Opalescence

by Ron Rayborne

  The red man spoke. “So lovely was Mother that her beauty fell from the sky like raindrops that reflected the world around them, each a memory of that distant time, a world of many colors.”

  With that, smoke from the small fire in front of him arose. It burned Tom’s eyes and obscured his vision. Suddenly, he felt very tired and lay down on the spot, falling asleep quickly.

  Chapter 10

  When Tom awoke, it was raining lightly. Acids in it burned his skin. He sat up and looked around, donning his jacket and hat for protection. Nothing out of the normal. He stretched, embarrassed at himself for having fallen asleep on the ground, then brushed his jacket and pants. How to explain his appearance to his friends? Then he thought about what had happened, or what seemed to have happened. A dream. Ah, a dream. But he couldn’t remember.

  The rain stopped, and sun broke through in the West. Then, gradually fading in, colors in the East. Brilliant. A rainbow. He gaped and marveled. Colors, yes, colors. Wonderful that even at this late date, the earth could manage a rainbow. Such a pity.

  Placing his hands on the ground, he prepared to rise. Then he felt something - something hard and smooth. He pulled his hand away and looked. An outline of something roundish. Dusty-white, with a glint of green. Intrigued, Tom again reached down and attempted to remove it, but it held fast. He brushed the dirt away from the top, then began to dig the sediment around it. A stone. But more than just a stone. It was evidently some sort of quartz-like rock. Finally freeing it, he lifted it to have a closer look. It had a nice heft, balance. But it was what was under the dusty-white surface that interested him. A smattering of color. Tom stood and wiped it on his shirt. Doing so, his eyes grew wide. Muted greens, reds, blues and yellows emerged. Excited, he took some water from a small canteen he’d carried with him, poured a bit on the rock and wiped. Now color shone forth as if lighted from within. Brilliant hues within a translucent, almost watery matrix, went in every direction. Tom drew in his breath.

  A jewel of some sort. It must have weighed several ounces. That suggested value. He turned it over in his hands. Flawless. Though it had been in the ground for who knew how long, it had not a scratch on it. Tom felt his jaw drop. It was most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. With the sun shining through it, his hand flared its own rainbow of colors.

  Tom was nothing if not honest, and immediately decided that he had to get this to his friends who had so graciously allowed him to visit their land. Straightening his attire, he set back down the path. Yet, even as he did, he knew that it was his. It was, in fact, meant for him and that he would never be without it. He seemed to feel a sort of melding with the stone, as if he’d always had it. Then a thought, unbidden, impressed itself upon him like a waking dream.

  “The color stone Mother has given to you, for you are to go to her.”

  Go? What do you mean, go? Tom thought.

  “The greedy child has stole into her secret place. He cannot, for he would violate and destroy. But the last shall be first.”

  It was past midday. Tom looked at his watch and was horrified to find that he had missed the train. He’d have to take the next. Troubled, he decided not to call in at the house, not wanting the inconvenience of an interrogation, no matter how friendly. Instead, he cut across the landscape, climbing the fence, then ran to the station and bought a ticket. Finally, it came. By the time he made it back to his motorcycle, the sky had dimmed.

  In a few days, Julie would be returning, then all would be well. The thought made him happy. She would have stories to tell, and he to listen. Then they would love. Safe in each other’s arms, the world could go to hell.

  And it was.

  The streets were deserted. He looked at his watch ... 6:14 PM. Uh oh, the curfew! The sky above was darkening. Crap! What should I do, try to make it home, or find a place on the side of the road to wait out the night? The risks were twofold: If he wasn’t taken by the police, he might be by the roving gangs which plagued the night, only dispersing, like cockroaches, when the police came through on “Cleanup” in the morning. But both could be brutal. Having the police show up, though, was actually preferable to being caught by one of these gangs or some roving scofflaw. They were merciless if you didn’t have something to give.

  Tom decided to try to make it home. He put his hand to the gas on his motorcycle and it sped down the road. Loudly. He’d gone halfway by the time the day was done and everything black. Rounding a corner, he didn’t realize what had happened until he was in the street, it transpired that fast. A guy wire placed across it, one side to the other, by someone who heard him coming, caught him at his chest and hauled him off. A little higher, and it would have been his head. He tumbled while the motorcycle continued on without him, until it, too, crashed to the ground. There was a sound like distant shouting.

  There Tom lay, not quite comprehending what had happened. Looking around at the darkness, he sat up. A crash, he thought. He’d hit the ground, hard, yet curiously, nothing felt broken. Surely his arms and legs should be twisted at impossible angles. Shock. No. Then, fear. Flashlights, moving toward him from several directions. Running.

  Oh no.

  Tom climbed to his feet. They’d not gotten to him yet, were searching with their lights. Thank God for a moonless night, he thought as he darted in the one direction that the flashlights weren’t. Reaching the corner, he turned around to see spots of light converging on the area he had just been. More shouting. Curses. He coughed, coughed again, and someone shone a light in his direction, yelled something, and the other lights were suddenly pointing at him. He turned and ran.

  All was dark and no house welcomed him, no stranger standing in a doorway to say, “Over here.” Panic rose in his throat. He knew this street, Division. He crossed Central. A bad area. Four miles to go. He’d never make it.

  Suddenly, a bullet rang out and hit the wall of a building close to where he raced. Tom jumped and dove into a doorway, wheezing. They closed in. No. He bolted from the trap and ran at full speed. Yet, even now he could feel a burning in his side, a pain that told him he would not be able to continue much longer without a rest. His breathing came in rasps, hard and ragged. The air was bad, and hot. Still, he cursed himself for his lousy shape. More shots. They hit the sidewalk around him, chipping bits of concrete that stung his face. He didn’t dare look back; didn’t want to lose any momentum. Though his lungs ached, he wouldn’t allow himself to turn around and see how close this gang was. He came to a corner and saw at the end another group running toward him. They’d somehow communicated his location and were converging. Veering off, Tom sprinted across the highway toward the shopping district, now closed and barred. He noticed that the moon was beginning to peek out in the East. A half-moon. He felt his pulse beat in his temples, but would not give up because he knew that he’d be a dead man should they catch him. That he had so far eluded them had enraged the mob, and now it was a fox hunt. To them.

  On he ran. Finally, around a corner, he was forced to stop. Breathing hard, then coughing, he turned. Though he could see them coming at him, he couldn’t go on. If he had a minute maybe. He looked around. Shadows. The moon had risen, quickly it seemed. Back again, long shadows closed in. Now maybe fifty yards away. They’d be able to see him, too. He turned. Nowhere to go. Then he noticed that the bars on one small window near him were loose. Not bolted down properly. A sign that they had been loosened at some point and not discovered by the owner. A robber’s window. He grabbed at them, and to his amazement, they simply came off as one in his hand. He threw it inside and it landed noisily, then he clambered up and went through the window after it. Running footsteps. Coming. They’d notice. He dived at the bars and snatched them up, then, deliberating, decided to try to hold them onto the window from the inside. Risky. Should they shine a light toward the window, likely they’d see his hands stupidly holding the bars. He thought about dropping them and continuing, but it was too late. They were at the corner. It sounded like a lot.

  Tom’s b
reathing was rapid, and his heart pounded in his ears. He was certain that they would be able to hear him and tried to keep quiet.

  “Where is he?” Someone demanded, puffing. They, too, were breathing hard, and Tom hoped that their own breathing would disguise his. A light shone around outside, making a faint glow inside.

  Please, Tom thought, don’t point it this way. His fingers holding the grating must be so obvious, yet still they did not notice. He felt another cough rising, irresistibly, and fought to suppress it. More cursing. Then someone yelled out a loud, foul, imprecation. Deep, probably a big man.

  “You let him get away!” he yelled, rasping. His voice sounding just on the other side of the wall. Tom was standing against a shelf of some kind, and suddenly he brushed against something that had been balancing precariously on the edge. It clanged to the floor.

  “Shhhh!” another said, “Did’ja hear that?” Then all was quiet as the group tried to judge where it was coming from. Tom gulped and felt light-headed. Don’t pass out now, he thought. He realized that it was because he’d been holding his breath, an impossible feat seeing as his heart was still thumping. He tried to breathe gently. Abruptly, the light flashed directly at the window. A pause, then an exclamation. “THERE HE IS!” and a loud crash as a steel rod banged down on the bars near his fingers. Tom let go the grating and it fell heavy on the foot of the big man, who howled in pain.

  It wasn’t much, but the pause had allowed Tom to gather some energy, and he set off toward a door which he could barely see in the faint light that shone in from outside. The light brightened when several beams were aimed at it. He slammed the door and was now in total darkness. He assessed wildly. Do I try to hide in here somewhere or do I keep on going? He opted against the first choice when he remembered that, with their torches, they’d likely find him in no time, so he ran with his left arm stretched out, touching the wall. Several times he knocked something to the ground, and once ran full into another item, possibly a table. If they were inside, they’d know which way he went. But he continued to run, as fear rose up in him. He didn’t run into anything else, and that was lucky, because they were in the room.

  Tom judged that it was a department store. The lights danced around the room as the gang searched for him. He found a door and tried it. Locked. Running on, he found another. Locked again. When a light came near him, he ducked and it passed over. Yelling. The light had revealed an open door, and Tom crept toward it, then slipped in, quietly closing the door behind him. Metal. He felt for the lock. A button. Click. Too loud. More shouts.

  In the pale moonlight, he saw a window, made his way over to it, and looked out. Nobody around. Did they all come in? Then he noticed that beyond was some sort of private courtyard, probably a lunch area for the employees. As such, there were no bars. He looked for a way to open it. Steps closing in. Only seconds. He was about to settle for simply throwing a chair at it, when he spotted a small latch. He turned it and it slid. The window opened easily and out he climbed, then glanced around for an outlet. One door. His heart sank when he found it was locked.

  On the door were words painted in blue. Some employee graffiti that no one had removed. He had no time to read, yet felt strangely compelled to do so anyway.

  It didn't used to be this way. There was a time when people were truly and actually free, wandering over the countryside wherever they happened to go, living without fear. Fear of losing their jobs, losing their home, making a boss mad, getting sued, not being able to pay their rent, not being able to feed their families. No screaming commercials, no waiting in lines, no political divisions, no governmental busybodies trying to get something on them, no worry about D-day. Just living.

  Yeah, they had their difficulties, but at least they were free.

  Someone banged on the inside door, the one he’d locked. Tom looked up. Over his door was wall. But a height of about ten feet, it was open to the outside. Unhelpfully, though, on the brow of the wall, sat a length of razor wire. Pulling a table over to the side, he scrambled up, discovering that he could just reach the top, but no further. Frantically, he jumped off to the sound of someone throwing his weight against the inside door. Grabbing a chair, he put it on top of the table and clambered up. The wire tore at his sleeves. It threatened to hold him fast if he became entangled. He seized the section that connected it to the wall and pulled, painfully. A rusted bolt broke loose and the wire fell away. Now he could reach over and haul himself up. It was a bit of a drop, but drop he did just as the door crashed open. Down to the pavement he went, without looking to see if anyone was around. The landing stung his feet and scraped his bloody hands, but he paid no mind. In an instant, he was off again.

  Fortunately for Tom, all the commotion had attracted the attention of most of the mob members in the area, and, as they were presently inside the department store, none were around outside to give chase. In this way, he sprinted into the night, darting in and out of the shadows, which lengthened toward dawn, until, finally, he was home.

  The last few days before Julie’s return went quickly. On the last, Karstens called at Tom’s door at the complex, and together they walked slowly toward the target room. There was no rush on Karstens’ part, as the scheduled time for activation was still some hours away. Tom, on the other hand, was excited and edgy. He did his best not to show it.

  There was a small diner a stone’s throw of the T-room, and there they sat, eating lunch. Karstens was relaying the wonderful things they’d learned from the accelerator, those things both confirming and throwing doubt on Einstein’s theories. Sitting there, surrounded by the largeness of the Institute complex, Tom felt reassured. It was true what Karstens said. Just think of how much science had led to this day. You could go all the way back to the ancient Greeks, and likely they themselves built upon thought too old to record. It was funny how every time historians thought that they had found the ultimate origin of something anthropological, something else even older would be discovered which would force them to turn their scientific clocks back yet again.

  It was a litany of names that Karstens recited and Tom heard only vaguely. Names like Crookes, Thomson, Röngten, Rutherford, Cockroft-Walton, Van de Graaff and Lawrence. Instead of listening, Tom surreptitiously consulted the large clock on the wall behind Karstens. He had dressed in the very outfit he’d worn on the occasion of his and Julie’s first date. Everything was ready for her homecoming.

  At last this silly trip was over and his worrying would be at an end. Karstens was going on about the potential for broader use of time travel in the future once the energy kink was worked out. Tom nodded politely, sometimes appending an “um hum” or two. Truth was, he couldn’t relax, not until Julie was safely back in his arms.

  Finally, Karstens was called away, and Tom walked outside. Though most of the world’s flora was declining rapidly, in pockets where people could afford to and took the care, the landscape looked almost as beautiful as it did before the decline. These patches, however, were tiny in comparison to the whole, and a lot of people wondered what was holding the facade up.

  There was another small table outdoors, and Tom decided to sit there in the warm, brown sun. A waiter came and offered him a glass of wine, which he accepted gratefully. Closing his eyes, the sun and the drink relaxed him and he began to feel better, even drowsy. Lifting himself, he walked to a small, grassy mound under the flickering shade of a birch tree and lay down. Placing his hands behind his neck, he paid no attention to the sidelong glances of the passersby. In a moment, he was asleep.

  Julie! She was running, jumping. Fleeing. Long hair trailing behind her in slow motion. Something — or someone — was chasing her. Tom’s heartbeat quickened. He tried to catch up, but couldn’t. She was just out of his reach. He called out, but no sound came from his mouth. Then she turned, and he saw the look of fear on her face. Terror. She called out to him, but he could not hear her. On the edge of a cliff, she extended her arms toward him before falling. “NO!” he yelled out.
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br />   Tom woke with a start. People were still walking by, paying him no mind, or at least, pretending not to. Embarrassed, he sat up, then stood. Then he remembered the dream. It shook him. Brushing his clothes, he walked back to the diner to check the clock, as he’d forgotten his watch. Ten minutes! He hurried out of the diner and across the complex quad in the direction of the T-room. When he was almost there, Karstens walked out with an anxious look on his face.

  “Where have you been, we’re about ready to initiate!” Karstens said.

  “Sorry!” Tom offered. “I, uh ...”

  “Never mind. Follow me!” Karstens ordered. They wound their way through the maze of now familiar halls until they got to T. Tom was expecting another big crowd, but when Karstens opened the door, there was no one in the room. He locked the door behind them. Tom looked at him questioningly.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked.

  “Besides those in Control, everyone else will be watching via closed-circuit camera. After decontamination, you get first dibs,” Karstens smiled at him. Though they were physically alone, the air was alive with control room chatter. That, and the heavy drone of the accelerator. Karstens sat next to his friend. He prayed that all had gone satisfactorily, and though he exuded confidence, he knew only too well how powerless they would be if it hadn’t. This episode had been about as draining on him as it was on Tom.

  “Five minutes!” came a voice over the speaker.

  “Do you want something to drink?” Karstens asked him, pointing at a table in the corner. “Water, soda, beer, whisky?”

  “No, nothing, thanks,” Tom said, coughing.