The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 161: Education

Marcus Mercury was a mad scientist who lived in space. That was, so far as Dan was concerned, the truth of the matter. But the man was also a great deal more than that. He was one of the creators of the Genius upgrade, once a leading expert in radiological phenomenon, and powerful Natural. He was a bitter man, cynical and filled with regret. But almost two years ago, he'd helped Dan acclimate to this new and frightening dimension, had provided him shelter and money, and offered tutoring in his own dubiously ethical way. Daniel still had the textbook he'd been given stashed in one of his closets, thirty pounds heavy and more than a foot thick: Marcus Mercury's Guide to Everything.

The two of them had been close, once. At least, as close as they could be given the circumstances. Dan relied on the man for everything, for a time, but as he found his place in the world, Marcus' obsession with the Gap grew worse and worse. His experiments grew more dangerous, more reckless, while Dan grew more stable and satisfied. Their lives moved on separate tracks, in opposite directions, and when they parted ways the last time, Dan knew it was the end.

Marcus lived in a space station orbiting Neptune, a remnant of a Genius obsessed with exploration, who had single-handedly pushed humanity into the stars. They'd skipped the space race in Dimension A. They'd jumped right to the finish line. Marcus had lived alone in that gargantuan station, him and his tools and his lab rats. And Dan, with his little metal room beside the viewport. All that was gone, or so Dan presumed. The station had appeared to be failing, in his most recent visit. Whatever cosmic fuckery kept it intact for decades had finally given out, and Marcus was nowhere to be found.

Truthfully, Dan had assumed the old man had stepped into the Gap, in search of... something. Redemption for his failures, maybe? Or a parallel world, where his loved ones still lived. Either way, Dan thought, the old man would've found some peace. Dan figured he'd never see him again, that he'd fade away into memory, where bitter regrets of the past belonged. Hearing that Marcus might be walking around, alive and well, and planet-side, was a shock that he hadn't been prepared for.

"He was here?" Dan repeated dumbly. "You saw him?"

Matt, the manager of the machine shop, scratched his scraggly beard. "Yessir. Came by to pick up a custom order. Can't spare the details, you know how it is."

"I don't care what he bought," Dan snapped. "How did he look? Did he say anything to you?"

Matt shook his head, still calm and professional. "He said nothing that bears repeating. He looked good. Excited. Awful spry for a man of his years. Maybe he's taken up yoga?"

"That's probably it," Dan agreed, bobbing his head purely out of habit. He was used to deflecting from dangerous truths. Matt obviously did not know Marcus' circumstances, his self-imposed banishment to the far side of the solar system, nor the fact that he'd been missing for over a year.

Dan mustered his composure and tried to calm himself. He quickly changed the subject, moving on to the business of deliveries, and why he was here. Nevertheless, his mind lingered on Marcus Mercury, his presence in the city, and the last project he'd been working on. It had been a window into the Gap that the old man had labored to create. An eerie thing, Dan thought at the time, and dangerous. Whatever shield Dan's veil gave him against the eldritch nature of the Gap, it did not extend to others. Marcus' own power seemed to keep him sane...ish, but there had always been that niggling feeling in the back of Dan's head that something was going to go wrong.

If he saw Marcus again, would he be the same person?

Though Dan no longer feared the Gap, he still did not completely understand its nature. It was change, and consciousness, and expectation, and insanity. An entire dimension of different play-dough parts mixed up and mushed together. A thing humans were not meant to see or understand. Something too dangerous to even contemplate or examine, without very specific gifts.

Had Marcus dived headlong into it? It seemed like the thing he would've done. It seemed like the thing he wanted to do. Find a place, far away, where his regrets could no longer follow him. Life didn't work like that, sadly. Dan hoped his old mentor would discover that for himself, before he lost whatever was left of his mind. In the meantime, there was nothing to be done. Marcus would contact him, or he wouldn't.

The real question was: Should he tell Anastasia?

No, even more pressing: Was whatever mischief Marcus was involved in worth involving her?

Dan sincerely hoped not.

When he concluded his business with the machine shop, he asked, "Did Marcus leave a contact number?"

The manager regarded him with a stern look. He reached his grimy hands into his battered overalls, and pulled free a pack of tobacco dip. He scooped out a wad of the oily substance and stuffed it inside his mouth, jaw working like a cow chewing cud.

"Now that's not a question I think I should answer," the man replied slowly. "I don't give out personal information about my customers."

"That ship has sailed," Dan pointed out. "You already told me he's been around, and your reaction confirmed he's got some sort of phone. Listen: I just want to make sure he's doing okay. He kinda disappeared on me, and I'm worried about his mental health."

Matt's jaw worked slowly up and down as he pondered. After a brief pause, he cracked the corner of his mouth and spat a glob of black tar, before going back to his chewing.

"Seemed fine to me," he finally declared.

"Okay." Dan dropped it. Not worth fighting over. Now that he knew Marcus was planet bound, he had other options. But he couldn't just leave things at that.

"Just..." Dan hesitated, then said, "If Marcus drops by again, please tell him Dan hopes he's doing okay."

Matt grunted, spat again, then extended his hand. "That, I can do."

They shook, and Dan left. He had one more delivery to complete before day's end, which left him with around seven hours of freedom. He contemplated texting Abby, but quickly reconsidered. Whatever Anastasia might say, he was certain that their phones were being monitored. He didn't want this news out until he could speak with Abby in person.

He checked his watch. It was close to lunch time. Surprising her at the clinic wouldn't be a bad idea. Nothing suspicious about that, and they could find an open park to talk in without being overheard. Better not to rush things, though. There were other errands to run, first. Other calls to make. He flicked through his contacts until he found the correct name, then dialed. It rang twice, and a voice he hadn't heard in months answered.

"This is Tawny."

Michael Tawny, Dan's former crisis response teacher at the Police Academy, and ex-private-investigator. Out of everyone Dan knew, he was the best suited for giving advice about tracking down the wayward Doctor Marcus Mercury.

"Hey Teach," Dan greeted amicably. "Long time no talk."

There was a brief pause, followed by a short inhalation. "Daniel! How are you? It's definitely been a while."

The two chatted for a time, catching up in the familiar yet distant way of teacher and student, but Tawny was no fool. It was obvious Dan wanted something from him, and he was kind enough to cut to the chase.

"How can I help you, Daniel?"

"I need some advice. Can we meet up?"

Five minutes later, Dan was being led into a quaint little office only a few blocks away from the Academy. There was an empty placard holder on the door, its faux-bronze plating bleached from light exposure. The room itself matched the rest of the building, being old, dank, and musty. The stench of stale cigarette smoke lingered in the air like a thick malaise, and the wooden floor creaked with every step. The ceiling was a muddy yellow, stained from decades of exhaled tar. Illumination came in the form of a single, naked bulb attached to the base of a fan, which wobbled on every slow rotation. The room was freezing cold, courtesy of a window unit gamely huffing and puffing in the corner, the only thing new in the entire room.

Tawny swept past Dan and settled himself in a tattered leather chair, behind a massive mahogany desk. He reached beneath the seat, fiddling with a lever. Something snapped, and the chair titled violently backwards. Tawny rode the motion, kicking his feet up onto the desk as he rocked nearly horizontal. He stared at Dan, arms crossed and eyebrow cocked, looking utterly ridiculous in his casual t-shirt and jeans.

"You uh—" Dan looked around at the tiny, one room office, and tried to phrase his question in a way that wasn't insulting. "You work out of this place?"

"Not for many years," Tawny replied with a shrug. "I moved on to bigger and better things." His hand patted at his chest, where his police shield was tucked beneath his shirt. "But, I kept this office as a reminder to myself. It's good to look back, occasionally, if only to see how far you've come."

Well he couldn't argue with that.

"So," Tawny said, dog ears involuntarily flicking with what Dan chose to interpret as amusement, "how can I help you?"

Dan got straight to the point. He'd already swept the place for bugs, purely out of habit, and had only found the kind with six legs. "I need to find someone's phone number, and I figured you were the best person to ask for help."

Tawny's raised eyebrow raised even higher. "Why, may I ask, can you not simply ask the person in question for their number?"

"I don't know where he is," Dan admitted freely. "He's not avoiding me, or anything like that. I just haven't run into him in some time, and I'm trying to reach out."

"And so you decided to do some sleuthing," Tawny concluded with a nod. After a moment's consideration, a smile crossed his face. "Well, let none say Michael Tawny allows an opportunity to educate someone pass him by. I will help you, Daniel."