Empire State Page 22

  Rad gripped the arms of the old wooden chair. He didn't quite know what to expect as Grieves rolled his knuckles and approached. Rad saw Jones smile behind Grieves, then laugh into his fist. He didn't like the Bullethead. This wasn't going to be good.

  Grieves yanked the mask, the straps catching behind Rad's ears. Rad yelled, and instinctively raised his hands to them, then stopped. A wave of relief flooded over him as breathing suddenly became effortless and automatic. He smiled at Grieves, who just shrugged, then looked at Nimrod. Nimrod, at least, returned the smile, and pointed to the jug.

  The aroma, the sweet, sweet smell of coffee. Richer, deeper than he had ever experienced it. Rad could almost taste bitterness at the back of his throat as he took a deep breath, wide nostrils flaring even more. Even with a full coffee ration, it had never smelt like that.

  Rad smiled, licked his lips, and leaned in towards the desk. A second later, his head cracked its edge, and he toppled from the chair onto the cheap carpet of Nimrod's office, white foam bubbling at the corner of his mouth.

  • • • •

  Rough hands with short fingers gripped Rad under the armpits and hefted him back into the chair. Cold hands with long fingers slapped his cheeks lightly.

  Rad opened his eyes, looked around with a narrow gaze, then widened his eyes in shock. He managed to get his hands to his chest; Nimrod barked something at his agents. Rad's eyes closed and he felt his head pushed backward. A shadow passed over his reddening vision, and when he brought his head to the upright position, he was looking at the world through the steamy goggles of the mask. Each hard-won breath was a battle, tainted with rubber and a chemical odour that stuck in the back of his throat. Each was a blessed relief, easing the buzzing in his head and the knife-hot pricking behind his eyes and the stabbing pain in his chest.

  Nimrod looked relaxed, at ease, sitting back in his reclining office chair, fine porcelain saucer in one hand, fine porcelain cup in the other. He was holding the cup just in front of his mouth, nostrils flaring – as Rad's had done as he enjoyed the rich aroma.

  Rad sighed, coughed, then took a laboured breath. "No coffee?"

  Nimrod shook his head, but he was smiling as he sipped his own drink. Rad closed his eyes and focussed on not coughing.

  "What happened?" he asked at last.

  Nimrod sniffed loudly and set the cup and saucer down on the desk. His chair snapped back into the upright position with a clatter of old springs.

  "This environment takes some getting used to." Nimrod almost sneered as he looked Rad up and down. "For some it takes longer than others." The sneer broke into the grey-yellow toothed smile.

  "What exactly did you want to... (breath)... tell me in person anyway?"

  "Nothing that couldn't be relayed via the telephone, but I always like to meet my agents for a face-to-face interview, and I thought it was important you saw me in vivo so you could be sure I was who I said I was."

  Rad nodded. It was a fair point. While his week had been odd, to say the least, he was pretty certain that he never would have believed any of it unless he'd been dragged through the Fissure himself to meet Captain Carson's alter ego. He wondered whether the offer of a drink was just a ruse, another demonstration that he was telling the truth about the "incompatibility", as Nimrod had put it, of the Pocket and the Origin.

  "When I went to visit Carson," Rad huffed, "I went looking for answers. For days I've just had hints here and there of something big happening, with me smack in the middle of it all." He paused for breath and raised a hand, indicating to the others that he was not finished. "With Kane not only acting up, but not being around most of the time, Carson was the obvious choice. And I was right, he knows about the Pocket and the Origin."

  Nimrod nodded. "He would, yes."

  Rad shuffled in his chair with impatience. "That's just it. How would he know? He said he had 'probed' the Origin through the Fissure, but he seemed to make some pretty good guesses. How is the Empire State related to this... place, whatever you called it."

  "New York City."

  "Right." Rad nodded and sat back. It wasn't that he hadn't ever heard the name before, it felt like he'd known it well, in childhood, and hadn't heard it for thirty or forty years. Which was impossible, because it was the year Nineteen and he was a forty-four year-old man with no childhood.

  Grieves turned his back to Rad and moved around Nimrod's desk. Nimrod looked up, and leaned his ear towards Grieves as his henchman whispered something quickly. Rad couldn't hear behind the wheezing of his mask, but Nimrod's eyebrows moved around on his forehead as he took the information in. Grieves stood back, and Nimrod nodded, chewing his lip. For the second time, Grieves left the office and closed the door with an almost inaudible snick.

  "Time is short, Mr Bradley," said Nimrod. "One of the... side effects, you could say, of the Fissure. Time does not necessarily run in parallel between the two cities. We must get you back to the Empire State."

  Rad shook his head vigorously and summoned the strength to stand. He slid his lead-like legs towards the big desk, and practically fell onto his clenched fists. Nimrod jerked back instinctively as the respirator hanging from Rad's face swung towards him with the movement.

  "I'm a detective. I have a case to solve. If I'm a pawn on someone's chessboard, fine and dandy. Just tell me which side I'm playing for. Black or white?" He sucked in a lungful of stale, flavoured air. "What's the deal, Nimrod? What is the Empire State?"

  Nimrod stared at up at Rad leaning over him; Rad could hear Bullethead Jones peeling himself from the wall and moving around until he was directly behind him. Nimrod watched his henchman over Rad's shoulder, and shook his head. Looking back at Rad, Nimrod felt his stomach with his right hand until he located a small pocket in his tunic. He extracted a pocket watch, a gold half-hunter, and flicked his eyes towards it.

  "Very well. We can return you home via the Fissure itself. That will lessen the risk of time dilation, although may not eliminate it entirely. Besides, perhaps you might like to take a look at it for yourself? It will give us a little extra time."

  Nimrod stood and smiled coldly as he looked down at the detective bent against the desk.

  "Crossing the Fissure itself is something we try to avoid." A pause, a beat. "But you're a big strong man. You might just survive."

  TWENTY-NINE

  IT WAS NIGHT AGAIN, but a night unlike any that Rad could remember. Or maybe he could, locked somewhere deep in his nineteen year-old mind filled with memories that weren't his. A memory, an image, reflected through the Fissure from the Origin to the Pocket, from his New York equivalent. Because like Carson and Nimrod, he had a double, an original, too. Rad's heart fluttered, just a little.

  The killer.

  He had no idea how it worked, or why it worked, or why it was, but he was hoping to find that out.

  Grieves and Jones had helped Rad walk. They were still rough, still thugs, but obviously Nimrod trusted them, and they seemed pretty good at obeying his orders. They were government employees, after all, and even governments need tough guys sometimes.

  Nimrod's office was full of people, a large central open-plan area filled with desks and people typing. Around the periphery were private offices like Nimrod's. Rad noticed that the clothes people wore were a little strange. Different cuts, different styles that he didn't like. Then he remembered Nimrod's claim about how time moved differently in the two cities. If it was 1949 or 1950 here, and Nineteen at home, how did you convert? Did that make it nineteen years since the Fissure had opened? He'd been in New York for a few hours, but Nimrod was eager for him to return home. If the timelines weren't parallel, how long had he been away from the Empire State?

  Rad sat in the back of the black car as it cruised the city. Even through the mask and the tinted windows of the government limo, Rad was transfixed. The city was brighter, lighter than the Empire State. He recognised a lot of buildings, and didn't recognise a lot of others, but he was amazed at the lights. So many burning
in the night, so many colours. With no fog or mist, he watched Manhattan in crystal clarity. It was alive with people and cars – although he wasn't sure what the time was, it couldn't have been that late. There were shops too, restaurants, corner stands; buildings and doorways and windows blazing with light.

  It was bright, and busy, and noisy, and it felt like home. The Empire State was cold, grey, fogbound and as quiet as a grave. Rad realised now that his city, his home, was merely a shadow of New York, a bad knock-off, a worn-out second-hand copy. Rad felt odd. His chest was tight, not just from the breathing. His mask goggles steamed more, and he recognised the feeling. Sadness. A profound, deep emotion. He hadn't felt this sad since... well, since he couldn't remember.

  And if he was a fake, an image, a reflection, a copy, a duplicate, with memories that half belonged to someone else, maybe his emotions were copies and fakes too.

  New York City made him unhappy. Rad wanted to go home. He was afraid, now, that'd he'd been away too long. Perhaps Nimrod had the same thing in mind, as he leaned forward from the back seat to tap Grieves on the shoulder and urge some speed. Grieves nodded and the car rocked on its back wheels as he increased pressure on the accelerator.

  Nimrod squeezed closer to Rad, and tapped him on the shoulder to drag his attention away from the passing view outside the window. Rad turned around awkwardly.

  "The Fissure is located in Battery Park, at the bottom of Manhattan. We own the whole area now, and access is tightly restricted."

  Rad nodded. "We have the same. It's called the Battery."

  "Really?" Nimrod smiled at the name. "That's appropriate. The Battery. The power source of the Empire State, quite literally."

  "As Carson said. He didn't seem to know much about how it worked."

  Nimrod nodded, and rolled his hands around each other then took a deep breath.

  "The Fissure is a tear in space-time." Nimrod paused and squinted at Rad. "Space-time?"

  Rad shook his head. Nimrod waved his hand.

  "Doesn't matter," he continued. "The United States of America – that's the country that New York sits in – was once protected by a, well, a freelance law enforcement agent, shall we say. You'll know the name, I think."

  "The Skyguard?"

  "Correct! But the Skyguard had an opposite. Perhaps his equal, perhaps not. He called himself the Science Pirate." Nimrod paused, waiting for a response. Rad shrugged.

  "The Skyguard has been in jail for... forever, I guess," said Rad. "Never heard of a 'Science Pirate'. Sounds kooky."

  Nimrod touched a finger to his lips. "Fascinating, quite fascinating. Some aspects reflected, some aspects translated. Some even translocated. Some absent altogether."

  "Trans-what now?" Rad asked.

  "The Fissure was opened when the Skyguard fought the Science Pirate over the construction site of the Empire State Building, back in 1930. A sort of last stand, you might say. There was an explosion. The Skyguard's body was never recovered, and the Science Pirate fled, but was not seen again.

  "There were strange events that night, according to reports both official and unofficial. At the same time as the explosion, the Statue of Liberty suffered a colossal lightning strike. The lightning was green, Mr Bradley, according to the newspaper report. Strange sounds were heard and lights seen all over Manhattan. Over Queens, the stars in the sky – and I quote – 'danced like fireworks on the Fourth of July'."

  Rad huffed inside his mask. "Very poetic for the Sentinel."

  Nimrod's moustache bounced around as his mouth twisted into a frown. The old man leaned back a little, as though terribly offended by Rad's comment.

  "The New York Times, old chap."

  Rad blinked. "OK," he said, slowly, before changing tack. "So why were you looking for me, anyway?"

  Nimrod smiled, his attitude changing instantaneously. Rad wondered if eccentric was quite the right word for him.

  "We weren't, my dear detective. We were looking for the Science Pirate and your doppelganger, a man called Rex. A small-time gangster, ran a minor Prohibition racket in Midtown. No one of consequence, although there were numerous warrants for his arrest and he was also required as a witness in another case presided over by the New York Supreme Court."

  Nimrod stopped, the smile plastered over his features. Rad could see he was enjoying this far more than he should have been.

  "But…?" Rad prompted.

  Nimrod's eyes flashed. "But! At the same time as the Skyguard vanished and the Science Pirate fled, there was a car accident at the scene. The body of one of Rex's associates was recovered, but not Rex himself. On the night that the Skyguard and the Science Pirate vanished, so too did our fugitive, Rex."

  Rad shook his head with effort.

  "I don't get it," he wheezed.

  Nimrod leaned closer. "We can detect the trails that people leave, in this world and in the other." He jabbed one index finger to the left and the other to the right as Rad watched. "The Skyguard vanished from New York, but once we knew of the Pocket and how to look into it, we picked his trace up immediately. But of the Science Pirate, there was no trace, here or there. Until now. Likewise your twin, Rex."

  "How long ago was this fight?"

  "Nineteen years," said Nimrod.

  Rad sighed. "I figured. But why Rex? Why was he important?"

  Nimrod frowned and he shrugged with some difficulty in the back seat. "Maybe he isn't, but his trace was difficult to follow at the nexus. Tangled, distorted, but detectable. It is possible he had something to do with the Science Pirate's disappearance, or was at least tied to it. Find him and perhaps he would lead us to the Pirate's trace."

  Rad nodded. "OK." Anything Nimrod said. He looked out the window again. Lights, people, life. He felt his heart sink again.

  "So, what about Battery Park? How did you find the Fissure, exactly?"

  Nimrod rubbed his hands together, a clear indication yet another story was forthcoming. Rad kept his eyes on the wonderful, mysterious world outside.

  "Well, those reports of strange occurrences were not just from the night of the fight. The area of the explosion was sealed off for a time, for cleanup and investigation, and so on, but opened soon enough. Then, days later, came strange reports from downtown. Battery Park. Things appearing, disappearing. People, police. Even cars and a horse! The park was kept open, but soon people stopped going there. Stories spread that it was haunted."

  Rad laughed, then coughed at the lack of oxygen. He took a breath that was like pushing mashed potato through a sieve and turned back to Nimrod.

  "Ghosts?"

  At Rad's comment Nimrod laughed as well, the sharp sound ricocheting around the inside of the car. Even Jones's bulletshaped head seemed to shrink slightly into his shoulders like a man-sized turtle.

  "But you took it seriously?" said Rad. The laughter died and Nimrod looked sheepishly at nobody in particular.

  "Ah, well, yes."

  "So the Fissure..."

  Nimrod met Rad's eyes through the steamed goggles. "So the Fissure," he repeated, as if it were a profound statement. "Indeed. A crack that opened in the world, in the middle of the park, leading from New York to an alter dimension. We don't know how it was opened, but the whole city appears to be seated on a weakness, so to speak. The Skyguard's battle with his nemesis sent shock waves outwards like a boulder dropped in a lake. Perhaps in the park reality was at its thinnest, and tore." Nimrod shrugged. "You know the rest."

  "Believe me, I don't. Are you saying the Fissure, what, actually created the Empire State? Created me, created Carson. Created the war and the Enemy?"

  Nimrod hrmmed loudly and his face creased into a frown. "Not sure about the war – what do you call it? 'Wartime'? Well, there's nothing like that in the United States. As for creation... well, we don't know. I don't know. The Pocket is an accurate name. It's an extension of here, the Origin, but it's small. New York City is in America, and America is in the world, and the world goes around the sun, and the sun... well, you get t
he idea. The Origin is vast, unimaginably so. The Pocket is just that – a pocket. A protrusion."

  Rad snorted. "I live in a hernia. Great."

  "Ha! Oh really, Mr Bradley!" Nimrod was greatly amused for some minutes, and continued sniggering to himself as they drove at speed. Rad remained silent, concentrating on his breathing, watching the miraculous view outside. Then the lights changed, and he realised he was looking at the water. The night air was clear, invisible. And there, on the other side. More lights, and the outlines of buildings. Some lights were moving too. Cars. Cars and people.

  Nimrod saw Rad pressing the mask to the glass of the car's window.

  "That, my friend, is Jersey City. Smaller than New York City by quite a margin, but, aside from the separation of the Hudson River, more or less part of a single conurbation."