“Angie?” I said. “Getting anything?”
Her voice came back, crackly, broken, much too far away. “For a minute, I thought . . . No, no. I’m good.”
I looked up, caught movement somewhere in the big room. A sense that somebody had been there while my head was turned.
That wasn’t possible.
“Pattern in the carpet,” Angel said. “It’s kind of weird.”
“I got that too. Don’t let it worry you.”
Something flickered in the center of the room, a sudden agitation. Dust began to whirl into the air. It swirled up; in seconds it was strong enough to raise the smaller debris off the floor. It spun, sliding back and forth, a tiny, indoor hurricane, a monster made of air—
“Might want to knock it up a notch,” I said. “I think he’s on his way.”
I raised the power a few degrees.
Something had startled it, and I was pretty sure that something wasn’t me.
I heard a sharp, high buzzing in the air. I put my free hand up to my ear.
The stairwell door came open.
And the movement in the room stopped dead.
Debris dropped and clattered. Dust clouds fled across the floor. The silence was as sharp as glass.
Edward Ballington, Senior, strolled into the lobby.
His face was flushed, his shoulders hunched. He had a hunter’s look, eyes moving rapidly, taking in everything. He came directly to me.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“It’s an empty room.”
Captain Ghirelli had come with him. He stood, expressionless, hands at his side.
The perfect little soldier.
Ballington was close. I felt the heat from him. He stepped behind me and I felt him as he moved from one side to the other, the warmth against my back.
“Your human side’s seeing an empty room,” I said. “The rest of you—well. You tell me.”
“Human side,” he said.
“Come on. It’s not just you in there, is it?”
I was talking quietly, partly because I didn’t want everybody joining in, partly because I wanted him close by. Listening. Peeping round my shoulder. Watching me.
Right where he was.
You put two gods together, and it’s like two cats. Maybe they’ll cozy up. Or they’ll hiss, and snarl. Maybe even tear each other limb from limb.
From what I knew of Ballington, I’d counted on his rage, his anger, his obsessive self-assertion.
But he was too calm now. Too much in control. That, I’d not expected.
Ghirelli said, “Sir,” and motioned him aside.
I caught his sleeve. “You’re safe,” I said, and drew him back to me. “You ought to see this.”
There was nothing in the big room. No movement, not even a flicker of the light. Had I gone too fast?
“See the machines in there?” I was desperate to keep his interest. “They’re what holds it here. Not very well, in this case. Look familiar?”
He grunted an assent.
“Lousy, jerry-rigged stuff. The Registry is better. We don’t use that kind of thing.”
I was trying to keep him near. And then I caught it once more: the scent of sea water, and something harsh, the stink of distant factories . . .
Into my phone, I said, “I’m going to try something.”
I sent a small charge down the middle of the room. I held it there. When that got no response, I kicked a spike along it, then dropped back.
I glanced at Ballington. He was watching now intently, head sunk down between his shoulders.
“See anything?” I said.
“I see a window. Floating in the air. Could be an archway. Or a door.”
“All right. That’s good.”
“The door is to the future.”
“OK.”
I took hold of his wrist. I held him there.
I said, “I need you. You’re my eyes in this. Stand here. Tell me what you see.”
“A future. A destiny . . .”
But he was frowning, now.
“A destiny?” I said.
I was conscious of the bodyguard, Ghirelli, still too close.
“A window,” Ballington said. It was as if he knew that it was really something else, but didn’t have a word for it.
I still saw nothing.
“Moving towards us—nearer. Nearer—”
I hit the power.
That did it.
The wind was like a wall. It hit me full on, sent me reeling back. The table bucked, jumped, slid across the floor. I grabbed at the control box. Everyone was shouting. The wind roared in my ears, it howled— And then, as fast as it had come, it died.
The air had changed.
The air itself began to gleam. It shone like silver, like a thousand mirrors, turning on a thousand different axes, countless planes and angles folding into one another, sliding like machine parts, almost, joining together and then bursting into brand-new forms. I could see the room from every possible direction. I saw myself, crouched over the table, Ballington behind me. I saw the elevator lights above his head. Shwetz, a dark mass, off to the right. I saw all of this, but saw it from above, and from below, from left and right—a million images, rushing towards us, raining down—and never reaching us. Never here.