The Gates of Winter (16 page)

Jay snorted. “Now why doesn't that surprise me? Well, you provided the heater last night, so I'll buy us all a cup of coffee on the way. Then we'll call it even.”

Despite his weariness, Travis couldn't help grinning. He didn't know these men, and he doubted they were trustworthy, but all the same it was good not to be alone in the world. In
this
world. The two men started up the embankment, Jay taking two steps for each one of Marty's lanky strides, and Travis followed after them.

19.

As promised, Jay bought them all Styrofoam cups of coffee at a street vendor's cart at Colfax and Broadway, and they walked beneath a neoclassical colonnade into the broad circle of Civic Center Park just as the sun set fire to the gold-plated dome of the Capitol building.

“It looks like Tarras,” Travis murmured, shading his eyes against the fiery glare of the dome.

“It looks like what?” Jay said, squinting at him.

Travis shook his head. “Nothing.” He glanced at Marty. “Do you see your friend?”

“Hell's bells, I told you he's not our friend,” Jay said. His pudgy hand tightened around his cup, so that coffee shot out the hole in the lid.

“I think he's over there,” Marty said. He started across the brown grass, moving fast on his scarecrow legs, so that Travis had to march briskly to keep up, while Jay was forced to break into a terrier-like trot.

Travis saw him when they were halfway across the park. He had positioned his wheelchair in a patch of sunlight, and he basked in the morning radiance, eyes closed. They came to a stop before him, but he didn't open his eyes. He was a grizzled man, about fifty years old. His body was a shapeless lump wrapped in a canvas coat over multiple sweaters, and his legs were short stumps ending at mid thigh, each one covered with a Denver Broncos knit ski cap that matched the one on his head. A metal box with a profusion of dials and knobs rested on his lap. It emitted a low hiss of static.

“Hey, Sparky,” Jay said. “What's up?”

“The sun,” the man in the wheelchair said, a crooked-toothed grin showing through his matted beard.

Jay scowled at him. “So I noticed.”

“Did you?” the man replied, his eyes still shut. “Then you're a smart man, Jay. It took the writings of Galileo to finally convince the world once and for all that it was not the sun that rose in the sky, but rather the Earth that was turning as it revolved around the sun. And even then poor Galileo was arrested by the pope for the crime of heresy. Tell me, would you suffer the same—going to prison for refusing to disavow something you know to be true?”

Jay snorted. “Crap on a cracker, I told you he makes my brain hurt.”

The man in the wheelchair laughed and opened his eyes. “That's a good sign, Jay. It means it's working. Hello, Marty. It's nice to see you—you always remind me silence is the better part of wisdom. Who's your friend here?”

“This is Travis,” Marty said. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Nice to meet you, Travis.” He held out a gloved hand. “My name is Caleb Sparkman.”

Jay snorted. “Sparkman, Sparky—what's the difference?”

Travis shook his hand. “I hope we're not bothering you.”

“Not in the least. Rather, you're a fine distraction.”

Travis glanced around the deserted park. “Distraction? From what?”

“From the voices,” Marty said.

Travis pulled his hand back. Sparkman smiled up at him. “Don't worry, friend. They're not real. Although they can be quite annoying.”

Jay let out a bark of laughter. “A little more than just annoying.” He circled behind the wheelchair and leaned on the handles. “See, here's the story, Travis. The professor here used to teach at some of the community colleges around town. Physics and math and crap like that. Only then the voices started talking in his head, and they told him to do stuff.”

Sparkman folded his hands and nodded, listening to the story right along with the others.

Jay kept talking, rolling the chair forward a few inches, then back a few. “At first it was just weird little stuff, you know, like shredding all of his files so no one could know what he was thinking, and setting up a machine to make some kind of radio interference so the security cameras in his classroom wouldn't work. Only then it got worse, and the voices told him parts of his own body were being used to track him. Isn't that right, Sparky?”

“It is,” he said in an agreeable tone.

“So you know what he did next?” Jay said, eyes glittering. “He cinched a belt around each of his thighs for a tourniquet. Then he took a hatchet, just like the voices told him to do, and he chopped off his own legs.”

Travis staggered back a step. He should have tried to hide the horror he knew was written across his face, but he couldn't.

“That's not quite accurate, Jay,” Sparkman said, his tone pleasantly argumentative. “The hatchet was too small for the job, as it turned out—I was a good mathematician but a poor carpenter. I lost consciousness before I completed the task the voices gave me. One of my students came upon me in my office, and I was taken to a hospital, where doctors completed the amputations.”

Jay laughed and clapped his hands. Marty was silent, gazing at the gold dome of the Capitol.

The bitter coffee churned in Travis's stomach. “You were ill, weren't you?”

Sparkman nodded. “Very much so. But the doctors helped me understand the effects of my psychosis. Knowledge is a powerful thing—a tool that can help you accomplish any task—and it helped me control my illness.”

Jay clapped him on the shoulders. “But you still hear the voices, don't you, Sparky?”

“I always will. But I've learned not to listen.” He smiled up at Travis. “Still, even after all these years, it's hard to ignore them. They hate not being listened to, and they can get rather vociferous. Which is why the distraction of conversation is most welcome.”

Travis turned his head, letting the morning light blind him. Shock melted into sorrow and understanding, and he let out a sigh. What would they think if they knew he heard voices in his head as well—the voices of Jack and all the runelords who had gone before him?

Marty touched Travis's arm. “You should tell Sparkman about your magic.”

“That's right,” Jay chimed in. “You should have seen it, Sparky. It was freaking amazing. He started a fire just by saying a word.”

“Really?” Sparkman appeared interested but not surprised. He looked up at Travis. “You're a magician, then. Were you employing some sort of legerdemain?”

Jay's eyebrows drew together in a thick scowl. “It was no trick, Sparky. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“I'm afraid our eyes can deceive us right along with any of our senses,” Sparkman said.

Travis sighed. It was wrong, he shouldn't do magic without grave need. Except maybe this was important after all. He held out his hand, palm up, and whispered a rune.
“Lir.”

It condensed instantly from thin air to hover above the palm of his hand: a small orb of light, not gold like the morning sun, but silver-blue. With a flick of his finger, he sent it whizzing through the air. The orb flew between Marty and Jay as the little man swore. It made several orbits around Sparkman's head, then returned to Travis's hand. He squeezed his fingers around it, and the light vanished.

Sparkman's eyes were wide now. He wheeled his chair closer to Travis. “Absolutely fascinating. It looked holographic, only you could move it at will. And unless you've hidden a laser up your sleeve, I have no idea how you created it.”

Travis shrugged. “I'm not sure I know, either. But it doesn't matter right now. That's not what I want to talk to you about.”

“And what do you want to talk about?”

Travis licked his lips. “Destroying something.”

Jay cast a startled look at Marty and Sparkman. “Hell, Travis—you're not going to go and try to blow something up, are you? People could get hurt.”

“No,” Travis said, holding a hand to his head. It ached from the cheap caffeine, and from fear. “I don't want anyone to get hurt. That's what I'm trying to keep from happening. And that's why I've got to destroy them.”

“Destroy what?” Marty said.

Travis wrapped his fingers around the iron box in his pocket. “I can't tell you.”

Marty's face was solemn. “Are they something evil?”

Travis shook his head. “No, not in and of themselves. But they could be used to create great evil if the Pale . . . if they fell into the wrong hands.”

Jay gave him a cockeyed look. “That sounds like something old Sparky here would say. Are you sure you're not hearing voices, too?”

Travis almost laughed. He was quite certain Jack would not want him to do what he intended.

And just what are you intending to do, may I ask?
came Jack's testy voice.
You've been awfully secretive lately.

Travis ignored him.

Sparkman stroked his beard, his expression thoughtful. “Destroying things is a perilous profession. Einstein showed us that a small amount of mass is equivalent to an enormous amount of energy. For example, did you know the nucleus of an atom has less mass than the sum of all the particles within it?”

Travis was beginning to agree with Jay. Talking to Sparkman made his head hurt. “But that seems impossible. Where is the missing mass?”

“It's not missing at all,” Sparkman said, smiling as he clapped his gloved hands together. “You see, breaking apart matter releases the force that binds that matter together. The difference in mass is the potential energy that would be released if the nucleus was broken apart.” He pulled his hands away from one another. “Of course, you would never be able to break apart just one nucleus. Free particles would strike adjacent atoms, causing a chain reaction. And if that reaction is uncontrolled, you have—”

“—a nuclear bomb,” Travis said.

Sparkman nodded. “At the very least. But then, even today's nuclear weapons create imperfect chain reactions. If the reaction was perfect, there would be nothing to stop it from destroying the world. Or even all the universe.”

Travis felt sick. There was something important here, something about what Sparkman had just said. However, before he could grasp the answer, a sharp crackle of static broke the silence, followed by a series of beeps and clicks.

“Oh, good,” Sparkman said, eyes lighting up. “Here they are now.” He fiddled with several knobs on the metal box in his lap. The static faded, and the beeps and clicks grew clearer. “They've been quiet all morning. I was beginning to think they'd gone, but they must still be here.”

Travis shook his head. “Who must still be here?”

“Why, the aliens of course.”

“The aliens?”

“The ones who've been abducting homeless people for their experiments.” Sparkman patted the metal box. “I put together this special radio so I could monitor their transmissions, and I've been listening to them for weeks now. But don't worry—I've made sure they can't track this receiver. Or my thoughts.” He pulled off his stocking cap. His bald head was covered with a crinkled dome of aluminum foil.

Jay let out a crowing laugh. “See, Travis? I told you old Sparky was a nut.”

“What are the aliens talking about now?” Marty said, his brown eyes serious.

Sparkman bent his head over the receiver, listening. “I'm not certain. This seems to be some sort of encoded data transmission.”

Travis's mouth had gone dry. He knelt beside the wheelchair. “If they communicate in code, how do you know they're the ones who are abducting people in Denver?”

“This receiver is rather low power,” Sparkman said. “It's range is quite limited, so I know the aliens can't be more than a few miles away. What's more, I've been able to understand some of what they say. They must have collaborators here, because often they speak in English, though even then they use code words in their alien tongue. Still, I've heard enough to be certain the aliens are the ones behind the abductions.”

Travis wanted to tell Jay and Marty it was time to go, but before he could speak muffled voices emanated from the receiver.

Sparkman's eyes lit up. “Here we go! Listen.”

He turned a knob, and the words grew clearer. “—and have been ordered back to base. Report there as soon as you can. I believe we're to receive new—” The man's voice was lost in another crackle of interference.

“There,” Sparkman looked up, smiling. “Did you hear that?”

Jay rolled his eyes. “Hear what? Half of that was gibberish. Did you understand it, Marty?”

The tall man shook his head. “Only a little. They used words I've never heard before.”

“That's their alien language,” Sparkman said, nodding.

Travis stared at the receiver. If half of that had been spoken in an alien tongue, why had all of it made sense to him? He dug into his pocket, pulled out the silver half-coin, and set it on the ground.

Jay frowned at him. “What are you doing, Mr. Wizard?”

“Turn it up,” Travis said.

Sparkman fiddled with the knobs. Again static phased into words, only this time Travis didn't understand all of them.

“—and heading to the
taldaka
location now.”

Another voice, a woman's, replied. “Any indication that the
senlath
has—?”

The words were lost in a low hiss. However, it had been enough. Travis picked up the half-coin and slipped it into his pocket as he stood. He hadn't understood the non-English words; he hadn't made an effort to learn the language, unlike Grace. Yet even without the magic of the half-coin, they had sounded familiar—familiar enough to know they were Eldhish. But who would use Eldhish words on Earth?

You heard Sparkman. They're using the words for a code. And what better code than a language from another world? No one would ever be able to decipher it.

Only Travis was certain the voices didn't belong to aliens. They belonged to people from Earth. They had sent operatives to the Dominions; surely they had learned much about the culture and language there.

It's Duratek, Travis. They're the ones Sparkman has been hearing. They're the ones who are abducting people.

But that didn't make any sense. What would a multinational corporation need with a bunch of homeless people? Besides, no matter how smart he was, Sparkman was surely crazy. Travis tried to think, but before he could Marty spoke.

“We should go to the shelter,” the tall man said. “If we don't go now, they'll run out of breakfast.”

Jay pawed at the sleeve of his jacket to bare a Timex watch, its face barely visible beneath the fogged crystal. “Damn, we've got to go. Come on, Travis.”

The idea of food made Travis's stomach churn, but he didn't have the energy to resist as Jay tugged at his sleeve. “What about you, Professor Sparkman?” he said.