The grating sound began to subside as the revolutions abated. Epson eased Gallagher away from the oscilloscope and leaned in himself. The assembly levels continued to drop, and there was nothing he could do to stop them.
Epson stepped away from the scope. “I don’t get it,” he lamented.
Gallagher stood silently as the doctor scrutinized the dials scattered across the control board for the third time in as many minutes.
“Mr. Gallagher. Did you calibrate the relativity modulator before engaging the inversion coupler?” questioned Epson.
“Y-y-yes, sir,” Michael stammered through his lie. “The magnets were calibrated for optimal performance.”
Epson moved from behind the control panel and began to examine the now-silent power inverter. He deftly removed the access panel and leaned into the base of the device. As he inspected various wires and tubes, Gallagher stood by, watching intently.
Epson backed away from the opening and squatted with his back against the dusty wall. His face shone fear and exhaustion. He sat for a long moment in silent contemplation.
“Doctor? Is something wrong?”
Epson remained on his haunches as he stared into space. “Where did we go wrong, Michael?” Epson began.
“I don’t follow you, sir.”
Epson slowly brought his eyes around to Gallagher. “You’ve been with me for how long, eight years? Have my equations been that far off?”
“No, Doctor. You’ve done everything right,” Michael replied, avoiding his gaze.
“How, then, would you explain all the failures? We haven’t had a solid success on any of our experiments since moving the lab here. I just . . . don’t . . . understand.” Epson again looked off into the distance.
Gallagher was conflicted. He knew that Epson had poured years of blood, sweat, and tears into the project, and on an emotional level, he felt sorry for the man. But his loyalties remained with the Society; his righteousness remained with the failure of the tests. The months of sabotaging the critical, yet minute, circuits and byways in Epson’s device continued to pay dividends.
Not wanting to betray his feelings, Gallagher turned away from the doctor. “I’m sure there’s a practical reason, Doctor. Perhaps the depth of the lab might have something to do with it. We are down six levels and encased in two feet of solid concrete. At least.”
“Hmm. I suppose. But none of my theories should be affected by either of those circumstances.” Dr. Epson stood from his crouched position and walked back to the control panel next to Gallagher.
“Frankly, I am beginning to wonder if my theories have any validity whatsoever. On paper, we should have completed a half-dozen test jumps.” Epson paused as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. “But in practice . . .” Epson trailed off again.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Doctor. We’ll figure it out and try again,” Gallagher said.
“No. No we won’t. This was our final test. Unless we had achieved certifiable results, our benefactors are unwilling to continue funding.” Epson slumped into his worn leather chair, and for a moment his eyes looked misty.
“So soon? I thought we had a year contract,” asked Gallagher.
“Initially, yes. They promised a year’s support, but seeing as each of our test runs have failed, the military has lost faith in my abilities and are ready to terminate our agreement. And, frankly, I revel at the thought. I’ve been at this for far too long, and what do I have to show for it?”
“Doctor, your research will be invaluable-”
“Invaluable for what? It doesn’t work, Michael. It’s a lost cause. I’m a failure, and I will count my lucky stars if the government doesn’t come after me for reimbursement on their bad investment.”
“No, they can’t do that,” Michael said. “Can they?”
“They certainly could—they’re the government—but I don’t think it would be prudent for them to do so. All it would take is a page four article in a random scientific publication exposing their frivolous spending, especially in wartime. However, I do believe they will certainly show me the door posthaste.”
Hearing that his assignment from the Society was nearing its end left his mind spinning. Gallagher began to wonder what was next. For both of them.
“If that’s it, Doctor, what will you do?”
Before Epson could answer, the sound of click-clacking footsteps echoed throughout the lab. Both men looked up to see Miss Stewart approaching.
“Good morning, gentlemen. How was the test?” she asked, oblivious to the sorrowful expressions.
“Unfortunately, the test did not meet our desired expectations,” Epson replied as he straightened himself in his chair. “And, as I was just telling Mr. Gallagher, our time here in sublevel six has come to an end.”
“I don’t understand. You were so sure the test this morning was going to be successful. Even after you left last night, Michael stayed late to make sure everything was perfect. What went wrong?” asked Stewart.
“We’ll never know,” Epson snapped. “I’ve spent far too long chasing this dream, and if they want to throw me out onto the street, I’m not going to waste another minute tracking down another frayed wire. No, it all ends now.”
“But, Doctor! You can’t just walk away—” Stewart began.
“Why not? Haven’t I earned the right? Isn’t it obvious that I’m a failure?”
“Stop that! Stop that thinking right now,” Stewart yelled, surprising both men. “The only thing you’ve earned is the respect from everyone surrounding this project. You’ve worked far too hard to just walk away. You owe it to yourself to see it through. There’ll be other people looking for investment opportunities down the road. You’re so close, and I will not stand by quietly and watch you throw it all away.”
The lab was silent as Stewart’s words sunk in. “I . . . I suppose we could record this last test before we file our report.”
“Yes. That sounds more like it, Doctor,” Stewart said, turning her frown into a smile. “Now, it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Would you two like me to run over to the cafeteria and pick you up a sandwich while you proceed?”
“Yes, Miss Stewart. That would be fine,” Epson replied.
She winked at the doctor and walked back down the corridor. Moments later, they heard the faint echo of the large steel door sliding shut.
“Well, I guess she told us,” Epson said to Gallagher as they both began to chuckle. “Mr. Gallagher, please retrieve the records from my file cabinet, and we’ll begin.”
Gallagher had hoped to find some time to correct his latest sabotage in the transmission chamber before they began recording the data, but he masked his desires. “Absolutely, Doctor.”
As he began to cross the lab, the familiar sound of the power inverter kicked on. Time turned to molasses as Gallagher turned and noticed the gyration of the coils was much faster than previous tests.
“Doctor?” he yelled. “What’s going on?”
“It appears that you forgot to disconnect the power feed after the last test. Again, I might add.” Epson walked to the emergency disconnect switch mounted on the wall. But as he gripped the handle, he hesitated. He glanced back to the control panel and then to Gallagher, who was standing halfway between the panel and his office. With both men frozen in curiosity, a thunderous clap echoed throughout the lab. Both Gallagher and Epson covered their ears and hit the floor. Moments later, the ringing in their ears began to subside.
Epson struggled up and walked shakily to the master control panel. To his surprise, the teletype had just completed printing “ACQUISITION COMPLETE.” He looked over at Gallagher, who was still standing in the middle of the lab.
“Mr. Gallagher . . . it appears that our latest test has been successful.”
CHAPTER 1
July 24, 2013
The door closed abruptly, and the interior of the chamber was dark as a starless night. The sound of the latch securing the door resounde
d throughout the chamber, affirming the team’s fate. The events of the last fifteen minutes crashed through Peter’s mind like a runaway freight train. Hearing about Benny’s death was devastating, but to see Mark shoot Stella, he had nearly lost the ability to breathe. He wanted to get up, needed to get up—to hurt someone—but the bindings were too tight, and he couldn’t see anything.
“Jules? You okay?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, I think I’m all right. You?”
“I’ve been better. Docs? How are you two holding up?”
In the silence, Peter could hear faint whimpers from the direction of the two scientists. “Larsson! Lamb!”
“We’re . . . f-f-fine. Just a little shaken up,” Dr. Larsson said, answering for both of them.
“What the hell just happened?” asked Julie. “I always thought Mark was a little unstable, but holy shit, I had no idea he was capable of murder.”
Peter stared in the direction of what he thought was the door, his mind retracing the interactions with Mark. Although they were clouded, he could see the warning signs. “I don’t know, Jules. I don’t get it either.”
“I mean, all he had to do was wait patiently until we left. Everything would have been fine. We would have traveled and—” Julie stopped. “It was because of Stella. Her showing up forced Mark’s hand.”
“Let’s not go pointing fingers,” Peter snapped. “Stella’s dead because of that bastard.”
Quiet settled throughout the chamber. A moment later, Julie spoke. “I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t mean that it was her fault.”
Peter wished his hands were free to wipe the tears leaking down his cheeks, but he was glad the team couldn’t see him. He had loved Benny like a brother, and while he would have never admitted it, he loved Stella just the same. They were both dead because of him.
“Peter. Can you hear me? It’s nobody’s fault but Mark’s,” Julie said, as if she could read his thoughts. “Doctor, how long until we travel?”
“Well, if everything functions as planned, it should be nearly instantaneous,” replied Dr. Lamb.
“Listen, Peter. We need to regroup, here, and quickly,” Julie said professorially. “If they send us back and we come out emotional basket cases, we’ll have a lot more to explain than simply traveling through time.”
Peter squeezed his eyes tight in an effort to force the tears away. “You’re right. We shouldn’t say a word about anything that just happened. Agreed?”
Everyone agreed. “Then we wait. As soon as we zip, as Dr. Lamb puts it, we’ll pop out of the chamber as originally planned, story intact,” Peter said.
As they waited in silence, Peter began to feel a slight rumble originating in the base of the platform. As the vibration intensified, he could hear a muffled roar from outside the chamber. “Doctor?”
“It’s fine, Peter. It’s the power inverter ramping up. Nothing to be worried about,” replied Larsson with a crackle in his voice.
A moment later, a muffled thump, then absolute silence. “Nothing to be worried about, huh?” questioned Peter.
“Um, I think we just traveled. Did anyone feel anything . . . peculiar?” asked Lamb.
“Why, were we supposed to?” asked Julie.
“No, no. Well, we’re not entirely sure. We’re not exactly clear on what happens during time travel,” Dr. Larsson added. “Theoretically, we would lose a millisecond of consciousness, but our minds are not designed to recognize to recognize to recognize the missing ing mo moment.”
“Are you all right, Doctor?” asked Peter. “You’re stuttering.”
“Fascinating!” exclaimed Dr. Lamb. “We have traveled. That was a momentary slip in Dr. Larsson’s consciousness.”
As Peter and the team lay strapped to the metal tables, Peter realized a flaw in the design of the device. Suppose nobody was home where they were going? Would they stay strapped to the tables until they were discovered? Peter’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard the sound of the latch disengage from outside.
“Well, here goes nothing,” Peter said as the door inched open, allowing light to spill in from a new timeline.
CHAPTER 2
As the door opened slowly, he half expected to see general Applegate—or even worse, Mark—standing just outside, but neither were visible. From his lying-down position, Peter looked out into a dusty laboratory straight from black-and-white Hollywood. He could see the back side of an enormous bench where the theater seating existed before he and the team entered the transmission chamber. Then, Peter saw a shadow dance across the floor just beyond the doorframe.
“Uh, hello? Is anyone there? We could use a hand if you have a moment,” Peter said with a wry grin on his face.
A moment later, a greying man wearing a white lab coat and horn-rimmed glasses stepped into view. His mouth resembled that of a big mouth bass. He was clearly unprepared for their arrival.
“Hi there. Would you mind unstrapping us? Even though it was a short ride, titanium platforms are not the most comfortable mattresses to lie on for extended periods of time,” Peter quipped.
“My God. It actually works!” the elderly man said with astonishment.
“Ah, yes. That it does. You must be Dr. Epson,” Peter replied.
Epson staggered back a few steps, nearly stepping on his apprentice’s feet. “You know who I am?” he asked.
“Yes. We all do. I’d introduce you to my team, but it’s quite awkward from this position,” Peter said.
“Right. Hurry, Mr. Gallagher, give me a hand in here.” Epson and Gallagher, whose eyes were edging on softball size, stepped into the receiving chamber and, one by one, unstrapped the four team members from the metal platforms.
Peter sat up and twisted his head side to side, untying the knots inside his neck. Relieved from his restraints, he dropped his feet to the ground and stepped forward toward Dr. Epson.
“Hello. I’m Peter Cooper and this is my team, Drs. Lamb and Larsson and Julie Frey. It’s a great pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand.
Epson, spry for an older man, hopped back out of the chamber, followed by Peter and the rest of the team. His face had forgotten it had pigment, and he looked as if he might pass out at any moment.
“Don’t worry, Doctor. Everything is going to be all right. We realize how much of a shock this must be, greeting four strangers inside your lab like this.”
“Shock is an understatement. Overwhelmed might be more appropriate,” Epson replied as he leaned against the edge of the nearby control panel. “How is it that you know who I am?”
“Well, Doctor,” began Dr. Larsson, “we’ve traveled from the future, where we’ve reviewed all your records and lab reports. Quite impressive record keeping, I might add.”
“F-f-from the . . . future? How far?” stammered Epson.
“Oh, not terribly far. Around seventy years,” replied Dr. Lamb.
“S-seventy . . . ?” Epson asked for clarification.
“That’s right, Doctor. We’re from the year 2013,” Peter added.
Epson stumbled to the side and luckily found a chair just behind the control panel. He pulled his glasses from his face and wiped several ponds’ worth of sweat from his forehead with the back of his coat sleeve.
Peter looked at the man standing next to the doctor and was surprised that his expression didn’t quite match Epson’s. If Peter’s instincts hadn’t taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque, he’d think it tinged on fear. “And you are Michael Gallagher? Dr. Epson’s assistant?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Gallagher replied curtly. “You say you’re from the future, but why should we believe you?”
“Didn’t you just unstrap us from titanium platforms inside a time travel device that you helped construct? Isn’t that proof enough?” Peter replied with a disparaging tone.
Julie recognized the hint of sarcasm in Peter’s voice and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“For all we know, some of the physicists from downstairs are just playing a cruel tri
ck here,” Gallagher said. “And furthermore—”
“That will be quite enough,” Epson stopped his assistant.
“But, Doctor—” Gallagher begged Epson.
“Pardon me, but I have an element of validation for you,” Dr. Lamb said, interrupting the conversation.
All eyes turned to the doctor as he stepped forward, reached into his front pocket, and pulled out a coin. “It’s a ten-cent piece from the year we originated.” Lamb handed the dime to Epson.
Epson took the dime and examined it as thoroughly as if he had discovered a new periodic element. Gallagher crowded in to see the dime for himself.
“Who is this on the face of the coin?” asked Epson.
Lamb looked to Peter to continue the conversation. “That is President Roosevelt. He died, or dies, in 1945. His bust was placed on the dime in 1946. The design of the dime hasn’t changed since.”
“The . . . the president dies in forty-five?” Epson asked in a whisper.
“Yes, unfortunately he dies after suffering a stroke,” Julie added.
“Again, this could be just another fallacy to discredit our research,” Gallagher said, stepping away from the coin as if it were tainted.
Dr. Lamb’s presentation of the dime had caught Peter off guard because the general had made it explicitly clear to leave everything from the present in the present. He made a note to talk to Lamb and Larsson about it later. Presently, however, he needed to gain Epson’s trust swiftly.
“Doctor, we are here to prove that your time machine does work. There are a few tweaks that need to be applied to the transmission chamber for it to become fully functional. That’s why Drs. Lamb and Larsson are here.” Peter slowed the information dump, taking care not to overload Epson. The team needed him as an ally. He also wasn’t yet completely confident that Epson’s assistant could be trusted.
“Dr. Epson, don’t believe them,” Gallagher yelled. “Can’t you see they’re playing with your mind? That dime was probably fabricated down on twelve. Their clothes are even from our time. Wouldn’t you expect them to be wearing some kind of . . . futuristic suit?”
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