“I’ve never heard of that.”
Pax looked embarrassed. “Oh no—I suppose that didn’t happen until the twenty-three hundreds, but wait…” Pax paused. “I thought the climate was changing as early as the twentieth century.”
“There was some debate about global warming, if that’s what you mean.”
“So you were at the very beginning, then.”
“Beginning of what?”
“The storms.”
“What does this have to do with geomancers?”
“I guess you could consider them modern-day meteorologists, only instead of forecasting atmospheric weather, they forecast geologic storms. It doesn’t rain or snow down here and we don’t have tornadoes or hurricanes, but when the asthenosphere acts up, it can really ruin your life.”
With a soft pop, a portal appeared in the living room between the bloody couch and the table with the hard hat. Five people stepped out, all twins of Pax except they wore matching white jumpsuits and gloves.
“Another one, Pax?” one of the five asked.
“I don’t know who this is, other than Geo-24’s murderer. That’s who the last victim was, for what it’s worth.”
“A geomancer?” The tone was one of surprise.
“I know.”
“Any idea who killed this one?”
“Ellis Rogers,” Pax said, gesturing at him.
All five looked over.
“Am I going to be arrested?” Ellis asked.
“Arrested?” Pax looked at him, confused. “That’s another of your old terms, isn’t it?”
“Are they”—he nodded at the five—“going to take me and lock me in a room somewhere? Punish me for killing?”
“No, Ellis Rogers. No one is going to punish you.” Pax said the word punish as if it, too, was unusual. “Things really were very different in your day, weren’t they?”
Ellis was too relieved by the answer to question further, and he watched them move the furniture, clearing a path to haul the bag-wrapped body through the portal.
On the way out one turned to Pax and said, “So, this will be the last one, then?”
Pax nodded. “We can hope.”
The dining room was a Gothic cathedral again by the time Pax and Ellis returned. The home was mostly dark except for the candles on the table and a dim mood lighting created by a faintly illuminated ceiling. Ellis noticed that the portal they returned through had opened to the exact place they had left, leading him to suspect that the placement of openings wasn’t random. This got him wondering about what might happen if a portal appeared in the middle of a sofa. Perhaps it would appear and disappear without a trace, but what if it bisected a person? Pax had mentioned that accidents were few, so he had to assume something prevented such things from happening.
Loud music was playing, startling Ellis as the bass boomed through the walls and reverberated against his chest, thumping as if someone were patting him. The rhythm was strong and the melody catchy enough for a pop song, but the instant they stepped through, the sound died.
“You’re safe!” Alva shouted, her voice booming as loud as the music had before.
Floor lighting appeared, and a new style of music played in the background. Ellis thought it might be something classical—it sounded like an orchestra.
“Is Vin gone?” Pax asked.
“Vin has a meeting, remember?”
“That’s right.” Pax turned to Ellis. “They hold a sector artists’ meeting once a month. It’s necessary to make sure they are all working in harmony.
“I think it’s really just an excuse to brag, as that’s all any of them did the times they held it here,” Alva said with a tone of exasperation.
“Alva, you know you don’t have to stop your music when I come home. Just turning it down is fine.”
“Vin hates it.”
“Well, I like it.”
The classical changed back to the pop song.
Returning to the social room, Ellis was greeted by the breathtaking view again. This time he looked out on a night that was a beautiful image of lights. It might have been the New York skyline or the real Paris. He could see all the neighboring homes’ windows as well as outdoor lights that strategically illuminated sections of the cliffs or the gardens below. Above, he saw stars and a half-moon rising. Looking out at the beautiful immensity, he understood the concept of Hollow World better. He was living in a work of art, every aspect taken into consideration for aesthetic appeal. Artificial. The word used to mean something inferior. Ellis wasn’t certain that applied anymore.
Seeing the twinkling night, hearing the sounds of nature bleeding through, Ellis felt like James Bond on assignment in some exotic paradise.
“Can you go down there?” Ellis pointed toward the commons.
Pax chuckled, looking at him as if he were a precocious child. “Of course. That’s the common garden. We hold tea parties every third morning, treasure hunts once a quarter, and you should see it on Miracles Day. Bag races, skib competitions, and the boat contest. Everyone gets the same materials, and we all have one month to create a boat that will win a race across the pond—no Makers allowed. It has to be completely built by hand. Some are just amazing. People can be so creative, and they long for a venue to express it.”
Pax stood silent for a time, just looking out at the view. They both did.
“We aren’t as fortunate as you,” Pax then said.
“How so?”
Pax looked surprised. Hands came up, then fell in exasperated disbelief. Eventually Pax just laughed. “You’re unique.”
“I suppose,” he said dismissively, not seeing any significance in being him.
“Don’t you understand what a gift that is?”
“Not really.”
Most people Ellis had known had gone to great efforts to be like everyone else. Blending in with the crowd was a survival skill just as important for humans as zebras. The odd man out was usually picked on. High schools were hotbeds of assimilation. That was where people were trained to disappear, to melt and conform so that they could continue doing so in the workplace. Only the nuts wanted to be noticed, the artists and madmen. The entire gist of the traditional father-son talk Ellis had with his dad had consisted of his father telling him the most important lesson he’d learned—never volunteer. His father had discovered that while serving under Patton in the Fourth Armored in France. The ones who volunteered never came home.
“Everyone here would love to be you. I suspect it’s why Vin was so curt. Vin is a genius, but can also be very vain and jealous. I suppose we all are in our own way. We each struggle to establish a difference.” Pax rubbed the material of the frock coat. “We all try to define ourselves by something to make us identifiable, to make us different, but…” Pax took off the bowler hat, revealing a bald head. “Underneath we’re still the same.”
Pax held the hat in both hands and leaned out over the rail, looking down at the lights below with a sad reflection, a sort of hopelessness that surprised Ellis.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Ellis replied. “You’re very different.”
Pax glared at him. The look was almost angry. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because it’s true. I’ve only met a handful of people here, but you aren’t like any of them. You’re—I don’t know—nicer, I guess. More empathetic—and a lot braver.”
Pax continued to stare, and Ellis saw disbelief.
“When you first met me, Cha was terrified—everyone was—but you walked right up. You took me into your home. Didn’t know who I was. Didn’t know a thing about me—didn’t even ask permission, apparently. And…and at Geo’s place just now—you made that portal for me to escape, not for you.” Ellis shook his head. “I don’t think you’re at all like anyone else. Not like anyone I’ve met here. Not anyone I knew before either. If anyone is unique, it’s you.”
Pax’s lips were quivering. “Why are you saying all these wonderful things?”
Ellis shrugged. “I told you—they’re true. Why would I lie?”