Nobody Gets the Girl, page 4
"I'm not," said Dr. Knowbokov.
"What? Why?"
By now they had reached an airfield on the edge of town. The limousine pulled to a stop near a mid-size jet.
"Come," said Dr. Knowbokov. "Let's continue our conversation aboard my plane."
"Let's finish it now. Why won't you go back and fix things?"
"I have materials to show you on the plane," said Dr. Knowbokov. "Photographs that will help me explain our dilemma."
"Visual aids, huh?" said Richard. "Fine. I'll play along."
The jet was nothing like the commercial aircraft on which Richard had traveled. Instead of the normal rows of seats, the mid-part of the cabin was laid out like a living room, with two huge leather couches facing an elegant coffee table. Veronica would have loved it. On the table were several manila envelopes.
"Have a seat," said Dr. Knowbokov.
"I feel like standing," said Richard.
"That won't be safe during take off."
"Take off? Where exactly are we going?"
"The Caribbean. My estate is located on a private island."
"Ah," said Richard. "Of course it is. You kin to Bruce Wayne?"
Dr. Knowbokov looked slightly confused. "The Bruce Wayne that lives at 47 Stanton Street in Tulsa, Oklahoma?"
"Um. Sure."
"No. Why do you ask?"
Richard sighed, then took a seat on the couch opposite the doctor. The plane's engines began to roar, and the cabin lurched.
"The Caribbean, huh? I guess I'm along for the ride. Has to be better than where I was."
"Indeed. I think you’ll like my home," said Dr. Knowbokov. "I hope you’ll be a frequent guest. I’d like to propose a partnership between us."
"Partnership?"
"I would find a man of your talents quite useful. You would be the perfect spy."
"And who, may I ask, would I be spying on?"
"My enemies, of course. Perhaps even, should the need arise, my allies."
"That sounds a little paranoid, Doc," said Richard. "But, maybe not all that paranoid. I guess being rich enough to own your own island does involve a little crooked dealing."
"Nothing of the sort," said Dr. Knowbokov. "My wealth has been obtained through careful investments and numerous patents on my discoveries and inventions."
"Oh yeah," said Richard. "And there's that time machine. Must make lottery picks a breeze."
"I hadn't contemplated that," said the doctor. "If the acquisition of wealth were my focus, I suppose I could use the time machines for selfish purposes. But I have lived my life in service to mankind. The wealth that has resulted is quite incidental, and used mostly for philanthropy."
"And Caribbean estates."
"I provide what comforts I can for my family," the doctor said, sounding apologetic.
"I had a family once," said Richard. "And you screwed that up. Care to take a stab at explaining why you aren't going to fix it?"
Dr. Knowbokov handed him a manila envelope.
"This file contains information about Lisa and Linda Rogers. They are, in a way, your sisters."
"Sisters? I was an only child. Dad always joked that I was so much trouble they didn't want another kid."
"Lisa and Linda were born in 1970 and 1972. Your parents were more emotionally and financially secure than they were when you were born."
Richard emptied the envelope, and looked through the photos of two bright-looking, happy women. They seemed very familiar, like relatives he should recognize, but couldn't quite recall.
"Sisters, huh?"
"There's more," said Dr. Knowbokov, handing him another envelope. "Your former wife, Veronica, married before she finished college. She has two children now, a boy, age seven, and a girl, age eight."
"I don't believe you," said Richard. "Veronica hated children. She viewed them as little dirt magnets. She would never have found a diaper bag that meshed with her wardrobe."
"The girl was unplanned, but is loved," said Dr. Knowbokov. "Look at the photographs."
Richard fumbled with the clasp. His hands were trembling. He left the envelope closed, and said, "I don't care."
"What don't you care about?"
"Any of this. Any of these people."
"They are real people," said Dr. Knowbokov, his voice very calm and gentle. "As real as you once were. More real than you are now. If I were to tinker with time again, even if I had the talent and wisdom to make things exactly as they once were, I would be condemning these people to non-existence."
"I don't care!" Richard rose, flinging the envelope across the room. It came open, sending a flurry of photos and papers drifting through the air. "You're going to put me back!"
"No," Dr. Knowbokov said calmly.
With a feral growl, Richard lunged forward, his hands aimed at the doctor's throat.
Still seated, Dr. Knowbokov raised his leg high above his head and delivered a kick to Richard's chin. Richard crashed to the coffee table, stars before his eyes. He rolled to the floor, tasting blood in his mouth.
"Any attempt at physical assault is most unwise," said Dr. Knowbokov. "I have black belts in seven styles of martial arts."
"Of course," Richard said, his hands clutching his throbbing jaw. "Goddamn."
"I understand your emotional distress," said Dr. Knowbokov.
"Sure," said Richard, swallowing blood. "Why wouldn't you understand? This is your fault. You destroy my life. You tell me that my parents really did decide against kids because I was so horrible, and my wife would have welcomed the opportunity to breed, just not with me."
He sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Sorry, DNA. Guess I let you down."
Dr. Knowbokov laughed. "You possess a sharp wit, Richard. This is evidence of your intelligence. I have faith in your ability to adapt to your condition."
Richard ignored him. "And to top it all off, I'll have to eat through straws for the rest of my life. Man, it feels like my teeth are about to come out."
"Unlikely," said Dr. Knowbokov. "I didn't kick you that hard."
Richard shook his head. He didn't know what to say. This was just too much to think about, especially with his head throbbing. So he said, "I have a headache."
"Perhaps it would be best if you rested. I have sleeping quarters in the rear of the plane. There’s medication in the bathroom. Some anti-inflammatories will help ease your pain."
Richard chuckled joylessly. "Any pills in there that will make me real again?"
"Richard, you are real. It's vitally important you remember that, and believe it. I have told you these things because I believe that the truth will help you come to terms with your new circumstances, and actually reinforce your identity."
"Yeah," said Richard. "Self-esteem, believe in yourself, blah, blah, blah. You sure you're not a shrink?"
"Come," said Dr. Knowbokov, offering his hand. "Let's get you to bed. After you rest, we can further discuss my offer of employment."
"Spy, huh?" said Richard. "Won't be as cool as in the movies. I'm unlikely to get the girls, being intangible and all."
"There are rewards in life far greater than 'getting the girl.’”
"Gee, thanks for the pep talk, Dr. Know-it-all."
Richard took the doctor's hand, and was pulled to his feet. The doctor led him to the next room. The sleeping quarters weren't the cramped bunk he expected but a plush canopy bed, covered with hand-sewn quilts. The bathroom beyond was spacious, with a full-sized toilet, a bidet, and a claw-footed tub.
"Swank," said Richard. "Doc, you may be a time-traveling, life-wrecking scumbag, but you know how to travel."
"Here," said the doctor, handing him some pills. "These will prevent swelling in your jaw and help you sleep."
Richard popped the pills and swallowed them without waiting for water. He collapsed onto the bed. It was soft and warm and smelled freshly laundered. He shut his eyes and felt like he was at his grandmother's house.
When he opened his eyes, Dr. Knowbokov was gone.
He closed his eyes again. His head felt full of static. Images flashed across his eyelids, words echoed through his skull.
Echo. That's all he was now. An echo of someone who used to be. How long before he faded away to nothingness?
It was absurd. Everything, the time machine, the photos of sisters he'd never known, the private jet, the island, the seven-foot-tall bald chick driving the limo, all of it was just a joke. Any minute, someone would yell, "Surprise!" He could grin and say, "You got me!" Or maybe he would open his eyes and realize that the soft bed he lay upon was the floor of a padded cell.
But he had gone too far into this now to question his sanity. Lying in the bed, his jaw still throbbing, he had a very good sense of what was real, and what wasn't. This wasn't a joke. He wasn't real. And, yet, of course, he was.
He could feel himself drifting. He wondered if something in the pills was putting him to sleep. He felt too full of questions to rest. And yet, little by little, he drew deeper inside himself, floating in memories.
He remembered sitting on his grandmother's bed. Her bed had always smelled so wonderful. He was very, very small. She held his hand in hers.
"And when you add another one you get . . . ?" She folded out a second finger from his fist.
"Two!" he said.
"And when you fold it back you have?"
"One!" he said.
She folded the remaining finger back into his palm. "And now you have?"
He looked at his hand. He wasn't sure what he had. "One minus one is zero," his grandmother said.
He stared at his fist, unconvinced. After all, his fingers were still there.
"Zero," he said, knowing it would make her happy.
"Good boy," she said.
Drifting to sleep in his memories as well as here and now, Richard felt his grandmother's kiss upon his brow.
CHAPTER FOUR
STRONG GENETIC COMPONENT
When Richard opened his eyes again his jaw no longer hurt. He touched it carefully, then more firmly. It was like he'd never been kicked. Rich people apparently got better pills than the rest of us.
He sat up on the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept on, then stepped onto the nicest carpet his feet had ever touched. Piano music drifted into the room, serene and introspective. An eerie red light seeped through the drapes. He went to a window, pushed aside the drapes, and opened the shade.
They were over an ocean, gleaming with the last sunlight of the day. For as far as he could see, there was only water and sky merging as one on the horizon. The plane seemed to hang in perfect stillness.
On the window, he could see the faint trace of his reflection.
"Never born," he said. "Huh."
In the distance he could see a flash of light, a boat perhaps, or a low plane. Whatever he saw, it was moving rapidly, leaving a wake of gleaming silver.
He focused his attention on the approaching object. Could a boat move that fast? The wake wasn't dispersing like a boat's. It remained a perfect, shining, razor-sharp line. It was definitely moving above the water, not across it. A plane? It seemed too small. Whatever the object was, it was keeping low and gaining on them.
Low, fast, and small. A missile? Suddenly, Richard wondered just how tough Dr. Knowbokov's enemies were.
He left the bedroom and found Dr. Knowbokov playing a grand piano in the room where they had held their earlier discussion. The couches and coffee table were gone. Had they changed planes? Richard's brow furrowed. Somehow this bothered him much more than the thought of an approaching missile.
"Ah, Richard," said the doctor. "My playing didn't disturb you, I hope?"
"Weren't there couches in here just a little while ago? Or have you been tinkering with the time machine again?"
"Nothing so exotic," said the doctor. "The furniture can be raised and lowered from the holds via hydraulic lifts."
"Does Martha Stewart know about this?"
Dr. Knowbokov's eyes closed; he seemed briefly lost in thought. He opened his eyes.
"No," he said.
"How about the missile coming our way? She know about that?"
"Missile?"
"Maybe. Take a look out the window and tell me my eyes are playing tricks on me."
Dr. Knowbokov went to the nearest window and raised the shade. A woman stood outside the plane, only a few yards away. The wind whipped at her hair and clothing as she skated along beside the plane astride a pair of polished steel rails. Her clothes reminded Richard of a drum majorette's, with a tight red jacket fastened by twin rows of gold buttons, a short skirt, and a tall, flat-topped hat, which fastened with a strap beneath her chin. She smiled and waved.
Dr. Knowbokov waved back.
"I don't see a missile, Richard," he said.
Richard pinched himself on his arm. The woman veered off, descending. The steel rails she rode seemed to materialize from the air before her.
"Oh. My. God," said Richard, fully grasping what he'd seen. "That was... that's... that's the woman who's always on the news. I mean, she's always fighting giant robots and... I don't believe this. I thought she was just a joke! What's her name? Blade Something? I-I... I mean, she's real?"
"Rail Blade," said Dr. Knowbokov. "She's not only real, she's my daughter."
Richard slapped his forehead with his palm.
"Of course," he said. "Of course she's your daughter. You have a time machine. You've got a private jet, furniture on hydraulic lifts, and a gun that shoots knockout gas. You have a seven-foot-tall bald woman for a chauffeur! Why wouldn't you have a comic-book hero for a daughter?"
Dr. Knowbokov smiled. "Two daughters, actually. The media has christened my other daughter 'the Thrill.'”
Richard went to the window and stared. Rail Blade was nowhere to be seen now, though the gleaming rail she had ridden remained visible as a shining line across the ocean.
"OK," he said. "You're the physicist. Where does that rail come from? How does it stay up like that? I'm no engineer, but shouldn't those rails she rides buckle under their own weight? There's nothing holding them up."
"It is curious. By all the known laws of physics, not to mention the laws of biology, the ferrokinesis my daughter exhibits is categorically impossible."
"Must have made for interesting family arguments," said Richard. "Young lady, since you insist on breaking the known laws of physics, there's no dessert for you tonight."
Dr. Knowbokov shrugged. "She had an answer for that."
"Oh?"
"She said it wasn't her fault I didn't know all the laws of physics."
THEY ARRIVED AT the island moments later. Richard emerged from the plane into a tropical wonderland, with bright flowers and even brighter birds almost everywhere he looked. Reaching the tarmac, he felt as if he were stepping into a scene from a postcard.
"Having the weirdest time," he said. "Wish I were here."
"Come now," said Dr. Knowbokov. "Things will look up soon. You'll find that even in your condition there are still many pleasures to enjoy in this world."
"'In my condition' makes me sound pregnant."
"You'll feel better once we go to the mansion and have a nice meal. Afterwards, we can discuss your situation further."
Suddenly, in utter, eerie silence, a pair of railroad tracks sliced through the air heading straight toward Richard. Richard jumped as the ends of the tracks plunged and bit into the ground mere feet from where he stood. Then, with a whistling roar, Rail Blade shot toward him, leaning back as she approached, sending sparks shooting from her steel boots.
Richard cupped his hands over his ears and winced at the horrible squeal the rails made as she slid to a halt beside him.
"Father!" said Rail Blade, in cheerful greeting.
“Amelia," said Dr. Knowbokov, somewhat coolly, thought Richard. "How was the mission?"
"Things went as planned," she said. "The subject is safe and secure in the bank."
Dr. Knowbokov nodded knowingly.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" Rail Blade asked.
Dr. Knowbokov's mouth dropped open. He cleared his throat, and said, "You can—"
"—see me," finished Richard. "You can see me!"
Rail Blade looked more than a little confused. "Yes?" she ventured.
"And hear me?" asked Richard.
"I think I may be missing the point of your questions," she said.
"This is a wonderful development," said Dr. Knowbokov.
"I'm cured!" said Richard.
"No," said Dr. Knowbokov. "But I suspect that other descendents from my bloodline may share my ability to see you. After all, consciousness does derive from brain structures, which of course have a strong genetic component."
"You make this stuff up as you go along, don't you?" said Richard.
"Father never makes anything up," said Rail Blade, with an oddly humorless tone.
"Amelia, may I introduce you to my new associate Richard Rogers? Richard, this is my eldest daughter, Amelia."
Richard held out his hand. Amelia nearly crushed it with her grip. She stared at him as they shook hands, and he became acutely aware that he was dressed in a pink robe with neon green flip-flops.
When they ended their handshake, he ran his hand across his uncombed hair, then scratched the three days' worth of stubble on his cheeks.
"I'm sorry if I acted a little spaced out," he said. "It's just that, thanks to your father, I've kind of never been born."
"I'm sure Father has his reasons," said Amelia.
"Richard's condition is an unfortunate side effect of one of my experiments," said Dr. Knowbokov. "While he may not seem extraordinary to you, to almost everyone else in the world, he doesn't exist."
"I see," said Amelia. "This could have advantages, I suppose."
"Advantages?" said Richard. "Have you been reading your father's script? He was telling me what a wonderful life I have in store for me. But all I want is to be normal again."
Amelia shrugged. "Normal is only a state of mind. You can be normal anytime you want."
Richard didn't have a comeback to that.
"We were just going up to the mansion," said Dr. Knowbokov. "Richard is in need of a good meal. Go and find your mother and sister, and tell them we'll be having a guest for dinner. I've phoned ahead to Paco. He'll be ready to serve us in an hour."
