"I hear voices, but I can't tell what they are saying." She held up a finger.

A scream of pain rang out of the shop. Ping tensed. "That was Sam," he said and started for the door.

Mara pulled him back. "Go this way," she said, pointing to the alley leading to the rear entrance.

They ran down the alley and stopped in front of the bay door at the back of the shop that acted as an entrance for Bruce's bicycle garage. Mara took her keys from her jeans pocket and unlocked the padlock securing the large door. Pulling up on the door, she cringed when it squeaked and rattled. She lifted it just enough for them to crawl under on their hands and knees. They could now hear a man's voice in the front of the shop.

"Tell me where the Chronicle is. Does the progenitor have it?" he asked.

"I told you. I don't know," Sam said.

A loud zzzit, zzzit sound came from the front of the shop, and Sam screamed again.

"Cut it out. I told you I don't know where it is," he yelled, breathing heavily.

Sneaking out front was not possible. There were no walls or large pieces of furniture behind which to hide. Ping pantomimed he would proceed, but that Mara should wait. She opened her mouth to argue, but he turned away before she could respond.

He picked up a wrench from a worktable and stepped out where he could be seen. A man with transparent skin stood behind the counter. He looked like an animated anatomy mannequin with bright yellow veins and arteries. His green eyes appeared to float in the air. The bones of his skull were translucent but discernible and, like the rest of him, wrapped in cellophane flesh. His bony left hand gripped Sam's arm while he sat on the stool. The man's right hand hovered over Sam's chest, glowing. Tiny bolts of lightning jumped from his palm and grounded themselves into the boy. Sam struggled against the shocks.

"Stop it. I don't know where it is!" he yelled.

Ping swung the wrench, hitting the side of the creature's face, knocking him to his knees, stunned. He shook off the blow. Ping grabbed Sam and shoved him in front of the counter and then into the back of the shop.

"What do you want here?" Ping held up the wrench, ready to strike again.

The man held up his glowing hand, palm first as if warding off another blow. A blinding bolt of pink lightning arced to Ping's midsection. He froze, began to quake as if something inside his body struggled to get out. His arms and legs swung as the shaking grew so violent it lifted him off the ground, holding him trembling and aloft. His body ballooned, bloated until his skin strained against the pressure and then exploded into a shower of sparks.

"Ping!" Sam yelled. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d killed Ping!"

Mara grabbed Sam, pulling him toward the back door. "We have to get out of here, come on," she said.

Sam slipped loose, picked up a metal folding chair and ran to the front of the shop, lifting it above his head as he disappeared from view. Mara attempted to follow, but tripped over a mop bucket full of dirty water, landing on her knees and forearms. She picked herself up, muttering about the janitorial service, until she heard a crash.

She ran to the front of the shop.

The metal chair stuck out from the shattered top of the gla.s.s case. The man with transparent skin stood over Sam with his arms raised to the ceiling like a boxer declaring victory, pink lightning streaming from his fingertips in all directions.

Static filled the air. A radio blared. A blender whirred loudly, joined by another radio set to a talk station. Alarm clocks rang, others beeped. A cuckoo clock got cut off in midcuckoo. A television provided a laugh track. Lamps flickered. A toy car jumped off a shelf and zoomed across the floor.

The veins inside the man fluoresced as dozens of arcs discharged from his hands, branched in midair like a prairie lightning strike, connecting with every surface of the shop. The air snapped and filled with ozone. He began to lower his arms. The lightning swept downward, following the path of his hands, striking toward where Sam was sprawled on the floor.

Mara ran to the back. She returned, straining to carry the mop bucket. Lightning gouged the wood floor, sending smoke into the air as it made its way to Sam's legs. She heaved the bucket at the man, dousing him with brown water.

Jags of lightning shot from his hands, arcing back to his body, throwing off a cascade of sparks that showered across the shop. Light burst from his eyes. He grabbed the sides of his head and fell to his knees, brilliant rays now flooding from his mouth. His scream drowned out the radios and clattering appliances as the light consumed his head, ripped through his torso and devoured his body. When the light faded, he was gone.

Mara looked down at Sam on the floor. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, a little wired I guess."

"Not funny."

"No, I didn't mean-"

"Why didn't you do your thing with that guy?" she said, tapping her head.

"Prompt him?"

"Yeah."

"It only works on real people."

"Real people? You're saying that was not a real person."

"No. I mean, yes, that is what I am saying."

"If he wasn't real, then what was he?"

"Something created by a pretender."

"A what?"

"Look!" Sam pointed in front of the shattered display case.

A familiar mote of dust swirled and gathered, taking the shape of a man, holding his head. Ping wavered for a minute, after he had rea.s.sembled. "Oh, I think that gave me a headache."

Sam ran to him and gave him a hug. "I thought you were dead."

"I thought so too," he said and turned to Mara. "Are you okay?"

"No, I am not okay. I am p.i.s.sed. Look at this shop. Mr. Mason is going to fire me if I can't keep this place from being turned into a disaster area every other day."

"It's not quite as bad as last time. We'll help you clean it up," Sam said.

"I'm tired of cleaning up after these people. What do I have to do to get my life back?" she said to Ping.

"You have to stop denying your role in this," he said. "You have to confront it. To do that, you need to set aside your skepticism and embrace things the way they are, not the way you wish them to be."

"What do I have to do?"

CHAPTER 33.

THEY WALKED INTO the back of a large warehouse a few blocks south of Hawthorne Boulevard. It was still early, and Sunday, so the streets were empty. Sam rubbed his eyes as he staggered over to a set of three mats arranged in a triangle in the middle of the empty cavernous s.p.a.ce. He flopped down and curled up. Off to the side stood a whiteboard and nearby that a metal cabinet. Ping paused next to the loading dock door they had entered to flip a large switch. Rows of fluorescent tubes ignited, suspended more than fifty feet above their heads, two-by-two in a grid of industrial fixtures, clicking in rapid sequence.

"Welcome to my cla.s.sroom." Ping waved an arm toward the whiteboard.

"I wasn't even aware I had registered," Mara said. "What is this place?"

"This was the warehouse for my old ceramics business. I have sold the inventory, but the lease has another year to run. It will be ideal for our purposes."

"What are our purposes?"

"To learn and practice. Come have a seat, and we'll get started."

"What's with him?" She pointed at Sam.

"He's a growing boy. I made him help me set this up last night. Kept him up too late. He'll come around soon enough." Ping pointed to the empty mat next to him. "Make yourself comfortable, and we'll get started."

"I'm still not clear on what we are starting."

"I'm going to teach you about the way things are. Sit."

"That seems a little vague. I thought you were going to tell me how I can deal with these freaks from another dimension."

"I am. But you need some context, or you'll just get confused and frustrated." He extended his hand, palm down and lowered it.

"Okay. I'm sitting."

He sat on the third mat facing her.

"Tell me your creation myth," he said.

"My creation myth? I don't follow."

"How do you think this world, this universe, came into being?"

"You mean from a religious perspective or a scientific one?"

"From your perspective. What do you believe?"

"Well, I guess I believe in the big bang theory."

"Explain."

"There was this big bang billions of years ago, and then the universe came into existence. It has been spreading out since."

"What banged? What caused the bang?"

"I don't have any idea. G.o.d? I don't think they know."

"And this is what you believe? Something went bang, and here we are?"

"I suppose. That is what the scientists think. What do you believe?"

Ping smiled. "I'm glad you asked. Before I answer, I want you to focus on keeping a specific mind-set. Focus on understanding the concepts I'm talking about, understanding the theories. Do not try to a.s.sess whether you believe them or not. You can do that later. I'm not trying to convince you to change your beliefs. Do you follow?"

"I think so. Try to understand the logic of what you are saying. I don't have to believe it to understand it as a concept."

"Exactly. Now, what I believe is that creation as an event is still occurring. It is constantly underway. The universe hasn't been created yet. It is in the process of being created." He paused.

"Okay."

"The creation process is one of cosmic trial and error. Every possibility, every scenario, every outcome is being tried. The result will be the most viable design for existence. What most people perceive as reality is actually just one of many possible scenarios for how the universe could end up."

"So what most people perceive as reality is what? An illusion?"

"It's a possibility, a potential reality."

"You're saying all of this is not real." Mara swept her arms broadly and then touched her chest. "That I don't really exist."

"All of this is just perception." He mimicked her sweep. "But you are real. You do not only exist in this one scenario. You exist in all of them. Well, in all of them in which you still live. In some you may have died. The Mara you saw on the airplane is you, what you would be if you had lived her life in that scenario. You are not two separate people. You are one trying out different possibilities."

"Okay, I think I get the logic of that, but I'm having trouble with the idea that this reality doesn't really exist. I mean it feels pretty real to me."

Sam, awake now, lifted himself on an elbow and looked to Ping. "Can I?"

"Go ahead."

"Think of your perception of this reality as a user interface on a computer. It's just pixels. It's an illusion to help you interact with the software code that's running underneath."

"So what is running underneath this user interface?" Mara looked to Ping.

"Consciousness," he said.

"That's it? Consciousness?"

"Consciousness is the raw material that everything is made from. Knowledge, awareness and belief are the tools that shape it."

"So we are made of consciousness."

"Exactly."

"And this world, this realm we live in, is just a bunch of pixels we use to work through our scenario? It's only some kind of cosmic beta test, and we're here working out the bugs?"

"Exactly."

"Okay, so how did all those people step out of their scenario into mine?"

"The Chronicle."

"So why not use it to send them back?"

"The Chronicle can only be activated by a progenitor," Sam said.