~~~
Pain brought him back, but it was a distant ache, and he could bear it. Sam moaned and realized he was cold. He reached for Sarah.
His hand wouldn't move.
He choked out her name, forcing his eyelids to rise against the bricks laid against them. Fuzzy shapes moved above him in the sparkling light, and he focused on them. “Sarah?”
“She's safe,” a voice said, and memory washed over him, clearing his vision faster than any drug could have done. The face staring down into his was handsome and stern, a white male about sixty years old. Sam realized that he was strapped to a table, and his reflexive lunge of alarm only earned him more pain.
“Where is she? What have you done to her?”
“She's in another room. A doctor is looking after her. I don't believe she has regained consciousness yet, but I've been assured she's had no adverse reactions to the taser.”
“Oh, God ...” Sam moved his head against the panic rising in him. Tears trickled from his eyes. “Why have you done this? Who are you?”
The man looked beyond Sam and lifted a finger. A soldier appeared at the man’s side, pistol trained on Sam. He wore the same white coverall as the soldiers in the cave, but no gloves and no helmet, revealing a freckled young man with red hair and a no-nonsense expression. At the same time, another figure stepped to Sam's other side. Sam glanced that way in fear, but the lab-coated man just reached to release the straps, beginning with Sam's legs.
“Now that you're awake, Dr. Anderson will remove the restraints,” the first man said. “They were there for your protection. But I trust you understand not to make any threatening moves.” His head tilted ever-so-slightly to the soldier.
After a moment, Sam nodded. Doctor Anderson slipped an arm under his shoulders and helped him to sit. Residual weakness made him tremble, and his nerve endings still sent poignant protests along his extremities. He gripped the edge of the exam table and concentrated on a deep breath. A drinking glass appeared in his vision, with a straw sticking out a hole in its cover.
“It's water,” the doctor said. “Sip slowly, but drink it all, please.”
The first swallow restored Sam's equilibrium, and he gratefully took another long swig. His stomach immediately let him know he should follow the doctor's advice and drink it slowly. He lowered the glass and fixed his gaze on the man waiting against the wall.
“Why did you shoot us?” Sam asked. “Where are we?”
The man's eyes narrowed. “My name is Albert Feldman,” he said. He waited, his eyes never straying from Sam's face.
A moment passed as Sam squelched the polite “how do you do?” that rose up in his throat. Hardly appropriate for the situation, but what was the man waiting for?
After a few seconds, Feldman sighed. “The name means nothing to you, I take it?”
Was Albert Feldman someone important on this world? Sam tried to decide what to do, but there was nothing for it. He didn't know who this person was.
He kept his voice hesitant. “No. I'm sorry, it doesn't.”
Feldman turned to a table, on which lay Sam's suit and packs. He picked up a card, reading it before turning back to Sam. “You are Samuel John Altair, of Belfast.” Sam flinched at his dark gaze. The man looked haunted.
He was holding Sam's ID card, a replica of the original Sam's driver's license. But that ID stated it was issued in the year 2004, and that it expired in 2012. It showed his birthday of 2 July, 1946. Since they had planned on traveling immediately to 2006, Sam had not brought ID for 2080.
Sarah's identification would be similar. Sam stayed silent, certain that anything he said would only make things worse.
Unexpectedly, Feldman laughed, a bitter, cynical rasp. He threw the card on the table and in three quick steps, stood in front of Sam. “Let's not play around. I know who you are. I know, at least in theory, where you're from.” He paused, but Sam remained silent, his eyes locked in terror on Feldman's face.
Feldman's voice was cold and hard. “You see, I knew Sam Altair. I worked with him for years. We were friends.”
Sam gasped, his head jerking in one shake of denial. “That's impossible. You'd be well over a hundred years old.”
“One hundred and thirty-five,” Feldman said. “Just a couple of years older than you, yourself, at least according to your driver's license.” He folded his arms across his chest, amusement warring with the anger in his eyes. “You make me think that I should have done more extensive rejuvenation, so I could be thirty-five again, and not sixty.”
He moved away, to pace a few steps back and forth. The soldier's gun remained steady on Sam as Feldman paced and talked. “Sam Altair was researching time travel. Which, of course, you know.” His fingers flicked in Sam's direction, but he didn’t cease pacing. “The idiot managed to get himself transported back in time to 1906. At first we thought he was in our past. We looked for signs, for messages from him. But there was nothing. Eventually, we deduced that time travel creates a new universe. Sam was lost to us as surely as if he'd died. But in the new universe, he had free reign. With his knowledge, there's no telling what he could have accomplished in the early twentieth century.”
Feldman stopped in front of Sam. “He surely died at some point in the early decades of the twentieth. But he left his work for you to carry on. Didn't he, Sam?”
Sam tightened his lips, staring into those black eyes.
Feldman leaned closer, his breath brushing Sam's cheek. “You figured out how to bridge the universes, didn't you?” he whispered. He straightened, the cold amusement back in his eyes. “Good of you to bring us the information, Sam. I can assure you, we'll make appropriate use of it.”
“No,” Sam said. “That was never our intention.”
“Oh, I'm quite curious as to your intentions,” Feldman said, as he turned back to Sam's things on the table. “We'll find out all about that, soon. But first ...”
He lifted the black case from the table, gazing at it with rapt pleasure before glancing up at Sam. “This is the time machine, isn't it? It's the same basic design that our Sam Altair developed eighty years ago.” He lifted the lid, but didn't touch anything, one finger idly tapping the edge of the case. Then he turned to Sam.
“You're going to show us how this works, and you're going to build one for us.”
Sam let his confusion show. “After all this time, you haven't figured it out yourselves? Did no one work on it after Sam disappeared?”
Feldman pursed his lips, displeased. “We've had other concerns. You will help us catch up.”
“I can't do that, sir. We never expected to stay in this time. We have no intention of getting involved.”
Feldman frowned and glanced at the machine. “We can always reverse-engineer it, I suppose. That might damage it, you realize. Possibly irreparably.”
There was no doubt it would. “You must let us go,” Sam said. “Return the machine and let us go. I promise, we won't return.”
Feldman laughed at that. Sam found himself wondering how the original Sam could ever have been friends with this man.
“No, you're going to help us Sam,” he said. “You'll be quite busy for a while. But rest assured, we'll explain everything to Miss Andrews and provide her with comfortable accommodations until you are done. You do understand, do you not?”
Clearly. What kind of world is this?
“I want to see her,” he said. “I'll help you, but I must know she's all right.”
Feldman nodded as if he had expected this. “I'll arrange it. You'll see her later this evening, and in the morning, someone will escort you to your lab. Be sure to let your handler know if you need anything we haven't provided.”
Sam watched under the gaze of the soldier as Feldman rolled the table with his equipment out the door. When everyone else had gone, the soldier stepped to the door. “I'm Private Cunningham. I'll be standing guard,” he said. “There's an intercom here,” he pointed. “Buzz me if you need anything. Facilities are behind you
, and a meal will be provided shortly. Be aware the room is monitored. You'll be under observation at all times.”
“Wonderful,” Sam said, not hiding his bitterness. Private Cunningham stepped outside and the door slid closed.
Chapter 15
Moira sat at her desk in Mr. Green's empty classroom, working on edits to her last term paper for English Lit. That is, the report was displayed on her screen, and occasionally, a phrase penetrated her brain, but her thoughts were a few miles away at Oxford University where Mr. Green was defending his thesis.
It was silly to be worried, she chided herself. The thesis was solid, and Mr. Green knew the material from every direction. He would not fail. Her fingers tapped the screen, bringing up his message from yesterday for the tenth time in the last hour.
Got the job. I start on Thursday.
A job with the Sun Consortium had been Mr. Green's immediate goal for both this summer and for graduate school. She stared at the message, picking at a ragged fingernail. Would the new job allow him to work on his doctorate? Surely, it would. He wouldn't give up on that.
She glanced at the time in the corner of her screen. What was taking so long? He knew she'd be on tenterhooks waiting to hear. If he wasn't coming straight to Strickert, wouldn't he send her a message? Her lips twitched in amusement. If he was out celebrating with friends, she'd kill him. He could celebrate after letting her know the results.
She'd made it through an entire page of her report when footsteps hurried down the hall. She froze in her seat and stared at the door, rewarded when Mr. Green appeared with a huge grin, and flung his backpack from his shoulders.
“Success!” he said, arms spread wide. Moira couldn't stop herself—she rose and threw her arms around his neck with a happy squeal. He gave her a brief squeeze, but let her go at once, holding her away with his hands on her shoulders before turning to retreat behind his desk.
“I can't stay long,” he said as he sat. He propped his chin on folded hands to gaze at her. The grin had not left his face. “Some friends are holding a table at the Pots and Pans. We're all buying each other dinner in honor of our new degrees.”
She sat at her desk again. Since their discussion two months ago, they had taken to holding conversations with the length of the classroom between them. If they stayed any closer, they always found excuses to touch each other.
“I'm glad you came by to tell me first,” she said. “You would have been in terrible trouble if you'd made me wait much longer.”
He laughed. “I would never have done that. This is your degree too, you know. You've been the best assistant anyone could hope for. And I have a surprise for you.” His face held a quiet, pleased look as he watched her, as if he didn't want to miss the moment when she saw his gift.
“Me?” Moira flushed with embarrassment. “You're the one graduating. I have something for you.” Afraid to look at him because she might start crying, or worse, giggling with excitement, she reached into her desk and pulled out a box, wrapped in silver mesh paper. She'd bartered with Grace for everything.
She placed the box in front of him, not daring to look at him until she saw his hands reach for it. His smile had turned soft as he gazed at it, and she trembled when he looked up at her.
He touched her hand. “Thank you.”
She forced herself to be casual as she turned and retreated back to her desk. “You have to open it before you thank me.” Her voice faltered, but she went on, “I wanted to get you something really nice, but I'm afraid I couldn't manage that. I do hope you like it.”
“How could I not?” he said as he pulled the ribbon. “I'm already touched beyond words.” The wrapping lay on the desk with the box waiting in the middle. Moira held her breath as he lifted the lid and rustled aside the paper, but his expression filled her with relief. His eyes were large and round with astonishment, the pleasure obvious in his gaze as he lifted the book from the box.
“A printed book!” he said in wonder. “The Eddies of Time in Multiple Dimensions by Samuel Altair. This is amazing.” He opened it and read the inscription she'd agonized over for thirty minutes. To Mr. Green, Congratulations and Good Luck with the next step! It was a phrase which came nowhere near expressing the pride and love simmering within her. He would understand it wasn't safe for her to write anything more personal. He looked up at her. “I’ve never heard of this author. However did you find it?”
She leaned back in her chair, trying to appear relaxed. “Grace mentioned she saw it in a re-use shop in town. I asked her to pick it up for me.” This was the truth, although Grace thought the book was for Moira. She was afraid he wouldn't accept it if he knew it was supposed to be hers.
His eyes returned to the book as he flipped pages. “This is marvelous. A true collectible. I'll treasure it always. Thank you, Miss Sherman. Truly.”
Moira hugged herself to keep her giddiness in check. She owed him so much. His pleasure in the gift went a long way toward fulfilling her desire.
He set the book down, fixing her with a teasing smile. “As it happens, I got you something to read, too. It's on your Pad. I sent you a link.”
She felt her face heat up, and she ducked her head as she called up his message. When the link opened, she stared at it without comprehension for a moment, then read the title in a voice gone dull with shock. “The State of Neutrinos in Five Dimensions by Andrew Green and Moira Sherman, under the advisement of Frederick Colson, Department of Physics, Oxford University, England.”
She looked up at him, finding it difficult to make any more sound come out of her stiff lips. “You can't ... you can't ... .”
“Fred can.” Mr. Green leaned back in his seat. Moira blinked once before remembering that “Fred” was Dr. Colson, Mr. Green's thesis advisor. Mr. Green pointed a finger at her, his whole face alight with joy. “It's to be published in Science, the August issue. I tweaked it a bit, but it's essentially the same paper you wrote for the science fair last year. I promise you, that's the first of many scientific papers to be written by the team of Green and Sherman.”
It took two tries before she got air into her lungs. “A paper,” she murmured, touching the screen in wonder. “A real scientific paper.”
He laughed. “You'll get tired of them soon enough.”
She laughed too, but the desire to kiss him instead made it sound rather forced. She wasn't thinking of just a friendly peck, either. Her face got even hotter. She covered it with her hands, hoping he'd put it down to happiness, then made herself stand. “I've got to meet my study group,” she said, using all her bravery to face him. “Your friends are waiting for you. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Yes.” He stood as well, packing his gift into its box. His voice was hesitant, and she knew he wanted to ask about her plans, a topic she refused to discuss. “I've got to file the final grades in the morning,” he said. “I'm to report to Sun in the afternoon, for orientation and to meet my supervisor. How many tests do you have left?”
“Two. Somehow I managed to get into the last roster, so I won't finish until about four tomorrow.”
“Bad luck,” he said with a small laugh. She laughed too, but when their eyes met, his laughter disappeared. “At least tell me you've got everything prepared. Tell me you'll be all right.”
Her chest rose with the effort it took to breathe as she stared at him. Her nod was slight. “As much as I know to do, I've done,” she said.
He nodded, shifting his gaze to the gift she'd given him, crumpling the ribbon in his hand. “I've been working on something ...” he glanced up at her, his face filled with hope and doubt all at once. “I understand your reasons for not wanting me involved. But I've been working on a way to alter your chip, hopefully to give you a false ID. It's just surface of course. They can still check your DNA. But it will get you past a cursory checkpoint. I'll have it here by about seven tomorrow night. Will you wait to get it?”
She smiled to cover her raging emotions. “Is there any nefarious thing you don't kn
ow how to do?”
He shrugged, laughing a little, but his gaze remained on her, the strangled ribbon in his hand betraying his tension. “Will you wait?”
“Yes, of course,” she said. Then before he said anything else, and before she gave in and threw herself at him, begging him to run away with her, she slung her backpack on her shoulder, hugged her Pad to her chest, and fled the room.
Chapter 16
Sarah watched through narrowed eyes as a woman in blue scrubs rolled a cart into the room. Her guard, who had introduced herself as Private Mary Murphy, stood in the doorway but made no attempt to touch the gun belted to her hip. A gentle odor promised that the cart held food, and Sarah's stomach growled. Did she dare eat anything here?
The woman waved a hand at the covered dishes on the cart. “Dinner is an amaranth and mushroom casserole that was served in the cafeteria tonight. Will you need anything else?”
Sarah made no move toward the cart, instead repeating the statement she'd been making since waking up. “I want to see Sam.”
She was surprised when Private Murphy nodded. “Dr. Feldman has arranged that. I'll escort you to a meeting room at nineteen hundred.”
Sarah's mouth fell open, and she closed it with a snap, glaring at the guard. “When were you going to tell me that?”
Private Murphy returned the glare with a poker face. “When we brought your dinner.” She waved the server out the door and tipped her head to Sarah. “Enjoy your food, miss.”
~~~
“Just hold me.” Sarah pressed herself against Sam as tightly as she could, arms around him, face, chest, and hips pressed into him. Real. He was real. Which meant this situation was real too, but she'd deal with that later. “What's happening to us? What do they want?”
“Tell me first, are you all right?” His voice was low, cracking on the last word. Sarah tried to look up into his face, but his arms tightened even more around her, one hand holding her head to his chest. His heart was racing.
Bridgebuilders Page 10