MirrorWorld

“War,” he repeats, nodding just once. “Did you know that this world has never really known peace? Not once? At every point in history, somewhere around the world, war has raged. Even today. Especially today. Here in the States, the population is insulated from this reality. We read about it. Watch it on the news. But only a select few really get their hands dirty. Men like you. And me. It becomes a part of you, mingling with your DNA, changing you from the inside out. When war rears up again, men like us see it coming before anyone else. And we can react first. Fight and win. It’s what we do.”


“I thought you were a scientist,” I say.

“In the modern age, science is capable of killing far more people than brawn.” He leans back, supporting a grim, heavyset brow. “War isn’t coming. It’s here.”

“You make it sound like Neuro is fighting this war alone. What about your bosses at the CIA? The government will—”

Lyons picks up a TV remote. Aims it at the flat screen mounted to the side wall. “I don’t suppose you’ve watched the news this morning?” He hits the power button and the TV comes to life, already tuned to a news channel. There are no pundits talking, just a news ticker at the bottom, scrolling tidbits of violent clashes around the world and clips of recent events. Soldiers in an eastern European city I can’t identify open fire on a crowd, gunning them down. Instead of fleeing, the mob rushes through the bullets, swarming over the men while armored units roll in. These are soldiers fighting the people they’re supposed to protect. The video changes to a studio. A tired-looking reporter with disheveled hair sits solitarily behind a desk like the last bastion of cable news. “That was the scene in Kazakhstan earlier today. We now take you to the White House, where the president is making a statement already in progress.”

Somewhere in the White House Frank Paisley, the president of the United States, standing behind a podium, appears on the screen. “… have taken all possible steps to prevent domestic casualties, but no promises can be made if civil unrest continues. Make no mistake, in the defense of innocents, who are peacefully residing in their homes or places of business, the National Guard has been authorized to use lethal force. If you are in one of the twenty-three counties currently under martial law, please obey the curfew, and the property and personal rights of your neighbors. On the matter of international tensions, we are doing our best to quell fears of an imminent attack. While Russia has invaded many of its former Soviet states, we maintain a strong alliance with our border countries and are working to maintain the longtime bond with our fellow NATO members, despite unproductive rhetoric. On the subject of China, we stand behind our Japanese allies and have urged China to stand down its aggressive naval—”

Lyons turns the TV off. “The United States government currently has more tangible threats to manage. Civil unrest. External threats. Global strife. We’re at the tipping point of World War Three.” I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up his hand. “And the powers that be can’t be fully trusted to act accordingly. They, like the rest of the world, have already been affected and influenced by the Dread’s prodding fear, directing humanity towards a precipice like a herd of panicked cattle. Further exposing men like the president to the Dread could spiral things out of control even faster. Ultimately, involving outside government agencies is Winters’s call, but I have made my case to her as well, and she agrees. Neuro was tasked with handling what we call the mirror world and its residents and that’s what we’re going to do. We’re the front line in this war, and you will either be part of finding a solution or wait the crisis out from the confines of your apartment upstairs. Or SafeHaven if you’d prefer. But I can’t have you punching any more holes in my building. You could undo everything.”

“That possibility exists whether you answer my questions or I start looking for them,” I say. “I can see them now.”

“And they you from what I’ve heard.”

I nod.

“You won’t last long on your own,” he says.

“Can we please stop with the bravado?” Allenby asks. “I expect it from him, but not from you.”

With my back to Allenby, I’m not sure who “him” and “you” are, though I suspect I am the “him” in question.

Lyons takes a laborious breath. “I will answer your questions. All of them. But first, a request.”

“What?” I say.

“Clean up your mess.”

“My mess?”

“Security was compromised because of your paranoia-fueled egress yesterday.” He motions around the room with both hands. “This building’s natural defenses—”

“The tinted windows.” I guess. It’s the same odd tint I noticed in the ice creambulance.

He nods. “The glass is laced with oscillium particles. Not impenetrable, but solid in either world. Several of them were shattered and have yet to be replaced. The Dread typically try not to be noticed. They prefer subtlety. They won’t force their way through the windows, but the breaks already made in floors not protected by the shielding you saw on the ground level must have been too tempting. And we didn’t anticipate a situation where a window higher than the second floor could be shattered.”