On The Surface Tension Page 4

  “Look, Madame Moustache, I’m not going to answer your questions,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table.

  “Mr. Yu, if you do not answer my questions, you will be processed accordingly,” the woman said tartly.

  “I’m not going to cooperate with you unless I know exactly what is going on here,” he said, leaning towards her across the table.

  “Next,” the woman called to the waiting guards.

  Jeremy was taken by the arm and escorted through another airlock into a transport ship. There were six or seven other young men inside.

  Time passed. Jeremy had no idea how long. He was hungry, thirsty, and tired.

  Soldiers came and forcibly took blood samples from all of them, then left. Jeremy decided to bide his time and not fight them. More time passed and he slept.

  A loud clanging noise woke him with a start. He was sitting with his back to the cold bulkhead, and his butt was numb.

  Must have fallen asleep, he thought. He noticed that the airlock door had closed. He jumped to his feet and crossed rapidly to a window. They were falling away from the main ship.

  He wheeled about and saw only the same seven young men in pajamas and shorts, guarded by two stripe-faced soldiers. Chris was not among them.

  His stomach fell and a lump formed in his throat.

  I am going to kill each and every one of you motherfuckers, he thought, staring directly at one of the soldiers. But it did not make him feel any better.

  Red light began flickering across the windows then intensified in brightness. Jeremy postulated that they were entering the planet’s atmosphere. He stared out of a window, trying to see where they were going. For a while, all he could see was a uniform fiery red. They slowed, and the friction of entering the atmosphere lessened into a high-altitude flight.

  They were flying over an ocean. Far away on the horizon, but growing closer, was a dark smudge of a landmass. It resolved into a narrow stretch of land between the sea and a cliff. At first, the cliff looked small, but as they neared the coast, the scale became clearer. It was a tall cliff, very sheer and rocky.

  They dropped further in altitude and slowed. The land appeared to be only a few miles wide and was liberally coated in trees and tropical vegetation. Jeremy could not see any buildings or other structures.

  The landing craft settled soundlessly on the wide, white sand beach. It occurred to Jeremy that, only a short time before, they had been plucked off a similar-looking beach, and he had no idea whatsoever how far away that beach was or even if it was in the same universe.

  The door ramp descended and nestled into the sand with a soft “whump.”

  Jeremy glanced at the guards, who motioned them towards the beach. He considered attacking them at that point but was unsure of what that would gain him unless he could somehow commandeer the ship.

  The eight young men shuffled uncertainly out of the ship, down the ramp, and onto the sand. Their guards stayed on the ship. They heard the ramp rise behind them. Jeremy turned in time to see the ship lift from the sand and float away, slowly at first, then at great speed.

  At least they didn’t shoot us in the back.

  It was hot. The sand burned his bare feet. The surf murmured. The eight of them stood in stunned silence, wondering what to do next.

  Jeremy scanned the tree line a hundred yards away and saw movement. He pointed, and the others in his group followed his gaze.

  Out of the trees and tropical brush ran a group of five men. They were lean and wiry, darkly tanned, dressed in rags, with long hair and beards. They came straight at them and stopped a short distance away. Jeremy studied them. They looked almost like cave men.

  “Got any food?” One of them panted.

  Jeremy shook his head. The wild men probed them carefully with their eyes, looking for anything to eat that they might be hiding, but the eight of them fresh from the transport were dressed only in pajamas or shorts.

  “Where are we?” asked one of the former captives.

  The head wild-man ignored him, smiling. He glanced back over his shoulder at the tree line.

  “You guys don’t have long until they get here,” he said.

  “Until who gets here?” asked Jeremy.

  The cave man smiled with an evil nod.

  “Just run, boys. As long as you keep moving, they won’t catch you.”

  With a last smirk, the whole hairy group of them trotted off down the beach.

  The new arrivals stood uncertainly, looking nervously towards the trees. When they saw what crawled out of the forest, they turned as one and ran too.

  —3—

  “So we’re going to use the orbital pod thing, right?” asked Jack Strong.

  “I think that would be safer. I mean, if we end up on land, no biggie. But if we end up in space or in an ocean or something, or in the middle of a mountain, it would be better to have some kind of skin of pressurized metal and glass around us at least,” answered Ron, motioning to the door.

  The orbital pod was about the size of a Winnebago. It had similar sleeping quarters, a kitchenette, a bathroom, storage lockers, and a bank of communication and navigation controls. The LaGrue twins had done their best to make the craft as stealthy as possible, with shielding and black-painted composite materials. It was capable of being operated in zero gravity, or up to 300 meters underwater.

  “I bet this thing cost a pretty penny,” Strong said, cautiously entering through the hatch. Are we missing something?” They sat for a moment staring at each other.

  “Oh, the rift generator! Won’t be going far without that.”

  The LaGrues appeared and reached into the craft with the generator. Ron caught a barely perceptible look that passed between the two twins before they left but could not make anything from it. He checked the device, saw that it was intact. He placed the instrument into a special receptacle designed for it, and the systems and display screens powered up.

  “So…what do we do?” asked Strong.

  “I just enter the coordinates for the alternate universe branch thusly,” Ron said, tapping the keyboard at the console. “Press the button and voila! New universe.”

  “Wait…” Jack said, while Ron’s finger hovered over an oversized red button. “We are forgetting something else.”

  “What now?” Ron asked impatiently.

  “We haven’t closed the door.”

  “Holy shit,” Ron said. “If we ended up in space that would have ruined our day.”

  Strong gave him a “You idiot, you are rushing things without adequately preparing for crazy eventualities” kind of a look, and Ron unbuckled himself from his padded chair and went back to the door.

  Tracey was waiting for him just outside.

  Shit, he thought.

  She looked at him with intensity. He waited for her to speak.

  “You can’t go. We have an appointment with that friend of yours who burned at the stake later this morning.”

  “I’ll be back by then.”

  “Ron. I really think you should not go.”

  Something in her tone gave him pause.

  “I’ll be back in five minutes. Five minutes, babe. It must be safe: I’m using the exact same jump setting that Cornish Bob used in the past, and he made it back.”

  He closed the door, sealed it properly for vacuum like the LaGrues had taught him, then strapped back into his seat.

  “I dunno, man, she sounded like she was serious. You don’t listen to her enough,” Strong said.

  Ron rolled his eyes, as though asking whether Jack Strong was a real man or a whipped mouse. But between the weird look from the LaGrues and now Tracey’s earnestness, something gave him pause.

  Nah.

  “All right, dude,” Strong shrugged. “But if we die, I’m holding you responsible.”

  “We won’t die,” Ron said. “I have a good feeling about this. And if we want to take our time, we can set the return to five minutes from now, and I won’t even break my promise to Tracey
. Hell, we could use a vacation.”

  He pushed the jump button.

  Neither of them felt the nausea that others did upon jumping, as they were both double recessives. They leaned forward to look out of the window to see where they had ended up.

  They saw a grassy area, covered with patches of snow. Beyond that was a rock wall.

  “So far so good,” said Ron. He checked the consoles like the twins had taught him.

  “Gravity 1.0, nitrogen oxygen atmosphere…looks ok. So unless we have some kind of bugs to worry about, we are cool to go explore.”

  “So we just get out? Just like that? What if there are weird viruses and all?”

  “Five minutes, Jack. Let’s just look around a little.”

  “You go first,” Strong said, motioning to the door.

  Ron unsealed it, and it swung free to let in a fresh, green smell from the grasses and snow.

  Ron stepped out onto the ground.

  “That’s one small step for a man…one…giant leap for Golden Industries,” Strong called from the interior. Strong joined him outside.

  The pod rested in a field on the side of a mountainside. It was a gentle slope. The patches of snow grew larger the higher up the mountain they looked, until at higher elevations, the snow was everywhere. They could not see the summit.

  Farther down, the grasses grew taller into sparse bushes, and farther downhill yet they could see the green of treetops. The sound of a stream downhill reached them.

  “Aha, we must get a water sample for the LaGrues,” Ron said, starting downhill.

  “Wait…what about the whole five minutes thing?” Strong protested.

  “That’s all it will take—it isn’t that far,” Ron said, starting downhill.

  Something about the scenery, the crisp air, and the sun made Strong almost intoxicated. He could tell Ron was flushed and invigorated too.

  They walked.

  Ron felt actually drunk but knew he hadn’t been drinking.

  They had walked for what seemed longer than five minutes, but Strong had ceased to care.

  “I love to go, a wandering…” Ron started singing.

  “Along the mountain track…” Strong joined in, with exaggerated gusto.

  “And as I go, I love to sing, my knapsack on my back!”

  “Val-de-RI, val-de RA, val-der-RI, val-der-A-HA-HA….” Their song tailed off into silence as they saw three small red cones moving through the tall grasses ahead of them.

  The two men stopped and gripped each other’s arms to steady themselves, wondering what to do.

  “What the hell are those?” Ron whispered over-loudly.

  “Shhh!” Strong shushed, finger against lips.

  The red cones stopped, then advanced more slowly. Ron and Strong barely heard little voices.

  Ron was torn between running for the ship and staying to see what the red cones were. Curiosity won out.

  Presently, the red cones emerged from the tall grass, and it became clear that they were the tops of red conical hats, worn by rotund little men with gaily-colored clothes and fluffy white beards.

  “Holy crap, they’re friggin’ lawn gnomes!” Strong pointed and erupted in laughter.

  “Shut up, Jack.” Ron said quietly, suddenly possessed with an ominous mood. Just as suddenly, though, the mood lifted and was replaced by a mixture of confusion, portent, and giddiness.

  The two groups regarded each other silently for a space.

  “And who be ye two?” asked one of the gnomes with a reedy, British-accented voice.

  “I’m Ron and this is Jack.”

  The gnomes nodded and glanced at each other knowingly. Ron thought he detected a vast intelligence in their eyes.

  “Vat are you doing here, Ron and Jack?” asked one of the other gnomes, this one with a German accent.

  ‘Uh, just visiting?” said Ron.

  “Just visiting, he says,” chimed in the third gnome, this one with a New Jersey accent.

  “Dat’s vat dey all say,” said German gnome.

  “Until they show their true colors by trying to steal our gold,” said English gnome.

  “I thought that was elves who had the gold,” said Ron quietly.

  “You’re thinking of Leprechauns,” said Jack.

  “Oh, right. Wait, I thought they were worried about getting their Lucky Charms stolen, not gold?” Ron did his best to stifle a laugh, but was barely able to contain it. The entire situation was beyond ridiculous.

  “They think we’re funny,” said New Jersey gnome.

  “No, sorry, not funny. Just this whole place is making me feel weird. What is this place, anyway?”

  “Yes, dat’s vat it is. Anyway,” said German gnome.

  “Or Anywhere,” said English.

  “Or Any Youngman,” said New Jersey, and all three of them laughed.

  “Any fool vill tell you that Anybody with Any sense von’t be doing you Any favors by Any means in Any way, shape or form by giving you Any lip,” deadpanned German.

  “At Any rate, is there Any truth to the rumor that you two buffoons aren’t Any good at figuring Anything out?” asked English.

  “I’m not figuring out how there are living, breathing lawn gnomes here. What are the odds that you evolved in this universe exactly like the porcelain ones in our world look?” asked Jack.

  “Not to pull Any punches, we’re breathing all right,” said New Jersey, “but we aren’t living. Not how you know it, in Any event. We’re Made, not Begotten like you mooks, by Any stretch.”

  Ron and Strong glanced at each other, then stared at the gnomes stupidly.

  “What do you mean? Made? Not Begotten?”

  “You haven’t Any idea what we’re talking about?” asked English.

  “No idea,” said Ron. “Not by any stretch of the imagination.”

  The gnomes burst out laughing.

  “Good one!” said German gnome. “Any vay you slice it!”

  Ron’s head was spinning. Enny…Enny…Enny…

  “I’m tired of this game,” said New Jersey. “Let’s not take it Any further….”

  The gnomes burst out laughing anew. They watched Ron and Strong carefully.

  “Look at them, lads! They’re going to Any lengths not to say Anything with Any in it!”

  “I’m not going to say it. You won’t get any such satisfaction from me,” Jack said.

  The gnomes fell on the ground laughing.

  “Did I say…? Oh shit. Ron, let’s get back to the ship. I can’t take any more of this.”

  More laughter, pounding on the ground with tears.

  “Go ahead, it won’t bother us….Any!” English gnome managed between gasps.

  Ron thought very carefully about what he was going to say next and made sure that there was no trace of the word “any” in it.

  “Thank you for your company,” he said deliberately, “but we must get back to our world now.”

  The gnomes groaned with disappointment that Ron had killed the streak.

  “You can’t go yet; you haven’t seen the Sacred Mountain. Or the Sacred Grass Fields. Or the Sacred Forest, or our Holy Hovels. Or the most revered of all, the Sacred Gardens of Gnome,” said German.

  “Sorry, but we were only popping over here for a short time to see what it was all about. We have to leave now.”

  “Oh, you can’t leave,” said New Jersey, his eyes growing round with enthusiasm. “Not without joining the Sacred Elf Dance. Or the Sacred Elf Orgy. Or seeing the Unicorns, or the Trolls. Or the Sacred Rainbow Waterfall!”

  “We’re really sorry, but we have to go,” said Jack.

  “No, we’re really sorry, but you can’t go.”

  “And why is that?” Ron asked, growing irritated.

  “Because we have the wee gold ball,” the English gnome said, and held up the small gold rift generator that had been installed in the ship’s navigation panel.

  Ice water flooded Ron’s veins.

  “You need to give tha
t back,” he said, suddenly stone sober.

  “If you can catch us,” laughed the German gnome. The three gnomes suddenly grabbed their red hats and broke into a full run downhill for the forest.

  Ron and Strong pelted after them.

  *****

  Tracey lifted up the paper, which was wrapped in a plastic bag with two rubber bands. She held it up for Ron to see from the picture window, informing him that the Times at least thought it was going to rain.

  But Ron wasn’t there in the picture window like he always was.

  “That’s odd,” she thought, wondering what was drawing him away from their morning ritual.

  Probably too much coffee requiring an emergency trip to the bathroom. She hoped he would actually do something to find a job that day, instead of sit around in his bathrobe and watch TV or play that stupid video game again.

  She drove her bug the usual route to the Seattle Aquarium, noting unusually heavy traffic on Aurora as it crossed the ship canal.

  Once at her desk, she booted her computer up and adjusted the model of the blue ring octopus while the home screen loaded. She checked her calendar and saw that under the 9:00 time slot there was a single name listed: Maurice.

  “Claire,” she called to her assistant, “who is the ‘Maurice’ I have at nine?”

  “Dunno,” her assistant called from the next office. “You’ve had that on the calendar for a while. He’s actually waiting downstairs in the lobby; he came early.”

  Tracey arched her eyebrows. She had no memory of setting the appointment or who this guy was or what he wanted.

  “Did he say what he wants?”

  “You set the appointment. I have no idea.”

  “Well, show him in,” Tracey said, deciding to fish around tactfully until she could remember who the man was, hopefully without embarrassing herself.

  Maurice was shown in and took a seat in a chair across from Tracey’s desk. Maurice turned out to be a black man with long hair, dressed in a fine suit.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” he said warmly, then smiled and regarded her in silence for an uncomfortably long pause.

  “Mr. …Maurice, I am at a loss. Is Maurice your last name?” she stumbled.

  “Oh, no, it is my first name. And I apologize—when we set this appointment originally things were quite different. You probably have no idea who I am, aside from the faintest sense of familiarity, maybe a feeling in the back of your mind that we might have met somewhere else but you can’t remember.”