Rogue by Mark Frost Page B

query, Will,” said Franklin, holding out the Carver for Will to look at more closely. “Our friends sent Dr. Abelson the design for this, exactly as you see it here. They depended entirely on our engineering skill to construct it—as with everything else they’ve shared with us—because they apparently do not possess the technology or natural resources to manufacture anything this sophisticated over there.”
    “Really? What kind of world are they in?”
    “One utterly unlike our own, as I’ve come to understand it. Primitive, violent, and, what’s the word I’m looking for…remade in their image? I’m told they’ve transformed it utterly, which is nothing I’m in any great hurry to personally experience, I can assure you.”
    “Has anyone from our side ever gone over there?”
    “You mean, through one of the passages we’ve opened?” asked Franklin. “Good heavens no, son. That’s an appallingly bad idea.”
    “Why?”
    “We have no idea how we’d be greeted there, to begin with.”
    “But you told me they were our friends.”
    “That’s our word for it, not theirs. Which doesn’t mean there’s any certainty they wouldn’t treat us with the extreme savagery they routinely demonstrate against each other.”
    “In other words, you
don’t
trust them.”
    “Let’s just say it could prove to be most unfortunate if they ever got their hands on this,” said Franklin as he held up the Carver, thoughtfully looking it over as he turned it around in his hand.
    Will tried to conceal his shock. This was some of the worst news he’d heard yet. “I had no idea. I thought they were our allies.”
    “All the more reason for keeping them where they are, don’t you think? As I mentioned to you before, we have no intention of ever allowing our friends free and open access to our world.”
    “But you told me you made a deal to do exactly that—”
    “No, no, no—”
    “—to help them come back here in exchange for everything they’ve given you.”
    “Not in so many words,” said Franklin. “I’m not saying they would necessarily agree with our interpretation of the arrangement, but that’s not really our concern. We have no contract here. As far as diplomacy is concerned, the only true interest is self-interest. It’s called
realpolitik
in our world, Will. Another subject I believe Professor Sangren covered for you.”
    Will had started a countdown in his head for the arrival of the elevator—less than thirty seconds now—but he pushed past the line of what felt safe to learn a little more now; he wouldn’t get another chance. “When you open a passage, what stops them from coming through it whether you want them to or not?”
    Franklin chuckled. “Thankfully the passages only last for a short period of time, and as I mentioned, the Carver has the ability to summon only specific variations of their kind. We’ve never brought through any of their life-forms other than the ones we’ve called for, and given how briefly the passages exist, there’s never time to bring over more than a handful at a time.”
    “Okay, so what if one of us did go over there?” said Will. “All you’d have to do to come back would be to carve another hole, on that side, and go through it?”
    “Theoretically,” said Franklin.
    For the first time, Franklin looked at him with concern about the nature of the question itself, but Will was beyond caring what the old man thought now.
    Fifteen seconds.
    “And where would you end up back on this side? Somewhere close to where you went in?”
    “We don’t really know, never having tried,” said Franklin. “Is there a particular reason you’re so interested in this line of inquiry, Will?”
    Will blinked on the Grid, took a final look into the room outside, then reached out to Elise:
    Hobbes is just outside the door, to the left. Clegg is on the right. The Hodaks are standing together, in the doorway to the storage room. None of them know you’re coming.
    Then