Phase Shift (31 page)

He continued his search on Paulie's wife and
found an article written about her in a neighbourhood paper. The
item gave accolades for her work on a local site in which school
children, supervised by university students, were invited to dig. A
picture accompanied the article, depicting Paulie and his wife
grinning as they pandered for the camera. Schliemann remembered
such impromptu poses, because he had been the one to be
interviewed, or because he had the sheer dumb luck of doing
something interesting when the photographer had arrived. Poses like
that were self-conscious at best, staged to look candid, always
embarrassing.

How life had changed. Schliemann had left
archaeology, a world in which ass-kissing the media was paramount.
It was how the money was solicited, how the public was rallied to
preserve a site, how the bulldozers were halted. Without the media,
the construction conglomerates wouldn't think twice about
sacrificing centuries old sites to the God of urban sprawl. Through
his writing and television appearances, Schliemann had become an
icon, the paragon of Pseudo-science. Reporters world round called
him for quotes or confirmation on a regular basis. Paid well, too.
Much better to have the media pander to him than the other way
around.

But Paulie's wife intrigued him, in a way
most women did not. That she was unavailable to him, married to
another man, didn't faze him. He wasn't interested in bedding her,
at least, not anymore, not since the barmaid. He was much more
interested in her enthusiasm, her passion, the enigma she brought
forth. She, like Prescott, had claimed to have visited another
world. And she had broached the topic seriously, though
tentatively, as though she had cared what he thought, as though
what he thought had mattered to her.

One thing was for certain: she was either
sane, or a card-carrying lunatic. Schliemann found it hard to
believe Paulie would drive all the way to see him if he believed
his wife to be insane. And if Paulie's wife was sound, it meant her
story was real.

Schliemann finished his coffee. It was
settled. He would pay the Richardsons a visit. If Paulie's wife had
discovered a way to travel between two worlds, she would need a
scribe, someone to document her story, someone with credibility.
And Josef Schliemann was up for the task.

Before he logged off the computer, he sent
an e-mail to Paulie's wife: "I believe," it said. He clicked 'send'
as the man slipped into the booth opposite him.

"Give me just a few more minutes eh? Then
the booth's all yours," Schliemann said without looking up.

"Dr. Schliemann?" the man asked.

Schliemann peered at him over the top of his
Notebook. "Do I know you?"

"Dr. Josef Schliemann?"

Something about the man was off, something
about the comb of his hair, the kilter of his tie, the cut of his
suit—Schliemann couldn't quite put his finger on it. He smiled.
"You have me at a disadvantage, friend," he said.

"My name is Loman Praetner, sir, and I
believe we have some business to discuss." He leveraged a small,
chocolate-coloured brief-case onto the table between them and
flipped the latch.

Reyes's appearance is preceded by a gust of
air. I'm in my school office, grading papers abysmal enough to make
me question my choice of career when he arrives. His wind takes the
papers from my desk and throws them angrily about the room.

"Jesus Christ, Reyes," I say once I've
determined the source of the breeze, "when are you going to learn
to knock?" Reyes's draft was strong enough to throw several essays
onto the floor and across the room. One droops over the arm of the
easy chair opposite my desk, fanning precariously courtesy of a
lone staple. Before I can rescue it, the staple fails and it covers
the area rug under the easy chair like a blanket of newly fallen
leaves.

Reyes bends to collect a gathering of papers
at his feet. He rubs them between the palms of flat hands. "This is
papyrus?"

"Paper. We call it paper.

"I would ask for them digitally," I say
mildly annoyed as I scoot about the room collecting papers as I go,
"but if I did I guarantee you most of them would get intentionally
lost in cyberspace."

"Cyberspace?"

"Never mind." Reyes follows me around the
room, swooping to get the papers I miss. How I'll ever figure out
which page goes where is beyond me.

When we're done, he hands me a thin pile. I
take it from him a little more roughly than I’d intended.

"Why are you here, Reyes? What do you
want?"

"You have been summoned to Gaia."

"Fine. How does sometime next week
sound?"

"You have been summoned to Gaia now."

"I can't go now." I exhale loudly and plop
into my chair. "I have papers to grade. I'm on a deadline." As I
survey the pile I notice a few have survived the ordeal seemingly
unscathed. They're the first to be pulled from the pile.

"But you must come," he says, as he takes a
large step forward. "It is Goren who has done the summoning—"

Partial essays are next, the ones retaining
their staples if not all their pages. I speak still concentrating
on my essays. "Oh, well, if it's Goren..."

"Please, Molly." Did he just call me by my
first name?

He extends his arm to hand me one of those
newfangled modulators. The arm strap hangs between his fingers like
a fistful of cooked lasagna. "Not now, Reyes. Give me a few hours.
Once I've made some headway with these assignments—"

"Have I done something to offend?"

How do I answer that question? Why has my
heart quickened since Reyes's arrival? What exactly is it that has
stressed me so? "I just want things to return to normal, Reyes.
Before you started coming around, my biggest problem was motivating
my students or finding down time with my husband." I chance a look
at him and take a deep breath before continuing. "And now? Now I
haven't been able to eat or sleep properly. I can't concentrate
because all I can think about is Cataclysm." Before I can stop
myself, I say, "Go away, Reyes. Leave me and my planet alone."

"I cannot do that, Molly McBride." Reyes
speaks his next words with deliberation and without eye contact: "I
have been sent to bring you back to Gaia. The matter is grave." He
pauses and then says, "I have been instructed to take you by force
if necessary," as if he's embarrassed at the admonition.

"You've been sent to abduct me? You would do
that, Reyes? Take me by force?"

"I would do whatever is necessary to save
our worlds." He extends the modulator to me once more. "Please,
Molly McBride Prefect. We have much to discuss."

He's right: we need to talk. Besides, it's
not like I really have a choice.

Our arrival on Gaia is in a swoosh of dust.
The air is acrid, and faintly sulphurous. "What is this? Where are
we?"

"These are the harbingers of Cataclysm," he
says, cryptic.

"I mean, where on the planet are we?"

"The mass of Nemea. Goshan Prefecture," he
says as though it will clarify.

A pile of smoking rubble rises in the
distance. The breeze is charred, thick and sooty. The space between
us and the ruins is dotted with huddles of survivors. Their cries,
hopefully mournful, lilt skyward on the breeze.

Reyes motions for me to follow him as he
walks toward the ruins. "Space is premium in Goshan Prefecture.
They are in the habit of vertical growth rather than horizontal
sprawl.

“Late yesterday morning, a phase bubble
opened beneath Goshan Prefecture Proper. The structure collapsed.
Several thousand prefects and disciples, and a smattering of infs
and their families called this prefecture their home. Fewer than
half were accounted for when I was asked to collect you."

The horror that is the remains of the
Prefecture building is clearer now. What I thought were small
pockets of debris are actually sheet-draped bodies. Reyes and I
side-step one, the body of a female. Her blackened hand pokes out
from beneath a grey, woolen blanket. The rubble of Goshan towers
several stories above ground, casting a shadow in our direction.
Warily we cross over the outer boundary of the shadow, into the
territory of the disaster, into the realm of Cataclysm.

"Why am I here, Reyes?"

"It is imperative you see this, so you will
know of the impending Cataclysm and all it brings. True Cataclysm
will make these incidents seem folly." His words are slow,
trance-like.

Sheets of obsidian-like solar paneling atop
the crumpled hull of what was Goshan Prefecture reflect the
sunlight when they are able to make contact through the smoke and
cloud cover. "I'm already on your side, Reyes. I didn't need to see
this."

"What Goren asks of you will test your
mettle. You must use the horror you feel to fuel your resolve in
the days to come."

Reyes stares out and over the ruins. He says
no more. I touch him on the arm and he starts. He clears his
throat, sniffles, and wipes tears from his cheeks before he speaks.
"You found correlations in your research?"

"I did, but there's something else—" He
already knows about the trade happening between our worlds, he'd
implied as much in our last conversation. What he needs to know
about are the people, about Cecilia, Samkin, and the others like
them.

"It is as we suspected, then? Each of the
harbingers is precipitated by an incident on Earth."

"Yes, but Reyes—" I have to tell him. Enough
of the Earth-bashing. He needs to know Gaia is not entirely
innocent in the affair.

"Goren asked me to bring you here today to
witness the inevitable, to witness the onslaught of Cataclysm. To
force you and your people to do something before it is too
late."

"You speak as if all of this is Earth's
fault. 'My people'..." I say, grudgingly. "You told me the whole
phase shifting phenomenon was a side-effect of your
terraforming—"

"But there has been a ban on terraforming
for decades—"

"You also said there was a direct
correlation between an increase in random shifting and continued
deliberate shifting. It stands to reason then, that every time you
drag me over here you are compounding the problem."

"One must do what one must to avert
Cataclysm."

"The end justifies the means. Yeah. I've
heard that one before." We stare at each other for a moment while I
struggle to catch my breath. My heart feels as though it might leap
from my chest at any moment.

Reyes says, "I am aware of what you speak.
Aware of all this and more."

I continue, slowly, "You know, you and I are
not the only ones doing the deliberate shifting."

"Of this, I am also aware, but I am
paralyzed to inaction in the matter."

Paralyzed to inaction? What the hell did
that mean? "You also know our worlds are engaged in trade?"

Reyes nods. "I am but a Second Prefect,
Molly McBride. I have no power in the

matter—"

"What if I told you I had evidence our
worlds were trading in more than technology? What if I told you
they were trafficking children as well? Children, Reyes," I plead.
"Someone is taking children from their parents on my world and
bringing them to live on yours."

Up until this moment, Reyes had met my gaze
on every point I'd made, but now he looks away, first to the ground
and then into the distance.

At last he looks directly into my eyes and
says, "I would say that is preposterous," very calmly.
Too
calmly. If it were me? If I were to find out my government was
engaging in bartering with children for capital gain? I'd be
outraged. But there's something in the way he says it, in the way
he quickly averts his eyes the moment he's done, that tells me he's
hiding something.

"You know, don't you? Oh my God! And all
along, I thought you were one of the good guys." I don't know what
to do anymore. The part of my brain that governs reason, rational
thought, seems to have shorted out. The only thing I can think to
do is to walk away.

Reyes calls to me, but I ignore him.

The arm-band modulator! Like Dorothy, I
forgot the power to return home has been with me all along. I roll
up my sleeve in preparation to remove the modulator when Reyes
grabs hold of my shoulder. "You are mistaken, Molly McBride," he
says, with deliberation. "I know nothing of the trade in human
chattel."

"But you know more than you're telling me,
don't you?"

He looks at his feet. "What I know, or do
not know, is a matter of confidence."

"No," I tell him. "No way. It doesn't work
that way. If you want my cooperation, I need full disclosure. I
need to know what you know or I'm out."

His lips move as if they're fighting with
his tongue either to tell me what I want to hear or to remain
silent. I wait a few moments to give his conscience the opportunity
to decide on which side of the fence it feels most comfortable, but
then I say, "Good-bye, Reyes. Don't call me again," and I continue
the struggle to roll up the sleeve of my shirt.

"As I have already stated, Molly McBride, I
am but a Second Prefect. I do not know much outside of the role I
play at the Prefecture."

"But you do know something, don't you?"

Reyes nods. "I have recently been made privy
to some information."
"What information?"

"I have always had my suspicions, but now it
is confirmed. It is as you say. There is a faction of First
Prefects who have built a system of barter for trade between the
two worlds. I have been assured it is purely for technological
advancement. But to trade in people? I cannot believe—"

"This Goren. Who is he? How well do you know
him?"

"Goren is a man to be reckoned with. He
wields great power both on the Theran Council and within the
Brethren of First Prefects. In truth, it is this power which has
made Theran Prefecture the most prosperous on Selene, if not the
world over. He is not a man to cross."