Paul Melko - The Walls of the Universe

“Sit,” Charboric said, pointing to that chair.

John took the chair to Charboric’s right.

Charboric looked at him for a moment blankly, then stood and adjusted the camera. John resisted the urge to move.

“I will record this meeting,” Charboric said.

John shrugged.

“We are here to discuss the patents for pinball,” Charboric said, his Germanic or Slavic accent even heavier than Visgrath’s. “We need to determine any instances of prior art.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before we file patents, we must know if there is prior existence of similar devices.”

“Shouldn’t the lawyers be doing this?” John asked.

“They will,” Charboric said shortly. “This is for their benefit. Now, are there prior art examples for pinball?”

“You know there are.”

“What?”

“I saw pinball machines in Las Vegas when I was a kid.”

“Where?”

“Las Vegas,” John said. He felt Charboric’s anger growing.

“Where in Las Vegas?”

“A casino.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Was it called pinball?”

“Yes.”

“Which casino?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Think.”

“I told you I don’t remember.”

“We need to know!”

“I’m telling you, I was five years old. I barely remember.”

“They would not allow a five-year-old into the casino.”

“It was outside the gambling area.”

“Was this with your parents?”

“Yes.”

“Who have died.”

“Yes.”

“Their last known address?”

“None of your business.”

Charboric stared at him. He seemed like a man used to getting his way.

“Your reticence has been noted.”

“Good,” John said. “Your assholedness has been noted.”

Charboric colored.

“You know nothing of business!” he hissed. “You think you’re a smart know-it-all because you made something pretty. You think we’re here trying to steal it. Our goal is to run this like a business. And we need this information to protect ourselves. To protect you.”

John slowly shook his head. “You think you understand me, but you don’t.” John stood up.

“I’m not done here!” Charboric cried.

“I am,” John replied. “If you need anything else, send me a memo.” He slammed out of the conference room, startling Stella, who had been sitting in a stiff-backed chair by the door.

“Done already, sir?” she asked.

Charboric grabbed the door before it slammed shut.

“Get back in here and answer my questions!”

John laughed. “Not in this lifetime.”

“We own a majority of you! You have to.”

“You own a majority of Pinball Wizards,” John said. “You don’t own me at all.”

John headed for the elevator. Stella ran after him. Her face was pale. She seemed to be muttering under her breath.

“What’s that, Stella?” John asked.

“Mr. Charboric is upset, sir.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, I can tell.”

John thought she was being sarcastic; then he realized she was sincere. She had seemed a highly competent, highly focused administrative assistant. Now John wondered if she was mentally defective.

Grace and Henry looked up when John entered his office.

“That was quick,” Grace said.

“Charboric and I had an… a heated discussion,” John said. “We’re done. Let’s head back to Toledo before it gets dark.”

As they were walking toward John’s car, Grace said, “Do you think we made a mistake?”

Henry paused but said nothing.

John shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “But we’re better off than we were two weeks ago. We’ve got cash flow. We’ve got a business plan.”

“We’ve got partners,” Henry said sullenly.

“But we can sell and leave anytime,” John said. “We can just go back to being students, and no one can stop us. But…”

“It’s a chance we take. I know,” Henry said. He crawled into the backseat of the car, hitching his feet onto the seat. His legs were too long for the car otherwise.

“Let’s enjoy it while we can,” John said. He hoped his words seemed jovial and positive. But as for himself, he was worried. Charboric was scrutinizing John’s past. And that was something he couldn’t let happen. He had no past in this world.

Corrundrum sat nervously across from John Prime, spinning his coffee mug in his hands. It was two hours later, and three miles east, in a small coffee shop in a strip mall. Corrundrum had yet to say anything. Prime said nothing either; he was the one bluffing here. He expected that he had nothing Corrundrum wanted, while Corrundrum had information Prime needed.

“Corrundrum. That’s a funny name,” Prime said.

Corrundrum shrugged. “It’s not from around here,” he said.

“Around here?”

“You know what I mean.”

Prime grunted. He didn’t know what Corrundrum meant. He had always assumed that the universes where humans lived would be similar enough that everyone spoke a common set of Indo-European languages.

“Is it a contrived name?” Prime asked. “Did you make it up?”

Corrundrum looked up from his coffee, staring at Prime.

“No, of course not. What did you think?”

Prime didn’t want to appear like he knew nothing, so he remained silent.

“I’m a singleton, of course,” Corrundrum said.

“Sure,” Prime said, unsure what he meant. “Tell me how you got… where you are.” He tried to make the request innocuous yet filled with context, if Corrundrum chose to interpret it a certain way.

“How does anyone ever end up in a backwater like this?” he mused. “Everyone has a story, they’re all different, and they’re all the same.”

“Sure.”

“Anthropology expedition,” Corrundrum said. “I thought the guy was funded and legit, but he was just a Prime seeker. He had some wild idea that there were artifacts in some universe, but he told us he was doing culture relativism studies. He had us up and down the moraines, coring samples, testing for traces. I had no idea what he was really looking for.”

“What?”

“Prime artifacts, I said.”

“Only we must have done something stupid, because a group of paths found us,” Corrundrum said. “We were camped at the edge of the North American Craton in the Appalachians when the whole place was rousted by a pack of paths. They drove us out of the tents, shot some of us. Kryerol was gone, not in his tent, and his transfer was gone too. I thought he flashed out, but he had actually been at a farmhouse down the road, entertaining one of the local wives. He liked that sort of play.”

“Kryerol?”

“Yeah, he was the ‘expedition lead.’ The paths stripped us and shackled us in a mass mover. It was old tech, and probably the only transfer they had. The thing was humming and we watched this shaved-head tech with welts on his back getting it back online and synced to wherever they wanted to go.”

“Where was that?”

“Hell if I know! Whichever universe they used as home base, I guess.”

“Don’t get upset,” Prime said. They weren’t the only patrons in the coffee shop.

“Right. I get a little crazy when I think about how close we were to being dead. When you’re a singleton, it means a little more, ya know.” Corrundrum sipped his coffee. “Kryerol came back and they almost got him, but he slipped out. They were angry. They blew the brains out of the girl next to me. I thought I was next. Then Kryerol was there, materializing out of nowhere in the middle of the mover. He was firing his weapon, but the paths were armored. It was enough to drive them out of the bay.