The Fall

by R. J. Pineiro

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure. The telemetry turned red and began to flash the same readings again and again just as the purple halo increased in intensity and became a sort of entrance into a very strange electrical storm.”

  “Okay. Slow down. First, are you saying that the telemetry stopped giving you readings?”

  “No. I’m saying that it kept flashing the same numbers, even though it was pretty obvious that I was still falling.”

  “What numbers?”

  “Hold on.” Jack got up and went to the kitchen, where he pulled open a drawer and retrieved the pen and paper they used to keep their grocery list. As he returned, he realized what he had just done.

  “Jack, how the hell did you know where that was?”

  He paused, then said, “Because that’s where we keep it … at least as of the moment when we left for the Cape.”

  “Damn,” she said, leaning back on the sofa as he sat down.

  “Yeah,” he said, “welcome to my little party.”

  He wrote down the numbers and placed them on her lap.

  MACH 1.2

  G-METER 12.0

  TEMPERATURE 1200 DEGREES

  ALTITUDE 120,000 FEET

  “I hope you can figure out what this means,” he added while she stared at it. “They continued to flash as I dropped down this bizarre storm that was pulsating with sheet lightning. And that’s when I started to lose comm with Mission Control. I heard Pete a few times trying to make contact, and I was blinking the okay icon in return, but it was obvious he couldn’t hear me.”

  Angie held the piece of paper in her hands while looking away, lips pressed together. Then she said, “What happened next?”

  “That was probably the most unusual thing. I kept falling and reached the bottom of this storm, which was also vibrating with bolts of lightning. But when I struck it, it felt more like a membrane, like something elastic that extended beneath my vertical momentum, stretching, before bursting open, letting me through. And then all systems returned to normal, though I’m not sure how much time passed because by then I was fading in and out. But I do recall the very first readings when the system returned to normal … at one hundred and eight thousand feet.”

  “One hundred and eight? What happened in between? That’s twelve thousand feet unaccounted for.”

  He shrugged. “Tell me something I don’t already know. But there’s the chance that I may have imagined it all. Maybe I passed out from pulling so many Gs and dreamed the whole thing.”

  “You didn’t pass out, Jack,” she said with conviction while holding the upper section of the OSS’s outer layer. “And you certainly didn’t dream this.”

  He cocked his head at her. “How … how do you know that?”

  She pointed at the shoulder pads. “The third ablation shield.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s barely touched. When you jettisoned the second layer, at least according to this piece of paper, outside temp was twelve hundred degrees, which should have taken a good bite out of this honeycomb material. But it didn’t. That means that whatever happened between one hundred and twenty thousand feet and one hundred and eight protected you from the final stage of reentry heat. And as for the tumble you reported, that’s also impossible. There is no damage to the flexible insulation material. For reasons that I can’t explain, you didn’t experience any reentry heat during that time.”

  Jack stared at the shoulder pads before also looking at the top of his helmet, confirming that the third ablation shield was intact, as was the rest of the suit. But how could that be when outside temperatures were still …

  “Angie … what does this mean?”

  “It means exactly what it means, Jack. You entered something different at that upper altitude and you exited it at a lower altitude. And in between, you didn’t experience any reentry heating.”

  “And when I did come out of … whatever that was,” he added, “I arrived at a world that wasn’t quite the one I left at the launchpad.”

  They leaned back on the sofa in unison and just stared at the ceiling for a while.

  “This is beyond my pay grade,” Jack said first.

  Angela reached over and took his hand.

  “So … does this mean what I think it means?” he asked.

  “I’m a scientist, Jack,” she said, sitting up sideways and crossing her legs again while facing him. “And the scientific process is very straightforward. First observe, then hypothesize, then experiment to prove or disprove your hypothesis, and keep iterating until you reach the answer. In this case, my first key observations is that the laws of physics, especially those that concern the conservation of energy, were violated during those twelve thousand feet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean there was no energy transferred from vertical velocity to heat, Jack. The energy that you lost while falling for twelve thousand feet, or over two miles didn’t turn into heat—and I gotta tell you, giving your supersonic speed, that’s one hell of a lot of energy. This ablation shield should have been consumed, at least down to fifty percent.”

  “So where did the energy go?”

  “Don’t jump into any hypothesis yet. That’s just the first observation. My second observation is you, Jack. You sitting right here next to me violates every law of physics of the classical mechanics world—the world governed by the forces of gravity, by the engineering disciplines, from aeronautical and mechanical to electrical, thermal, computer, chemical, and even biochemical. None of the laws governing those areas can explain why you are here breathing next to me instead of being a pile of bones buried in some cave in Afghanistan.”

  She paused, then added, “Third observation is your description of the world you left behind. There are mostly similarities, even down to the location of that pen and paper, but there are also critical differences, like the missing storm, Cuba, the metric system, my hair, and probably dozens more that you’ll notice in the days and weeks ahead.”

  Jack was going to mention the freckle but knew better than to interrupt her while she was on her scientific roll.

  “The fourth observation is this,” she said, pointing at the numbers on the piece of paper. “The numeral twelve, which is also how many unaccounted thousands of feet you dropped, has a ton of significance in many disciplines, from mathematics to science, time, and even music.”

  “For example?”

  “You’re jumping ahead again, Jack. But at the risk of violating my own scientific process … take music, for example, the numbers remind me of an octave harmonic.”

  “What’s that?”

  “In music, an octave is the interval between one musical tone, or pitch, and another with either double or half its frequency. In some instruments, such as the guitar, this perfect octave is achieved by touching the harmonic of a note twelve frets above any open or fretted note.”

  “I never knew you were musically inclined,” he said.

  “I’m not. It’s still just physics, Jack. Sound waves, in this case, but those same harmonic laws apply to all waves in the electromagnetic spectrum, from gamma rays at the upper end down to very low frequency waves. The observation here is that the number twelve has a lot of significances in several fields, but we’re going to get to that later.”

  “Okay,” he said. “What else are you including in your first round of observations?”

  “Just one more for now. Something you mentioned before. Hastings and his scientists showing up at the eleventh hour and requesting a profile change, which apparently I managed to overturn. But the real observation here is that the Pentagon brass wouldn’t inject itself into such a critical project at the last minute without a very powerful motive.”

  “Agree,” he said. “Now what?”

  “Now we come up with a hypothesis that best fits those five observations,” she said, before inspecting the suit again. “But first I need something to drink, though it’s way too early for a Red Bull.”
r />   “How about some coffee?” he said.

  “Yeah. Why don’t you go make us some while I take another look at this suit? I get the feeling that you know where everything is in that kitchen.”

  Jack got up and stood there for a moment, just watching her hands move over the lower section of the outer shell, fingers on the micro helium boosters in the boots, checking valves and hoses with obvious expertise before checking straps, attachment rings, and the internal wiring backbone connecting the central computers in the helmet to the rest of the suit.

  He shook his head and did as he was ordered, going into the kitchen and finding everything just as he remembered, from the filters, coffee, and the same damn Mr. Coffee in the corner of the countertop, under the roll of paper towels hanging from the underside of the cabinets. He stared at it a moment.

  Just roll with the punches.

  Jack moved almost on automatic, taking all of five minutes to produce two cups of steaming coffee, which he set on the table, right next to the framed picture of Angela and Pete.

  I guess her scientific process is eventually going to get to that, he thought, before saying, “I’m assuming you still drink it black?”

  She looked up from the inside of the upper outer shell, where she had her fingers wrapped around a purple-looking device that he never recalled seeing before.

  “Yeah. Black is good … Jack, what’s this?”

  He sat down and leaned closer. It looked like a round piece of purple glass the size of a quarter under a Velcro strap, which not only hid it from view unless you were performing a close inspection but the inside was laced with some sort of film of the same color as the glass. “I’ve never seen that before.”

  “Strange,” she said, biting her lip again for a distracting instance before adding, “Everything else I recognize, though some modules are far more refined than my original design, like the helium boosters, the magnetic locks to keep your limbs from moving, the faceplate projectors, and the TDRSS antenna, even the suit’s black box, which we should look at later … but still, I know basically what they are—what they do. But this … let’s just call it my sixth observation for now, because I have no clue what it is.”

  Jack leaned forward for a better look. “It looks like some sort of crystal, but it also has something in it.”

  She brought it up to her eyes. “A microchip … it’s embedded in the glass.”

  “Definitely not seen it before,” he said, reaching for a cup and handing it to Angela, who held it backward, running her hand through the handle and closing her eyes before smelling the coffee just like she always did.

  “Any ideas?”

  She slowly shook her head.

  “Now do we get to theorize?” he asked. “Because I have one.”

  “Not yet,” she said, before taking a sip. “First, it helps to arrange the observations in chronological order. So, the first one is Hastings and his gurus showing up the night before the jump. Next is the telemetry going crazy at the instant when all critical energy readings—altitude, speed, temperature, and G-forces—reached this mysterious harmonic of twelve.”

  “The third,” Jack added, “is the telemetry returning to normal after twelve thousand feet with a mysterious loss of energy, as shown by the unused third ablation layer of the OSS.”

  She nodded. “The fourth observation is the changes you’ve noticed after exiting this … energy-loss passage, which leads to you arriving here. The fifth one is this strange device hidden in the OSS. And the last one is you being here.”

  Jack took a sip of coffee and decided to wait and see were she went with all of this.

  “I think I can state with scientific certainty that something out of the ordinary took place during those twelve thousand feet,” she started. “I’m not sure at the moment why it never happened before, given the hundreds of times that space vehicles have reentered Earth since the space program began in the sixties. To answer that I would have to review their reentry energy transfer profiles, but my educated guess is that it has something to do with those harmonic of twelve energy readings. And I would venture to say that none of the prior reentries hit that sequence of numbers in unison, which I think is part of the key to opening this … I’m going to use the word portal for now.”

  Jack nodded. “Works for me.”

  “All right,” she said. “Once you entered this portal, the laws of physics of classical mechanics stopped working, so we can’t go there for answers because none of the laws of gravitation, or electromagnetism, or any other traditional science were in motion.”

  “So, where do we go for answers?”

  “There are three other fields of physics besides classical mechanics,” she said. “And my guess would be that what took place could be explained with one or more of those fields, though I have to admit that my knowledge is quite superficial because they are beyond my areas of expertise. The first field is called quantum mechanics, and it helps explain the really small things at the subatomic level. The second is Einstein’s theory of relativity, which covers the other end of the spectrum, the really big things. Now, the problem is that each of those two polarized fields, while working almost perfectly for their respective realms, have very serious problems when confronting each other, and the mathematics break down. This is where the third field, string theory, comes in, reconciling the mathematical conflict between those two fields of physics. But, like you said earlier, this is where it goes beyond my pay grade. However, I know a professor at FIT and one at MIT that might be able to help.”

  “Fine,” he said, “but the fact is I did go into this portal, as you call it, and I did enter a state where the traditional laws of time and space stopped working. And I was in there for a little while, losing almost twelve thousand feet of altitude, before literally bursting back out.”

  She exhaled, placed her cup of coffee on the table and did the same to his, before once more holding his hands. “That’s right, and when you did, you arrived here, to a place where not only some things are quite different, but where you also died five years ago.”

  “So what is this place?” he asked. “Because unless I’m suffering some sort of delusion as a result of the jump, it sure as hell isn’t the same place I left at the launchpad.”

  “I’m not sure. Up to the moment I saw you, I knew it as planet Earth, the third planet in the solar system, which is part of the…”

  “… Milky Way galaxy,” he completed. “Just like where I came from. But then again, it isn’t the same place. It can’t be.”

  “That’s because it isn’t,” she said, bringing his hands to her lips and kissing them. “The world you left when you got aboard that rocket is not the same as the one you are living in now. That much is for certain. And what’s also pretty obvious is that the transition took place during those twelve thousand feet. The key question that remains is … how did it happen.”

  “And why,” he added. “I’m a SEAL, Angie. I’m trained to never believe in coincidences, so I refuse to believe this was an accident, otherwise I’m pretty certain we would have seen it in prior reentries. But what’s even more bizarre, is that the purple halo began well before the portal sucked me in. I first saw it just as I became supersonic, miles before I reached this harmonic of twelve. While I’m sure that the portal and the harmonic of twelve may be related, that doesn’t explain why I saw that haze well before everything else, and it also doesn’t explain why Mission Control couldn’t see it.”

  “All I can go by are the observations, Jack, and the main differences between prior reentries and yours are three. The first is Hastings showing up. The second is this strange harmonic of twelve. The third is this glass token with the embedded computer chip.”

  “We need to figure out what it is,” he said. “Maybe that’ll give us another clue how I managed this … jump to another … dimension? Is that what this is?”

  “Something like that,” she said, still holding his hands, her eyes filling again. “Call it another dime
nsion or a parallel world of sorts. At this moment, however, the reality is that you are here, Jack. You found a way to come back to me.”

  Jack briefly closed his eyes, feeling a headache forming behind his temples, unsure how he could explain this one to his wife back home—assuming, of course, that he could actually figure a way to return to wherever home was. For all he knew, he could be stuck here forever.

  And suddenly, as he opened his eyes and stared at this version of Angela, he realized the degree of devastation that his wife back home must be going through at this moment, thinking that he’d burned up on reentry, probably blaming herself, just as this woman felt five years ago for not having built the OSS strong enough to protect him. It didn’t really matter that they were on the verge of a separation, lacking intimacy for so long. She still had to be shattered at his sudden death.

  You gotta get back, Jack.

  You have to—

  Angela drew him closer, and he chastised himself for lacking the strength or the desire to resist, to hold back, to tell her that he couldn’t go through with it. He knew it was wrong, but it’d been too damn long since they’d shared a moment like this.

  As he stared at the chocolate freckle, Angela bit her lower lip.

  Emotion won.

  He gave in and went to meet her halfway.

  But Angela stopped, pulled back, and said, “I’ve been seeing Pete.”

  Jack blinked, frowned, and pointed at the photo. “I’d gathered as much already.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, looking away, then at him, and finally at the photo again. “I was a mess for the first three years, Jack. I couldn’t be around people, much less see anyone. Pete was there for me from the start, holding my hand, helping me along, fighting hard to maximize my government pension, and even nudging me toward the job at FIT. We became … a bit more than friends about six months ago.”

  “Angie … I … I understand,” he lied, jealousy filling his gut.