Endworlds - Nicholas Read [26]
“That,” the newly clept Eastwood agreed, “would be really nice.”
Jax was eyeing him cautiously. “Let’s get going. We’ll find out who you are. Just as we’ll find out your other secrets.” Her tone darkened. “Watch your step, copain.”
“Monarch will know what to do with him back at the Chimney. Coats down, let’s roll,” said Lion.
As the group followed their leader, Eastwood’s mind was racing with questions. “What’s a ‘seam’?”
Vector spoke up, folding his collar and pressing a stud that shortened his coat into a sports jacket. “Seams are portals wot join Earth Prime—our Earth—and the other ones. Different dimensions an’ all that. But if you’re from one of ‘em, you already know this stuff.” He shook his head. “And I never seen anyone do wot you just did, mate. I know words can cut sometimes, but bleedin’ heck!”
Eastwood shook his head, frustrated. Indeed, how had he done that? Crossing a footbridge next to rails over the river, he cast a baleful glance at the water below, one of the few people in London who knew what lurked below the waves.
“That thing was from a different Earth? That’s impossible.”
“Da, impossible,” Hummer agreed pleasantly. “And yet, here we are. More creatures every week, and now you with your voice. Impossible would be nice, yes?” He suppressed a chuckle. “There is old Russian proverb: when you take away the improbable what is left, even if it fantastic, must be truth.”
“That was Sherlock Holmes, you git,” chimed Vector.
“Yes—based on old Russian wisdom.” Hummer flashed a challenging smile.
“So the people in this place are all fighting monsters from other worlds? Where is it I’ve woken up?” asked Eastwood.
Castle, on his right, called forward. “Lion?”
“May as well,” came the reply. “We can always wipe him later.”
Castle nodded, gathering his words.
“People go about their business. They think the world is safe. They think our world is the only one, and look to the stars for signs of new life. I don’t know all the tech, but we’re told several Earths exist around each other, clinging to the same real estate but kept separate in different dimensions . . .”
“Because of harmonics,” put in Vector. “Different vibrations and wavelengths and all that. A multiverse.”
“. . . right,” continued Castle. “And usually they’re kept apart, not bumping into each other. Only, the Earth is on a schedule with,” he chose his words carefully now, “. . . with what you might call its destiny?” He glanced at Hummer and Vector, who both nodded their agreement.
Vector picked up.
“They say we’re flying through space at, wot, ‘alf a million miles an hour? And the whole solar system’s about to fly through a line of scrimmage . . .”
“A line of judgment,” Hummer corrected.
“Yeah, judgment, right. But if we’re judged the wrong way, it’ll be scrimmage, a real turf war for the planet. At least that’s what they say, them Cassandrans.”
Eastwood cocked an eyebrow. “Cassandrans? They’re the judges?”
“No, the judging is done by the Builders.” He paused, looking at the others who shook their heads in response. “Actually, that’s a long story for another time. No, the Cassandrans, they’re our benefactors.”
Castle spread his hands wide. “It’s the Cassandra Foundation that funds our little show. They’re like a research institute; part museum, part science lab. Run by a lady actually named Cassandra. They know stuff. And when each of us had nowhere else to go, their people found us around the city, gave us a home, warm food, these tricked-out clothes, and trained us for a purpose.”
“What’s the purpose?” asked Eastwood.
“Save the planet.” Castle’s matter-of-fact response left no doubt he was genuine.
Vector put an arm around Eastwood’s shoulder and pointed at the amber squares in buildings they passed in the night.
“Check it out, mate. People get up, go to work or school every day, and ‘ave no idea wot’s really going on right under their noses. Talk to anyone and they’ll all say they think there’s summink coming, summink important is on its way. But no