Unfurl (8 page)

Hans strolled briskly into the room, joining Fritz beside the computer screen. He also looked confused by my absence.

“She managed to escape,” said Fritz.

Hans bowed deeply to his father. “We beg forgiveness, Father. Fritz assured me it would not be possible—”

The angry man cut him off. “Fritz’ conclusions were premature.”

Hans spoke in deference. “I shall retrieve her at once.”

“You’ll retrieve her when I command it! You’ve bungled things badly enough for one day.”

“Perhaps we could send an apology?” said Fritz. “Indicating Hans’ mis–step?” Fritz’ voice faded under the force of his father’s withering glance.

“She is to be left alone for the time being,” said Helmann. “Fritz, I want a thorough temperature–sweep of the building. Begin with the stasis chamber.”

“Yes, sir,” said Fritz, exiting.

Helmann turned to Hans, frowning. “I am most displeased.”

Hans bowed as if to leave.

“You have disappointed me today, Hans. Your methods were inexcusable.”

My methods were effective!
I jerked in surprise as Hans’ thoughts reached me, powerful within my mind.

“Forgive me, Father,” Hans spoke aloud in a contrite voice.

The two men departed the room.

Now!
Christian said to me.
Let us depart.

They took an egg from me, Christian. I have to get it back.

I could feel Christian’s indecision. I heard echoes of his thoughts, full of words like “deplorable” and “depraved.”

Not today, Mademoiselle. To retrieve it, one of us must solidify. It cannot be you as you will at once experience the effects of the ether. And it cannot be me—I dare not release you.

Christian, Helmann is going to make a child—a child that’s half me! It’s hideous! I can’t let them do this!

This is not the day,
ma chère cousine
, they are sweeping the building to see if you remain. We must leave.

I wept tearlessly as Christian carried me back to Las Abuelitas, toward home and a measure of safety.

VIALS

·
WILL
·

I don’t know how long I ran for, but everyone had gone to sleep by the time I got back inside the apartment. When I came solid, drowsiness pulled me under like a riptide. I passed out on my bed and slept ‘til ten the next morning.

At the small table, Mickie and Sir Walter hovered over his computer tablet, watching Helmann’s “Brave New World” video again.

“
Yet these souls will perish, whether by our hand or another’s, they have, even the youngest of them, less than a century before they will be gone and forgotten. Such a waste. And while they live their squalid existences of abject poverty and suffering, they continue to consume and destroy the very planet that gives them life.
” Helmann’s voice droned on and on. That was one sick bastard.

“Ah, young Will.” Sir Walter pulled a chair around for me so I could watch.

I shook my head. “‘S’okay,” I said. “Seen it all before.” I grabbed a plate and shoveled some sort of lunch meat and cheese onto it.

“Rolls in the paper bag,” said Mick.

I grabbed one and tore into it with my thumbs, layered the meat and cheese inside, and took a large bite.

The roll was crusty outside, fluffy inside, fresh and slightly soured.

“Good, huh?” asked my sister.

“Incredible,” I said, remembering a moment too late to swallow before talking.

Mick shook her head at my lack of manners, but she didn’t get on my case. “It’s like it’s against the law to make bad bread in Europe,” she said.

Sir Walter laughed. “Certainly
,
it is in
La France
.”

I nodded. “I read about that in a bread book. How the government regulates baguette production.”

Mick’s “That’s just weird,” overlapped with my “It sure works.”

I punched her shoulder and she mussed my hair. We were friends again.

“So what’s the plan for today?” I asked. “Blow up Geneses
Romana
?”

“You wish,” snorted my sister. “No, I take that back.
I
wish.”

Sir Walter slid a sheet of paper along the table to me. “I returned last night and have created this map of the headquarters of Geneses in Rome.”

I studied the sheet. Three floors, a handful of offices on each. Far smaller than the empty building we’d explored in Clichy–sous–Bois.

“This is great,” I said. “Sorry about last night. You shouldn’t have had to do this by yourself.”

With long fingers fluttering like butterfly wings, he waved my apology aside.

“So we’re looking for, one—” I held up a finger, “What Helmann’s buying buildings for, and, two—” another finger, “What Helmann’s timeline is for the end of the world.?”

Mick spoke. “Don’t forget three,” she said, extending a carefully–chosen finger, “How to totally make Pfeffer’s life a living torment.”

Sir Walter ignored my sister’s rude gesture. “I believe that about sums it up.”

“How about you?” I asked Mickie. “You going to tour the Eternal City today?”

She frowned.

“Your sister has graciously consented to remain within–doors,” said Sir Walter. “So as to avoid unwanted detection.”

“Oh,” I said. “Aw, Mick, I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged. “No big deal. You’re the one in love with old, fallen–down buildings, not me.” Then she smiled. “Just keep the Italian food coming and no one gets hurt.”

“Cool,” I said. It went without saying I was all for Italian food.

Sir Walter and I departed, zipping invisibly along narrow Roman streets made of an ancient cobblestone.
Hey,
I wrote out,
mind if we push pause here for a minute? It’s just,
I hesitated. Sam would totally get why this mattered. I wasn’t sure Sir Walter was going to.
I, uh, want to feel the road for a minute.

I heard a low chuckle in my mind.
But of course
, was all he said.

I reached down, plunging a hand back and forth through the smoothed–over surface. It felt like a warm river that flowed every direction all at the same time. Like that bubbler thing that pushed water up from a rock at Sam’s pool. I could’ve stayed here pushing my hand back and forth all day. But as I glanced around, I changed my mind. Rome’s like, made out of stone. Roads, sidewalks, buildings, fountains, road barriers, fencing—everything’s made of rock. Man, I could have some fun here. But it wasn’t a real temptation. Not with the job in front of us. And in any case, not without Sam by my side.

Feeling the ache of her absence again, I tried shoving it away, down inside my shoes.

Let’s go
, I wrote.

A man who cannot pass his days in La France could do worse than to settle in Rome,
sighed Sir Walter, rising alongside me.

When we arrived, Geneses
Romana
was humming with people. So I kind of got my wish about spending the day rock–surfing, ‘cause Sir Walter said the only way to move around in a building of chameleon–aware people was to use the walls. I’d done this at Bridget Li’s, walking along the length of her building
inside
the wall. Roman rock felt different, more
solid
maybe.

Shortly after our arrival, a courier on a Vespa pulled up on the sidewalk fronting the headquarters. Reception buzzed him through after he held a box up for them to read the address.

Check it out,
I wrote.
Package for Signore Pepe.
That was the name outside Pfeffer’s office, apparently meaning “Mister Pepper” in Italian.

“
Al Signore, immediatamente
,” said a woman behind the desk.

A young man nodded and took off down the hall with the box. It was large, like it might hold a big old–style TV. Or a body. Or who–knew what.

Our first destination presents itself
, said Sir Walter.
Let us see what lies inside the package.

“
Rapidament
e,” called receptionist to the box–carrier.

Italian sounded very French, only with an Italian accent.

Beside us, box–dude muttered something indecipherable that sounded a lot like, “Next time carry it yourself.”

We slipped along the wall into Pfeffer’s office, settling behind his desk as the man himself rose to take his package. On his computer, which we could see great from here, it looked like he was authorizing a payment followed by a ton of zeroes. I scanned down the page. The name of the country he was sending money to was unfamiliar to me.

Helmann is now acquiring property in the nations of central Africa,
said Sir Walter.

Terrific
, I wrote back.

Pfeffer returned to his desk, setting the package to one side. Hurriedly he made an adjustment to the amount on the screen by deleting two extra zeroes. Then he authorized the payment. Closing the screen on the computer, he carefully opened the package, analyzing the contents briefly. He frowned at what he saw—rows of identical vials, marked with green stripes and containing a clear liquid. Pfeffer sighed heavily. He removed the tray on top and carried it across the room, opening a hidden panel in the wall with his pen–key. He switched out the tray for an identical–looking one hidden in the wall. Locking the hidden panel, he carried the replacement tray back to the box, setting it atop a steaming packet.

Dry ice?
I wondered.

From his desk, he dialed three digits into an office phone.

“Sorry to bother you, but today’s package from San Francisco has arrived
,
” he said.

We couldn’t hear the response.

A sharp rap sounded on the office door, and Pfeffer rose to admit his visitor, a blond–haired dude with light blue eyes.

Franz!
said Sir Walter, clearly surprised.

I was kind of surprised too, seeing as, in my mind, Franz was a mean ten–year–old kid from the black book.

“Brother,” said Pfeffer, a thin smile on his face.

“Pfeffer,” said Franz, returning the greeting minus the smile.

“I would be happy to take these for you,” said Pfeffer.

Franz replied curtly. “Father asked
me
to place the boxes, not you.”

The venom in Franz’ tone made me remember how he’d liked hurting people as a boy. Apparently that hadn’t changed.

“Of course,” said Pfeffer. “It is only that I wish you would allow me to do more. I feel so … indebted. You have restored my abilities as a chameleon, given me a place among you, and yet I do so little.” Here, Pfeffer placed a hand upon the box that had just arrived.

“Your service at present is invaluable,” said Franz.

“Of course,” murmured Pfeffer. “I only ask to serve.”

Franz looked sharply at Pfeffer.

Pfeffer dropped his eyes. “That is, I should be glad to serve where ever Father sees fit.”

Franz turned to leave, then stopped at the door. “I will let Father know of your wish to further our Glorious Cause in additional ways.”

“I am grateful,” said Pfeffer. “And, brother?”

Franz waited.

“I feel sure that I could assist you when it comes time for the Release of Angels. Would it not make sense to finish the work more quickly with additional help?”

Franz frowned. “Indeed. This is something I’ve told Father repeatedly.”

Pfeffer looked hopeful.

Franz spoke again. “However, dear brother, he means yet to accomplish it all himself. At any rate, he has not entrusted me with the pass–phrase, even though I have demonstrated to him that the Angels must be released at thrice the speed he can manage alone.”

“How did he answer your … suggestion?” asked Pfeffer.

Franz made a small, grunting sound.

“I see,” said Pfeffer.

Neither of them said anything and I figured that was it, but then Pfeffer got this look on his face I recognized. Like he was trying to decide whether or not to reveal something really big. Knowing him like I did, I knew that look actually meant he’d committed to say something, but he just hadn’t realized it yet.

Franz must’ve known that look, too. “Yes?” he asked.

“It may be nothing,” said Pfeffer.

“Either it is something or it is not,” snapped Franz, impatience thinning his mouth into a tight line.

Pfeffer’s voice came out softly. “He said, to me or to himself—I know not which—that
three little words
which changed his life, will soon change the world.”

Franz stepped in closer. His eyes got narrow. “You think he referred to the pass–phrase?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?” Pfeffer’s eyes looked all eager, like when he used to ask me questions about Rippler’s Syndrome.

“Possibly,” said Franz. “But it matters not if he remains determined to act alone.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Pfeffer. His eyes drifted to his desk and the box. “Forgive my wanderings, brother.” Saying this, he handed the box of vials to Franz.

Franz’ brow furrowed as he took it. “Only our orders are of importance. Do not forget that.”

Pfeffer did this little bow, reminding me of Sir Walter, and Franz pulled the door shut behind him.

Fascinating
, said Sir Walter from inside my head.

“Traitorous jerk” felt more accurate to me, but Sir Walter kept a lid on any anger he might be feeling. Myself, I was having a hard time just staying invisible ‘cause I wanted to beat the crap out of Pfeffer.

The rest of the day was boring. Sir Walter wanted to stick with Pfeffer, “to get a sense of how he passes his days,” and the answer was: he passed time doing mind–numbing activities like making and adjusting payments on behalf of Geneses Corporation International.

Pfeffer took off for the day an hour after sunset. The rest of the office had already cleared out, but Sir Walter stayed longer, searching through files once more. At last he seemed to finish, although he hadn’t found anything useful.

Your sister awaits us,
he said
.

We owed her Italian, and I was down for that after the world’s most uneventful afternoon.