Quantum Touch (Book 3): Shadow Storm

by Michael R. Stern

“Ok, you've gotten yourself a tournament to design. Before I go to Mr. McAllister, give me a plan, including rules. Can you do it in a week?”

  “I could make an outline over the weekend,” Susan said. “Can any of you help?” Several hands went up. “Let's meet after class to make plans.”

  “So, you have a committee,” Fritz said. “Show me what you have on Monday, and we'll go from there.”

  “Sure, Mr. Russell.” Class ended. The weekend began.

  BEFORE LEAVING for home, Fritz called Linda. “Do you feel like going to the football game tonight?”

  “Sure. But I need to go slow. Is Ash coming for dinner?”

  “I didn't ask. He's been hiding. It's Sandy's last day, and though they've talked, I think he doesn't want to have to say goodbye a second time.”

  “Fritz, be nice. You know this is hard for him.”

  “If I find him, I'll tell him to come for dinner, and we can go to the game together. We're playing Spicetown, and we haven't beaten them since my first year here. See you in a few minutes.”

  As Fritz walked out, he checked Ashley's classroom but found it dark and empty. He spotted Ashley in the parking lot with Sandy. Not wanting to interrupt them, he waited. Ashley gave her a hug, and she climbed in her car, waved to Ashley, and started for the exit. She stopped and rolled down her window when she saw Fritz.

  “So long, Sandy. Keep in touch.”

  “Bye Fritz, and thanks again for our trip. I'll never forget it.”

  “You know Linda and I wish you the best. Drive carefully.” As Sandy drove from the lot, Fritz joined Ashley.

  “Ash, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, but I'm sorry to see her go. I guess I didn't treat her very well.”

  “Remorse? Guilt? Ash, if she was the one, she'd still be here. And you two would be going to the game tonight. So, want to come for dinner?”

  “Not tonight. I told the Pep Club I'd help with concessions before the game. But save me a seat.”

  FRITZ AND LINDA arrived just before kickoff. Even though they had eaten, Fritz bought cookies and two sodas from Ashley. “And give me a bag of peanuts, too. We're about five rows up, center section.”

  “I hope they'll let me off duty by kickoff. See you soon.”

  Ashley ended up selling food for the whole first quarter. By the time he found Fritz and Linda, Riverboro led 21-7. At half-time, it was tied at 28, but Riverboro won with a late touchdown by Johnny Clayton. Nine years had passed since they had last beaten Spicetown.

  On the way out, they ran into George and Lois. “Maybe we'll have an undefeated team this year, George,” said Ashley. “They look very good.”

  “Does it bring back memories?” asked Lois.

  “Watching Clayton run, I could feel some of those tackles and the wind in my face. It's a long time since I wore pads and cleats.”

  “Now you have other playthings. Even more injury potential,” Lois said.

  George missed her point and said, “Ashley, I'm still not sure I'm happy with you. Sandy will be hard to replace.”

  Ashley halted and stood up straight. “She was offered a better job, George. And beyond that, I don't want to talk about it.”

  Lois said, “This isn't the place to have this discussion, George. And neither is anywhere else. It's not our business.” She rolled her eyes, but George didn't notice. “Let's go home. We'll see you all soon.”

  ASHLEY WENT HOME with Fritz and Linda. He talked about Sandy, but he also mentioned that he had invited Jane to the next home game, two weeks later. He told them again that he had hired a cleaning service and planned to paint the entire inside of his house.

  Linda and Fritz shared a look of disbelief. Linda asked, “What's come over you?”

  “Jane.”

  “Uh-oh!” said Fritz.

  “Leave him alone, Fritz. Maybe the portal has done something good. If she says she'll come, we can all go to the Old Lion. We never made it last time.”

  “Last time, we ate at the White House. I hope making plans for the Old Lion doesn't signal military action,” Ashley said. “Hey, why don't you ask the president to come? Seriously.”

  “You can't really think he wants to socialize with us,” Fritz said.

  “Why not? He likes football. And good food.”

  “What? Invite him for the weekend? As if he had time. You're nuts, you know that?”

  “It's a great idea, are you kidding? They need a weekend off. And they'd get a chance to be around normal people.”

  “You? Normal?” Fritz snickered.

  “Ashley,” said Linda, “do you want all those people around if Jane's here. I would think you two could use a little time to get to know each other.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess spending time with Jane would be better. I gotta get home. Night, guys.”

  Chapter 7

  FRITZ ANTICIPATED an early visit from Ashley on Saturday. Sure enough, he showed up before nine o'clock with a bundle of groceries. He said he'd forgotten to eat dinner, so he went shopping. Linda was still upstairs, in no hurry to start the day.

  “Want to help me put the nursery together?” Fritz asked.

  “Sure. But I also want to talk with you about the portal. What you said, about it changing me, well, I spent most of the night considering what's happened. I think you're right. But how?”

  “That's the question I've been asking since we figured out how it works.”

  Linda walked into the kitchen. “How what works? Hi, Ash.” She eyed the bag and asked, “What's for breakfast?”

  “Hi, Linda. I brought eggs, bacon, cook-'n'-serve sausages, melon, bread, and coffee cake.”

  “So why don't I smell the bacon?” she asked. “And how what works?” She glanced at Fritz.

  “Ash said he didn't sleep well. He thinks he's different because of the portal.”

  “Okay, guys. But before we start this conversation, you need to feed me. So hop to it. We can talk while we eat.” She thumped her fists on the table, and, in her best bass voice said, “And I need coffee.” Fritz and Ashley got started on breakfast.

  “So what about the portal?” asked Linda, sniffing as the kitchen filled with breakfasty smells.

  “Fritz said yesterday that he thought the portal had changed me,” Ashley began. “I stayed awake late thinking about it.”

  “You were up late thinking about Jane,” Linda said.

  “Actually, I talked to her and dreamed about her. In between, the portal had center stage. Think about it—I bought a new suit, got my hair styled. I even threw away a couple of pairs of old jeans. You know, the religious ones.”

  “You mean the ones with holes?” Linda grinned. “Fritz, I think we may be at the start of the end of the world.”

  “Yeah, that's supposed to be in December. Maybe we're starting early.”

  “No, seriously. I was thinking about changes.” Ashley's seriousness, especially on a Saturday morning, caught their attention. “Are we changing history, like Lee asked? Is it permanent, or only causing little ripples? Time is pretty large, I think.” He stopped for a reaction. Not getting one, he continued. “We obviously changed the likely future in Naria, and that changed the future in an Israeli village. Sandy named Romeo and Juliet, though that one is clearly a loop, and I guess Shakespeare had to have come first the first time. And George. George found a sense of humor, deeply hidden for centuries.”

  “Where's … my … breakfast?” Linda asked, knife and fork in her fists, beating on the table. “Feed me, and then I'll tell you what I think.”

  The conversation continued between bites. Fritz focused on what Ashley described. Linda had something else in mind.

  “Now that I'm fed and content,” she said, “I think the portal gave you a serious look at women. So how are things with Jane?”

  “I'm saving the best for dessert.” He took another bite of sausage, picked up a piece of toast, and continued eating. Fritz watched, glad not to be the sparring partner.

  “Don't you play h
ard to get with me, Ashley Gilbert,” she said. “I know you too well. She's coming this weekend. It's obvious.” Ashley continued to eat, chewing slowly. “Sometimes, you are infuriating. You know you want to tell us, so out with it.” Ashley stared at her and took another bite of toast.

  She started to get up. “I'm going shopping. If Ashley decides he has something to say, you can tell me later.”

  “Okay, she's flying up on Thursday. She said she can do the work she has to finish at our airport.”

  “Is she going to the summit?” Fritz asked.

  “Yup.”

  Linda continued to poke. “What did you talk about?”

  “We talked about what we would do while she's here, including the football game and going to the Old Lion. I was thinking—”

  “Uh-oh,” said Linda. “Now I'm worried. What precisely were you thinking?”

  “Actually, I'm considering having a little dinner party. I'll cook prime rib. And eat it.” He paused, scratching his chin as if he were thinking. “You can have some too.”

  “Ash, have you ever cooked a standing rib roast?”

  “No. But I have a computer. How hard can it be? You stick a chunk of meat in the oven, check the temperature, and try not to mess up the oven too much.”

  “And which night are you having this party?”

  “Well, Thursday she's traveling, Friday is the football game. So Saturday. She's a football fan. Though more college than the pros.”

  Then Linda asked her real question. “Where is she staying?”

  “Well, she has her room at the airport, but we'll see. My house cleaners will be busy.”

  “Ash, you're becoming positively civilized.”

  THE WEEKEND passed too quickly to suit Fritz, uneventful, except for an early evening call from Tony Almeida. He told Fritz that he would have some free time soon and wondered if Fritz would have some time to talk. Fritz asked if Tony was willing to discuss computer graphics applications with his classes. After the call ended, Fritz said, “Maybe he can explain why time shifts inside the portal. I'd love to know why three months here were only two days to General Lee.”

  “Fritz,” Linda said, “I'm still concerned that something will happen that you don't expect while you're in there. I know I can't stop you, and I know how badly you want to explore, but I don't want you to miscalculate and walk into the middle of a war or bombs dropping in the center of a town when you think you are heading where nothing's going on.”

  “FORGET BRUSSELS. It's going to be Geneva. Too much unrest in Belgium, and that will have everyone at a higher alert than they are now. We may be able to solve a number of problems simultaneously. Get on with it.” Things were going just as he had predicted. He placed a call to Abu Dhabi. “They're going to Geneva, not Brussels. I need six sets of credentials from your delegation.

  Chapter 8

  A WEEK of normality. No surprise phone calls from the president. No complaints from the principal's office. Only his students' continued concentration and completed homework kept Fritz wondering. Ashley reported the same liveliness, as did other teachers. Senior Eric Silver told him the American history students had almost completed the outline for a year-long project they were working on. The ninth graders had produced a competent, polished plan for a schoolwide history baseball tournament. They envisioned sixteen-player teams of four students from each grade, with teachers as coaches. “Mr. R,” they had decided, would be the commissioner. Fritz told them on Friday afternoon what a great job they had done, but suggested that Mr. McAllister should be the commissioner. He could be a trouble-shooter.

  “This is a super plan. I'll talk to Mr. McAllister and see what he says. Would one or two of you like to come with me?” No hands. “Mr. McAllister doesn't bite, guys.” Two volunteered to go. “I'll let you know when we have an appointment. Have a great weekend. You've all earned it.”

  Fritz's mood improved the closer they got to the day's end. Stormy weather had returned. He had the books he'd selected for choosing his next trips spread across his desk. He picked the bike shop of Orville and Wilbur Wright. Paperclip placed, he tapped the doorknob, pulled the door open, and stepped through. Fritz looked up at the sign on the two-story brick building, “WRIGHT CYCLE CO.” and walked in. The portal glimmered through the window. The tap of metal on metal came from a back room.

  “Hello,” Fritz called. The tapping stopped, and footsteps replaced the clanging. A young man sporting a handlebar mustache, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, stepped into the front room. He scrutinized his visitor's casual appearance.

  “May I help you?”

  “Mr. Wright? Mr. Wilbur Wright?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Fritz Russell. I have come from New Jersey. My wife and I intend to open a bicycle shop, and we understand that Wright Bicycles are the best. Might I ask a few questions?”

  “A rather long trip for a few questions. You could have written. I would have been glad to respond. But now that you're here, what would you like to know?”

  “I would like to know about the business, the best equipment, and most important, the costs to get started. I'd hoped to see how you set things up for myself, which is why I came in person.”

  “My brother is perhaps the better of us to speak with. He is more the enthusiast.”

  “How long did it take to build the business?”

  “We began by repairing bicycles, but after three years began to manufacture our own. Our first model, the Van Cleve, was very popular. A second, less expensive model helped assure us of a steady income. Do you work well with tools?”

  “I'm learning,” Fritz said. “I've been a tinkerer for years, taking things apart and putting them back together to see how they work and how I might improve them.” He knew that both brothers did that and hoped that would make his unannounced appearance more acceptable.

  “We have found that our precision has allowed us to create a superior bicycle. Our workshop is upstairs. Follow me.”

  “Do you have other new designs coming in the future?” Fritz hoped to draw Wilbur into more conversation and lead him to the airplane. “Mr. Wright, I appreciate your taking the time. I truly hope I'm not disturbing you.”

  “I am working on a different project, but your arrival has allowed a moment of diversion.”

  On the second floor, the new project was obvious. A model of biplane wings and wooden rods waited on a workbench for Wilbur's return. As they walked past, Fritz noticed sketches of the wings, with descriptions and instructions for assembly.

  “Is this your new project? A biplane?”

  “That is a model, a kite. We will be testing its flight capabilities when the weather allows.”

  Fritz noticed a book about birds on a shelf. “Do you believe man will be able to fly? Controlled flight, I mean.”

  “Mr. Russell, the thought of human flight has fascinated me since I was a young boy. I do think flight is inevitable if a man masters the knowledge of aeronautics and develops the skill to control the apparatus.”

  “With a motor?”

  “Yes. It will take time to master the elements, air speed, wind direction, wing angles. We have some ideas. I have always enjoyed intellectual pursuits. I have studied all the materials I can find. Orville and I have discussed what we believe is the most important aspect: control. We think that once off the ground, we can adjust the wings to meet the wind, and in so doing, turn, rise higher, and set down again. It now requires only experimentation to know if our calculations are correct. Are you interested in aviation?”

  “I am. I can imagine the skies filled with people going from place to place. Why, I can see traveling to the moon or the planets.”

  Wilbur tilted his head and smiled. “Like Mr. Verne suggested. Would it not be wonderful? I share your vision, Mr. Russell. But first we need to get off the ground.”

  For the next few minutes, Wright showed Fritz some of the designs, and they talked about the experiments the Wrights were planning. “We need
to find a steady wind. I've written to the weather service to see if they have a suggestion.”

  “I'd think the Outer Banks of North Carolina would meet your needs.”

  Surprised at the response, Wilbur said, “That's what the weather service suggested.” Frowning, he said, “You are not here to discuss bicycles, are you?”

  “Mr. Wright, I came to meet you. Your reputation finds its way into many corners of the world. My wife and I do intend to open a bike shop. She has been a bike rider for a long time. And frankly, she is the one with the head for business.” Fritz rubbed behind his left ear. “I guess you could say that I'm her assistant. I'm a history teacher.”

  “At one time, I had hoped to pursue such a course. I feel unsuited for the commercial world. But plans change when we least expect it. So here I am, chasing a boyhood dream.”

  “And I'm sure you'll achieve your goal, sir. I've taken too much of your time. Thank you for indulging me. I must take my leave.”

  Fritz descended the stairs with Wilbur a step behind. At the door, Fritz turned and offered his hand, which Wright shook. Fritz waved at the man watching him through the window, stepped through the fluorescent rectangle, and vanished.

  AS HE WALKED into the hallway, he found Ashley loitering near his doorway. “Where have you been?”

  “Ohio.”

  “Did you go see Linda as a little girl?”

  “No, I met Wilbur Wright. I was there before they finished their design for the first plane. But he watched when I stepped through the portal. I'm sure that has him scratching his head.”

  “You should have brought him here.”

  “Then he would have met you, which might have scared him to death.”

  “Can we go somewhere? We didn't get to the Derby.”

  “Do you still have the picture?”

  “Of course. I'll get it.” A minute later, he handed Fritz a photo of Secretariat winning the first race of the 1973 Triple Crown. With the photo in place, Fritz opened the door and they stepped onto the outside edge of the Churchill Downs infield.