Dangerous Designs (18 page)

His stylus has shown him already.

"Can you tell me his reaction?"

No.

"Of course not. That would mean understanding feelings, like shock. Horror, even." She pondered the situation. "Send him another message. Tell him he can write using his stylus and his stylus will send his message to my stylus, so I can read it." She waited another breathless minute then leaned forward. "Done?"

Done.

She waited chewing on her fingernails. "Damn it. Why doesn't he answer?"

He's answering.

"He is? Where? Oh." She turned the page and put the pencil to paper. Her hand jerked as the message flowed. She read it aloud. "Stay out of our world."

"Wow. After all that he tells me to butt out." What an ass. Her hand started moving again.
Eric is lost to us. Your fault.

She gasped. "What? Eric's dead? No, that can't be." Hesitantly, she asked, "Stylus, is Eric dead?"

Her hand never moved. "I'll take that as a good sign." Paxton said lost to them. What did that mean?

"Stylus send another message, please. What does he mean 'Eric is lost to them'?" Eric should have gone straight to the basement to meet up with them, as per the instructions he received while in his room." She waited anxiously, her pencil in hand. "Isn't he going to answer?"

He is.

There seemed to be a time lag of some kind before her hand started to jerk out the message.
Basement under attack. All thought to be lost.

"Not possible. That was supposed to be the safe zone." What was that other place the guy said, Manshire? Mansfield? Mansfield, that was it. "Stylus send a message, please." She quickly wrote down her question about where this place was, who could have sent the message, and where was Paxton himself that he was safe?

It took a moment, and then her hand started writing.
Mansfield was the location of the portal used to banish the Louers. The global feed must have told Eric that and sent him to the basement. The basement was taken early this morning. There were so few people left. The others had been rounded up. Possibly being held in Mansfield. I'm in lab monitoring the situation.

"Global feed? I don't think I want to know. And Paxton's in his lab? No, not possible. We were there this morning. How could we have missed him?"

She quickly answered him and asked why they hadn't seen him earlier.

His response was swift and sure. "None of my business," she read aloud. "Nice. Not."

He either didn't see us or didn't want us to see him. Either way, his behavior wasn't cool.

"According to the stylus," she wrote, "You know how to stop this war. I need to know how."

The response wasn't long in coming.
No, I don't.

"Stylus, how is this possible?" Of course it didn't answer. "Okay, let me try that again." Stylus, is Paxton aware of his knowledge on how to stop the war?"

The stylus quickly etched out the word,
no
.

Okay, so he wasn't lying he just didn't know he knew. "Great. So Stylus, what does Paxton need to do to access this information?"

He needs to go into his memory banks and find the system used last time.

"But the system last time was an accident. He's not likely going to be able to recreate that accident."

No accident. Council project.

"So, like a secret government research project, huh? Figures, the archives say it was an accident. Well, we have a few of those going on here, too. Tell Paxton that, please."

Already done.

"Really? Wow, fast." She sighed and sat back to wait. Her hand started moving right away.

How do you know about that? I can't remember those details. Will have to access archive. No time.

Her hand continued to write,
The styluses are like old computers with long memory banks. Ask yours for the information. That's how I found out. My stylus answers questions. Yours will, too.

She waited and waited. Nothing. She wanted to get up and storm around the room, but didn't dare do anything to stop the ongoing communications. "Why isn't he answering? Does he not know? Doesn't care? Or is he no longer there to care?"

After ten long minutes her hand started writing again.
Going to access archives. Eric had crossed into the basement. Triggered alarms with his signature. No idea what has happened.

"Can I go get him out?" Not that she was going to listen for his answers.

"Yes!
" she read aloud. "Wow, what a surprise he actually gave me permission." She pondered a return to the other side. "Stylus? Will you remember this message in case I run into trouble from being in your world?"

Yes. All data is stored and transmitted.

"Yep. So, you are just like our computers. Only you use a pencil and paper instead of a keyboard. Cool." She hopped up and grabbed a thicker sweater out of her closet. It was her one chance to pick up anything extra. She'd yet to use the supplies in her bag, as it was.

The stylus in her hand started to vibrate. She raced over to the sketchbook.

Not quite like your computers. We were people once.

We were Louers.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

S
he choked and then choked again. "Did...did you say you used to be a Louer? As in you used to have a body and a mind?"

Yes.

"What happened?"

Slavery. Given to a research lab where I was bonded to the stylus to support the old man who'd been bonded to it for centuries before me. The risks were high. So, slaves were used to keep the soulbound objects functioning. The old man was failing and the bond had weakened. I don't know how, yet the next thing I knew, I was locked inside, joined as one with the previous souls. Soulbound.

Heat flushed upward then drained in hurry, leaving ice behind. Soulbound. Not bound to her soul, but a soul inside, bound to it. She shifted the stylus, to hold it almost reverently as she stretched out the fingers on her right hand. "Oh my God," she whispered. "I am so sorry. I had no idea."

Her left hand jerked under the impulses of the stylus. She quickly moved it to her right hand and let the words pour.

No. Most people don't. I haven't communicated with anyone in centuries. It feels odd. To feel anything is...unique.

She winced. "A good odd or not so good?"

A good odd. Rusty. Some of my capabilities are returning.

"Is that good?" She wondered what the hell she'd released.

Yes. There are many of us here. We have merged into one – the voice and mind of the same stylus. Each of us adds something, and the stylus grows in power. The older it is, the longer is has survived, the more of us are in here to keep it alive. The handler adds another element. In this case, you have increased our abilities tenfold. We thank you.

She gulped. "You're welcome. I think. I hope this is a good thing. Those people, Paxton, Eric and the others, aren't really open to progress. Not sure they'll appreciate this type of change."

No. Over time they will.

On that note, she turned around and finished packing her bags. "So, Stylus, how can we transport into the basement where Eric is? There are no gates there. I've never seen the inside, so drawing a door into it is going to be impossible and possibly not a good idea. Suggestions?"

The stylus was quiet. She laughed and picked it up off the bedding. Placing it on the sketchbook, she repeated, "I need a codex to travel around your world. Can we make one – is that possible?"

Possible – not practical. There exist many in Paxton's office.

"Paxton. Right. I can get to the lab." She pulled out the drawing she'd used with Eric the last time and ten minutes later she found herself back in the lab. And face to face with Paxton.

She grinned at him.

The color drained from his face. "What? How are you here?"

She wiggled the stylus in his direction. "It hasn't failed me yet. Are you aware that souls are bound to this stylus?" She watched him straighten. "Or should I say whose
souls?
These are Louers. They were normal people, whose only wrong was wanting a better life for themselves – not one of servitude. The Torans kept them as slaves, as prisoners." Outrage stiffening her spine, she stalked toward him.

"I know what we did," he snapped. "I read the archives. That is ancient history. That we're paying for it today is unacceptable. We didn't force any of them to become bound to the stylus, they were volunteers. It offered them a chance to live forever. They were also well compensated for their sacrifice. We aren't monsters, you know."

"Then why banishment to another dimension?" She couldn't help feeling that something else must have been going on.

"How would I know?" His voice rose. "I'm old, but not that old. It wasn't during my lifetime."

She shook her head. This wasn't getting them anywhere. "Where were you earlier, when Eric and I were looking for you?"

He reared back. "I've been here all along."

With a shake of her finger, she said, "Nope, you weren't, because we searched for you. Even at your apartment."

His eyes widened. A faint blush rose as he swallowed. "I was in my apartment until I heard intruders. I hid, then raced back to my lab."

Storey's gaze widened in understanding. He'd been the one that had knocked over something in the living room. They'd just missed each other. It would be laughable if it weren't so frustrating. She refocused. "I need a codex and training to use one."

He pulled himself up to his full height and raised his nose into the air. "Absolutely not. There is no way. It will kill you."

Storey pursed her lips. Instinct drove her to pull the small blank notepad out of her pocket and slip the stylus into her fingers. "Stylus, will wearing a codex kill me?" The words formed on the page instantly. She lifted the book to show Paxton while reading it aloud. "No."

It would have taken a better person than she was to hide her triumphant look. Her grin widened. "Didn't know they could talk, did you?" She waggled the stylus in her fingers. "You don't know the first thing about them, do you?"

Paxton took a tentative step toward her, his eyes locked on the stylus. "How is it you have learned all of this in just a few days?"

She couldn't be sure, but he sounded slightly mollified instead of angry. She hadn't wanted to rub this in his face. "Because I didn't come at it with preconceived assumptions like you did." She thought that was a reasonable answer. From the glacial look fired in her direction he didn't agree. Adults and their egos. They made life so difficult.

"So yes or no on the codex? I am willing to go and get Eric; however, I can't get to him without a codex – unless you'd like to come to unlock the doors?"

He shook his head widely, white tufts of hair flying in all directions. "No, no. I can't leave. I'm needed here."

"Then you have no choice." She held out her arm.

"These aren't toys. Extensive training is required to use these. You can't just put one on and expect to be a pro."

"I don't expect to. Show me the basics so I can get to Eric. We can use
his
codex from there. Can't you sync one codex to find his codex?"

Paxton's brows drew together in surprise. "Yes. Yes, I can." He busied himself at a desk piled high with metal pieces while she waited. She glanced down at the stylus and paper. "Do you know how to work the codex, Stylus?"

Her hand jerked immediately.
Much of it.

"Good. Maybe, we'll do well after all."

Paxton raced toward her. "Here's a simpler version. We use these for visitors." He strapped the smaller unit on her wrist while firing instructions on its functionality.

She turned her arm slightly, admiring the look. "This is way cool." And it was. She could use something like this on her own world. Not that he'd appreciate hearing that. Still, when this was over...nope, not going to happen, the FBI would never let her keep it.

"Now pay attention. I'm punching in the identity code of Eric's codex right now. As soon as I press this last button, you're going to arrive at his side. That could put you into many horrible scenarios. This codex can't save you." As if the force of his stare could infuse common sense into her, he upped the wattage and directed it into her eyes.

She blinked and pulled back slightly. "No, but my brains and my stylus might."

He snorted. "And they might not. This is war. People are dying. You might, too."

That stopped her in her place. "I wanted to ask you about that. What is the population of your city here? Millions, thousands or only hundreds?"

"Thousands here and millions over the planet. We don't have your overpopulation problem."

"Thousands only? Are there children here?"

Paxton reared back. "Of course. We have a natural order of things. Children here do not run amuck, like in your world."

"What's the average life expectancy here?"

His lips thinned. "We live much longer than you do. I don't want your people coming over here and treating us as lab rats to find out our secrets."

Understandable. Yet it was okay for them to do that to her? Not that they'd said so to her. She shook her head. "That's not my intention. What I was thinking about was that your people are extremely long lived, so death is an even greater loss here. With your peaceful life, you're also not used to the trauma of war, of living in fear every day."

"And you are?"

"Not personally, but I've been raised with the possibility of a terrorist attack any day. We learn to live well in spite of it. That doesn't make us naive."

"My people are innocent."

"Good." She smiled and headed to the spot Paxton pointed out. She tucked her stylus into her jeans pocket, grimacing down at her clothing. At home she'd grabbed a sweater, but why hadn't she considered changing her jeans or socks and shoes? Too late now. She checked out her location and the circle she was standing in. "Here?"