Michael Sullivan - Hollow World

“Would you like me to make contact now?”

“Yes—audio only, please.”

“This is Vox Abernathy contacting you on behalf of Geo-24.”

“Oh—Abernathy! How nice.” It was the pleasant-sounding lady’s voice Ellis had heard when they had entered Pol’s office. His heart, which was already beating faster than normal, began to trot as he felt a rush of success that made him grin.

They were in.

Ellis wondered if this was how hackers back in his day felt when they had broken into government computers. “Do you wish to speak to Pol-789?”

Pax and Ellis both shook their heads.

“No, that will not be necessary. Geo-24 would like to speak directly to you. Is that acceptable?”

“Of course, of course!”

“This is Geo-24,” Pax said.

“How wonderful of you to call. Pol will be so thrilled you did. Let me—”

“No—wait! It’s not that important—actually, it is a little embarrassing. You see, Pol provided me with some information, and I have misplaced it. I was hoping you could just send it to Abernathy. Would that be possible? I’d like to take care of this without involving Pol. You understand, I hope. As a geomancer, I’d prefer not to let it get out that I made a mistake and lost something important.”

Pax stared nervously at Ellis, who crossed his fingers.

“What information?” Pol’s vox asked. No suspicion, no tone at all, which concerned Ellis. The friendliness had faded, but this was a machine, and Ellis didn’t know if that was even something to look out for.

“Everything you have on Ren.”

Ellis looked at Pax, surprised. The plan had called for investigating what Pol had originally contacted Geo-24 about. There had been no mention of a Ren.

“Ren? Is there a number designation?”

“No, I don’t think so…just Ren.”

“No, I—oh, wait—yes, here. I actually only have a port location associated with that name.”

“And where would that be?”

“North American Plate, Temperate Biome, Huronian Quadrant.”

Pax mouthed to Ellis, That’s where we just were. “Could…ah…” Pax began pulling the Port-a-Call out. “Could you provide exact coords?”

The vox responded with a series of numbers and letters that meant nothing to Ellis, but which Pax feverishly entered into the tiny device.

“Thank you. Say goodbye, Abernathy.”

“Thank you so much for your time,” Abernathy said.

The link was severed, and Pax slumped into one of the white couches, staring at the portal device. “Okay, so we have a location, and it’s right back where everything started—back at the Ford Museum.”

“I don’t understand,” Ellis said. “Who is this Ren? You mentioned the name before in Pol’s office—why?”

“I get the impression this Ren is behind everything. The fake Pol and even the fake Geo-24 take their direction from Ren—no-number Ren— Ren Zero .” Pax picked up one of the little white throw pillows from the couch and hugged it. “I’ve never met a zero or an original anything…well, except for you. And I’ve never heard of a Ren before, and this one is on the grass.”

“But how do you know about Ren?”

“Fake Pol said it.”

“No.” Ellis shook his head. “Fake Pol never mentioned Ren. You were the first one to say that name.”

“I must have heard it someplace else then.”

“Where?”

Pax sighed. “Ellis Rogers, do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then can you just believe me when I tell you that I have it on good authority that someone named Ren is behind the murders and not question me further on how I know?”

Ellis didn’t have to think. He trusted Pax. He trusted Pax more than he’d ever trusted anyone. Pax was the first person he’d known who—more than once—had proved themselves capable of thinking of Ellis first. His mother had always taken more than she gave, feeling that granting him life had been more than enough for her part. Peggy had given all her love to Isley, holding back nothing for him. Pax had asked for little, given much, and demonstrated a willingness to die for him—and they had just met. Still, he couldn’t help feeling hurt at the discovery of a wall between them. Pax was keeping a secret.

“I suppose,” Ellis replied. “But don’t you trust me ? I sort of thought we—I mean, I thought we were becoming close, you know? After all, you let me cut you open with a deer-gutting knife.” He smiled.

Pax was looking at the pillow and breathing heavily. “Isn’t there any secret you’d prefer not to share with me? At least not yet?”

The image of Isley hanging from the garage rafters flashed through his mind, and he nodded. “Fair enough.”

“If it helps,” Pax said gently, “I’ve never spoken to anyone of it before. But if I were ever to tell anyone, it would be you, Ellis Rogers. I don’t think you would judge me like others might. So maybe one day you can tell me your secret, and I’ll tell you mine.”

Ellis nodded but didn’t think he could ever tell Pax about Isley. There was simply no way Pax could begin to understand. “So, are we going to find this Ren?”

“I am,” Pax said firmly, almost defiantly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s my responsibility. The point of being an arbitrator is to keep the peace. I can’t let murderers continue killing.”

“What about me?”

“You’re the one they want. It would be pretty stupid to take you with me.” Pax put down the pillow and stood up. “This is dangerous, Ellis Rogers. It’s not your place. Are you an arbitrator?”

“I’m an engineer, but let me ask you this…do you have a gun?”

“Of course not.” Pax glanced at his hip, that familiar expression of horror darting across Pax’s face.

“Do you think anyone besides me has one?”

“No.”

Ellis smiled. “Then in this society that practically makes me Superman.”

“Superman?”

“A fictitious hero with supernatural powers—pretty much invincible.”

“Pretty much?”

“Never mind. I’m too old and sick to be on the run.”

Pax’s eyes softened. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Superman, remember?” He thumped his chest.

Pax didn’t look pleased. Maybe the humor wasn’t translating.

“Let’s go together. Like it or not, we’re a team now. Good cop, bad cop.”

Pax nodded. “You’re very strange, Ellis Rogers.” Pax smiled and then added, “I like that. Let me contact Cha. Someone else ought to know about a conspiracy that’s reached into the office of the Chief Councilor just in case we disappear into the grass.”

“Are you sure you can trust Cha?”

Pax smiled. “I’m an arbitrator. Believe me…I’m a very good judge of people.”

Entering Greenfield Village for the second time in a week, Ellis possessed an entirely new outlook. What he had seen as the forgotten remnants of humanity, he now viewed as a museum within a museum. The Henry Ford Museum used to house artifacts from America’s first two hundred years, but as he and Pax walked through the quaint gravel lanes, Ellis understood that the site itself had become an artifact worth preserving. The garbage bins that dotted Main Street, complete with plastic bag liners, were no longer trash receptacles but roped-off antiques. So were the ticket booth, ATM, public phone, and restrooms with their archaic symbols for men and women. What was a preservation of the past became part of the exhibit as museums themselves became the history.