It didn't matter how nerdy he looked — he had that cop presence that guaranteed patrons would leave him alone. I sat down opposite him, my back against the wall in mimicry of his own posture.

  "Hey, Terry," I said, as I signaled the waitress for two beers.

  "You're in a lot of trouble, Jack."

  "Is that coming from Aplin or from you?"

  "He's our bomb expert. You seem to have an affinity for them these days."

  "Yeah, but it all depends on who sets them, doesn't it?"

  "How did you get mixed up with Mueller?"

  The waitress arrived with our beers, and I let Terry pay for the drinks. I swiveled in my chair to face him.

  "Answer a question for me first," I said.

  He hesitated then nodded.

  "Did you investigate Annie's death because of our

  friendship, or did you have a more professional interest?"

  Terry's eyes narrowed. He stuck his hand in his wind-breaker pocket. I tensed, ready to split. It re-appeared with a pack of cigarettes. I refused his offer of one.

  "Since when did you quit smoking?" he said.

  "It's a long story. Answer the question, Terry."

  "It was both."

  "What do you mean?"

  He took his time lighting up and inhaling. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, examined the tip, picked a bit of tobacco from his tongue. He glanced at the stripper gyrating on the stage and made a face. He took another puff, exhaled slowly, sipped his beer. I waited in silence, my elbows on the table, hands joined in a fist.

  Finally, he leaned over so I could hear over the din of the music and the antics of the patrons.

  "The NSIU was already investigating Mueller when Annie's lab was destroyed," he said. "I volunteered to take the case when I learned she." He cleared his throat. "We couldn't find any evidence linking Mueller to the explosion, but my gut tells me he had something to do with it. The investigation is still active."

  "Claire told me he was dead."

  Terry turned away from me and surveyed the room. I knew I had to wait him out until he made his decision on how much to tell me. We glanced at the stage, where the dancer was peeling her last piece of clothing. Terry pulled on his cigarette. I used the condensation running down my beer mug to make concentric circles on the table.

  "He's not," Terry said over the applause and the wolf whistles.

  I flashed a smile, pushed my beer away and leaned against the wall.

  "I'm glad we've got that covered. He tried to shoot Claire and me in her lab this afternoon."

  "Damn. I knew the bastard still hung around. Why is he after you?"

  "It's complicated. Too long for a chat when your friends can walk in on us at any time."

  "There's nobody with me," he said.

  "Now there isn't. Who says it'll be the same in ten minutes?"

  Terry shrugged. My skin started to itch.

  "Either you trust me," I said, "or I walk and you don't hear from me again. I have information, Terry. But there's a price attached to it."

  He squinted at his watch, dug in his coat pocket and took out a walkie-talkie the size of a cellular phone. He inserted a small headphone in his ear.

  "Parczek here. Over," he said, his mouth close to the speaker.

  I leaned closer to hear over the din of the room. Terry waited, his finger pressed hard on the button earphone.

  "Suspect is a no-show. Abort."

  Another few seconds.

  "Negative," Terry said. "I know the man. If he's this late, he won't show. Keep me posted. If you hear from him I want to know right away."

  Pause.

  "Clear." Terry stowed his radio back in his pocket then glared at me. "They could take away my badge for this. Your story had better be real good."

  He jumped to his feet, picked up his coat and hurried to a door at the side of the stage, where another stripper was cranking it. This one must have been popular because nobody had paid any attention to Terry's conversation with his little black box. He turned around when he saw I wasn't following and yelled, "Well, come on, we don't have all night."

  The side door led to a hallway even darker than the main bar. I could make out a few doors on each wall, but Terry moved to the end. He pushed at the wall, and we were outside in the rain.

  "Move over to the side of the building," I said, "then walk to the gas station. I'll follow you."

  "I want to know how you got involved with Mueller, Jack," he said over his shoulder.

  "You won't believe it when I tell you. I'm not even sure I believe it myself."

  I steered him toward the Jeep. Claire turned on the engine.

  "You take the front," I said then jumped in the back. Terry pushed the seat back into position and sat beside Claire. She turned in her seat to look at me.

  "Where to?"

  I pointed to Terry. "His place."

  He stared at Claire for a second then looked back at me.

  "Come on, man, you don't really believe she shot that guard," I said impatiently.

  He nodded and gave her the directions.

  * * *

  Terry's house was typical suburban—an open concept that combined living and dining areas into an L-shaped room with a closed kitchen at the other tip of the L. The decor, in beiges and browns, was as inoffensive as possible, with dozens pictures of his kids at various growing-up stages hanging on the walls.

  Terry's wife Betty poured each of us a cup of coffee then left us alone. I straddled a chair in the dining room. I didn't think I'd stay conscious for long if I sat on the living room couch.

  "I've done my bit, Jack," Terry said. "It's time you came clean."

  I turned to Claire and raised my eyebrows. She returned my gaze for a moment then looked away and shrugged.

  "Sure," she said.

  I gave her a quick grin, relieved she'd decided to back me up. I stacked my fists on the back of the chair and leaned my chin on them.

  "What I'm going to tell you will be nearly impossible to believe. Claire can verify some of the events. I hadn't seen her for two years until today. You can check that out. I doubt we're both crazy at the same time."

  "Get to the point, man," Terry said.

  I started with my kidnapping by Trebor. I showed him the telecarb, explained to him what it did. In as few words as possible, I described my visits to the alien worlds and when I'd realized Annie had used a similar device. I told him how we'd concluded that Mueller was involved, that he coveted the tleb and that he'd tried to take it by force. I looked battered enough to corroborate that part. I left out the theory that Mueller might be building an android. At this point, it was only conjecture, and I wasn't sure how much Terry would assimilate.

  Claire corroborated the facts she knew about, including Annie's entrusting the tleb to her two days before she died.

  When I finished, Terry shook his head.

  "Even you couldn't come up with a crazy story like that on your own," he said.

  "You believe us, then," Claire said.

  "Hell, no. But if you can get me closer to Mueller, I'll go along for the ride."

  "When did you find out he wasn't dead?"

  "We've always known. That house fire was a piss-poor way to try to disappear. He rigged it because we put the heat on him after Annie's death. If we add the bombs in your apartments, I'd say they're his modus operandi. We also know he's not dead because, shortly after he disappeared, he stole a plutonium battery."

  I straightened in my chair, and Claire jumped to her feet.

  "What?" we said in unison.

  "Chalk River does joint research with NARC on plutonium-powered batteries. They're used for pacemakers. Mueller stole the latest prototype, which was the size of a microchip."

  "How do you know he's the one who stole it?"

  "We have him on tape. It's the weirdest thing. All of a sudden he's there, steals the battery then fades away again. They had the camera checked, but it was in perfect working condition." He pointed to my wrist. "Now you're telling me you can do the same thing." He shrugged. "It's as good an explanation as any, even though I can't really buy it. The question is, why would he want a plutonium battery?"

  Claire whipped around, her eyes sharp with speculation.

  "He could be building a weapon."

  "Then why would he steal emotions?" I said to myself.

  "You didn't mention that part."

  "I don't have to tell you everything, sweetheart."

  "Would someone clue me in here?" Terry said. "What's this about stealing emotions?"

  I ignored him. "He's got the brain, the emotions, the source of power for his — "

  "Monster," Claire said, her voice hushed. "He's building a creature by combining parts of different worlds. That makes it a monster."

  "I bet you my best shirt good old Mueller associates himself with God, not with Frankenstein," I said. "What is he missing?"

  "He still needs to fashion a body."

  "But why does he want the tleb?"

  Terry moved in front of me and stared me down. "Jack, I'm quickly running out of patience with you. Stop speaking in riddles and give me some facts I can work with. Where do you think Mueller is hiding?"

  I got up slowly and sidestepped him.

  "I have no idea, Terry, and that's the truth." I scanned the room, feeling almost desperate. I had to get away, needed to think. "Listen, I'm exhausted. I need to crash for a few hours. Can I borrow a couch somewhere?"

  He considered me for a moment. If I looked as bad as I felt, it wouldn't be hard to convince him I needed some sack time. He made a face and gave a short nod.

  "Betty probably already made up a bed for you in the basement. Claire can sleep in the guestroom."

  "Thanks, pal."

  He grabbed my arm. "You're not off the hook, Jack. I want the rest of the story tomorrow morning."

  He directed me downstairs. I sat on the made-up couch, stared at the inviting pillow. Mueller first, sleep later, I thought. I had a sinking feeling we were losing the race, that every minute wasted brought us closer to disaster. I needed to anticipate Mueller, and for that I had to find out what else he'd stolen. I had to visit another world. If only my brain wasn't so fuzzy.

  Claire called out my name from the top of the stairs. This time, she wasn't coming with me. I heard her feet pounding down the steps when I didn't answer. I turned my head, intent on sending her back, and I saw her eyes widen.

  "My God, Jack," she whispered, "what's happening to you?"

  I squinted and concentrated on her words. She rushed to me. I lifted a hand to stop her then stared at it, puzzled. There was something wrong with it. Just before I lost consciousness, I realized what was different.

  I could see her through my hand.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I WOKE UP SUBMERGED IN LIQUID. INSTINCTIVELY, I brought my feet down. They made contact with something solid. I pushed hard and floated upwards through the clinging fluid, higher and higher, my lungs about to explode, my ears filled with the clang of bells.

  In the next blink, I was lying on a cold steel floor.

  Intense light blinded me. I lifted my arm to protect my eyes, but it didn't help; and I switched focus to my fingers, my arm, the rest of my body. I could only perceive a vague silhouette, as if I peered at my limbs through a slightly dirty window. The telecarb made a darker slash on my arm.

  A sliver of light cut through the murkiness; I swam toward it. Then, just before I thought I'd pass out from lack of oxygen, I burst through the surface. I felt a moment of disorientation, and my surroundings shimmered like rising heat on pavement.

  "Swell. Now I'm a ghost," I said. I pushed myself to my feet.

  The bar of light broadened, and I turned my head to avoid it.

  "Hey, lay off the spotlight, will ya? I can't see a damn thing."

  The beam of light dimmed then expanded and flattened into the shape of a man-sized scallop shell. I approached and circled it, looking for an opening or a clue to its function. I placed my hand on top of it; it felt solid, even though I could see through my hand to the surface below.

  I returned to the front and knocked on one of the shell's ribs. It sounded hollow. I sniffed, half expecting the smell of the ocean, but instead I got an acrid whiff of ozone.

  The glow of the shell illuminated the surrounding area. I stood in a room or, at least, in an area with top, bottom and sides. I walked over to one of the walls. Tiny doors, similar to those on safe deposit boxes in a bank vault, covered it from top to bottom. Instead of numbers, each door was inscribed with a series of symbols and had, beside them, a crystal set into it. Most of the doors on the wall I faced had crystals. I lifted my hand to touch one of them.

  "Do not," a voice behind me said.

  I whipped around. The two halves of the shell had opened; and in its center a human shape, as translucent as I, sat on a shimmering, mother-of-pearl wing chair. The apparition reminded me of the bedtime ghost stories my sister told me as a child. They scared the beejeebies out of me.

  "Who are you, and what do you want?" the shape said.

  "I could ask you the same thing, pal," I said.

  One arm floated up, and brilliant light blinded me. Sharp, tearing pain streaked through my body and forced me to my knees. I landed on the floor with a thud that ended in a moan.

  "You will answer," the shape said.

  "Meter," I croaked. "Jack Meter."

  The pain eased.

  "What is your purpose here?"

  "I'm looking for someone. I come from — "

  "I know from whence you come, Jack Meter. We had to filter out most of your corporeal mass to permit your entry."

  I remembered the sensation of floating up through some kind of liquid. "Did you have to drown me to do that?"

  "For whom are you searching?"

  "A thief." I showed him the telecarb. "He used a device similar to this to steal from other worlds. I followed him here."

  "A thief," the shape said.

  He lifted his arm again. A wave of supercharged ions broke around me. The hairs over my entire body stood on end. The biting smell of ozone saturated the air. I felt like a living lightning rod—one move, and the flash would zoom in and strike.

  "What guarantee do I have that you are not a thief yourself?" the shape said. His voice crackled with menace.

  "None," I said, my lips barely moving. Based on his reaction at my mention of a thief, I could assume that Mueller had already been here. I hoped the shape wouldn't take it out on me.

  "I'm trying to stop him," I said, "but I'm always one step behind. The thief did show up here, didn't he?"

  "Yes." The air around me made little popping sounds.

  "What did he steal?"

  As if he'd thrown a switch, the electric charge around me dissolved. I relaxed a bit.

  "We are not in the habit of providing information without payment," he said.

  "Sorry, but I didn't have time to go through the exchange." I turned out my pants pockets and a bit of lint fluttered to the floor. "As you can see, I haven't much to offer."

  "That is where you are mistaken, Jack Meter."

  "Do I have to pay for your name as well?"

  "How rude of me. I am Chrona, thirty-sixth Archon of Pleroma. I am gatherer, provider and guardian of Pleroma's main resource."

  "Which is?"

  "Memories."

  My skin started itching. I didn't like the sound of that. I had a feeling I'd have to pay through the nose for the information I wanted. I turned back to the wall and gazed at the doors and their crystals.

  "Do you mean this room is a library of memories?"

  Chrona dimmed. "I do not comprehend this word...li-brary."

  "In my world, we keep collections of materials that increase knowledge or intellectual pleasure in buildings — libraries — where people can use them." A lame explanation, but one that would do for my purposes.

  The light surrounding Chrona brightened, the equivalent, I surmised, of a smile.

  "Ah. Yes, we collect memories in a similar fashion."

  "Why?"

  "From others' memories, we Pleromans derive the energy that sustains us. Every single entity, regardless of race or manifestation, possesses memories, but it is the way they are engraved in the consciousness that generates the energy. In the case of your race, for instance, emotions form the basis of its nature, but they are fueled by memories."

  Chrona's words scared the hell out of me. A deep-seated conviction, based partly on insight and partly on what I'd learned so far, told me Mueller had stolen memories from this world. The question was, what kind of memories had he stolen?

  I walked back to Chrona, who'd remained seated in his shell.

  "The thief I'm looking for is named Mueller. Did he steal a set of memories from you?"

  Chrona did not answer, just sat on his mother-of-pearl wing chair, unmoving. For some reason, my sense of impending doom pressed even heavier on my shoulders in this place. I decided to blink first.

  "What do I have to do?"

  "The gift of information is dependent on the price paid," Chrona said.

  "In my world, a gift is usually free." I ambled along the walls covered with little doors then turned back to him. "But don't let that stop you."

  Chrona lightened. "Very well. I will bestow part of the gift without charge, Jack Meter. A female of your species left a token and a message here for you."

  Annie, I thought. Annie had somehow known I'd come here.

  "The remainder of the gift," Chrona continued, "you must purchase."

  "I see." I crossed my arms. "Sounds expensive."

  "Very." Chrona brightened then returned to his normal glow. "I will require you to relive the memory that affected you the most profoundly."

  I froze. I knew exactly which memory he was asking for.

  "You know," I said, "we could approach this problem from another angle. If I can bring back the stolen memories, what can you give me in exchange?"

 

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