.” She began shrinking, choking on the terror. She fell
back, paranoid, pulled away quickly from the old woman. “Who are
you, anyway?”

She greeted the attack with kind dignity.
“My name is Hazel.”

“I’m sorry. You’re so sweet, so kind. My
name is Marta. Sorry, it’s…”She realized her name had changed.
Marta. She could no longer be what she was before. “Never mind,
it’s Marta.”

“Thank you, Marta.”

Marta’s pain was over, for now. Apparently
Hazel had felt it, too.

“One of the best meetings I remember,
actually,” Hazel said. “It was naked.”

“Oh, god. I’m ashamed.”

“No, please, dear. You’re brave, you’re so
brave. Please don’t be ashamed. You have no reason to be. I’ve
never seen such courage.”

She nodded and wiped her burning eyes.

“I reckon that’s all the tears you need for
the moment. I expect there will be more later. Would you care to
come to our home? This is a healing place. You must stay with us
until you feel better.”

“Us?”

“The old man and me.”

She held her eyes closed and breathed out,
gripping Hazel’s hand.

“Yeah, I would. I’d like that more than
anything.”

LuvRay awoke on a metal table. He was
looking into the face of a man in his 40’s, wearing a white coat,
with a moustache just a few hairs wider than the man who had led
Germany in the huge war. Adolph Hitler.

“Who are you?” LuvRay sat up.

“I am the Doctor. I brought you here.”

“You made that thing?”

“Not exactly. A Scientist at Amalgamated
Nanomechanics invented it. The nano- plasma that attacked you
anyway. He created the illusion that it was a Trident device, with
the Programmer’s help. I had a hand in it, I suppose. The q-link
forcible dimension interchange was mine. I told it what to do, and
how to do it. I told it how to bring you here.”

“Where is here?”

“Mansworld
.”

“You bringed me here?”

“Yes.”

LuvRay leaned forward, close to the Doctor.
“Put me back.”

“First of all, No. Second, why should I?
Third, I cannot. Someone has your body. I could not retrieve it
even if I were so inclined.”

LuvRay grabbed the small doctor knife from
the tray. Oddly, he was left-handed now, and automatically used his
left hand instead of the right. He slid the knife in, under the
ribs, punctured the Doctor’s heart and pulled the knife out. One
smooth stroke. The Doctor put both hands over the wound like a
movie person being stabbed. He fell down, crawled to the wall,
leaned his head against it. LuvRay moved over, looked him in the
face.

“Do you die?”

He gave a slight nod. The man examined the
wound, a doctor looking at a patient who happened to be himself
dying. LuvRay sensed curiosity more than fear. He watched his life
end. It took about a minute. They locked gazes. The Doctor smiled
and died. LuvRay closed the man’s eyes.

He smelled the room. It smelled of man
products, cleaners, sprays, and unnatural things. Smells LuvRay did
not like. It was a not-life smell. Not a death smell. Death was a
part of life, not its opposite. This smell was not-life, and
not-death. Electronic world. He found it interesting.

The Trident thing lay on the table. He
wondered if Wildcard had taken his body. Or who if not Wildcard.
Who had forced him to change places? He smelled the thing. It gave
no threat, but it was a false Trident thing.

“Karl? You are talk?”

“Sergeant here. LuvRay. Wow. Great. Where
are you?”

“Mansworld?”

“OK. I suggest you stay connected in here,
if you can. Don’t leave Trident. You will probably not find him
again.”

“This is false Trident. Not yours.”

“I know. I can tell. Trident, can you do
anything to prevent eavesdroppers?”

“I can signal replicate with spinning. I
don’t know how good their filter is, but I can definitely block
them from hearing your voice, Boss. I probably cannot with
LuvRay.”

“So, LuvRay, you probably understand, but do
not repeat what I say. Minimal talk on your end, which I’m sure is
OK by you. No information you don’t have to give.”

“Yes.”

“Trident, what else can you do for him?”

“I can mask location by signal fracturing. I
think. Definitely prevent a pinpoint. They will know his location
within a distance ratio of 1:83.”

“What Trident thing means?” LuvRay said.

“It means that if they track you from 83
kilometers away, they will know where you are within a 1 kilometer
radius. But they’ll be closer, trust me.”

“Who do this?”

“Did the Doctor bring you here?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the Benefactor, I believe. Dartagnan
is involved somehow. But it’s mainly her. What’s your plan?”

“No plan. What you think?”

“How do you feel?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Then drink water. Go with your instincts,
for you. Your instincts will keep you safe. At least for now they
will.”

“Good. But what I do?”

“Find the box. That’s what I want you to
do.”

“Why?”

“It’s tied to Karl, somehow. Nobody knows
how. The box disappeared soon after he arrived. There seem to be a
lot of false boxes now. A few million, at least. Dead ends, some of
them murderous, some portals to other places, some just poems or
nonsense. Lots of stuff. I have been tracking them, me and Trident,
that is, looking for the real one. The trail is well-hidden. It’s
actually quite a cool tactic of hiding. The real box is not so much
hidden away without a trail as buried in a million possible trails.
Any ideas?”

“Yes, I try. I have idea.”

“I won’t ask how. Disappear. Contact me only
if you need me. Find the box. Signal me with the following words
when you find it – ‘Sergeant, LuvRay here. It will take me four
more days, at least, to get there’. Got it? Four days.”

“Yes.”

“Good luck.”

LuvRay opened the tap on the sink, saw a
small sign stamped into the porcelain. American Standard. He filled
a glass, drank it, then another. He was not thirsty anymore. He
looked at his face in the mirror. He liked this thing about living
among men. He could look at his face. He knew what he looked like
to others. It had been months since he had looked in a mirror. He
looked older in here than he remembered. He had the same face, but
older.

He took off the medical robe he was wearing,
opened the closet. Clothes, his clothes. Buffalo moccasins, soft,
but strong. He could feel with his feet, but they would not wear
out too quickly. Deer leather pants and jacket, cotton t-shirt.
They felt right, smelled wrong. Everything smelled wrong here. More
like a word, then a smell not the smell. He put them on, liked
them. They were the right clothes.

He took Trident, tying it up with a cloth
instead of putting it on his wrist. He put it in a plastic bag that
sealed by squeezing the fingers and sliding them. The Doctor had a
small pack clipped to his waist. Luvray took it, stuffing the
Trident thing inside, and walked out. He looked at a news stand.
Hong Kong.

“Would you care to play a game of riddles?”
the Jester asked.

“How predictable,” Karl said.

“Would you prefer something else, sir?” He
pretended to be a waiter.

“I love a cliché,” Karl sang, to the tune of
I love a parade.

They laughed together, enjoying the
joke.

Karl thought. “Sergeant, you there?”

“Yup.” He sounded bored.

“What if I don’t answer these riddles? I
think this is the ticket in. What if I just stay here? It’s not so
bad. You need me to get past, and try to destroy Wildcard.”

“Do you want to know what’s in the box,
Karl?”

“Not that bad. Not bad enough to help you
kill the old couple.”

“Old couple? I thought it was just an old
man.”

Dammit. “What if you don’t do it? What if
you let them live?”

“It’s a direct order, Karl. I don’t know if
I could disobey. I didn’t want to tell you this, but without
opening the box, Martha doesn’t get out. You’re supposed to open
the box, Karl; I’m supposed to go into the center.”

“You’re trying to trick me. How could the
box free her?”

“I’m not, Karl. You have no idea what the
M-E’s and Wildcard, especially, are capable of.”

“Why?”

“Who knows? But if I’ve noticed anything,
it’s that Wildcard is making as many unique connections between
Earth and here as he can.”

Karl knew the Sergeant was right, and he
knew he couldn’t wait there forever. Wildcard seemed to want it to
happen, although he would probably be willing to wait as long as
Karl did. Wildcard did not seem to care how long things took.

“We have to get past the gatekeeper to get
anywhere. I doubt I can get out of this world any other way.”

“I can’t even get out of this Portal, Karl.
All I see is blue-white light.”

Karl laughed. “Maybe I will stay here. I
could drive you insane while I relax in this nice meadow. This guy
doesn’t care. There’s probably a whole world here. I could have a
great time and leave you stuck in their forever.”

“That would be harsh.”

“Do you have any entertainment?”

“You know, Karl, I might not kill Wildcard.
It might not be possible. This is a sophisticated M-E puzzle. It’ll
probably work out differently than we plan. It always does.”

“General,” said Karl, “I’d like to negotiate
a strategy revision.”

“I can’t reach him,” said Trident.

“What are your riddles, gatekeeper?” the
Sergeant asked.

“Only Karl may choose to play.”

“Kind of figured. Wildcard is playing with
my sense of helplessness, I think. This sucks. I want food I can
taste. C’mon Karl. Play.”

“I bet it’s not your thing. Maybe there’s a
puzzle on your end to solve.”