Текст книги "Hollow World"

Автор книги: Michael J. Sullivan

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“ Welcome,” a very pleasant woman’s voice—a vox—greeted. “ My name is Balmore. Chief Councilor Pol will be with you shortly. Please have a seat.”

Ellis and Pax sat in two of the four chairs. Pax sat very straight, adjusting the frock coat and resetting the angle of the bowler hat, only to adjust it again a moment later.

“You don’t come here often, do you?” Ellis asked, discovering he was feeling quite at ease by virtue of lacking any preconceived impressions. If this had been the Oval Office, or a palace, he might have been intimidated. Instead, this was just a room with a fancy table, and Ellis had seen more impressive principals’ offices.

“I’ve only been to Wegener once, a long time ago, and I’ve never been inside the GWC, much less the Chief Councilor’s office.”

When the door opened, Pax jumped up, standing like a soldier at attention. Not familiar with protocol, Ellis followed suit.

The person who entered was another identical copy of Pax. That’s how Ellis saw everyone, even though he understood that, at only a few hundred years old, Pax was far younger than everyone else. Full names, he guessed, were an indication. Like Delaware license plates, or online user names, the lower numbers must indicate age of creation and perhaps social status. Ellis considered the numbers might also just show the popularity of that name, but the fact that a geomancer was called Geo made him think otherwise. Geo-24 was probably very old—only twenty-three Geos had come before—while Pol-789 would be younger, and Pax-43246018 would be a baby in comparison.

“Wonderful—you’re here,” their host greeted them. “I’m Chief Councilor Pol. So nice to meet you. Please sit down.”

Pol wore clothes, too, but had stolen fashions far older than Pax’s or Vin’s. The Chief Councilor was dressed in a bright-orange, Grecian-style toga, which was fastened at the shoulder by an ornate gold clasp in the shape of the tectonic world. Just as bald and dark skinned as the rest, Pol was the first to look normal to Ellis’s eyes, appearing as any of the Tibetan monks that he had seen on television or the cover of National Geographicmagazine. Pol greeted them formally, standing straight, with one hand in the fold of his robes like Napoleon.

“Thank you for seeing us,” Pax said, sitting down. Ellis did the same, his eyes still taking in the views.

Pol was equally fascinated by Ellis, even bending to see what parts of him were hidden beneath the table. “Wonderful. Simply wonderful.”

“Ellis Rogers is a real gift,” Pax agreed. “The only one of his kind. As I explained in the memo, Ellis Rogers is here from the early twenty-first century, long before the ISP was formed, before the first excavations of Hollow World, and even before Monsanto started the first subterranean farms. His world still ran on fossil fuel, ate slaughtered animals, and lived every day on the grass at the mercy of the weather.”

Ellis hadn’t heard Pax speak like this before—so formal and filled with admiration. It surprised him.

“A true Darwin,” Pol said, nodding. “And you traveled in a time machine like H. G. Wells—one of your own making?”

“I built it in my garage. It wasn’t that hard. A guy named Hoffmann did all the real work. He figured out how to do it.”

“Can you return to your time? Are you just visiting?”

“No. It’s a one-way thing. I’m here permanently, although I won’t be here long.”

“No?”

“Well, you see—I have a medical condition that—”

Pol held up a palm. “Pax explained about that in the message sent to me along with an accounting of your role in helping to stop a murderer, who had killed one of our beloved geomancers. Trust me, all of Hollow World is in your debt, and we will see to it that any defect you have is corrected. You’re a treasure to us, anda hero—not that you needed to be. Those at the ISP love this sort of challenge, and to work with a true Darwin, well…” Pol appeared at a loss for words.

Pol reached out and squeezed Ellis’s hand. “We’ll take great care of you.” Pol then turned to Pax. “Thank you for bringing Ellis Rogers to us, and for your role in solving the murders as well. You’ve performed an invaluable service to Hollow World, Pax. I’ll see to it that you’re remembered for this.”

Pol tapped the brooch at the shoulder of the tunic, and the portal reappeared behind their chairs. “And you can trust that I’ll take very good care of Ellis Rogers.”

A moment of silence hung. Pax stood slowly, eyes cast low.

“Thank you again, Pax,” Pol said.

The time for saying goodbye was at hand again, and while Ellis was pleased to discover he’d earned a free medical procedure, he felt awful once more. What else could he do? What else did he expect? How long had he even known Pax? Ellis couldn’t understand his own feelings. All he knew was that he enjoyed being around Pax, and the idea of never meeting again was so unpleasant he dropped into depression.

He put his game face on. Ellis was going to suck it up and be manly. He watched as Pax hesitated, then turned back to face Pol with serious, troubled eyes. “Who is Ren?”

Pol’s smile vanished at the sound of the word. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Pax’s expression shifted to sharp concern. “I asked who Ren is.”

“I have no idea.”

Pax continued to stare at the Chief Councilor, who looked increasingly nervous.

“What were you talking with Geo-24 about?”

Pol struggled to ignite that smile again. “I think it’s time for you to leave us, Pax.”

Ellis watched as Pax’s expression shifted from concern to terror. “You’re not Pol-789.”

Pol replied with an artificial laugh that even Ellis didn’t buy. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t be able to enter this office unless I was.”

“You could if you had Pol’s chip.” Pax stood up, and, reaching across the table, pulled the toga off the Chief Councilor’s left shoulder. There, in the otherwise unblemished tawny skin, was a scar: well healed, but clearly visible, similar to the one Ellis had seen on Geo-24’s impostor. The assault startled Pol, who reached out with both hands to cover up. As the Chief Councilor did, they both noticed Pol was missing a pinky and ring finger on one hand.

Pax gasped. “Who are you?”

All pretenses fell away. Pol tapped the brooch again, and some of the windows changed to what appeared to be a television screen. Only the show that was playing was the back of a person’s head.

“Gar?” Pol said, and the person on the screen turned. “I need your help up here right away. We have a security problem.”

Pax shoved the fancy table forward, striking Pol in the stomach and knocking the Chief Councilor’s chair over.

The portal was still open behind them.

“Go!” Pax shouted.

Ellis never bothered to think. He dove through the opening and found himself back in the lobby. Behind him, through the portal, he could see Pol’s mouth shouting a silent, Stop!

Before he’d had a chance to reorient himself, Pax had hold of his hand and was pulling him toward the exit doors. “We have to get outside so I can open a portal,” Pax said, already digging the device out of the frock coat.

“What’s going on? Why are they after you?”

“They don’t care about me—it’s you they want.”

The snap and hiss of multiple portals popped in the lobby, and others stepped out and spotted them. “Hey! Stop!”

Pax and Ellis pushed out the front doors back into the falselight sunshine that gave no feeling of warmth. Ellis saw Pax pause and fiddle with the device, then a new portal appeared directly in front of them. With Pax still holding tight to his hand, they jumped in together.

Ellis was standing inside a massive stadium. Tiers of seats rose up before him numbering in the tens of thousands, most filled by spectators looking down at a green field where a game was being played. The crowd roared, several jumped to their feet, clapping. None noticed Pax and Ellis.

Pax, still holding his hand, pulled Ellis up a set of steps and around a pillar that was marked SEC-B 200-300 in bold white numbers.

“Where are we? What’s going on?” Ellis asked, having to shout over the cheers of the fans.

“We’re at Tuzo Stadium,” Pax replied, struggling feverishly with the portal device. “I was here last week. Had the location pre-programmed and I didn’t have time to pick anywhere else.”

Ellis peered around the pillar. On the field athletes were battling with three separate balls. Instead of uniforms, the players were painted different colors. Ellis guessed there were three different teams: one blue, one orange, and one yellow.

“What’s going on? What happened in Pol’s office? What was all that about Ren?”

Pax was busy with the portal device again, but darting furtive glances down the steps. “I need to pick a place outside, somewhere on the grass where you’ll be safe.”

“Safe from whom?”

“I don’t know, but that wasn’t Pol-789. Whoever we just met was involved in Geo-24’s murder, and I think also might have killed Pol-789.”

“How do you know—”

“Got it,” Pax declared as another portal appeared.

Ellis could hardly see anything inside the opening. The far side was dark.

Pax took hold of his hand once more. “Let’s go before they catch us.”

The moment Ellis stepped through the new portal, he was hit by a bath of hot, humid air and knew he was no longer in Hollow World. The light that spilled in from the stadium illuminated a scene of thick vegetation. Large, broad-leafed plants and massive-trunked trees hugged them. The ground felt moist beneath his feet, the air thick with the scent of dirt and plants, and everywhere were the whoops, chatter, shrieks, and cries of living things.

An instant later the portal snapped shut, leaving them in darkness.

“Where are we now?” Ellis whispered, terrified to move, but Pax pulled him along, rushing blindly into the slap of leaves.

“On the grass—South American Plate, Amazonian Biome, Basin Quadrant.”

“We’re in the Amazon jungle?”

Pax halted. “I—I thought—” The words were frightened, panicked. “I didn’t know it would be dark here. I can’t see what I’m doing!”

“Hang on—relax.” Ellis stopped. Pulling off his pack, he fished out the flashlight.

“Shine the light on my Port-a-Call,” Pax said, holding up the device.

The little controller had a tiny screen and a touch pad, and Pax was doing something that caused new numbers and words to appear. “You said you left your time machine not far from the Ford Museum, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you have more food and water at that machine?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, then I’m going to open a portal for you near the museum. They’ll never be able to find you once you step through.”

“Wait—what about you? You sound like you aren’t coming.”

“I can’t. I have a chip like everyone else. They can track the PICA in my shoulder as I pass through any portal. They knew we were in Tuzo Stadium. They’ll know we’re in this jungle too. They’ll trace the exact spot we ported to, but because we’re outside Hollow World, because we moved from the port-in, they can’t know exactly where. Once we split up, they won’t be able to find you at all.”

“Who’s they?”

“The murderers. Whoever that was in Pol’s office, I guess. I thought we’d stopped the killing. We didn’t. It’s obvious this isn’t just random. People are being murdered and replaced. We need to find out why. We’re probably the only two who know.”

“I bet Geo-24 knew—or suspected,” Ellis said. “That’s why he was investigating Pol. That might be why he was killed.”

“Maybe,” Pax said. “But Abernathy mentioned that it was Pol who contacted Geo-24 first. So what did Pol want from Geo-24?”

“Something suspicious enough to make Geo-24 ask questions that might have gotten him killed.”

“At this point it could be anything. All I know is that they’re after you.” A portal appeared in the dark. This one also led to a leafy darkness, just not as thick. “There! Go!”

Ellis hesitated. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me, run!”

“But I do worry about you. If I disappear, they’ll come after you.”

“I won’t tell them where you went. I swear.”

Ellis sighed. The electric filament that outlined the open portal painted Pax’s face and the surrounding giant leaves with a ghostly light. “I know you won’t. You’d die before telling them.”

“Yes…” Pax nodded, eyes grave, face desperate. “Yes, I would.”

“Which is why I’m not going through that portal. Not without you.”

“But I can’t go. I have a chip, and they’ll be here soon.”

Ellis let his hand settle on the pistol at his hip.

“No,” Pax said, lips trembling. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t leave you.”

“No more killing, please. Just go.”

The pain on Pax’s face was horrible to witness. This was the only living friend Ellis had. He would kill anyone who tried to harm Pax, and yet just then he was the one causing the pain. There had to be another way.

“What if we got rid of the chip?” Ellis asked.

Pax stared at him for a moment. “Do you have your knife in that bag?”

Ellis nodded.

“Okay, okay…” The portal snapped out of existence. “But let’s get farther away from the port-in. It will give us more time.”

Using his flashlight, Ellis led the way, pressing through thick ferns. They splashed through water and trudged over a tangle of roots and plants until they found higher ground at the base of a vine-wrapped trunk that afforded a small open patch. The ground was spongy, a buildup of organic material—dirt in the making. By the time they stopped, Ellis was soaked. Maybe it was the air condensing on him, the spill of water from leaves, or just plain old-fashioned sweat, but his clothes were plastered to his body, dragging on him like weights. His breath was also coming in gasps, that same harsh crackle. It hadn’t bothered him nearly so much in Hollow World. Now it was back. The shift in temperature and humidity wanted to remind him his life was on a timer.

Pax had already stripped away the frock coat and was unbuttoning the white shirt. There was something awful about watching Pax undress, like seeing a superhero forced to strip off a mask. Underneath, Pax was like all the others.

Ellis dropped his pack and drew out the hunting knife. Ellis had purchased the blade off Amazon’s website, which, at that moment—in his growing anxiety—struck him as ironic. “We should sterilize this somehow.”

“Why?”

“Prevent an infection.”

“There isn’t a germ on this planet that’s interested in my cells.” Pax sat against the tree. “Just make sure you don’t nick yourself.”

“Right.”

Ellis knelt beside Pax. Holding the flashlight with one hand and the knife in the other, he wiped his dripping forehead with his sleeve, but he only exchanged one wetness for another. “Do they put these things in deep?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think this is going to hurt.”

“Yeah, and you’d better hurry. They will eventually come here, and I’m not sure I…”

“What?”

“I’m not sure I won’t scream—I think I will, actually.”

Ellis tilted the light up and saw the glassy look of Pax’s frightened eyes. The light also shone off the big blade he held as if he were about to have a knife fight in some old western. What he needed was a scalpel, a razor, or an X-ACTO blade. Doing surgery with a six-inch Bowie knife was insane.

“Are you sure you want me to do this?”

“Yes.”

“I mean, I know this was my idea, but I don’t want you to think you have to—”

“Do it. Just hurry.” Pax was trying to sound brave, and actually did a fine job—braver than Ellis felt, holding that knife handle slick with sweat. He’d never cut anyone before. The closest thing was digging a splinter out of Peggy’s finger with a needle. That ordeal had lasted almost fifteen minutes, with him pinching and probing and her jerking and crying. The stress of that tiny splinter had exhausted Ellis—this scared the hell out of him.

He struggled to take a breath as he held the big stainless-steel blade up against Pax’s perfect skin. It looked huge, as if he planned to use a barbecue fork to fish out crabmeat. He remembered the online product description: perfect for gutting a deer in the wilderness.Knowing he’d need his other hand, he gripped the butt of the light with his teeth, then firmly grasped Pax’s shoulder. If he was going to do it, he couldn’t pussyfoot. He had to cut deep and fast. Anything less would just add to Pax’s misery. Recalling where he’d seen the other scars, he made a best guess.

“Brace yourself,” he mumbled around the flashlight. Ellis took another breath and pushed the blade into Pax’s shoulder.

Pax cried out and jerked sharply, forcing Ellis to squeeze hard to hold Pax still. He shoved deeper. Pax cried louder. The sound was almost surprised—a consternated “Oh!” that lingered as if Pax were starting to sing “Oklahoma.” It only took a second to make a slice big enough that Ellis could have inserted a quarter in. Blood dripped out, but not as much as he had expected. Ellis had imagined a spray of some kind, like Pax was a balloon filled with blood. With the cut made, he had to find the chip, and there was only one way he could do that.

Ellis pressed his index finger into the opening and began to probe. Pax shifted, thighs drumming as if the ground were on fire. More blood was coming out. Several streaks teared down the full length of Pax’s arm, spilling on the back of Pax’s hand that spread out on the jungle floor like the roots of a tiny tree. Pax’s fingers dug into the mulch, ripping it, squeezing it. He could feel Pax’s body quiver, hear a shuddering breath. Ellis was uncertain which of them it belonged to.

Somewhere in the night the relative quiet of the jungle exploded into squawks and shrieks.

“They’re here,” Pax managed to whisper with a stolen intake of air.

Ellis ignored the sounds. A python could have slithered up his pant leg and he wouldn’t have cared. He had his finger buried up to the second knuckle in Pax’s flesh, worming its way around tendons and…he was pretty sure—yes, that was a bone. Just when he was starting to despair at not finding anything, Ellis’s fingertip touched something oddly solid. Wafer-thin, it might have been a tiddlywink. He inserted the blade again, excavating toward it. He forced himself to tune out the grunts and gasps, jerks and jolts. The best way to save Pax pain now was to just focus and get the job done.

He was close, and if he’d had a pair of needle-nose pliers he could have yanked the damn thing out, but instead he had to use the blade again. He cut in a second incision, creating more of an X opening, giving him room to put both fingers inside. Pax’s head was back, bouncing against the tree and popping the brim of the bowler hat up, eyes squeezed tight, lips pinched, shaking hard. Then Ellis caught the thing. A slick disk he pinched tight between two fingers and pulled. It came free with a sucking sound that coincided with a cry from Pax.

“Got it!” Ellis gasped in triumph.

He set the disk aside and pulled the first-aid kit out. He tore the wrapper off a sterile pad, held it to the wound, and began wrapping a gauze bandage around Pax’s shoulder. When he was done, he repeated the process with the medical tape.

Somewhere in the darkness he could hear snapping branches.

Pax’s face was slick with moisture. “They heard me. We need to go.”

“Wait,” Ellis said. “If we send this chip through a portal, they’ll think it was you, right?”

Pax nodded.

“Then dial up someplace crazy.”

Ellis used his big, bloody knife to strip a chunk of bark off the tree, then taped the chip to it. As he did, Pax worked the Port-a-Call with one hand. The portal opened. Through it, all Ellis could see was a star field. He wound up and pitched the chunk of bark as hard as he could through the opening. Pax closed the portal and began dialing up the next as Ellis stuffed everything back in his knapsack, including Pax’s shirt and coat.

Somewhere to their left, Ellis heard people hacking through the undergrowth, and he saw a light splash across the underside of the canopy. The shrill voices of an excited jungle cut the night.

Pax popped another portal next to them, showing the same nighttime forest as earlier. Ellis threw his pack over one arm and scooped Pax up with the other, and together they staggered through the opening.

 

Chapter Eight

Another Time, Another Place

Pax was still asleep when the sun came up.

Ellis sat on the hill, marveling at the notion that he was very close to the same place he had been on his first morning after time traveling. He was back in Dearborn, Michigan, and somewhere down the slope to the south was Greenfield Village. The only difference between the sunrise that morning and the falselight dawn he’d witnessed at Pax’s home was the heat he felt and the realization that the genuine article was somehow less beautiful. The real sunrise was now a bit plain, like going back to vanilla after tasting peanut butter chocolate fudge crunch.

Ellis remembered how sad he’d felt the last time he sat there. He’d just lost everything, and believed he would die alone. He had the whole world, and yet no one to share it with. Ellis looked down at Pax nestled against the pillow of his knapsack, covered in the blanket of the frock coat. He lifted the corner to check the wound. He’d changed the pad once already—the old one had been a bloody mess. He threw it as far away as he could. Blood attracted animals to campsites. All they needed was a bear.

The current pad was still white.

The night before, after replacing the bandage, Pax had unexpectedly fallen asleep propped up in Ellis’s arms. He had panicked, thinking that blood loss had caused Pax to pass out. He woke Pax, who assured him nothing was wrong. “I’m just exhausted, and this”—Pax squeezed his arm—“is nice. Lying here feels good, and I haven’t felt good in a very long time.”

Pax fell asleep again and left Ellis replaying those words over in his head. Did anyone feel good for long? Ellis couldn’t remember the last time he felt that wonderful brand of no-worries-no-regrets good. Such moments were lost to the mists of youth, but most likely they never existed at all. If he really thought about it, being a child had been a nightmare of fears and a frustration of restrictions. Like photographs that yellowed, memories got rosier with age, and no memories were older than childhood.

Wallowing through the sludge of unremarkable routine, dodging bouts with disaster, humanity still survived off fleeting gasps of happiness. Ellis wondered if he’d ever feel truly good again, or if even that mundane dream had slipped past him. In the still night, on a silent world with Pax sleeping safe beside him, Ellis realized this was his moment to breathe.

As the sun rose, he was still thinking about what Pax had said and wondering what the words meant.

“Morning,” Ellis said, noticing Pax’s eyes flutter open.

Pax shivered.

“Hungry? Care for breakfast?”

“You have a Maker?” Pax yawned while struggling to button the shirt.

“No—good old-fashioned canned goods.” Ellis pulled a Dinty Moore stew out and held it up to the sun. The label was scraped and torn from rubbing something inside his pack, but the image of a steaming bowl of hearty meat chunks and vegetables was still visible. “Two-thousand-year-old beef stew. Yum.”

Pax fixed the can with a skeptical stare. “Am I going to like this?”

“Depends on how hungry you are. How do you feel?”

Pax grimaced. “Like someone stuck a sword in my shoulder last night. Where did you get such a mammoth knife?”

“The Internet.”

Pax sat up, glanced at the bandage, then began getting dressed. “The Internet—I read about that. Information Age invention, like the steam engine or electricity—started a revolution, right? Lots of people mention the Internet during arguments about the Hive Project. Everyone saying it’s like that, and how well that worked out. But then people are always comparing extremes to make a point. The Hive Project is either as good as the Internet or as bad as the Great Tempest.”

He handed the can to Pax, who began studying it, as Ellis rummaged around for the can opener. He hoped he hadn’t left it back at the time machine or, worse yet, in his garage. “So, exactly what is this Hive Project I keep hearing about?”

Pax was smoothing out the torn section of the label and studying the can with a skeptical expression. “It’s an initiative the ISP is pushing for—the next step in evolution, they call it.” Pax paused and thought a moment. “The Internet globally linked everyone through machines and wires, right?”

“Some would say tubes.” Ellis grinned, but Pax only appeared confused. “Never mind—old joke.”

“Well, the ISP wants to do the same thing, only they want to put the machines in our brains.”

“Make you like cyborgs or something?”

“No, that’s just a metaphor—sorry. There’s nothing mechanical involved. They want to alter our biology to make it possible for humans to link telepathically.”

“Is that possible?”

“They think it is.” Pax rotated the can to look at the picture on the label. “The way the ISP presents it, the Hive Project would solve all of our problems.”

“Hollow World has problems?”

Pax smiled. “Yes—many.”

“No war, no discrimination, no disease, no pollution, no violence, no class warfare…”

“I didn’t say we had the sameproblems. Well—I suppose you could say we still suffer from one remaining issue that manifests itself in several problems.”

“Like?”

“Communication. Misunderstanding. Isolation. You see, with the Hive Project we’d all be joined as one mind and know each other’s thoughts and feelings—all part of a giant whole. Misunderstandings would be a thing of the past. Everyone would know what everyone else knows, so it would eliminate the need to relearn knowledge in schools. Like the Internet—like global communications—the Hive would make it possible for humanity to leap forward creatively as never before.”

Pax tapped the can and then shook it. The dubious look remained. “They also say the Hive would solve the identity-maintenance problem.” Pax touched the bandage. “We wouldn’t need chips to tell who we are—we’d just know—or maybe we’d all be one, so it wouldn’t matter. It would be impossible to lie or cheat. We could also abolish government altogether. All decisions would be made as a whole—no more suspicion or deception—no need for laws, really. It’s believed that compassion will overflow and the whole human race will unite in perfect harmony.”

“Sounds a little too perfect.” Ellis found the bag of peanut M&M’S and set it aside. “Why the debate if it’s all going to be so grand?”

“That’s the ISP’s formal prediction. Not everyone agrees, of course, and there’s the problem of eliminating individualism. You might have noticed how a lot of us try to stand out in a world of so much homogeneity—tattoos, brands, and piercings are ways people take great pains to be different. You probably find those things strange, huh?”

“Tattoos and piercings? No, we had those in my day too,” Ellis said, and smiled as he finally found the opener. “Fairly popular when I left, in fact.”

“Really?”

Ellis took the can back from Pax and, setting it in the grass, began to open it. “Oh, yeah. Some people spent thousands of dollars getting their whole bodies inked. You aren’t the first to seek to be different.”

“But all of you were Darwins, already unique. How can anyone be more unique?”

“Believe me—people tried.”

Pax looked baffled, then shrugged. “Anyway, there’s a huge fear over losing identity. We already look the same, sound the same, smell the same, and now they want us to think the same—to dissolve our identities into a molten soup of conformity. No one will ever be special again, no one will be able to have any privacy, the whole world will always be there, in our heads, listening to every stray thought, every impulse, every desire.”

Ellis shivered. “Sounds like hell.”

“What’s hell?”

“Pretty much what you’re describing—a bad place for bad people.”

“A lot of citizens of Hollow World would agree with you.” Pax watched him rotate the metal wheel around the can lid. “This is fascinating. It’s like a histogram or one of those historical reenactments they do at museums. Only those people are just acting, guessing. You’ve actually done this before.”

“Open a can? Oh yeah—and for the record, you’re easily impressed.”

He slowed down. “The trick is not to let the lid fall in. Near the end, the torque will tilt the lid up enough to get your finger underneath so you can bend it back. There, see?” He lifted the lid up. “But be careful of the jagged edges. They can be sharp.”

“Incredible. It’s like camping with a caveman.”

“Oh yeah, Neanderthals loved Dinty Moore.”

Pax scowled. “I’m young, not an idiot.”

“No, you’re not.” Ellis looked for the spoon. “How about you? What do you think about this Hive thing?”

Pax hesitated, then said, “I’m scared of it. I like my hat and coat. I like that people recognize me at a glance, see me as different. Opinions don’t matter, though, which is why I find all the protests more than a little silly. Doesn’t make sense to scream about something you have no control over.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If the ISP had the means to go ahead with the Hive, they would.”

“But I assume you could pass laws to stop them.”

Pax’s head shook. “Doesn’t work that way anymore. Like I mentioned before, no one tells anyone else what to do—or not do.”

“What about—” Ellis almost said murder. “What about theft? You don’t tolerate stealing, do you? You must have laws restricting that.”

Pax smiled at him. “What can you steal from me that you can’t make for yourself? Or that I can’t reproduce in an instant? I wear a new suit every day. We don’t have a problem with theft.”

“But you must have conflicts that need to be resolved.”

“Of course. That’s what I do as an arbitrator. I solve those problems. Almost all of them are the result of a misunderstanding, misplaced anger, or irrational fear. You can’t make laws to govern accidents or emotions—no two are ever alike. They have to be worked through, solved like a puzzle.” Pax looked out at the hillside. “Thing is, none of it matters anyway. The ISP can’t do it. They don’t know how. Been working on the project for centuries and never found the combination to that lock. I don’t think they ever will. They also wanted to make it so people could fly—they never did that either. Still, the very idea scares a lot of people. Those in favor are often ostracized, and now there are these murders. Some have said they’re linked—a violent reaction to the ISP’s continued work.”