The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 70: An Ending, of Sorts

Dan settled on a tree as his weapon, a thick oak whose trunk his power effortlessly carved into a massive pillar. He pulled the gargantuan chunk of wood into t-space and let it fall. While it built speed, he checked the neighbor's houses and found them empty. That wasn't unexpected, but it was a relief. The neighbors had probably vacated their homes soon after Matilda's arrest, in a mirror to Dan's own housing situation. Collateral damage accounted for, Dan squatted in the woods and began to plan.

The thick wall of sleeping gas surrounding Bartholomew was the first, and largest threat. Dan considered simply ripping the lot of it into t-space, but quickly disregarded it as an option. For one, Bartholomew had apparently learned from their first encounter. The gas was easier to grasp than air, but not particularly dense. He simply could not pull all of it into t-space at once, nor could he do it with any kind of speed.

It was still possible to deal with. Dan had plenty of options. For one, he could continuously trigger a thin layer of his veil, pulling in air and gas alike at high speeds. It would basically act like a vacuum cleaner, suctioning in the vacuous material around it. It was an amusing thought, but not something Dan would use. The possibility that Bartholomew could control the gas was too high. He'd demonstrated that ability before, in their first encounter. If the sleeping gas was part of his body, he would know the instant Dan started ripping it into t-space. It would probably feel like being flayed alive.

Normally, Dan would be delighted by this fact. Unfortunately, he had no idea whether or not the gas needed to be inhaled to be effective, nor did he want to give any kind of warning to Bartholomew. These two issues limited his options greatly. His current plan was to alpha strike the house so viciously that the gas was dispersed in every direction. He figured a tree traveling at Mach 3 ought to do the trick. But it wouldn't kill the terrorist. No amount of physical force would do the trick, or so Dan assumed.

Things were even further complicated by the fact that Bartholomew's body may very well be composed of the same gas. The anesthetic mixture he'd used in the past had been easy for Dan's veil to grasp; it had been dense and almost liquid in its composition. Dan might find it far more difficult to mutilate Bartholomew this time around.

Not that Dan wouldn't give it his best shot. It might just take a little longer, is all. And that was dangerous. Every second that Bartholomew had to react to Dan was a second he might turn things around, or pull something nasty out of his hat. With that in mind, Dan's veil began to peruse the house once more. This time, he searched not for life, but for technology. Dan would strip the place dry before attacking.

It took Dan approximately thirty seconds to find the basement. It might have been a wine cellar, once, but it had clearly been expanded. It was deep beneath the house, far deeper than Dan's surface probes had been capable of reaching. Dan explored it with trepidation, fully aware of the varied and horrifying possibilities of what could lay within. His veil crept along cold concrete, seeking out whatever it could find.

He found... something odd. A pair of copper crescents embedded into a steel frame. They were maybe seven feet tall and placed four feet apart. They each curved inward, facing each other. Dan got the feeling that, were he to look at it with his own eyes, the full structure would look an awful lot like a gateway to thin air.

Every bit of the device was packed with electronics. A trio of thick power cords ran from the base into a series of heavy duty wall sockets. The whole thing felt cludged together; Dan's veil could make out where metal had been crudely welded, or roughly pulled into shape. The material was straining to hold itself together.

Yet its shape gave Dan chills. It reminded him far too much of Marcus Mercury's window into the Gap. It wasn't the same; it was even more ambitious. Not a window, but a door. A way in and out. It was Dan's veil, built by a madman's hands and twisted to some unknown and undoubtedly malicious purpose. Dan didn't know where the sudden epiphany had come from, but he knew instantly that he was correct.

With a silent snarl, he sent his veil crawling into the guts of the machine. At such great distance, he couldn't tear the whole thing out of the ground like he wanted to: his veil was simply too thin given the enormous tree it was holding in t-space. The tendrils were like a spider's threads, weaving through the delicate machinery. Dan's veil was a scalpel, delicately making millimeter thick cuts within the device with all the precision of a surgeon. He cut the power cords, the delicate wiring tracing the edges of the gate, every piece of electronics he could find. He carved them into pieces, and left the remnants within the machine. None would be the wiser, right up until someone tried to use it.

Not that Dan would give anyone that chance.

He swept the rest of the house, doing the same. He left only the wiring leading to the kitchen where Bartholomew worked, as to not give away the game. Then his veil worked its way through Bartholomew's clothes, carefully cutting into anything even vaguely dangerous. Dan found an odd cylinder in the man's pocket, packed to the brim with electronics, and he hollowed it out. There was a box cutter in the man's other pocket, and Dan removed its blades.

He pulled separate tendrils away from the man, wrapping gently around the parts scattered across the table. Dan gave a silent thanks to the terrorist for being so accommodating; this would have been impossible if the man hadn't been so immobile. Bartholomew was clearly fully absorbed in his work, only his hands moving here and there, while the rest of his body remained almost completely immobile. He was wielding some kind of spot welder, and Dan's veil snagged the cord where it connected to the wall. The thread was thin, they were all so very thin, but they were enough.

Dan felt for the chunk of wood blitzing its way across the great emptiness of the Gap. He felt its blistering, world shaking speed. He considered, briefly, what the impact might do the houses next door. He considered, briefly, the idea of unleashing what amounted to artillery within a suburban city neighborhood. He considered these things, acknowledged their consequences, and moved on. His course was set, no point agonizing over it.

Dan was tired of running away. He was tired of waiting for others to solve the problems affecting him and his. He was tired of being afraid, of being uncertain, of fearing the results of his own actions. So, he let it all go. He'd settle things here, and live with whatever came after. He could only do what he could do, and he could not walk away.

It wasn't the wisest decision, it was the only decision.

"No more," Dan whispered, and triggered his veil.

The welding machine died on Bartholomew. Dan could picture the man's confused face as the lights in his room died an instant later. In that same instant, Dan appeared in the sky over Matilda Fairbank's old house. He knew exactly where Bartholomew was standing. He knew exactly where to aim. Dan gestured downwards, flickering in place as he briefly fell into the Gap, retrieved his siege weapon, and reappeared. He was gone a moment later, whisked away before the shockwave could pulp his insides.

The wooden spear traversed the hundred or so feet between the house and where Dan had summoned it faster than the eye could follow. It struck the roof, shearing through the wood and sheetrock like they were air. It shattered under its own speed, bits of wood splintering away and turning into deadly shrapnel. The bulk of the spear continued its accelerated descent, having barely been nudged off course by the several layers of building between it and its target.

Andros Bartholomew was struck by the ballistic weapon long before he heard the sonic boom that followed it. The log drilled through the floor, then into the basement, before shattering on the concrete and hard earth. With nowhere left to go, the force spread outwards. The house detonated.

Dan reappeared after five seconds, having teleported to the coast of Georgia to escape the blast. He almost immediately tripped, as he found himself standing on curved ground at the edge of a crater. The air was filled with dust and debris, visibility was completely shot. He sent out his veil to get a better grasp of the situation, and found the entire property destroyed. The neighboring houses had made it out a little better. Shrapnel had torn up the walls, and if there was single piece of glass remaining Dan would eat his shoes, but they were still standing.

Matilda's house was a smoking hole in the ground, literally. The ground had collapsed, turning the entire property into a gaping pit. If Dan had missed something in the building, it no longer mattered. Nothing was left except dust and debris.

Dan ripped the dust into t-space.

The atmosphere rushed in to fill the sudden vacuum, producing another, albeit less destructive, shockwave of displaced air. Dan's ears popped, and his vision cleared. He strolled forward, eyes roaming the debris, searching for Bartholomew. His veil fanned out in front of him, tasting at the air. Dan wore his power like a cloak , wrapped tight around the surface of his skin. He stood ready to react to whatever he might encounter.

There were lights coming on in the nearby houses. While the surrounding homes had all been emptied, this was still a neighborhood. Dan wasn't worried. People in this dimension were conditioned to hide when danger was this close. He should have a few minutes before anyone grew brave enough to investigate, and the cops were spread too thin to arrive with any kind of speed.

He scanned his surroundings, briefly wondering if he'd actually managed to kill Bartholomew. That thought was dispelled almost immediately. The wooden debris near the center of the house shivered and shifted. Tiny droplets of fluid tore free from the wreckage, launching upward in a violent snap of motion! They coalesced in a second, coming together first into a vaguely humanoid blob, before resolving into Andros Bartholomew.

The man looked much like Dan remembered him. He wore the same ratty lab coat, the same pair of thick glasses, and his hair was in the same state of disarray. He looked more disheveled than usual, and was coated in a fine layer of dust. He looked around, blinking, and his eyes found Dan.

"Well," he stated with surprising lucidity, "that was a surprise. Naturals sure are scary when properly motivated." He reached up, adjusting his glasses, and smiled. "Well, you've got me, Mr. Newman. What now?"

"You wanna surrender?" Dan asked flatly.

The mad scientist chuckled. The sound sent chills down Dan's spine. It was all wrong. There was no anger, no mindless fury, no insanity there to speak of. The villain smiled at Dan, and to his eyes it seemed genuine.

"I don't think either of us believe that was a real offer," Bartholomew said. "You've come this far, what's a bit further?"

"What's a bit further," Dan echoed, staring hard at the man.

Andros held up a hand, not pleadingly, but politely. "Before we begin, I'd just like to thank you. You've been a great help."

Dan crossed the distance between them in a single flex of will. The cane sword he'd purchased weeks ago appeared in his hand, and he thrust a full foot of the blade through Bartholomew's chest. Almost immediately, the metal began to sizzle as whatever substance Bartholomew had altered his body into began to corrode the metal. One last trick, one last attempt to harm Dan.

The villain glanced down at his chest, as it turned into vapor. He didn't even flinch. He seemed more curious than afraid. Dan's veil poured into the sword, traveling its length before it could be dissolved. It lanced out, seizing the liquid droplets and gaseous form of Andros Bartholomew's vitals, then ripped it all into t-space. A hole appeared in Bartholomew's chest, accompanied by a soft pop.

The man dropped bonelessly to the ground. His eyes danced in his skull, flitting violently around as his brain registered that it was dying. His gaze landed on Dan, locking onto him. His lips moved, but he had no lungs, no air to speak of. No sound escaped, but the meaning of the words came through clear.

"See you soon," the dead man mouthed. The last of his effort spent, the villain stilled. His eyes still stared vacantly upward at Dan. His mouth hung slightly open, twisted upwards into a satisfied smile.