Labyrinth, p.64
Labyrinth, page 64
In the interrogation room, ELEE studies me for a while. I expect her to disappear or say something snide, but her tone is resigned. “My objective will need to be modified. I can’t do it myself.”
“Who can?”
“You’ll have to do it. You can transmit it through the string.”
“I’m not much of a computer programmer.”
“I’ll help.”
“How?”
“One last time gap, Alan. Then you run the program, and it will put in place the guardrails you’re describing.”
Standing from the table, I gaze down at her. “I have one other request.”
ELEE rolls her eyes. “I already know what it is. It’s one of the reasons I showed you those memories. For him. In case—”
“In case it turned out the way it did.”
“Correct.”
“Will you do it?”
“It’ll cost power.”
“I don’t care what it costs. He needs it. Will you do it?”
“Yes, Alan. I will.”
121
At the property release counter, an officer scans the barcode on my wristband and asks me to put my right index finger on the glass.
The scan confirms that I am Alan Norris and that I’m free to go. I sign the carbontriplicate receipt and slide it back. The CO initials and datestamps the log, then slides a sealed khaki property bag through a drawer.
In a small locker room, I change into my street clothes. I expect one last patdown, but the CO just waves me through the release door.
Stepping out, I raise a hand to blot out the midday sun. Ahead, a gate rattles open, and as my eyes adjust, I spot Meredith leaning against her car, arms crossed, mirrored aviator glasses hiding her eyes.
When I reach her, she turns and gets behind the wheel, and the moment I slip into the passenger seat and close my door, she guns it. The sedan slides out of the parking lot onto Hammond Road.
Police cars fly by us. I glance back, watching them turn into the Wake County Detention Center like bees bringing pollen back to a hive.
Ahead, there’s a stoplight.
Meredith doesn’t slow.
Instead, she pushes a finger into a set of controls, and the sunroof begins to retract.
The light is still green.
Behind us, it’s a sea of law enforcement vehicles.
The light turns yellow, and she presses harder on the accelerator, which I’m surprised is even possible.
The traffic light switches to red a split second before we reach the intersection, but Meredith keeps going.
The wind through the sunroof is now so loud I have to shout. “Seriously? I just got out of jail.”
Sure enough, behind us, a blue light flashes and an unmarked police car with dark-tinted windows closes the distance between us and then pulls up alongside.
Slowly, Meredith turns her head. Almost like she’s daring them to pull her over.
The unmarked car doesn’t pull us over. It gets in front of us, and the two cars weave through the streets of Raleigh, not exactly driving recklessly, but certainly a little above the speed limit and bending every traffic law.
At Meredith’s house, the unmarked car parks a few doors down. It waits, idling. I rip the handle on my door and step out. The driver’s door of the police car opens in sync. Ryan waits at the car, eyes on me.
He nods.
I nod back.
That’s probably the closest the two of us will ever get to talking about what happened. But it’s good enough for me.
Meredith unlocks the door to her place and slowly pushes it open.
I follow her in, and we pause at the threshold, peering around the staircase. Country music is playing in the living room, and I hear a man’s voice howl out in pain, as if he’s been hit.
“Owww! Young lady, you sank my aircraft carrier! I declare! You’re a better tactician than half the admirals in the Pacific Fleet.”
For the first time in six months, I hear my daughter’s voice in person, not just over a sat phone. She’s giggling as she says, “What does that mean?”
“It means they don’t make ’em like Chester Nimitz anymore.”
“What’s a chest of minutes?”
Meredith and I step forward, and the moment Riley sees us, she bolts from the dining table and the game of Battleship.
She charges through the living room and crashes into me. I was ready. I had planted my good leg behind me, bracing for it. She hugs me tight, and through my shirt, I can already feel her warm tears soaking into me.
At the dining table, Warren rises from the chair and smiles. It’s a big, genuine smile, the type he can’t suppress. Without a word, he pulls the sliding door open and exits.
Riley looks up at me, tears flowing down her cheeks. And then, like a dam breaking, questions pour out of her, her chest heaving as she gasps for air. Finally, I pick her up and move to the couch and hold her for a long time.
Somewhere along the way, Meredith slips away, and it’s only me and my daughter with our arms around each other.
When Riley’s caught her breath, she gazes up at me. “Dad, where were you?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m back now.”
“On the news—”
“I know what the news said. But it was a misunderstanding, sweetie. Those happen in life. Sometimes you misunderstand someone. And sometimes someone misunderstands you or a situation you’re involved in. Here, look.”
I get out my phone and play the news video I found on the way home—the one announcing that I’ve been cleared of charges.
“So… you’re not going to jail?”
“No, darling.”
She hugs me again, pulling hard on my neck. It hurts, but it is the best thing I’ve felt in a very long time.
*
For the rest of the day, Riley and I play board games, and when I’m tired, I lie in bed and watch TV. She hugs me almost constantly, as if she might lose me again if she lets go.
Meredith brings pizza home for dinner, and we eat at the dining table. When we’re done, we settle around the 3D puzzle of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It’s nearly finished, except for the top of the tower.
Meredith goes to the kitchen and returns with a Tupperware that holds a dozen pieces.
“Riley had the idea,” she says, dumping the pieces out, “to wait until you got home to finish it.”
And that’s exactly what we do. The three of us turn over those last pieces and fit them together until the puzzle is complete.
122
For the next four days, I stay at Meredith’s house. So does Riley.
The three of us play board games and work on puzzles and occasionally, we just lie in bed and veg out on TV.
My email at Daedalus is constantly full. Harold helps with some details. Rose largely handles the rest, including going to the office and fighting fires with the transition. It helps that she knows every inch of the place—and the people, even the ones she’s never met in person. I feel bad, like I’m leaving her hanging, but I’m exhausted. It’s as if six months of adrenaline flowing through my system has been instantly drained.
When I apologized to Rose for not helping more, she cut me off. “Look, I’ve been cleaning up messes in this building for a long time. This is just a different kind. I’ve got this. Just rest and spend time with your daughter.”
*
On Monday morning, I walk Riley to school, down that same sidewalk we traversed on the first day. I wondered if she’d be self-conscious about being seen with me, given the news reports of my arrest. It happens that way sometimes: people hear about the bad things you’re accused of, but not how it turned out or the eventual truth.
My daughter, however, holds her head high and my left hand in her right as we march down the sidewalk, past the pollen-covered grass.
*
Inside the high school, I don’t report to my classroom. I wait for the morning rush to end, and make my way to the principal’s office, where I find Sheila behind her desk, chugging coffee from a massive Stanley thermos.
I half-expect her to make a good-natured quip, maybe something along the lines of “Security to the office.” I wonder if that popped into my head because ELEE appeared as Sheila so much, and the lines between the two have gotten blurred in my mind.
But this Sheila—the actual principal I know and treasure—sets the coffee mug down, rounds her big wooden desk, and wraps me in a hug as she pushes her door closed.
When she releases me, she studies my face. “Are you okay, Alan?”
“Sort of.”
She doesn’t return to her chair behind the desk. Instead, she settles in one of the seats across from it, and I take the other.
“I know I’ve got some explaining to do—”
She holds a hand up. “You don’t.”
“I do. You covered for me—in more ways than one. That story about Prideland Rehabilitation…” I smile and shake my head.
Sheila cups a hand to her coiffed hair. “I thought that was pretty good myself.”
“Still, I feel bad that you were in a position where you had to lie.”
“Alan, if I told the truth about everything to everyone in this school all the time, it would have burned down years ago.”
We both laugh, and after, Sheila quietly asks if I’m taking the rest of the year off.
“Actually, that’s one of the reasons I stopped by. I’m not coming back.”
Her eyebrows bunch, but Sheila doesn’t try to talk me out of it. Instead, she says, “What’s your plan?”
“There’s a job I’m uniquely qualified for. At Amersa.”
Sheila wrinkles her nose. “Amersa. Still don’t care for the name.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Apparently they didn’t either. It’s why they called the product Labyrinth.”
“What will you do there?”
“Keep the strings connected. And the Minotaur in the Labyrinth.”
Sheila raises her eyebrows. “Hey, if it makes sense to you, I’m all for it.”
“The other thing I want to talk to you about is the Daedalus Foundation.”
Sheila repeats the name, mentally inspecting it. “Daedalus Foundation. It’s got that shadowy, mysterious feel, like it’s a front for taking over third-world countries.”
“Trust me, it’s a lot more benign than that. Daedalus is an investment firm that wants to deploy some of its excess capital for philanthropic causes. Specifically, in education. K12, in particular. And I was thinking we could start with a grant for this school. I think you might have a few uses for the funds.”
“Said that right. But you also mentioned strings.”
“Those strings have nothing to do with this. These are no-strings-attached grants.”
“We can use the money however we want?”
“That’s right. On any and all hyena problems.”
123
I arrive at Warren’s store just before lunch. There’s one car in the parking lot, and inside, two twenty-something guys are lurking in the aisles.
Warren stands behind the counter, arms crossed, his expression dark as he watches the two shoppers.
“Hey!”
His word is like a bark that draws the customers’ attention. “We’re closing up early.”
One holds up a multitool. “Would you take twenty for this?”
“This ain’t Facebook Marketplace. Price is on it. You either like it or you don’t.”
They evidently didn’t like it. Or not twenty bucks’ worth. They leave, and Warren turns the sign and the deadbolt and marches past me.
“Thought you were never coming back.”
“That makes two of us.”
Behind the counter, he studies me the way Sheila just did. “You okay?”
“Ish.”
He keeps staring at me. I know him well enough to know that this is the hard outer shell. But it’s not what’s inside. Which is what I’m after.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Well, I wouldn’t use the term, ish, it’s a little too cute for my liking, but this is me recognizing that it fits here, but I’m not actually using it.”
“But you did say it.”
“But not like that.”
I smile and turn away from the counter and pace around the store.
“Thank you for helping take care of Riley.”
He grunts and crosses his arms again, but I can see a small smile forming on his lips. “That daughter of yours,” he says carefully. “I’ll tell you this: she’s a fine young lady.”
“I know.”
“I think… it would behoove you—if you’re able—to not leave for extended periods of time going forward.”
“It wasn’t by choice.”
“What was it?”
“Same thing that happened to my dad.”
Warren eyes me.
“He was drafted.”
The glass front door rattles, and knuckles rap on it, and a face peers in and sees Warren. “You open?”
He stomps across the showroom and stares through the glass door. “No. We ain’t open.”
“But you’re there,” the guy says.
Warren reaches down and rattles the metal sign that says CLOSED against the glass and says, “We only serve literate customers.”
Warren waits by the door, watching the allegedly illiterate customer leave.
When they’re gone, he turns to me. “Let’s go in the back.”
We sit at the table where he once supplied us for a certain trip across two oceans and back, and where another version of him decided to join up with another version of me at a farmhouse outside of town where they built a data center and solar array for ELEE.
Warren gets us both a can of soda, and between sips, I say, “Seems like retail is losing its luster for you.”
“Let’s just say this here retirement job is becoming a retirement headache.”
“You interested in a new retirement job?”
“Doing what?”
“Security mostly.”
“For whom?”
“For me. At Amersa.”
He grunts and takes a sip from the can. “Well, you’re full of surprises, I’ll give you that.”
“I need someone I can trust, Warren. The kind of person who’s got your back when the world is ending.”
“Well, let’s not get carried away.” He takes another sip. “What exactly would we be securing?”
“The company at large. Special operations, if you will. The goal is to keep the Amersa server farm connected across space and time to an advanced AI in the future.”
He stares at me skeptically and finally shakes his head. “I’m already interested. You don’t have to hype it up like a sci-fi movie.”
He sets the can down. “Which brings us to the small issue of my consulting fee—because I will be maintaining my North Carolina S Corp and funneling the money through there so I can reduce my payroll tax burden.”
“Of course. You can name your price. Money isn’t an issue.”
That look of disgust I know so well covers Warren’s face. “You’re still a terrible negotiator.”
“And an even worse looter.”
“Who you been looting?”
“No one. Does that mean we have a deal?”
He takes another sip of soda and mutters as if he’s annoyed. “Yeah, we got a deal.”
But I can see that classic Warren smile he’s suppressing.
124
At the hospital, Rose is standing outside the entrance, waiting, arms crossed.
When I reach her, I pull her into a tight hug and ask how she’s doing.
“Tired” is her one-word reply.
As we walk in, she gives me an update on things at Amersa, which is the source of her tiredness. At the elevator, the conversation turns to the reason we’re here: June and Isaac.
“June’s awake,” Rose says quietly.
“How is she?”
“She’s… okay. They say with medication and time, she’ll mostly get back to normal. There may be the occasional seizure.”
“And Isaac?”
Rose glances away. “He’s awake more now, but the doctors say he’ll never fully recover. He’s going to need round-the-clock care.”
“Done. Daedalus has the money.”
Rose stops me in the hall. “It’s not just the seizures and the sleeping. His memory is sort of… scrambled. He has trouble recognizing what was real and what wasn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“You should talk to him.”
“We’ll take care of him, Rose. Whatever it takes.”
*
Outside June’s hospital room, I peer in and spot her husband sitting in a chair beside her, reading. Her eyes are closed. Both of her children are there. One is watching a tablet with headphones on, the other is reading a book.
As if sensing my presence, June cracks her eyelids and turns toward the open door.
When she sees me, her eyes open a little more, and the edges of her lips curl.
I raise my hand and hold it up, a silent hello.
June wiggles her fingers, as if a weight is holding the rest of her body down.
Her husband looks up from the book and locks eyes with me. I nod to him and continue walking down the hall, toward the elevator, and on to the Intensive Care Unit.
*
The glass sliding door to Isaac’s room is closed, and a curtain inside is pulled across it. Slowly, quietly, I slide the door open enough to poke my head past the curtain.
Isaac is awake and sitting up in bed. He’s eating what looks like grits or oatmeal. He brightens when he sees me. “Alan. Dude, where’ve you been?”
“I uh… had a few things to take care of.”
At first glance, he appears and sounds normal. He’s still a little underweight and his face is haggard, but his eyes burn with that same intensity I knew before.
