Quantum Touch (Book 1): Storm Portal

by Michael R. Stern

  Leaning against my desk, I said, “Guys, I have a meeting with the teachers after school. I need to explain what's caused the chaos in every class so far today. Mr. Gilbert told me earlier that all his students wanted to talk about something none of them had seen. You did. I'll be talking to my friend this week to tell him how things went. Does anyone have a suggestion for me to pass along?”

  “I have one,” said Wendy Baer. “Don't do it in schools again.” There were laughs, but there was also agreement.

  “I'll tell him. But, Wendy, I've had three classes who said they wanted one of their own.”

  “That's because they weren't there,” Wendy said. “They might think it was cool, but it wasn't. It was scary. I don't think I'll ever forget it.”

  “I know, Wendy, and I'm sorry. It's ironic, because I always want to make history come alive for you, but this may have been too much. But think what it was like for the people who were involved.” The victims of the fire were, I pointed out, young women about their age with fire at their backs, some already on fire, no escape. Holding hands as they jumped, knowing they would probably die. “That's really scary. I believe we study history so we don't repeat our mistakes from the past.”

  “Doesn't work too well, does it?” Tim Andrews asked.

  “Unfortunately, Tim, not always. But if you think about it, I bet you can find hundreds of things that do. As a teacher, I can only hope that a few students will understand and go on to make this world better for everyone.” The class got quiet for the first time. “I think I have made my point today. Thanks, class. You may have just made my year.”

  A few smiles appeared around the class. As the period drew to an end, I said, “Tomorrow we will get back to normal. Be ready to talk about The Jungle, which you should have read for Friday's class. We'll talk about the point Sinclair tried to make and what occurred as a result.” As the class shuffled out, Jennifer stopped.

  “Mr. Russell, I got accepted by Cornell.” Her radiant smile reminded me how much my kids had to look forward to.

  “That's great, Jen. Congratulations. It's a fine school.”

  “Thanks, see ya,” but I knew she had more she wanted to say.

  * * *

  MORE THAN A HALF HOUR had passed. The president was already annoyed when his national security advisor entered the Oval Office. Mr. Koppler appeared irritated to have been summoned. Keeping the president waiting had never worried him. The president knew his advisor had been the source of numerous leaks, but since no damage had been done, the president had kept him on, more to keep him close than because he valued his ideas. He'd get ahold of leakable info even out of office.

  “Have a seat, Jim.”

  Koppler sat, yet to offer a greeting. He waited.

  “I want to talk to you about Mr. Russell and the portal. I've had a couple of days to think about it, and I want to limit who finds out about it to those who know now. When I said on Friday everyone would remain silent, I meant it.”

  “Mr. President, are you suggesting that I have been talking?” said Koppler, ever arrogant and, this time, aggressive as well.

  “I wasn't. Have you been?”

  “I believe I am responsible for monitoring the security status of this country as well as the president's safety, sir. It's a big, dangerous world. I have people whom I trust to see that you get the best intelligence.”

  “So then you have spoken to people who didn't know?”

  “No one without clearance.”

  “I thought I made myself clear.” He appraised the man in front of him. Well dressed, scowling face, crossed arms. “Perhaps not. So I will now.” His soft voice, barely above a whisper, was sharp and pointed. “First, no one else is to be included. Second, I want you to give Tom Andrews a list of the people you've told. Save him some time and include their home addresses and all phone numbers. Third, as of right now, all, I repeat, all analysis, discussion, reporting begins with me. And will be approved by me. Jim, this is not a typical national security issue. And I don't want it treated in the usual fashion. If you have ideas about how you might help me with this, by all means, let me know. Otherwise, let it be.” The president glared. “Do we understand each other?”

  “If I may speak openly, Mr. President…” He waited for the president's go-ahead. “This is potentially a weapon that can be used against this country. If it should fall into the wrong hands, we could have a perpetual crisis to deal with. I don't trust them. These teachers are shrimp in a shark's world. What do we know about them, really? How do we know we can count on them when the chips are down? Are you willing to place yourself or the country in jeopardy because they seem harmless? Mr. President, you may not like the way I do things, but I'm cautious, and I've been doing this for a long time.”

  The president was listening and gritting his teeth. Before answering, he made a note on a legal pad. “Jim, if I didn't respect your ability or your caution, we wouldn't be having this conversation. But I'll handle Mr. Russell and the others. I don't want to hurt them, or scare them so they won't cooperate. Until I can see all my options, I want them left alone and safe. I'll ask you again. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes, sir. Very clearly.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  LAST PERIOD. Finally. I thought about the teachers' meeting. They may be easier to convince than the kids, and they'll want to get out as fast as possible. The bell rang. As they had been all day, this group, too, was uncommonly quiet, anticipating a discussion of Friday.

  “You've all had a full day to hear tales of mystery and wonder. Anyone want to tell us the best version you've heard?” No hands went up. “Well, that's a first. As noisy as you usually are, no one has anything to say?” Mary Anne, whose sister was in the third-period class, raised her hand. “That's more like it. Yes, Mary Anne?”

  “Mr. Russell, on Friday you said my sister was messing with me. But when we talked at lunch, she said your friend has a new invention that can make people see things that aren't really there. How will we ever know if what we see is real or not? We might not even be here now.”

  “Wow, Mary Anne, I hadn't thought of that,” I said in earnest. “That's a completely new perspective.” The class was still quiet. I surveyed all the young faces, which normally included mouths moving at full speed, now watching me with unusual focus. Once more, I told the story.

  When I finished, Dennis Rogers' hand went up. “Mr. R, does that all mean that, well, that you didn't time travel? That all the stories aren't real?”

  I knew that the tale had been defused. “Dennis, time travel might be a great fictional topic. But, so far at least, it hasn't happened.” Then for the first time that day, I got blindsided.

  Alan asked, “Was the president really here, Mr. R? I heard that he went in the gym and played basketball for a while. Then he signed autographs. Was he really here?” They all seemed to be holding their breath.

  “He came just after school ended. He said he was driving by, saw a school, and wanted to stop and say hi. But the first thing he asked was to use the bathroom.” The class laughed. “What's so funny? Don't you think the president goes to the bathroom?” This time the class wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. “But he really was here. Now for homework, I want an essay on what you would do if you could time travel, two-page minimum, for tomorrow.”

  Jacob asked, “If we could time travel, Mr. R, could we change history?”

  “Jacob, you might want to include that as part of your discussion.” The bell rang. “Class dismissed.” I thought that was a good question, maybe the best one of the day. I thought again of the River Rouge photo. I'd gone back in time only this past Friday. The picture had remained a mystery for seventy-eight years. But my face hurt in the present. I knew then that I needed some lessons in the theories of time travel.

  Before the class had emptied, book bags and knapsacks bumping from their shoulders, Ashley was there. “So. Now the teachers. Are you ready?” His sleeves were now inside the camel blazer that
he's worn for as long as I've known him.

  “Yup,” I said.

  “Yup? That's all?”

  “Yup. Let's go.”

  We turned for the auditorium. Tom Jaffrey caught up at the cafeteria. “Fritz, this better be good. It's been a buzz all day. You're the teacher of the year to the kids.”

  “Should I say thanks, Tom? Or I'm sorry? I know you had your heart set on being teacher of the year. It's got to be rough losing out to a fictional character.”

  In spite of his exuberance, Tom stopped walking and looked at me squarely. “Fritz, if I could get one quarter of the excitement and energy I've seen the past two days, I'd be a great teacher.”

  “Thanks, Tom,” said Ashley. “Give him a bigger head than he already has. He'll start thinking he's Harry Potter, and we'll all be taking magic lessons from him.”

  “Shut up!” I said. The three of us laughed. “But speaking of lessons, Tom, can you suggest any books about the physics of time travel?” He said he had a couple in mind and would check for others. When we reached the auditorium, George was waiting for me, tapping a rolled newspaper in his hand. Ashley and Tom Jaffrey went in, but I stopped, as other teachers, ending conversations as they reached us, converged on the doorways.

  “You sure cooked my goose this morning, George. And from what I can tell, you got all the other teachers stuck in this all day, too.”

  “Well, I wanted everyone to show up. I just hadn't counted on the kids jumping on. Do you think we'll be okay?”

  “Of course. Remember you're in school, George. That's when they are thinking. You should get back in a classroom. You'd be surprised.” George grimaced. “Let's go.”

  “Before we go in, have you seen this?” George handed me the afternoon newspaper and showed me an article. It said the president had visited Riverboro High School.

  My fists formed, and my shoulders felt book bag taut. “Let's get this over with.”

  As the last of the faculty took seats, George walked briskly to the lectern, which was up on the stage. The microphone squealed, but George had everyone's attention. “For the past couple of days, there have been some unusual activities in our school. Mr. Russell will explain everything.” He turned, motioning me to the microphone.

  Surprised at the introduction, which was nothing like the one we had discussed, I looked from George to the audience and said, “Thanks Mr. McAllister. That sure clears everything up.” There were laughs from the audience, but the hall seemed like an echo chamber. The auditorium has seats for more than 800 and sophisticated sound and lighting systems. George loves to brag about his modern systems to other principals. Trying to measure the mood of the teachers, I mimicked George and said, “Good afternoon, fellow keepers of the light of knowledge. Before I go on to explain, I want to offer my apology. I know it's hard enough to keep our students focused and this, uh, this event obviously made your jobs that much harder.” A low murmur came from room.

  “On Friday, three of my classes were subjected to a new technology that was developed by a friend who works for a special effects company in California. He asked if I would be a guinea pig for him. He asked what subjects I would be teaching around the middle of April. I gave him a couple of options for each class and asked what he was going to do. 'You'll see,' he told me. Last week, after school, they installed a projection system in my classroom. He told me that I would be surprised and didn't tell me more.” The teachers listened attentively.

  “Well, surprised is hardly adequate. The system was apparently programmed for two classes, third and seventh period. The programs seemed so authentic that I kept the third-period class in the room when the fourth came in. It was Appomattox the day after Lee had surrendered.” I scanned the auditorium; every eye focused on me. I'm used to being in front of an audience, but not one that wasn't talking. Not a sound, not even wiggling in the seats. “The classes met Robert E. Lee and talked to him. Seventh period, the class witnessed the Triangle Shirtwaist Company fire in New York City in 1911.

  “Both programs were incredibly realistic, and for a history teacher, both exciting and troubling. But fortunately, since it was a projection, no one was in danger. But, the fire scene was alarming. It had not been on my list. I had only mentioned early twentieth-century labor history. That was unthinking of me. And my friend is in a business that makes money scaring people. I told him how traumatic it was and that without lots of discussion beforehand with the kids and planning with the company, this is not a good thing to have in classrooms. Once again, everyone, I'm sorry.”

  Tom Jaffrey stood up. “Fritz, like I've said to you already, I think it was fabulous. Aside from the disruption in our classes, which we all deal with anyway, I haven't seen that much animation in my students since, well, maybe never.” Low-level agreement rumbled to the stage. “If we can harness this energy for our own subjects, the next few weeks could be very rewarding.”

  George took the microphone. “Thank you for your opinion, Tom, but I think it would be best if we don't have a repeat of Friday.” Clearly wanting to get away from the teachers, George said, “If there is nothing further, I hope this will answer your questions and put an end to this unfortunate incident.”

  Some teachers began to get up when Liz Chambers, another history teacher, said, “George, I have a question. What was the president doing here?” The room turned quiet.

  “He had to use the bathroom and then asked to see our school. So we took him around. I even asked if he would come to graduation.”

  Liz said, “George, I think Friday's event was a good thing. I actually talked to my kids about the Civil War. And they listened. It might only be for a couple of days, but Tom is right. I think Fritz did us all a big favor.” The sounds of agreement hovered over the audience.

  George said, “Well that's all. Thank you for coming.” He walked off the stage and out of the auditorium. Laughter, conversations, and some smirks appeared after the door closed.

  Teachers began to leave when Al Kennedy, the gym teacher and football coach, said loudly, “The president autographed one of our basketballs. Fritz, you might not have anything to do with it, but even the gym classes were talking about Friday. It must have been interesting. I sure hope George will buy a display case.”

  All I wanted was the nearest door. Teachers milled around, clearly waiting to say something to me, so I exited out a back door off the stage and headed for my classroom. Ashley had anticipated my escape route and was waiting at the end of the hallway. “Good show,” he said as I approached.

  “Let's get out of here. My place.”

  We gathered our things and walked quickly to the parking lot, which was filled with teachers I wanted to avoid. Sandy Horton came out behind us. She caught me at my car.

  “Fritz, I know what really happened, but this could still be a good teaching tool. I agree with Tom Jaffrey. When you figure it out, would you take me with you?”

  “Sandy, candidly, I'd like to avoid anything more if I can.” I waved to a couple of teachers driving by. “It could be dangerous. George is a mess, and this meeting didn't really go as well as I had hoped.”

  She said, frowning, “Maybe we can talk about it some other time.”

  “Sure.”

  Ashley, waiting at his car and watching, caught my eye. I got the message, climbed in my car, and headed for home.

  “SO HOW DID it go?” Linda asked, as we walked in the back door. Her laptop and an open marketing textbook sat on the otherwise empty table.

  “This has been a very long day,” I said. “George ambushed me when the day started. During morning announcements, he said I would be talking to the teachers after school about Friday. That set every kid off, in all the classes. Ask Ashley.”

  “Every class I had asked about Friday and did it really happen and what was Fritz going to tell the teachers? It appears to have happened in every room in the building.”

  “That's not the bad part,” I said. “The teachers thought it was great. When we were lea
ving, Sandy Horton said that she wanted to go with me next time. And the president's visit is in the newspaper. This afternoon's. I'm just afraid this thing isn't going to die down.”

  I found the article in the newspaper quickly and showed it to Linda and Ashley. As they read, I said, “This is not going to make the president happy. I've got to find a way to keep it from happening again.”

  Linda knew my brain was in high gear. “Fritz, I know what you're thinking. I know how focused you get and how passionate you are about making things right. But, if you try to open that portal, I want to know beforehand. If you figure it out, the least you can do is tell me how to do it in case something happens.”

  Her knitted brow displayed her distress. Trying to relieve her concern, I said, “I love you. If we can do this together, we will.”

  “Me, too,” said Ashley.

  “I don't love you.”

  My phone rang. “That better not be George,” I said, opening my cell phone. The screen told me it was the White House. “Hello, Mr. President.”

  “It's Lily Evans, Mr. Russell. Please hold for the president.”

  A moment later, I heard, “Hello, Mr. Russell. I'm calling to see how your meeting went.”

  “Mr. President, the meeting went okay. I think the teachers are convinced of the story, but they want a piece of the action, so to speak. They seem to think it's a good teaching tool.”

  The president said, “Well, you must have done a good job with them.”

  “Mr. President, if your people found anything or can come up with some idea of how to stop it, now would be a good time to tell me. I assume you know your visit here was in today's local paper.”