5
BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA
What was she missing?
Myka paced the small room, going over all the details in her mind. Berkeley, California. Philip K. Dick. An artifact that was creating reality based on the stories of a sci-fi writer. Realities real enough that a man had exploded. People had been shot. Police had been able to predict and stop a crime from happening. And now, finally, she and Pete were seemingly erased from existence. No records. And not even their friends, Artie and Claudia, seemed to remember them.
Back and forth she paced.
Past the bed where Pete lay sprawled on his back, snoring gently, a pillow half over his face. Across the cheap motel carpet to the window. Late afternoon sun coming in around the curtain as she pulled it back once again, watched outside for any sign of possible discovery. They must assume the Berkley PD were still looking for them. Myka glanced one more time across the street at the pizza shop called Vinnie's Pizza, its name written in fat black letters on a yellow background that made her think of bumblebees.
She let the curtain fall back into place, turned and paced back past the bed. Then once more to the window. And again, past the bed.
There was something else, something she was missing. Something she could almost put her finger on. But just before she could pinpoint whatever that thing was, it would slip away out of sight, vanish. And she would have to start again, the chain of thoughts and logical reasoning that kept bringing her right to the brink of breakthrough.
She put a hand to her temple. The headache was getting worse, and it was becoming more difficult to focus, to continue to chase the elusive thread she just couldn't quite grab. The thread that would unravel the whole picture, make everything clear.
Past the bed again, then back across the carpet to the window.
Turn, bed, turn, window. Repeat. Pete.
Was it something Pete had said when they were talking to Artie and Claudia?
She was tempted to use the Farnsworth now, speak with them again and perhaps jog her memory.
Do we look like we could hack anything?
Past the bed, turn.
Claudia's the hacker. Not us.
Back to the window. Stop.
Just stop it, she told herself. Stop pacing, stop thinking. Stop forcing it. Just stop.
Relax.
Claudia's the hacker. Not us.
Remember.
Nice hair, by the way, Claudia.
Hair?
Nice hair, by the way, Claudia. All black, huh? Very emo. I like.
Aloud, Myka said, "Claudia's hair isn't black."
Pete stirred on the bed, groaned.
"Pete, Claudia's hair isn't black! It's red. It's been red since we met her."
He was sitting up now, rubbing his eyes.
"It was red when we left the Warehouse this morning."
"Mykes, that's right. But when we talked to her on the Farnsworth it was black." He looked up from the bed. "Honestly, did it look a little too emo to you? But what does that mean? Has something happened to Claudia? What about Artie?"
"I don't know, Pete," she said, thinking rapidly. "Maybe the artifact did more than just erase us." She shook her head, unable to put the final pieces together because of the headache, even now that the pieces were all out on the board. She and Pete had been erased. Claudia was different. What did it mean?
Frustrated, she turned to the window, pulled back the curtain again, for the twentieth or the fiftieth time. Looked out.
"Pete!" Alarmed.
"What is it?" In an instant he was off the bed. "Is it Fuller? Did they find us?" He was looking around for his gun.
"No." She sounded dazed. "It's not that."
"Mykes, what is it?"
Quickly, he was there beside her. She moved aside, made room for him in front of the window, held the curtain open. "Look."
He stared. "What is . . ." He paused. The sign across the street no longer read Vinnie's Pizza. It was now several elaborate characters of an Asian script, black on a yellow background. "That's different," he admitted. "That is . . . not English."
"It's Japanese, Pete."
"That is . . ." He shook his head in disbelief. "Well, is it still a pizza place? Man, I'm starving."
# # #
Stepping outside of their motel room, Pete and Myka were greeted by an entirely different city. The basic layout seemed the same, the structures and the roads, but everything written, every sign they could see had changed to Japanese. All around them, in cars and walking on sidewalks, most every person they saw also seemed to be Japanese. Vehicles were slightly different, mostly compact, and of Japanese design. Far down the street where they had passed a post office earlier, a large flagpole that had been proudly flying the red, white, and blue of Old Glory was now adorned by a large, wind-whipped white flag with the red sunrays of Imperial Japan.
"Pete."
Across the street, a pair of Japanese men who appeared to be either soldiers or police officers were interrogating a man and a woman, barking at them, gesturing with pointed fingers. After a minute of pleading, the policemen grabbed the pair, whipped them around against the nearest wall and began to handcuff them. The woman stumbled and fell to her knees, and one of the policemen kicked her in the back.
"Mykes," said Pete, low and dangerous, "we have to help them."
"Pete, I know what this is." She put a hand out, blocking Pete's path. "This is another one of Philip Dick's famous novels."
"I don't care what it is, Mykes." Brushing past her outstretched arm, Pete hurried over the asphalt parking lot towards the street. "Hey!" He called out as he darted into the road, crossing to where the policemen were taunting and laughing at their prisoners. "Hey, you! Bully-san. You want to kick someone, how about kicking me?"
The two uniformed men turned to face Pete as he stepped over the curb and approached along the sidewalk. "These people are under arrest," said one in accented English. "None of your business."
"Kicking someone who's handcuffed and on the ground where I can see it is my business, pal."
One of the soldiers drew a sword from a sheath hanging on his belt, held the blade out and ready. The other followed suit.
"Really?" said Pete, stopping short. "You guys just carry swords around everywhere?"
"Pete!" It was Myka, hurrying up from behind.
The two uniformed officers tensed to lunge at Pete.
An instant later, crackling energy burst through the air, engulfing the two Japanese policemen one after the other. They twitched and convulsed, swords clanging down onto the hard ground. A moment later, the limp bodies of the two men lay crumpled on the sidewalk too.
Pete turned, watching Myka approach with the Tesla still raised.
"I can't believe I just Tesla-ed more police officers. Japanese ones." Looking at Pete, she added. "They had swords."
"I know they had swords, Mykes. It was kind of awesome, actually, right before it was a lot terrifying."
She tucked the Tesla away, then came up and punched Pete solidly on the arm. He grunted in pain. "Are you crazy, Pete? We're in danger here. Those aren't just some random Japanese police we happened to stumble across. This whole city, Pete. The whole West Coast in fact. It belongs to the Japanese. We may as well be in Japan."
"What?"
"Philip K. Dick, Pete. He wrote a novel called The Man in the High Castle. It's what's known as an alternate history. In the book, the Allies lost World War Two. In the world of the novel, America doesn't exist as a free nation anymore. The Japanese control the Western part of America, and the Germans control the Eastern half."
"The Germans? As in, the Nazis?" Myka nodded. "The Nazis control America? Aww, man, Mykes. I don't know if I can stomach that."
"The Eastern Half of the country, anyway. Yeah, I know, Pete."
People were beginning to notice the disturbance that had just taken place. Pete and Myka were standing over two downed Japanese policemen. The handcuffed man and woman were staring at Pete and Myka, mouths agape. "Who are you people?" asked the woman. She was slim and pale. "Are you insane?"
Her companion, tall and dark-skinned, said, "They'll kill all four of us now."
"No one's killing anyone," said Pete, bending down and searching the nearer prone soldier for keys to the handcuffs. After a quick search, he found them and stood straight. "Let me uncuff you." The woman and the man came forward, allowed Pete to use the keys to unlock the handcuffs binding both.
"Okay," said Myka, looking around uncomfortably at the pointing, muttering crowd beginning to form. "We need to go."
"Do you have somewhere to hide?" Pete asked the pair.
The woman shared a meaningful look with the man, then nodded.
"Good," said Pete. "Go there. Will you be safe?"
"Safe enough," the man replied. "What about you?"
Myka cut in: "What about us, Pete? We can't stay here."
"We can't leave, Mykes. Not if the artifact is somewhere in the city."
"What if the artifact isn't here?"
Pete looked confused. "Where else would it be?"
"I have an idea about that. Let's get to the car."
"Head east," said the man, rubbing his wrists where the handcuffs had dug in. "The Rocky Mountains."
"What's there?"
"The Japanese control only extends so far. You're right — the Germans rule the East coast, but the middle of the country is still free America. Denver. Go there, you might find help." He reached down the front of his shirt and withdrew a silver chain. Hanging from it was a symbol, two intersecting curved lines that together resembled a fish. "Look for this." He glanced over his shoulder. Sirens could be heard in the distance. "Go, now. And thank you." With a look towards the woman, he turned and then together the pair pushed past a couple of the gathered onlookers and raced into a nearby alley and out of sight.
"Let's not stick around to chat with the cops, Myka."
"No," she agreed. "I'm not doing well with cops today."
Together they ran across the street, back towards the motel, which was unchanged except now it seemed to have a Japanese name written in Japanese characters on the sign out front. Around back, they found what had been their rental SUV. It was now a much smaller, hatchback style car. The key, also changed, fitted the lock. A moment later, they peeled out of the motel driveway and raced away down the street.
Four police vehicles, Japanese writing scrawled on their sides, zoomed past, lights flashing and sirens wailing, headed the opposite way.
"That was close, Pete," breathed Myka.
"You think Fuller is still a cop in this world?" Pete asked. "Captain Fuller-san?"
"I don't know, Pete, maybe. But if they weren't looking for us in this reality because of what we did to Fuller, they're looking for us now because of what we just did to those two."
"Right. We need to get out of this city." He glanced down at the car's dashboard and console. "Think this thing has GPS?"
A couple of minutes poking and pushing buttons, and Myka had the GPS up and running, albeit, offering directions in Japanese. The map on the small screen together with Myka's ability with the language allowed them to follow the suggested route.
"Love that Japanese technology," said Pete. "And love me some Mykes."
# # #
SOMEWHERE IN SOUTH DAKOTA
LEENA'S BED AND BREAKFAST
"You drive like an old man, old man," said Claudia, exiting the red convertible by hopping over the side.
"The door, Claudia. Use the door. That's what it's there for." Shuffling out of the car, Artie shouted at Claudia's receding form. "How is it even faster to—" Grumbling, he hurried after her, one hand clutching his black satchel. "Claudia!"
"Hurry up, Artie," she called over her shoulder. "Pete and Myka need us." She bounded up the steps leading to the entrance of the B&B and thrust her key into the lock.
Muttering about managing safety and speed and not crashing on the way to help others, Artie climbed the wooden stairs and followed Claudia into the bed and breakfast.
"Pete!" Claudia was calling out their names. "Myka!" To Artie, she said, "I saw them in Pete's room. Come on, Artie. They need us."
"Wait! Wait!" he cried, as the young woman raced up the stairs. He made his voice as stern as possible: "Claudia!"
At the top of the stairs, he was pleased to find that she was waiting for him out in the hallway.
"I'm not as youthful as you are," he said, panting.
"That's an understatement of the century contender."
Raising a finger, Artie growled, "You never let up, do you? Now"—he edged past her, closer to the doorway to Pete's room—"we have to proceed carefully. Whatever it is that's affecting Pete and Myka, if we rush in there, we might end up caught in the same effect." He opened his satchel, looked inside. It was his bag of tricks and tools. Useful artifacts to be utilized in a pinch.
"I already told you what I saw, Artie," said Claudia, creeping behind him towards the doorway, peeking around his shoulder. "The Window showed me. They're both in there, sitting together on the floor, just staring at that thing. It's on Pete's nightstand."
"Slowly," said Artie, inching forward. He craned his neck, peering around the doorframe and into Pete's room. He saw Myka first, seated cross-legged on the floor, looking blankly ahead. Next, Pete came into view, sitting with his arms resting on his raised knees, hands clasped together. He was also staring ahead, unmoving. Both Pete and Myka appeared to be looking at the same thing, the artifact which had them within its grasp.
Artie went no farther. He rubbed his chin as he looked with concern upon Pete and Myka. The nightstand remained just out of sight, and sitting atop it . . .
# # #
SOMEWHERE ON INTERSTATE 80, HEADED EAST
"The Lava lamp!" said Myka, triumphantly. "It's the Lava lamp you brought back to the B&B. It makes perfect sense."
"It does?" They were racing along on the highway, away from Japanese-controlled California, towards the safety of the Free Zone of middle America, which comprised the area of the Rocky Mountains east to about the Mississippi river.
"We've been looking for an artifact that's responsible for each of these different incidents, right? First, Martin Chambers exploding. Then Steven Pouty shooting people he thought were androids. And then the Pre-Crime arrest we witnessed. Us totally losing our identities. And now the whole world is altered, Pete. America's taken over by the Japanese and the Germans. How could one artifact possibly be responsible for all of that unless we've been looking at it all wrong?"
"I'm listening, Mykes."
"There aren't multiple different effects, there's only one. It's us. We've been whammied from the very beginning. The Lava lamp you found must be connected somehow to Philip K. Dick. When you touched it, or maybe when you turned it on, that's when it started affecting us."
"So is all of this really happening? Or is it some sort of hallucination?"
"I'm not sure, Pete." She glanced out the window of the car. "It seems real enough. It's like Philip Dick stories are somehow being layered over top of our actual reality maybe."
"So what do you think we should do?"
"I think we need to call Artie again."
Myka fumbled for the Farnsworth, eventually dropping the device on the floor near her feet. She put a hand to her head. "I don't feel too good all of a sudden, Pete." She let out a long slow breath.
"You alright, Mykes?" Pete watched her with concern. "Is it still that headache?"
"I'm fine," she breathed, trying to force a smile. "What, uh . . . was I just about to do something?"
"Call Artie."
"Right." She felt her pockets for the Farnsworth, growing confused that she couldn't locate it.
"Mykes," said Pete, voice heavy with worry.
"Hmm?"
"It's on the floor. By your feet."
She laughed vacantly. "That's right." She leaned forward and picked it up. "I dropped it."
A moment later, she sat upright again, and opened the Farnsworth. It buzzed once, twice.
"Yeah? Hello?" It was Claudia's face looking up from the screen. Dark-haired Claudia.
The picture wobbled.
"Claud, it's us," said Pete. "We think we've figured it out." He eyed both the road and the Farnsworth. "Still digging the hair, by the way."
Static pierced through the picture of Claudia's face and cut through her response.
"Claudia?" said Myka, dreamily. Pete looked over with concern. Myka's head was drooping forward, as though her neck couldn't hold it up properly.
"Can you guys hear me?" asked Claudia, voice crackling but clear enough.
"We can hear you, Claudia," said Pete. "Can you hear us?"
"Barely. Where are you guys?"
"Driving. Out of California. Turns out it's run by the Japanese now."
"Man in the High Castle," said Claudia. "Whoa."
"That's what Myka said." Pete glanced over at his partner. "How you doing, Mykes?"
"Okay," she replied, scrunching her brow. "I got really dizzy for a moment." She turned her attention to the Farnsworth. "Listen, Claudia—"
A fit of static broke up Claudia's image.
Myka paused, and then with a confused look, she opened and closed her mouth a few times.
Pete, noticing, asked, "What is it?"
"I don't know," Myka replied. She reached up and put her thumb and forefinger into her mouth. When she withdrew them, she was holding something gripped between the two.
"What is that, Myka?"
They both peered at the strange blue object. "It's a flower, Pete. Look at it."
"Where did it come from?"
"I don't know," she breathed, staring wonderingly at it.
"Heya," said Claudia, through the Farnsworth. "Still here. What's going on?"
"Claud," said Pete. "Does a little blue flower mean anything to you?"
"Nothing good, why?" Static crackled.
"Claudia," said Myka. "I think something is happening to me." She put a hand to her temple, the headache still pounding. "And this flower"—she held it up in front of the Farnsworth—"I just found it in my mouth."
"Okay, that's not good. I should go get Artie."
"What is it, Claud? Another Philip Dick story?"
"Yeah," she answered, her image on the Farnsworth wobbling. "A Scanner Darkly. Another novel. Little blue flower. I mean, they didn't eat the flowers in the novel, but . . . Yeah, it has to do with this really nasty drug called Substance D that literally causes a split in the user's brain. Eventually turns you into, well, basically a vegetable. Not pretty." She winced. "Oh geez, I'm sorry, Myka."
"It's okay. But I think I'm starting to feel that effect." Myka looked with concern towards Pete.
"What's the 'D' stand for, Claudia?" he asked.
She bit her lip, hesitated before answering. "Death."
"Okay," said Pete, "we're gonna fix this." He looked at Myka. "We're gonna fix this, Mykes. Listen, Claudia, we think we know what the artifact might be."
The screen of the Farnsworth rolled and filled with static. Claudia's face reappeared briefly, then vanished once more into noise.
"Claudia, are you there?"
"Claudia!?" called Myka.
More static, then, barely audible, "Guys?" Claudia's voice broken by interference.
After a few moments trying to re-establish contact, Myka gave up and closed the Farnsworth with a sigh. "It's no use. She's gone."
"Myka, listen to me," said Pete. "You are not going to die, okay?"
She took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."
"I've got a plan," said Pete.
"What is it?"
"If the artifact is the Lava lamp, and the Lava lamp is at the B&B, then that's where we need to be. We're going back to the Warehouse. To Leena's." He glanced over. "So hang in there, Mykes."