Trahl and Ahl rotate very quickly; four times per hour. Nigel’s observations discovered that the rotations were almost exactly the same speed and that the actinite deposits of each planet were aligned during rotation, meaning they were both pointed directly at Nexteminin at the exact same time and pointed away from Nexteminin at exactly the same time. After finishing a vicious set of calculations, Nigel determined the gravitational pull of such enormous planets coupled with that of the actinite deposits was bending time and space near Nexteminin each time the actinite deposits were aligned in that direction. When the actinite deposits were positioned away from Nexteminin, time and space wobbled back toward their original positions and beyond. A ship trying to navigate through the bending and unbending time and space would momentarily perceive their assigned entry point at Nexteminin being scooped portside to their line of trajectory only to have it bow to the starboard side fifteen minutes later. To name the phenomenon occurring near Nexteminin, and to recognize the history of the sister planets, Nigel Toffingten proposed the name - The Scoops of Trahl - to describe the bending of space and time and to reunite the planets who, together, were responsible for the navigational irregularity.
Nigel E. Toffingten was granted a PhD a very short time later. Subsequently, Dr. Nigel Toffingten developed a software program in conjunction with Dr. Danteen and two other professors at Seeling University. The program, which was written to make automatic course corrections for cargo ships traveling to and from Nexteminin, was licensed to the Business Development Council of Nexteminin who provided it at a nominal fee to cargo companies whose ships frequented their planet.
Nigel is now a very rich man. His father has lifetime tickets for the professional soccer team and Betty spends her time enjoying their mansion in Brookston. When she doesn’t attend the games, Tom invites Coach Shumner. Nigel lives in his parents’ old home. Early in the morning he likes to jog the sidewalks to his old school and practice kicking on the soccer field. Occasionally he makes a new entry in his old log book or marks through one of the previous entries; sidewalks crack, but they sometimes get repaired. Honestly, that actually happens in some communities; it’s called maintenance, he thought.
Nigel wondered about the possible relationship between the severity of a crack and the timing of its repair, or the depth or size a pothole had to achieve before it was finally filled, or the angle of a power pole before it was straightened or replaced… or fell! He wondered if the answer to those relationships could be extrapolated to predict when other things might happen. Things like the imposition of an import tax on goods subsidized by another government, or an embargo due to some political problem, or a declaration of war.
Nigel made time for love, marriage, family and became a highly coveted advisor. He eschewed all suggestions that he might have a successful political career. After all, he could only do so much and if he got involved in politics how would that effect his wife, how would it effect his children, and who would monitor those cracks in the sidewalk?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LESSONS FROM THE PAST
“Let me just peek inside before we go in,” said Mr. Livingston as he grabbed the handle to the museum’s front door, opened it, and glanced around. “It looks like its empty,” he said, peering deeper into the mess that was earlier a clean, typically pretentious museum room. He stepped in and held the door for Joules. “What a mess,” he remarked as she entered. They walked to the center of the room, near the exact spot where Livingston had had his earlier conversation with Chief Delwick. “Do you notice anything odd?” said Mr. Livingston, “I mean apart from the rubble and overturned book shelves and tables in what was earlier an award-winning rotunda. There is a distinctive odor in here; it’s lingering in the air like cigarette smoke does in a centuries old pub, or like smoky residue from a tremendous fire, but there’s no evidence of a fire, at least not a normal fire,” he finished while watching his daughter for any sign of a reaction to his words.
Joules was calm but immediately conflicted. She had an incredibly good relationship with her mother and father but she had never been comfortable with the idea of discussing her grandmother’s gift with them. And only now did Joules realize how right her grandmother had been about her own gift and her father seemed to be dangerously close to engaging that very subject. She was afraid it would look like she had been hiding something. Her struggle with what to say must have been obvious to her father who took her uneasy silence as an answer to his unspoken question.
“Maybe I should discuss something with you Joules, something we probably should have discussed long ago,” said Mr. Livingston. “This should make our conversation a little easier,” he said as he took two long strides away from his daughter. Joules watched her father step away wondering what he meant and why had he distanced himself from her; she had an uneasy feeling about what would happen next. Mr. Livingston stood quietly for a moment, then looked around the room to make sure no one but he and Joules were there. Then he closed his eyes and let his arms hang limp at his sides. Joules was starting to worry about her father, what was he doing, and why was he acting this way; if this was some kind of joke it wasn’t his normal style.
What he was doing became unmistakably apparent in a matter of seconds as Mr. Livingston suddenly became shrouded in brilliant white light so intense it hurt to look at it. The effect was like the glow from a single mercury vapor lamp hanging at the end of a very long, dark pier. Mr. Livingston’s hands began to glow and became brighter and brighter until Joules could barely make them out. He shifted sideways slightly and raised his arms with the palms of his hands facing outward. Immediately the light around him began to swirl like a gyroscope, then a beam of thick white light seared through the air to a point halfway across the room where it stopped, hovered in midair and emitted a sound like millions of angry bees trying to safeguard their hordes of honeycomb. The beam of light hung there blazing in the air like a beam of fire straining against an unseen leash. Livingston glanced at the look of complete shock on his daughter’s face and within seconds he looked completely normal – no extraordinary glow, no beam of light, just a look on his face that seemed to say, I’m sorry, I wish I had talked to you about this before.
“I didn’t tell anyone about this, not even your grandmother,” said Livingston, “although I suspect in the end she knew what I was up to.”
“Why Dad?”
“I was afraid of it, wasn’t I? I don’t know about you, but with me it started when I was in secondary school. I was walking home one day after soccer practice and happened upon the alley between Schroder’s and Pennington’s on Main Street. A young man from school was being beaten up by a group of thugs. I ran down the alley intending to help; they were beating him senseless and I’m sure they were going to rob him. When I got close my hands began to glow and I instinctively pointed the palms of my hands at those bullies, and I thought I’d killed them. There was dust and debris everywhere from the blast hole where the light beam hit the wall behind them. The thugs saw me and knew I had caused the explosion. I yelled at them to let the guy go, and told them if they ever bothered anyone again I wouldn’t miss next time. Apparently, they weren’t as dumb as I thought they might be - I never saw them again; an outcome which I am thankful for to this day.
“I tried to put that incident out of my mind but I shouldn’t have shied away from who I am, I should have embraced it, but I couldn’t overcome the feeling that it might be something bad, that there might be something wrong with me. I should have asked Gram. I discovered later she could have taught me how to use it, to control it.”
“It’s not too late to learn,” said Joules.
“Oh, I learned,” said her Dad, “I finally gave into my curiosity even though I was scared. I’d sneak out and practice where no one could see me – down by the creek or in the old gravel pit, or out in the woods by Gabe’s berg. I honed my ability until I could throw a rock in the air with all my might and blast it into dust. By the way, your mom doesn�
��t know.”
“She won’t care Dad; you’ve proven over the last 30 years who you are.”
“You’re sure she won’t care?” he asked.
“I’m positive,” replied Joules as she took his arm and they walked back to the courtyard, “besides, how do you know Mom doesn’t already know? Not much gets by Mom.”
Joules and her Dad joined the group in the courtyard as they were finishing their speculation about the Jump Starter’s abilities, those known and unknown to the Jump Starter Corporation. “I’ll buy dinner at the hotel if you’re hungry,” offered Mr. Livingston to the group.
Wayne thought the offer seemed like a thinly-veiled attempt to get them out of the open courtyard and back to the hotel where security guards were making their rounds. But by now everyone was hungry. The offer was well timed since Mark was starting to wonder if any of the landscaping shrubs were edible. As expected they accepted the offer, notwithstanding Wayne’s unspoken dissenting opinion, and proceeded in the direction of the hotel. Blackie positioned himself so he could talk to Mr. Livingston as they walked.
“I’ve been leaving the hotel almost every day,” he admitted. I wanted to research the Shumbrans and a few other things,” he finished noticing that Joules was deep in conversation with Amelia.
“Oh, I’m fully aware of your clandestine visits to the museum,” replied Livingston.
“You are?” said Blackie more as a statement of fact than a question. “I suppose Joules told you I was coming to see her,” he added.
“No, actually Carter has been reporting your whereabouts; he and I are old friends and he thought I should be aware that you had fooled the security guards and were 'gallivanting about the neighborhood' as he put it.”
“Well I didn’t fool Carter,” said Blackie.
“No one fools Carter. And the security guards still do not know about your outings,” said Mr. Livingston. “There’s no sense in telling them, it will just make them feel bad. But you must tell me how you popped over to see Joules every day without being detected,” he finished in a way that implied he didn’t have a problem with Blackie’s interest in Joules.
“Well, it wasn’t every day,” replied Blackie and he explained his daily routine to fool the security guards as they made their way back to the hotel.
“You might have a bright future in the security business,” said Mr. Livingston after Blackie had finished his explanation. They entered the hotel lobby and Carter was there to greet them.
“Back from another adventure,” he said to the group and turning to Mr. Livingston asked, “Are you having dinner at the hotel this evening?”
“Yes, and you should join us,” came Livingston’s reply.
“Thanks, but I’m on duty. I’ll ring the restaurant and let them know you’re on your way.”
Dinner was great. Since Mr. Livingston was there the chef must have tried extra hard and the result was completely delicious food, which is not usually the case at hotel restaurants – passable maybe, good maybe, but rarely delicious. Mark ate his meal and Amelia’s leftovers. Joules was quick to let the group know that her Dad knew exactly what had happened at the museum; she did not mention what happened during her meeting with her Dad - she didn’t think it was her place to disclose her Dad’s ability.
After that there was considerable discussion about what happened that day. Mark and Wayne opined that after the display Joules put on, the Shumbrans would be complete dupes to come snooping around again. Blackie had his doubts but he kept his thoughts to himself and tried to look as if he didn’t disagree or agree with Wayne and Mark. Nita didn’t hide her feelings on the matter and let everyone know she thought the Shumbrans were imbeciles, incapable of retaining enough information to distinguish between a good decision and an irrational one.
Blackie thought to himself, that’s not far from how the library book described them.
“Don’t hold back Nita,” suggested Mark, “tell us how you really feel.”
Nita launched a napkin spit ball that hit him squarely in the forehead.
“Nice shot, Nita, he doesn’t dodge very quickly does he” said Wayne wryly.
The conversation continued for another half an hour or so until Mr. Livingston announced he needed to attend a brief meeting and that afterward he would swing back to the hotel to pick up Joules. He leaned over and kissed his daughter on the temple, stood up and said goodbye to the group, “I shouldn’t be too long,” and he walked quickly from the restaurant.
“Busy guy your dad,” said Wayne.
“You have no idea,” replied Joules.
“Looks like we have some time to kill, I say we each get a carafe of Gorgas Cavitas from the bar, order an additional pitcher for refills and go swimming,” said Amelia.
“Brilliant idea, but I don’t have a suit,” replied Joules.
“Not to worry, Nita and I will escort you to the hotel shops and we can meet the gentlemen at the pool,” said Amelia. Joules quickly found a suit that fit her almost perfectly and within 20 minutes she, Amelia and Nita were at the pool. “
Where do you think the guys are?” asked Nita.
“There is simply no telling, but they will show up sooner or later,” replied Amelia. It was later.
Mark, Wayne and Blackie got sidetracked when they walked by the main ballroom of the hotel. The doors were open and the expansiveness of the room was like an invitation beckoning them to visit. “This would be a great place to have a concert,” said Mark. “I’ll bet this room would hold a thousand people.”
“It even has a built-in stage,” remarked Wayne pointing to the far end of the room.
From behind them a voice asked, “Are you interested in the ballroom.” They turned to find a hotel employee standing nearby.
“We are always interested in concert venues,” said Mark, “we are guests at the hotel.”
The employee offered to check availability of the ballroom and Blackie reminded Mark that Buster, the band’s lead singer, was not with them.
“That is potentially problematic,” offered Wayne.
“Could you fetch him in time to play two nights hence?” asked the hotel employee. “The ballroom is not booked and we could make it available to you at no charge if you’re willing to split the entrance fee.”
“How do you know anyone will attend?” asked Blackie.
“Oh, hotel patrons always fill the room; they usually have nothing else better to do in the evenings,” replied the employee who introduced himself as Larry. This was like a knife in the stomach, a chance to play to a thousand people in a gorgeous venue and Buster wasn’t there.
“Maybe we could play without Buster?” said Mark.
“We take a lot of cues from Buster Mark, it wouldn’t be the same and besides who would sing?” asked Wayne.
“Blackie could sing couldn’t you Blackie,” was Mark’s immediate response.
“Couldn’t you just fetch this Buster person?” asked Larry.
“It’s not that simple,” offered Blackie. “Buster’s whereabouts relative to our whereabouts is currently unknown.”
“Well if you decide to accept the offer while you are here, and you locate your Buster chap, just let me know and I’ll check the schedule,” said Larry as he turned and left the ballroom.
“I’m going to kill Buster when I see him,” said Mark. For obvious reasons Wayne and Blackie felt the same way.
Apparently, an innocent person should sometimes be sacrificed just to make a statement; and to make everyone else feel better. This may be true more often when dealing with musicians but that association has not been scientifically proven. I’m sure Dr. Nigel Toffingten could sort out the ins and outs of the entire moral dilemma effortlessly.
Mr. Livingston pulled his transport into the parking lot of an old building that looked like it hadn’t had a visitor in months. He walked toward the front door, opened a panel mounted on the adjoining wall and pushed the red button. A retinal scan identified him as Colonel Edward R. Livingsto
n, commander of Special Forces Unit CE-#24; a finger print scan verified the retinal scan and the front door lock buzzed indicating he had 10 seconds to enter. Mr. Livingston made his way to the conference room in the west wing. He entered the room sensing he wasn’t alone. “Carter, I’m going to need your assistance,” he said to the dark room before the lights came on.
“That’s why I’m here Colonel Livingston, I’ll help you anyway I can, you know that,” replied Carter from the far side of the conference table.
“It may require using some of your unique and special skills,” replied Mr. Livingston.
Carter didn’t hesitate, “We go way back Livingston. If you think I’m the man to help you then I’m in.”
“It involves the Shumbrans.”
“Oh, I knew that. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Jump Starting the Universe Book Bundle Page 28