“We at least know an Einstein-Rosen bridge is theoretically possible,” Dr. Brown remarked. “However, I’ve never heard a theory on crossing from one timeline to another.”
Stanford shrugged and cleared his throat, relieved that he wasn’t alone in thinking about alternate realities. “Let me summarize the salient details for you both. Maldacena’s theory states the universe exists in nine different dimensions and one of time, time being the constant. Rather than an infinite number of separated dimensions, he proposed a number of connected dimensions to explain certain aspects of quantum mechanics. Particles that interacted on the quantum level, occupied the same space, at the same time, in each different dimension.”
Bob shifted his feet slightly, his expression reserved. “Yeah, I recall now. Quantum evidence of interaction. Said he could test for it mathematically. Tried to get access to the CERN laboratories to demonstrate his hypothesis.”
“It’s plausible, isn’t it? With what we are seeing?” Stanford challenged.
“You’re talking about the other equipment?” Dr. Brown asked.
“Right. I mean what kind of alien uses a worn backpack? A brand I could buy at Walmart no less? And the boots? Standard issue military, except for the fancy pair. The glass in those helmets, the fabrics. It’s all too similar,” Stanford asserted, running a nervous hand through his already tousled hair.
Bob glanced at the five bags of other equipment before conceding the point. “Okay, say you’re correct. This equipment is similar because these are travelers from a connected dimension. Does that change things for the military, at all?”
Admittedly, Bob drilled down to the crux of the matter with one question.
Stanford sighed almost dejectedly and responded, “No, you’re right. They’ll still look at these people as threats. It’s just … if I’m right, it means two things. First, those visitors are people just like us, with basic human rights. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with Colonel Jackboot Hardass in charge of ‘questioning’ them.”
Stanford licked his lips. This crossed into uncomfortable territory from every perspective except the military’s.
“Secondly, we could be looking at proof of alternate realities and examining a device designed to take you from one to another.” Stanford frowned back at the instrument. “Dr. Brown’s joking aside, I do feel like an ape prodding a nuclear pile, and I’m the one who has to explain that theory to Colonel Hardass.”
Bob’s eyes held a ‘better you than me’ look of commiseration as he laid a friendly hand on Stanford’s shoulder. “Dr. Ellis, how do you propose we verify whether or not the instrument interacts at the quantum level? Firing a laser at it is only slightly better than clubbing it,” Dr. Brown said with a frown.
A lab tech waved at them with an impatient gesture and saved Stanford the trouble of formulating a highly experimental testing procedure on little sleep and a half-baked theory. It appeared they were ready to start the sound wave test.
As Stanford stepped forward to observe the test, he wondered. If these are people from an alternate version of reality, why did they come here?
Stanford knocked on Colonel Hardaker’s door. It was time for a status report. He couldn’t put it off any longer. A gruff ‘Enter’ prompted Stanford to move inside. Colonel Hardaker turned off a monitor, placing the remote on his desk. He looked dog tired and stared at Stanford expectantly, waving at the chair in front of him before folding his hands on the desk.
“I don’t think they are aliens,” Stanford blurted as he sat down.
Colonel Hardaker’s baggy eyes narrowed. “Correct me if I am wrong, but I thought you were analyzing technological devices, not our guests.”
Stanford nodded. “We’ve discovered several interesting facts, which I’ll relate, but, well, I’m working on a theory. One that seems to explain all the inconsistencies. It’s going to sound … strange, though.”
“Stranger than little green men from outer space?” Hardaker responded, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes before grabbing a fresh cigar from his desk drawer. “Damn, I need a smoke. Okay. Well, if you think that you have an answer that the analysts in Washington didn’t consider, I’d like to hear it.”
“So, you know what a wormhole is?” Stanford asked rhetorically before continuing, waving his hands as he spoke. “It’s a connection between two different points of space-time. Instead of traveling between them in a linear fashion, a connection between these two points allows you to step from one to the other without crossing the space in between.”
“I’m not hearing anything new, Doctor Ellis,” the colonel expressed impatiently.
“Well, to put it simply, there’s a possibility that these connections—the start and end if you will—are a shift not between locations but between different timelines.”
The stogie in the corner of the colonel’s mouth began its habitual orbit. “I thought we’d already talked about time travel—”
“No, not time travel. In this case, time would be a constant, as would space. You’d arrive at the same time and in the same place you left from. What you’d do is travel from one timeline, to a different timeline.”
Stanford shifted in his chair, trying to lay it out for the colonel as plainly as he could. “We’re talking about an alternate version of reality, where things are … different. That’s why you’ve got a second Daniel Adder. Why the visitors have some equipment we recognize, but other things are strange.”
The colonel took out his stogie to purse his lips for a moment before reaching out and picking up a phone. As he dialed a number, he simply grunted at Stanford. “I know when something is beyond me. Hang on.”
A few minutes of getting through to the right person, and Hardaker connected Stanford to some expert in Washington. After relating his theory in far more depth, he hung up the phone and looked across the desk. The stogie was back in Hardaker’s mouth and he ran a hand through his steel gray hair. “Alright Doctor Ellis, good work, but what else?” he asked.
“Well, Sir, I’d like to speak to them. I know they’re only here for a while. You have to be thinking about moving them to a more secure location. Dr. Wright and Dr. Brown can bring you up to speed on our device material discoveries, and we’ve logged reports,” he said.
“Why should I let you?”
“Because a confirmation of an alternate reality will only happen by asking the right questions. I’m not sure if your people would do that. This also means that these visitors aren’t aliens. Hell, there may even be Americans among them.” Stanford waited, itching with expectation as the colonel considered his request.
For a long moment, the colonel just looked at him before picking up the phone again. “I’ll get you clearance and have someone brief you.”
“Right now, they’ve only seen a doctor and nurse. We think if anyone in a military uniform shows up, they’ll stop thinking of themselves as patients and start thinking of themselves as prisoners. But that realization can’t be far off. So, if it happens, roll with it. They’ve slept a lot. Dr. Gillette says they are completely healed.” The man speaking to Stanford didn’t look like military intelligence. He was nondescript, average; which Stanford guessed was the very reason he was chosen for his current assignment.
The man tapped a finger on photos of each of the five visitors in turn as the briefing continued. “The Asian male model identified himself as ‘China’. He speaks with a London accent but it comes and goes. Seems like a confident fellow, and he’s getting restless now that he’s been fed. They all act like they are starving when they wake and have put away a lot of food so it doesn’t seem faked.”
The man briefing Stanford tapped another photo. “The African-American female. ‘Sarge’. Whether it’s a nickname or a rank is unconfirmed. The others defer to her automatically, though they haven’t said why. Cool customer. Stays quiet and watches a lot. Says she has amnesia like the others, but might be faking that. We’re watching her closely.”
More tapping. “The cheeky A
ustralian male is ‘Snake’. We’ve been running them through some cognitive tests, telling them it’s to stimulate their memories. Don’t let the accent fool you, he’s smarter than he looks, but a wise-cracker. He’s been cooperative, but his patience has run out and he’s clammed up. The other two are still unconscious, but this one,” the briefer indicated the short-haired Caucasian woman, “talks in her sleep. American accent. We’re thinking New York. She should wake up fairly soon. She’s stirring more.”
The man glanced at the rows of monitors showing the inside of the next room. Turns out Stanford had practically been on top of the visitors the whole time. The lab and the secure ward shared a wall. They were even the same size, expansive, to hold all the equipment and hospital beds.
Stanford took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Okay. I think I’m ready to get in there. So, you want me to drop some jargon, see if I get a reaction, and above all just try to keep them talking?”
The man nodded, handing Stanford the magnetic door key. “Good luck, Dr. Ellis. I’ll be watching on the monitors. Just ask your questions, be friendly, and then leave.”
Stanford thanked the man and made his way down the corridor to the visitors’ room. After passing the guards, he stood for a moment outside the door. He wasn’t an expert at wheedling information out of people, and he didn’t want to appear nervous. Plastering a smile on his features, he adjusted his lab coat and entered.
His timing was perfect. As the visitors glanced in his direction the heavy door clicked loudly closed. The blond woman sat bolt upright, holding her head and groaning loudly. “Ooh, my head.” Her hands moved to her eyes and she gave another pain-wracked groan. “Ugh. What kind of landing was that, Pilot Adder? I thought you said you could play anything?”
Stanford’s insincere smile turned into a genuine, broad grin. She identified him immediately. She has her memories! he thought to himself, glancing towards the cameras.
“Err, what?” responded Snake curiously. “You mean me? Sorry, I thought my name was Snake. Do I know you? We’re in some kind of hospital. I thought we had an accident of some kind. What do you mean by landing?” Snake fired the questions at the woman thick and fast, obviously excited about getting some answers.
He’s not alone there. I’m just going to stay quiet, see what she says. She might give something away.
The woman blinked a few times, looking at Snake in confusion. “You don’t remember?” She looked about to say something else when she caught sight of the other people in the room. Closing her mouth, her demeanor visibly stiffened.
She glanced around worriedly before making eye contact with Sarge. “Medical Officer Mack reporting for duty, ma’am. Where are we? Did we hit target?” she asked, giving a desultory kind of salute.
Stanford had worked around military personnel before, however, he had never served. So, to him the salute came off as almost rude. This ‘Mack’ seemed overly familiar with Sarge. Or perhaps they have worked together for a long time? Stanford couldn’t tell.
Stanford watched, shifting his feet nervously on the linoleum floor. The obvious military greeting made the woman freeze.
“I can’t answer that. I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. The three of us seem to have suffered some memory loss,” Sarge replied, indicating China and Snake with a wave of her arm.
On the one hand, Stanford noted that the woman motioned to the three of them with an easy, familiar gesture. On the other, Sarge’s demeanor remained so calm that it looked almost totally natural for an amnesiac.
“We appear to be in a hospital. I thought we’d had an accident.” The strange, pale violet eyes of the dark-skinned woman switched to the newcomer, an obvious question present in them. She gave no indication that she might be lying. Something about that disconcerting gaze, though … Stanford felt a small tweak in his guts, as if he’d seen something he knew he should consider further.
Not daring to meet that gaze due to his own trepidation, Stanford stepped across the room towards the newly conscious Mack, nodding at Dr. Gillette in passing. He poured her a drink of water and fumbled the bed controls until the bed moved in the right direction. He smiled again, trying to put Mack at ease.
“You’re in a place where we can look after you is all. Seems like you were injured quite a bit when you … arrived here.”
“Oh yes, that’s very reassuring,” Snake threw back with a kind of dripping sarcasm one normally reserved for despised exes and meter-maids.
Mack rubbed her eyes and then took a careful, slow, and decidedly suspicious look around the room. She took the cup of water from Stanford with a terse nod of thanks and gulped it down as Doctor Gillette came over as well.
“Hello. I’m Doctor Stanford Ellis. This is Doctor Stephen Gillette. You can call me Stan if that’s easier. You said you are a medical officer, Mack? Do you feel up to answering a few questions?” Stanford practically burned with the possibility that this woman might give him the answers he sought.
Mack paused and then answered. “Just call me Mack.” She cleared her throat and then continued with a question of her own. “You in charge here, Stan?”
“Well, no, I’m not in charge. I’m just here to talk to all of you. You don’t know where you are? You mentioned something about ‘hitting target’?” Stanford countered.
Mack looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “I know where we are supposed to be, Stan. I’m trying to find out whether we made it or if this is some elaborate r—trick,” she replied, catching herself at the end.
She slipped up then, something starting with R. Stanford took a couple of steps back so he could address all of the visitors. “Ah, the age-old question of how do we trust someone new, when we have no experience with them.”
“Trust, Dr. Ellis?” asked China in a cultured British accent. “Seems unlikely when you avoid our questions.”
“Fair enough. I’d like you to trust me, so, how about an answer for an answer?” Stan responded. “Mack seems to have her memories. Our conversation may stimulate your own memories. Anything we don’t want to answer, we can just say ‘pass’?”
Mack shrugged. “Sounds fair, Stan, but I’m not the boss either. I shouldn’t be talking to you without Sarge’s permission.” Mack nodded towards the quiet woman.
“She’s in charge?” Stanford enquired. “Okay, well, I suppose that’s an answer to one of my questions, so it’s only fair I answer one of yours. You’re in Florida.”
“So, Ponce de Leon made it here too,” Mack responded cryptically. She started slightly as the door opened and Nurse Simpson entered with a food cart. Dubiously edible smells emanated from plastic-covered dishes and filled the room with the scent of what might be pumpkin soup and bread, but smelled vaguely of penicillin and floor cleaner.
Stanford heard Mack’s stomach growl in response to the sight, regardless of the unappealing smell. Despite the food already eaten and the conflicting sensory input, all the conscious visitors fixated on the meals as Simpson wheeled the cart inside.
“Who?” asked Stanford, trying to regain her attention as Nurse Simpson lifted the trays onto over-bed tables and moved them into position with a smile for each patient.
“Ponce de Leon was a French explorer in the 1600s who named the state of Florida. Not a history buff, huh Stan?” Mack quickly jibed before stuffing her mouth with bread and swallowing. “You know, just telling me the state we are in doesn’t help. What country are we in?”
“You’re in the United States of America, planet Earth,” he responded with a serious tone. “Is this where you meant to arrive?”
There was a mixture of unmistakable relief and wry amusement on Mack’s face as the words left Stanford’s mouth. “Sure sounds like we hit our target.”
“Safe to say then, you aren’t from around here. Even though you sound just like my seventh-grade geography teacher,” Stan joked.
“You’re right Stan, but appreciate my situation here. I just woke up with a thumping migraine. Give a girl a chance to
get centered before you start the interrogation. I am going to tell you a couple of things now. Number one, that quip about planet Earth; we’re not aliens,” she gave away with an amused smile.
I thought that alien hypothesis was implausible. But just because she says it, doesn’t make it true. Unfortunately. He could feel the paranoia of his superiors seeping into his thought process. Pushing it aside, he kept listening.
Mack continued after swallowing. She demolished the bread roll in an unladylike but efficient fashion. “We’re as human as you. Just, as you say, not from around here.”
She stopped long enough to ravenously attack the soup. Not bothering with a spoon, she simply picked up the bowl and gulped it down. “Ahh, that’s good. Any more?” she asked, looking hopefully at Nurse Janet.
“What was number two?” Stanford asked.
“Number two. From the looks of this room we’re in a government medical facility, probably military. Jay is going to completely lose her shit when she wakes up and gets a look at this place. You don’t want that to happen.” She nodded somberly towards the still unconscious teenager.
“If you have any denikerazine, I recommend a fifty milligram IV dosage now to keep her relaxed when she wakes up,” Mack offered with the confidence of a seasoned medical professional.
“Denikerazine?” Doctor Gillette asked, an eyebrow raised in consternation. “We don’t have … I don’t know what that is.”
“Denikerazine? Another name for chlorpromazine. You have that?”
Gillette wore his apprehension on his sleeve, his stethoscope being wrung between nervous hands. “We usually call it chlorpromazine. Or thorazine.” At an acquiescent nod from Mack, the doctor continued. “That’s a sizable dosage for such a small patient. You think she will be violent? We can restrain her.”
Mack shook her head rapidly at the doctor’s suggestion. “Monarchs no! Restraints will just make things worse, Doctor Gillette. Trust me. Dose her now before she wakes up. I wouldn’t want there to be any … misunderstandings.”
Suffrage (World Key Chronicles Book 1) Page 3