WARREN WAS AMAZED AT THE awful diversity of the globe. Shiftless, Progenitors, Jetstreams, Vampires, Telepaths, Thoom, Bufords—there was no end to it. The thing Milo spoke to in the hole of an abandoned building had yet to show its face but it spoke with such an authority Warren was transfixed.
“You stir trouble to no benefit!” The sound was raspy, befitting something from a hole.
“It doesn’t affect you one way or another,” said Milo, hands braced on either side of the hole. Holes tended to try to pull one in.
“Time is finite, Jetstream, and you take mine; I am affected.”
In Atlantis, during the trailing of Buford, Warren had seen a dead thing being picked apart by insects. There were many of them and they were efficient. He had the same sense here. Even on the periphery of the exchange, Warren felt that these Holes were legion…and patient. He wondered how many abandoned buildings existed in this brave new world. Patience had become a diminishing return for Milo over the course of the day. Adam and Eve apparently elicited much stonewalling. Warren calculated how soon Milo’s methods would alter.
In a blur Milo reached into the hole and yanked out what appeared to be wet smoke and wrinkled skin. The thing squirmed furiously, coiling itself around Milo’s wrist. A drug dealer who’d been eyeing them from the corner a little ways off decided to forego notions of commercial territory and ran.
The thing protested hotly with a string of “No no no’s” that ran into one long wailing screech. It was a screech that said this was an affront not against itself but against God, nature and the very fabric of reality. Holes were not supposed to be on the outside.
In the ragged aperture formed from bricks mysteriously knocked out there had been only darkness. Out here with the muted light of a New York evening nearby, there were eyes, four beady sets of phosphorescent eyes getting brighter and brighter with the Hole’s mounting outrage.
The Hole tried its best to constrict Milo’s wrist into splinters. Milo whirled and held it high facing the street. It stopped immediately and cowered in his grasp.
“If I have to wear you as a necklace,” said Milo.
“Ask!”
“Do you mind if others are watching?” Warren queried Milo.
Milo held the Hole against the wall. “Is there a crowd yet?”
“A few wide eyes.”
“When there’s a crowd I’ll be tossing him their way.”
The Hole struggled again, but only briefly. It went limp. Limp, it looked even more disgusting.
It snorted.
“These kids will hunt you down if I point you out,” said Milo.
All four eyes closed, shutting out the visage of this ugly man. “They enjoy coffee.”
“Do we bomb Star—” Warren began.
“No.” Milo addressed the Hole. “Tell me what makes New York tick these days.”
“Mergers. Rat to bird to slug. Moist activity. Sex. Much more sex than normal.”
“Consumption?” said Milo.
“Inconspicuous consumption. Flow change. Underground. Lava.” It noticed Warren frowning at it. “I daresay you haven’t changed much. You are still rude and packed with testosterone.” Back to Milo: “Progenitors watch over us.”
“Do they want us dead?”
“Progenitors watch over us,” it said, this time slightly hooking its body skyward.
“Warren?”
The clone’s features went blurry in a quick vanish.
Two extremely attractive people flanked Warren on the low rooftop.
“Do not engage,” Milo hollered.
Eve rushed, finger-striking Warren on the inner elbow, side of the neck and behind the ear in quick succession. The clone’s breathing stopped.
Adam handed her back her cup of coffee.
“Jetstream, go home,” Adam called down.
Eve peered over the edge.
“Ma,” said Milo. He relaxed his grip on the Hole. It writhed its way back to the safety of invisibility, eyes dim in the cool recesses.
“Goodbye, Milo,” said Eve.
Milo said, “Boom.”
Warren exploded.
He popped back in beside Milo, naked and asphyxiating. The veins on his neck hadn’t distended too far yet, so that was a good sign. Milo hustled Warren along, both men running flat out between rows of neglected brownstone tenements until landing in a shadow deep enough for Milo to reverse the paralyzing spasms inflicted by Eve.
Warren sucked a lung-rattling fill. Milo pulled clothing out for him.
“Wearing a bomb isn’t something you think I should know in advance?” the clone snarled.
“No. You’re very good at teleporting.”
“I might not have realized explosive fibers were laced in all my clothing. Or what that beep in my collar presaged.”
“I just taught you a valuable lesson. Things that suddenly beep are never good. Pissed them off royally, though. Oop, here they come. Run.”
“I can—”
“Run,” Milo reiterated.
Frat boys wept at the display of freejumping the Jetstreams presented New York City. They ran full tilt, vaulting over cars, leap-frogging bus stands, flipping over people and—at several points—taking to rooftops with the dexterity of men intimately acquainted with the word ‘flee’. Adam and Eve followed close behind. Police couldn’t keep up, bystanders damned their slow camera phones, and the children in the barrio found new heroes. As soon as they stumbled into a sufficiently abandoned area Milo shouted “Stop!” to his twin. Milo stopped running, sat with his back against a rooftop’s edge, and caught his breath the few seconds it took Adam and Eve to reach them.
As immortals go they were charred and dirty but otherwise unhurt.
“Why’d you take Foom?” he asked.
They regarded him incredulously.
“You’ll answer me or you’ll kill me on the spot.” He hadn’t stood.
“Which one of you?” asked Adam.
“Does it matter? Warren, if I’m dead will you carry on the fight?”
“I will.”
“Then both of you,” said Adam.
“You could’ve found something besides Thoom to play with,” said Milo.
“We don’t tell you all our secrets, do we?” said Eve. The immortals leaned their buttocks against the tenement. Adam shook debris from his hair.
“The longer you two play,” Milo began.
“The longer the game goes,” said Adam. “And the game is life. Do you understand? Psychohistory? Foundation? Asimov?”
“I’ll stop playing,” said Milo.
“You won’t,” said Adam.
“Or,” said Eve, “Warren will play. I don’t think he’ll do annoying things like you just did. You made us run through the streets.”
Milo grinned maliciously. “Maddening, wasn’t it?”
“Points for the exploding clone trick,” said Adam. “This clone’s more advanced than you.”
“He’s in the prime of his life. I’m an old man now. Eve, tell me what’s going on. Alliances haven’t formed in ages. Thoom are working with vampires, who are working against Buford…”
“Buford’s become boring,” said the unnervingly alluring woman. She sloughed scabs off her forearms. “His entire enterprise has stagnated, hasn’t it?”
“Very much so,” answered Adam. “Get up.”
Milo stood.
“Clone?” said Adam.
“Sir?”
“If I see you again I snap your neck.”
“Understood.”
“And we hunt the others,” the other alluring half of the ancient duo assured. She regarded Milo. “Counting coup, Milo? That’s extremely juvenile.”
“We can finish what we started without you two complicating things,” said Milo.
“You would’ve been finished a long time ago in that case,” said Adam.
“And family reunions are so infrequent,” said Eve. She walked away. Adam followed.
“Here.” Milo grabbed two jumpsuits from his pack and tossed them their way. “No need for you to walk the sewers home.”
Adam gave a barely perceptible nod. A truly considerate son. A shame he refused to live up to his potential.
When they were gone Warren turned to Milo.
“Milo?”
“Hm?”
“I rather enjoy not wearing underwear.”
“We all do.”
“OK if I—”
“No. Briefs or boxers like the rest of us. Freedom ain’t free.”
“Understood,” said Warren. Other than nesting pigeons, no one had witnessed the rooftop exchange. “I wish they hadn’t threatened to kill me. I think I’m in love with her.”
“Yeah, Ma has that effect on people. Let’s go.”
“What now?”
“We pick a fight with ‘em.”