John Hawks - The Traveler

Prichett stood beside Gabriel’s body. “We think Mr. Corrigan has crossed over to another realm. General Nash wants to know if his body is injured or not.”

“All I have is a stethoscope.”

“Do whatever you can, but hurry up. Nash is going to be here in a few minutes.”

Richardson pushed the tips of his fingers against Gabriel’s neck and searched for a pulse. Nothing. He took a pencil out of his jacket, jabbed the sole of the young man’s foot, and got a muscular reaction. While Prichett watched, the neurologist unbuttoned Gabriel’s shirt and pressed his stethoscope against the Traveler’s chest. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Then, finally, a single heartbeat.

Voices came from outside in the corridor. Richardson stepped away from the body as Shepherd led Michael and General Nash into the room.

“So?” Nash asked. “Is he all right?”

“He’s alive. I don’t know if there’s been any neurological damage.”

Michael went over to the gurney and touched his brother’s face. “Gabe’s still in the Second Realm, looking for a way out. I had already found the passageway, but I didn’t tell him.”

“That was a wise decision,” Nash said.

“Where’s my brother’s talisman? The Japanese sword?”

Shepherd looked as if he’d been accused of stealing something. He handed the sword over and Michael placed it on his brother’s chest.

“You can’t keep him restrained forever,” Richardson said. “He’ll develop skin ulcers like patients with spinal cord injuries. His muscles will start to deteriorate.”

General Nash seemed annoyed that anyone had raised an objection. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Doctor. He’s going to stay under control until we change his mind.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Richardson tried to stay out of sight in the neurological laboratory located in the library basement. He had been given access to an online chess game running on the research center’s computer and the activity fascinated him. His black chess pieces and the computer’s white pieces were little animated figures with faces, arms, and legs. When they weren’t moving across the board, the bishops would read their breviaries while the knights steadied their horses. The bored pawns were constantly yawning, scratching themselves, and falling asleep.

After Richardson got used to the chessmen being alive, he moved up to something called the second interactive level. At this level, the chessmen insulted each other or gave suggestions to Richardson. If he moved a piece the wrong way, the chessman would argue about strategy, then grudgingly move to the next square. On the third interactive level, Richardson didn’t have to do anything but watch. The pieces moved on their own and the superior pieces killed the weaker ones, battering them with maces or stabbing them with swords.

“Working hard, Doctor?”

Richardson looked behind him and saw Nathan Boone standing in the doorway. “Just playing a little computer chess.”

“Good.” Boone walked over to the lab table. “We all need to challenge ourselves continually. Keeps the mind alert.”

Boone sat down on the other side of the table. Anyone glancing into the room would have thought that two colleagues were discussing a scientific issue.

“So how are you, Doctor? We haven’t talked for a while.”

Dr. Richardson glanced at the computer screen. The chessmen were talking to each other, waiting to attack. Richardson wondered if the chessmen believed that they were real. Perhaps they prayed and dreamed and enjoyed their little victories, not realizing that he was in control.

“I-I would like to go home.”

“We understand that.” Boone offered a sympathetic smile. “Eventually you can return to your classroom, but right now you’re an important member of our team. I was told that you were here last night when they brought in Gabriel Corrigan.”

“I just examined him briefly. That’s all. He’s still alive.”

“That’s right. He’s here, he’s alive, and now we have to deal with him. That presents a rather unique problem-how do you keep a Traveler locked in a room? According to Michael, if you keep a Traveler completely strapped down, he can’t break out of his body. But it might lead to physical problems.”

“Exactly. I said that to General Nash.”

Boone leaned forward and tapped a button on the laptop computer. The chess game with all its characters disappeared. “For the last five years, the Evergreen Foundation has sponsored research into the neurological processing of pain. As I’m sure you know, pain is a rather complex phenomenon.”

“Pain is handled by multiple brain regions and it travels on parallel nerve pathways,” Richardson said. “That way, if one part of the brain is disabled we can still react to an injury.”

“That’s correct, Doctor. But our researchers have discovered that wires can be implanted in five different brain regions, the most important areas being the cerebellum and the thalamus. Take a look at this.” Boone took a DVD out of his pocket and inserted it into Richardson’s computer. “This was filmed about a year ago in North Korea.”

A brownish-yellow rhesus monkey appeared on the computer screen. It was sitting in a cage and had wires coming out of its skull. The wires were fastened to a radio transmission device strapped to the animal’s body. “See that? Nobody is cutting this specimen or burning his skin. All you have to do is press a button and…”

The monkey screamed and collapsed with a look of intense pain on its face. It lay on the floor of the cage, twitching and whimpering softly.

“See what happens? There’s no physical trauma, but the nervous system is overwhelmed by a massive neurological sensation.”

Richardson could barely speak. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Doctor? We want you to insert wires in Gabriel’s brain. When he returns from his traveling, he’ll be released from his restraints. He’ll be treated well and we’ll try to change his rebellious opinions about certain issues. But the moment he tries to leave us, someone will press a button and-”

“I can’t do this,” Richardson said. “It’s torture.”

“That’s an incorrect word. We’re just providing an immediate consequence for certain negative choices.”

“I’m a physician. I was trained to heal people. This-this is wrong.”

“You really have to work on your vocabulary, Doctor. The procedure isn’t wrong. It’s necessary .”

Nathan Boone stood up and returned to the doorway. “Study the information on the DVD. In a few days we’ll send you some more data.” He smiled one last time, then disappeared down the hallway.

Dr. Richardson felt like a man who had just learned that cancer had been found inside him, the destructive cells spreading throughout his blood and bones. Because of fear and ambition, he had ignored all the symptoms, and now it was too late.

Sitting in the lab, he watched as different monkeys appeared on the computer screen. They should break out of the cage, he thought. They should run away and hide. But an order was given, a button was pushed, and they were forced to obey.

Breaking into buildings was considered a minor but important Harlequin skill. When Maya was a teenager, Linden spent three days teaching her about door locks, security cards, and surveillance systems. At the end of this informal tutorial, the French Harlequin helped her break into the University College London. They wandered through the empty hallways and slipped a postcard into the black coat covering Jeremy Bentham’s bones.

The electronic blueprint of the research facility showed a ventilation duct that led underground to the basement level of the genetic research building. At various points on the blueprint, the architect had written “PIR” in small letters, indicating a system of passive infrared motion detectors. There was a way to deal with that particular problem, but Maya was worried that another security device might have been added later.