Текст книги "Hollow World"

Автор книги: Michael J. Sullivan

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“Same what? DNA? Fingerprints? You can’t all—oh.” Not androids then—genetic engineering. Ellis finally understood the Darwin reference. So maybe he wasa Darwin, at least in the strictest sense. Is everyone here born in a test tube?

“Without the chip we can’t identify the victim,” Cha said.

“Really?” Ellis asked. “So you all have chips in your shoulders to tell each other apart? C’mon, there has to be another way. I mean, what happens when those things stop working? Don’t they ever fail?”

“Not really.”

“In a case like that we could verify identity just by asking questions,” Pax explained. “Or run a neural scan. But being dead, those won’t work.”

“But you must have had this problem before.”

The two shook their heads. “Until recently, it’s never happened.”

“Seriously?” Ellis was amazed.

“What do we do now?” Cha asked.

“Like Ihave all the experience with dead bodies,” Pax replied, staring at the corpse with an expression that mirrored how Ellis was feeling.

“You’ve at least seen one before,” Cha said.

“Contact the ISP. They’ll want to look it over.”

“You two are homicide cops, and this is only the second dead body either of you has seen?” Ellis asked.

“First I’veseen,” Cha corrected.

“What’s a homicide cop?” Pax asked.

“Police that deal with murders.”

With widening eyes, Pax pointed a finger at Ellis. “That’s right! You’re from the past! Wayin the past. You know all about this—this sort of thing…about murders, right?”

“Not really. I wasn’t a cop. I used to design cars—parts of them anyway—worked on energy and alternate fuel. This village was a museum that was built by the Henry Ford Motor Company, and I—”

“Still is a museum,” Pax corrected.

“Okay, well—see, I used to work for another car company, trying to improve the capacity of batteries. I wasn’t a detective or anything.”

“But they had murders then, yes?”

“I lived in Detroit—they had plenty.”

“And you know that they used DNA and fingerprints to find the killers.”

“Everyone knows that.”

“Maybe everyone in 2014 knows about such things—not so much these days.” Pax took another step closer, until they were only an arm’s length apart.

Nice eyes, Ellis thought, something innocent and childlike about them.

“We don’t have this sort of thing anymore,” Pax said.

“Murders?”

“Death,” Pax replied.

Ellis just stared, certain he wasn’t getting everything. He was still trying to understand what Pax meant by him being from wayin the past. How long ago was way? Then it sounded like Pax had said there was no more death. “What did you say?”

“Listen,” Pax began in a softened tone. “I’m sorry about all this. You’ve just been through a traumatic experience. You’re tired and not feeling well. You’re clearly a pioneer, a great scientist of some sort who’s accomplished something astounding. You’re a new Charles Lindbergh or Network Azo, and trust me, I’ll see you’re taken care of. Your very existence is amazing—”

“Impossible actually,” Cha added with disdain.

Pax went on without pause. “You should be welcomed with a parade, and a party, and I’m certain a great many people will wish to speak with you. I know you have all sorts of questions, but you need to believe me when I tell you I’m not a cop. I’m an arbitrator. I deal with general disputes between people—help them settle their differences with the least amount of bad feelings. And I help people who have experienced painful events in their lives. I was called here to see if I could help these students deal with the trauma of witnessing a dead and brutalized body. But this…is there anything else you could tell us?”

“Are you serious?”

“Right now you’re the foremost living expert.”

Ellis had never been the foremost anything. And whether he really was or not, he liked that Pax thought he might be. “I don’t know what I can offer. I don’t know anything about how things work here. All I know comes from reading crime thrillers and watching TV.” He said this even as he moved toward the body, crawling now, as standing was too much effort to consider. Cha quickly stepped back, but not as frantically as before.

The corpse looked like the bystanders, who were still shifting around to get a better look at him, except the dead person was covered in blood, cuts, and puncture wounds. Looking down, Ellis felt his dizziness rise a couple of notches. He also had a headache. He’d never seen a brutalized body before. All the dead people he’d been near were thick with makeup and tucked neatly in boxes surrounded by flower arrangements. Luckily, with the exception of the blood, which had already mostly dried, it wasn’t a very gruesome scene. No guts hanging out, no bones showing—just the mutilated shoulder, which wasn’t as bad as he had expected. The killer had dug in like a doctor to retrieve a bit of shrapnel. He knew he wasn’t going to puke, which surprised him, because his stomach had been churning for some time. He tried to focus and apply what he knew from the novels of Patricia Cornwell, Jonathan Kellerman, and the occasional episode of Law & Orderor CSI.“Looks like he was stabbed to death and the killer didn’t seem to know what he was doing.”

“Why’s that?” Cha asked this time.

“Well, unless you’ve moved things around since my time, the best places to kill a person, according to most of the crime novels, would be a slice across the throat to cut the carotid artery, an upward stab under the ribs to the heart, or a stab to the base of the skull. This person was just jabbing anywhere, straight in and out. See all the puncture marks on the stomach? All of them have small openings, like he was just going for the soft spots. There was no twisting of a blade or attempt to open the wounds wide. And the victim didn’t fight back…just defended. See the cut on the arm there? Probably from trying to ward off the knife. And see the blood pool? That wound caught a larger artery there, and I bet that caused the bleed out. These others might have damaged intestines, and maybe eventually done the trick, but not nearly as fast. Might have been saved if not for that arm cut.”

“Does that make sense?” Pax asked Cha.

Cha nodded, and Ellis thought there might be reluctance there, but “Aztec Tattoo” got points for being honest.

“So the killer isn’t an expert.”

“I wouldn’t think anyone alive these days is an expert,” Cha said. “So you haven’t narrowed anything.”

“Is there more you can tell us?” Pax asked.

Ellis got up on his knees. “Yeah—this fella’s eyes were bad. He wore glasses.”

“What did you say?”

“He or she—ah, I mean—well, I don’t really know what to…never mind. This personwore glasses. See the pinch marks along the bridge of the nose, and the little half-moons on the cheeks? Glasses do that.”

Pax looked at Cha. Both were puzzled.

“Hang on.” Ellis set down his pack, unzipped a side pocket, pulled out his reading glasses, and set them on his nose. “See. Glasses. I take them off and you can see the divots left—the little impressions.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Ellis Rogers,” Pax explained, “but no one wears glasses.”

Cha had found the courage to inch closer to peer down at the body. “I hadn’t noticed that. Something did pinch the nose, and there’s a crease along the forehead too.”

“Like a hat,” Ellis said, and pointed at Pax. “Some people still wear those, at least.”

Pax offered him a smile, and he responded with one of his own.

“So where are the glasses and hat?”

Pax and Cha looked around but found nothing.

“Killer might have taken them—but no, I don’t remember anything in his hands—oh!”

“What?” Pax asked.

“The killer—I just remembered—was missing two fingers. Right hand, I think.”

“So, whoever did it was interested in the Hive Project, had likely never killed before, and is missing two fingers. And the victim wore glasses and a hat.”

Ellis shrugged. “I told you I wouldn’t be much help.” He was feeling worse and reconsidering whether he might vomit after all.

“Actually, that’s much more than we knew five minutes ago. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And speaking of time and knowing things, what year is it?”

“Oh right.” Pax looked embarrassed. “This is the year 4078.”

“Forty seventy-eight? That’s…that’s more than two thousand…” Ellis wavered, and Pax reached out, grabbing his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Pax offered. “I didn’t realize it would be such a shock.”

“No—no—well, yes, it is, but really I—I’m not feeling very well. I think I need to lie down.” He settled to the grass, lying on his back.

“What’s wrong with you?” Cha asked.

“I told you I have a respiratory problem,” he said, looking up at the sky. “It’s called idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. No one in my time knew what caused it or how to cure it, and in my case it’s terminal.”

Cha drew closer than ever before and studied him. “Are you feeling better right now?”

“Lying down, yeah. A little bit.”

“Stand up.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Do it anyway,” Cha insisted.

Ellis looked at Pax, who nodded. “Cha is a very good physician.”

Ellis pushed up and staggered, as the world swam more than before.

“Okay, okay, sit down,” Cha told him and gave up his security distance to touch Ellis on the neck. “Your skin is hot and dry. When was the last time you had something to drink?”

“Early this morning, I guess—a couple swallows.”

“And did you say you traveled down out of the forests? Five or six miles, right? That’s what you said.”

“Yeah.”

“And then passed out in the sun here?”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded.

“You may have a respiratory illness, but right now you’re suffering from sunstroke and dehydration.”

“Really?”

“Trust me, I see a lot of it. People come to the surface and don’t realize the difference a real sun makes.”

“A real sun?”

Cha ignored him and turned to Pax. “We need to get the Darwin out of the sun, into a cool place, and reintroduce fluids and electrolytes.” Cha pulled Ellis’s canteen from around his neck, unscrewed the cap, and smelled.

“It’s just water,” Ellis explained.

“Then drink,” Cha ordered.

“I’m actually feeling nauseous now.”

“Of course you are, and soon you’ll start to have trouble breathing if we don’t fix you. Now sip. No big gulps, just sips.”

Pax stood up and drew something out of the frock coat.

“Where are you going?” Cha asked.

“My place. You call the ISP and wait for them.”

“You sure? You don’t know anything about this Darwin.”

“Are you offering to take Ellis Rogers home with you instead?”

“Forget I said anything.”

A burst of light and a hum, and Ellis saw another portal appear. Through it he could see a room with a bed, pillows, and blankets.

“Grab him,” Cha said, and they lifted Ellis by the arms. The world spun, far worse than before. He heard a ringing, and, as he was half dragged into the opening, darkness came again.

 

Chapter Five

Times They are a Changin’

Ellis woke up sporting a hangover without the benefit of a binge. He’d been awake for some time but resisted the temptation to get out of bed. He had no real idea what had happened or where he was but appreciated the time alone after having ridden the tornado to Oz. How long had he been asleep? How long had it been since he’d left the doctor’s office? Only a matter of hours in one sense but more than two thousand years in another.

Two thousand! How is that possible? Hoffmann was off by a factor of ten!Had he dropped a zero somewhere? The whole thing was hard to believe despite having achieved his intent. This must be the feeling that gave expressions of wonderment to Olympic athletes when they took the gold, the look of shock on Academy Award winners even as they took out the speech they had carefully prepared. Some part of them never really believed it was possible until after it happened, and even then such miracles were hard to accept. He’d done it; he’d traveled through time—but Hoffmann was way off on the number of years.

Ellis had expected to jump forward about the same distance as the founding of the United States was back. Life would be very different, but not too alien, and he expected the world would still be fundamentally the same. Instead, he had jumped the same span of years dividing the time of Christ from the age of the Internet. He was the equivalent of a Roman citizen used to slaves, the luxury of horses, and the labor of carrying water—plopped down in the age of computers and fructose corn syrup. Faced with such a shift, Ellis was grateful for the chance to wade in slowly.

Lying in a very comfortable bed, he could tell it didn’t have springs, like one of those space-age sponge beds he used to see advertised. He had pillows and sheets, not cotton though; these were softer. He spent little time pondering the bed covering given his surroundings. He’d seen 2001, Blade Runner, Logan’s Run,and Star Trek. He knew the future was supposed to be stark, cold, and clean—or grease-stained and grit-covered. Maybe it was, but this room wasn’t.

He lay in a massive canopy bed nestled in a cathedral of carved wood and luscious drapes. The décor of the room was castle-Gothic, with walls half clad in dark, eight-panel oak and uppers decorated in vibrant murals of medieval ladies and men on horseback. Lions, swans, crowns, and lilies abounded—carved in wood or sculpted in plaster. Above loomed a ceiling painted to look like the sky, with puffy clouds and hilltops around the edges. Light streamed in through a series of peaked, two-story windows with crisscrossed latticework, which cast spears of radiance across the foot of the bed. A breeze fluttered the edges of curtains, and Ellis could hear birds and a distant trickle of water. He smelled flowers as well as something exotic, like cinnamon or nutmeg. Besides the distant birdsong and splashing of water, he occasionally caught a distant voice calling out or laughter rising from far off.

When he finally touched the floor, he found wide-plank hardwood with thick Persian-style rugs welcoming his bare feet. Naked, he kept the sheet around his waist. His pack was on the floor beside the bed, and his clothes were folded and resting on a soft chair. His knife, as well as the still-holstered pistol, remained on his belt.

“Oh, good morning, Ellis Rogers! I thought you’d sleep the day away. Are you feeling better?”

Ellis jumped. He didn’t see anyone but pulled the sheet tighter.

“Who’s there?” he asked, peering out toward the open archway that led to another room.

“ I am Sexton Alva. Pax’s vox. They told me you might be disoriented and thoroughly grassed, so I needed to go easy on you. But honestly I find the whole matter utterly amazing!”

This voice was different from all the others: decidedly female, but he couldn’t tell where she was and kept the sheet tight.

“Where are you?”

“ What’s that, dear?”

“Where are you? I can’t see—”

“ Oh, Pax wasn’t kidding. You are completely sonic. Fantastic! Of course you can’t see me. I told you. I’m Pax’s vox.”

“What’s a vox?”

“ Ha! Utterly magnetic. Really it is—you have no idea. And the way you talk! You really are grassed—real grassed like with spears and bows and arrows and such. I don’t think I can explain what a vox is to you—no point of reference, really. You probably think I’m some sort of spirit. You worship rivers and rocks, right? Have a god for everything? You can just consider me the spirit of this house. But don’t worry. I’m a good spirit. Just call me Alva, honey.”

Ellis continued to turn his head, trying to locate the source of the voice without luck. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. “I’m not from that far in the past.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not from that long ago. We didn’t have spears and bows. We had cars and planes and computers and—”

“ Computers! Yes—that’s me.”

“You’re a computer?”

“ No, but it is certainly better than a spirit, isn’t it? I’m about as much like a computer as an abacus is. I’m Pax’s caretaker. I keep the place running, keep everyone happy and safe. Tell them what to eat in the mornings, relay messages, arrange parties, water plants, entertain everyone, teach them, advise them, watch out for them—more Pax than Vin, of course. Pax is always eager to learn; Vin apparently knows everything already.” This last comment came with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “ I’ve looked after Pax for centuries. Wonderful, wonderful person, and not at all crazy, you understand. You’ll do well to remember that if you stay here—or you’ll find too much pepper in your meals, and your bath will always be a tad too cold or too hot. I’m sorry. I don’t like making such vile threats, but when it comes to protecting Pax, I’m an animal.”

“ Whereare you, exactly?”

“ Oh, my physical installation is built into the foundations of the complex, on the sublevel.”

“So—you’re like a furnace or a water heater?”

“ Ha! You’re wonderful. In seven hundred and eighteen years no one has ever called me a furnace or water heater. That’s very clever. You don’t know how hard it is to be original these days. But you’re original, aren’t you? I mean, truly original. No others like you at all—ever. That’s just amazing. You’re like a tree, but you can talk!”

“Speaking of that. Alva, I have a question.”

“ Wonderful! I’m great at trivia.”

“I was wondering why we understand each other. After two thousand years I would have thought language would have changed more than it seems to have. And why English?”

“Oh, you can thank the British Empire for that. Imperialism in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries established the English language as the dominate common tongue the same way that the Roman Empire had established Latin as the previous international language. The dominance of the global economy by such English-speaking countries as the United States further required all the world’s nations to view English as the necessary international language of commerce, which—”

“Okay—okay, so that explains why English survived, but why is it still so—I mean, people in the Middle Ages didn’t talk the way I do, even though they spoke English.”

“That’s because the Middle Ages didn’t coexist with a post-globalization environment. Most linguistic changes are the result of assimilating other languages or because isolation causes the independent evolution of a dialect. By 2090, the impact of variations had been reduced to negligible levels as non-English languages were abandoned—wiped out by lack of use. If you wanted to compete economically, you adjusted to the language of commerce. Sure, there are fads and fancies, but the sheer size of the consistent user base and the tendency of humans to prefer familiarity led to a relatively stable form of communication. The longer life spans of humans also reduced trends of change.”

Ellis wondered if all that wasn’t a pleasant way of saying that Hollow World had a militant Ministry of Grammar Nazis.

“Alva, I have another question.”

“I would suspect you have more than one, but go ahead, dear.”

“Is this Pax’s home?”

“ Yes. Beautiful, isn’t it? You need to go out on the balcony. Everyone loves the balcony. I’m so glad Pax brought you here. I’m sure Pax is just as happy. Pax loves old stuff.”

“Is anyone else here?”

“ Just you and me, honey. Pax and Vin went out—but don’t be upset. They expected you’d be asleep longer, and they’ll be back soon. I’ve already told them you’re awake. Besides, I’m here. Is there anything you’d like? They pumped you full of liquids, but I was told to keep you drinking. Would you like tea? Lemonade, Cistrin? Vistune red or white?”

While Ellis was curious as to how a disembodied computer-voice might go about handing him a drink, he had more pressing concerns. “Actually, I could use a bathroom. I need to ah…urinate and would love a shower or a chance to brush my teeth.”

“Urinate! But of course.”A light went on inside a small archway he hadn’t noticed before. “ Right this way, Ellis Rogers.”

Ellis pulled his pants on. They were clean, no stain of blood. He grabbed his pack and the rest of his clothing, and passed through the archway. Inside was a rain forest. Massive trees, covered in fragrant flowers and draped with vines, rose from lush vegetation where butterflies fluttered. He spotted a spring-fed basin formed from a sink-shaped rock jutting out from a cliff.

“ Past the vines,” he heard Alva say.

Passing through a curtain similar to what an explorer might machete through, he found a waterfall that cascaded into a beautiful lagoon.

“Sheesh,” he blurted out.

“ What was that, dear?”

“Nothing,” Ellis said. “Just talking to myself.”

“ Why do that when I’m here?”

“Is this water always running?”

“ Of course not. I turned it on for you. The waterfall is at forty degrees. Let me know if you’d like it hotter or colder.”

Forty?Ellis touched the water, found it pleasantly hot, and shrugged.

There was no door to this wilderness space, and, feeling it best to get things taken care of before company arrived, Ellis used the artsy-looking toilet shaped like a tree stump. There was no water in its base, and he was shocked to discover that his urine vanished as it fell. He thought about his toothbrush and realized he’d forgotten one. With a sigh, he undressed and stepped into the lagoon.

“ The water can come out at any speed, texture, or angle you like,” Alva said, her voice slightly different in the lagoon, where the sounds of birds and the rush of water competed for his attention.

Ellis didn’t reply and was pleased she hadn’t felt the need to chat while he was using the toilet. He also had to wonder at the income level of an arbitrator. Maybe the profession was like a lawyer.

He waded into the pool and moved under the falling river. The water—hot and soothing—relaxed him. A hot shower always seemed so decadent, and there was something vaguely sexual about a bath. An atomized mist jetted out from the walls, turning the jungle steamy.

“Is there soap?” he asked.

Like a car wash, the water pouring out turned sudsy, but this flow smelled vaguely like lilacs. Ellis wondered what might happen if he asked for wax. That brought a smile, and he pushed his face into the stream. Ellis lingered in the water longer than he had planned. From the instant he’d discovered Warren’s letters until this moment, Ellis had been overwhelmed. Too much had happened too quickly. Even lying in the bed, trying to mentally process everything, had been taxing. He hadn’t allowed himself time to think, but bathing made him reflective.

Everything he knew was gone. He no longer had a house with its huge monthly mortgage. No cars needed inspections, oil changes, or new tires. He was free of everything—free of Warren and Peggy, his cheating wife and his bitter friend who had betrayed him. That life was over—buried by time, a lot of time.

In its place was something amazing. He’d achieved a version of his life’s dream and survived the effort. He’d finally done something—something important. By the sound of things, Ellis was somehow the first person to travel through time. Everything had worked out perfectly, and yet while standing in the hot stream from the sudsy waterfall, Ellis began to cry.

He couldn’t control himself, couldn’t understand why he was sobbing. He should be happy, and it didn’t make sense that after risking everything and winning, he should feel so miserable.

Although his marriage never reflected the kind of relationships idealized in movies, Peggy had been part of his life for thirty-five years, and he’d discarded her with less thought than he gave to a dubiously dated container of cottage cheese. He’d known Warren even longer. His old friend had always looked after and defended him, and he, too, went in the trash. Maybe they had an explanation…maybe if he’d just…but it was too late.

If it hadn’t already been erased by time, Ellis would have torn down his garage. It was the symbolic sum of all his mistakes, from his son’s death, to the erosion of his marriage, and finally the realization that running away was the height of selfishness. He hadn’t even left a note, and Peggy would spend the rest of her life with too many questions and no answers.

He pushed his face into the spill and let it blend with his tears. He didn’t know how long he stood there. He didn’t care. He had no pressing appointments.

“How do I turn it off?” he finally asked.

An instant later the waterfall stopped, the pool drained, the mist faded, and hot, dry air began to blow. He was dry in just a minute or two, and put his clothes back on.

Passing back the way he had come, Ellis dropped his pack next to the bed before setting off to explore. The wonders of the bedroom and bath were nothing compared with the rest of Pax’s home.

“ This is the social room,” Alva said with a note of pride as he entered a large chamber with a vaulted ceiling.

A cross between a Gothic palace and a Rainforest Cafe the large chamber combined the two motifs until the whole appeared as a beautiful ruin invaded by plants and giant trees. The walls were carved stone with intricate arches and ornamentation that framed more murals mimicking the Renaissance masters.

Ellis spotted a painter’s easel, surrounded by color-stained rags and rustic clay pots filled with bouquets of filthy brushes. Beside them were splattered potter’s wheels and carving tools. But what caught Ellis’s attention the most was the far wall—or more precisely the lack of one. That whole side of the room was missing. No glass, just one vast opening to the outside, where a balcony extended as an oval pod.

The view was staggering. Pax’s home was built into the side of a massive curved cliff that was shared by hundreds of other homes, each with its own balcony. The sheer walls of the canyon were dressed in flowers and creeping ivy. Massive trees grew up in the center and spread vast branches, creating a canopy that provided shade to the Central Park-sized common below. So mammoth was the space that people on their balconies across from Ellis were ant-sized, and everything across the way slightly bluer. Shafts of light filtered through the arena, and birds of all sizes and colors swooped and sang. Their songs echoed as if they were in a massive atrium.

Ellis descended the steps onto the balcony and was peering across at what he realized had to be a massive waterfall in the far distance when he heard Alva say, “ Welcome home. It was so nice of you to take that extra second necessary to let me know you were on your way, Pax. Oh wait—you didn’t, did you?”

“Don’t start, Alva.”

“ What? A little courtesy is too much to ask?”

“Is Ellis Rogers in the bedroom?”

“ Out on the balcony. Everyone loves the balcony.”

“Were you nice?”

“ I’m always nice, dear. Vin, do you think you could clean up your paints a little better next time? The breeze threw your rags on the floor and knocked over one of the pots.”

“You control the breeze, Alva.”

“ But not your mess.”

Ellis turned to see Pax enter the social room. Dressed the same as before, Pax smiled as their eyes met. “How are you feeling?”

“Have a headache.”

“Cha said you would.”

“Other than that, I’m a lot better. Even a little hungry.”

“What do you like to eat?”

Ellis shrugged. “It’s been two thousand years. I doubt you have burgers and fries anymore.”

“Alva?”

“ Derived from Hamburg, Germany, hamburger is low-grade ground meat from the dead bodies of domesticated animals known as cows or cattle. A poor person’s meal often treated in ammonia to eliminate common life-threatening contaminants. It was discontinued in 2162 due to health hazards.”

“Seriously?” Pax made a face at Ellis. “So we don’t have a pattern, I’m guessing?”

“ Would you want one? We don’t have a pattern for arsenic either.”

Ellis chuckled. “I won’t even ask about hot dogs.”

Pax looked concerned. “You actually ate dogs?”

“ No, dear,” Alva said. “ But an explanation would hardly put you at ease. How about a nice minlatta with a tarragon oil sauce? It’s a new pattern by Yal.”

“It’s best to just agree,” Pax said to him. “Alva will make it anyway.”

“Sure.”

“ Vin, do you want a minlatta?” Alva’s voice came from another room as Pax joined Ellis on the balcony. The voice of Vin was low, muffled, indiscernible.

“It’s beautiful here,” Ellis said. “I take it we aren’t in Michigan anymore.”

“Michigan?”

“That’s where we met.” He looked out at the sunlight. “Was it yesterday? Did I sleep that long?”

“You were out awhile.”

“And we went through one of those portal things, right?”

“Yes.”

“So where are we now? Africa? South America?” He had no idea. Ellis had never traveled much, but he’d seen pictures and movies, and places like this were always far away in Third World countries. Only what had been Third World two thousand years ago had moved up in the standings, he guessed.

“Hollow World,” Pax replied.

Ellis looked puzzled.

“Eurasian Plate, Western Zone, Tringent Sector, La Bridee Quadrant.”

“Wow,” Ellis said. “That’s a mouthful. And I’m sure a location was in there somewhere. I was expecting something like, I don’t know– Rio. Any idea where this might have been about two thousand years ago?”

“Yes. Are you familiar with the city of Paris?”

“Paris, France?”

“Yes.”

“This is Paris?”

“Sort of, except we’re about five miles below where it used to be.”

Ellis looked back out at the dramatic cliffs and the narrow opening in the canyon where he could clearly see the sky and distant mountains, at least as clear as his aging eyes would allow. He noted the trees and the birds as well, and finally replied with the eloquent response of “Huh?”

Footsteps interrupted them.

“Oh, Ellis Rogers, let me introduce Vin. We live together.”

Ellis turned to see another DNA duplicate, this one dressed more dramatically than Pax in a double-breasted Dickensian tailcoat, ruffled shirt, and top hat. Ellis couldn’t actually verify that this was another exactcopy, as Vin was wearing a mask. It looked like porcelain but could have been a hard plastic. All white, it covered only the upper part of the face, leaving the mouth free and causing Ellis to think of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s The Phantom of the Opera.

“Nice to meet you.” Ellis held out his hand. As soon as he had, he realized he was making a huge assumption. Ellis was impressed that Vin took it—less impressed by the weak grip and shake.

“Vin is an artist,” Pax said with enough drama that the title could have been swapped out with the God Almighty.“Most of the paintings and sculptures in our house are Vin’s work.”