Bleedover

by Curtis Hox

“Now?”

  Dr. Sterling waited, arms folded, head cocked to the side, as if she might spit on the floor and lift her fists.

  “I’ll be back.” Masumi looked at her watch. “Although, it’s getting late.”

  “I’ll be up. Go get it.”

  She stared at the veteran professor, shocked at her confidence as she sat at her table before her manuscript and her tulip petal, unafraid, ready for whatever might come.

  “Okay, then. I hope you like it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When Masumi returned, Hattie waited at the open door of her apartment.

  “What do you have for me? I hope it’s good.”

  Masumi stepped forward and presented a trade paperback.

  “It’s the Battlestar Galactica tie-in novel of the miniseries. Towns left it in my apartment. I’ve read most of it. The TV serial is much better.”

  “Sounds fun,” Hattie said and accepted the book.

  “Return with anything that you think suitable. Maybe a Raptor patch or something from the Galactica.”

  “Science fiction, then?”

  “Also, make sure you aren’t on Caprica when the Cylons attack. Remember, nothing dangerous. See you tomorrow.”

  “Cylons? Caprica?”

  Masumi waved once, then turned on her heels and left.

  Hattie sat down with a cup of coffee and the book. She read the first few paragraphs—hackwork, but that didn’t mean it was horrible.

  She continued reading. The act of engaging with the material focused her attention enough that she didn’t care it wasn’t as well written as, say, Pynchon. She needed to find a suitable transition location in the text, one she would return to again and again before she stepped into the portal. She didn’t need two days. No. She would go sooner this time.

  Hattie read through several cups of coffee, only once letting her eyes close for a quick rest.

  Her door was still open, and she saw Alice approach.

  “Masumi said you’re reading,” Alice said. “God, you look like you need to rest.”

  Hattie returned her eyes to the book. “I will. I’m starving.”

  “What’s that? Towns has a copy of that book.”

  “I know. Masumi gave it to me.”

  “Masumi.”

  Hattie never took her eyes away. She sat hunched over, neck muscles overtaxed. She knew her hair stood out at angles. She knew she still needed a bath. She didn’t care.

  “It’s fun. Besides, she needs to be convinced.”

  Hattie continued to read while Alice prepared a late night dinner.

  Alice eventually set a plate of fresh salad, croutons, and French bread on the table. They ate, neither one bothering the other. Alice remained nearby, obviously wanting an explanation.

  “I’m calling Masumi,” she said, “if you won’t explain what’s going on.”

  Hattie turned a page and continued reading. “Go ahead.”

  “Why are you reading a Battlestar Galactica novel?”

  “I’m going back.”

  “Why?” Alice demanded.

  Hattie finally looked up. “Masumi needs more proof. She chose the book.”

  “She gave you that so you can go there?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Which one is it?”

  “You know this story?”

  “I love that show.”

  Hattie glanced at the cover with the actors from the TV series. “Says the miniseries.”

  “She gave you a science fiction novel about spaceships, cyborgs, and nuclear holocaust.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m calling Dr. Brandeis.”

  * * *

  Alice, Masumi, and Elliot stood before Hattie’s desk. She had removed the books from the case and the case from the wall. She sat at her desk reading a particular chapter over and over again.

  She felt comfortable with hair pulled back and plain clothes. She had showered, eaten a large breakfast, and even slept a bit. She tried to imagine the transition scene: a calm moment at the beginning before the action aboard the Galactica.

  She ignored everyone as they stood at attention. She’d known Eliot would come, and was glad. Because of Alice’s panic, he had called and left a message, desperately asking her to reconsider. He was losing everything because of her, but Hattie said no. She would prove it to him. To all of them. At some point, they would believe … and then they would crossover.

  “Are you seriously suggesting you’re going to enter that book?” he finally asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Hattie—”

  “I won’t be long this time, if all goes well. I’ll poke around until I find something and come right back. For you, it should be immediate.”

  Then desperate, as if to stall her into rational conversation, Eliot stepped forward and knelt at her desk. “Have you really thought about this?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if you’re discovered with the book?”

  “I won’t be.”

  “Imprisoned?”

  “Oh, well.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you’re not.” Hattie stood and closed the book. “You can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re not prepared.”

  “You found a good part?” Masumi asked.

  “Safety first. Right at the beginning.”

  “Before the attack?”

  “Yes.”

  Hattie nodded and grabbed her handy tote. She tossed the book inside, turned with a flourish, and opened the door in the wall.

  “This is preposterous,” Eliot said. “What sort of proof will you have?”

  “I’ll only be a few moments.”

  She glanced once more at them, then shut the door behind her.

  He turned to Masumi. “You gave her that book—a science fiction novel about robots waging war on humans? Alice said it begins with a nuclear attack.”

  “She’s avoiding that part,” Masumi said.

  “You believe all this?”

  “Not really.”

  He began to pace, no longer willing to discuss this with students.

  Riodola University was turning its back on him. Eliot had spent the day on the phone with three major investors who politely explained that next quarter they would withdraw their support. The dean also told him that the board was reviewing his position as chair. The meaning was explicit: lose your outside funding, lose your facilities and your chair. Tenure was secure, as long as he could stomach the loss of prestige. He imagined Hattie would also soon find herself with less support once the critics found a way to undermine her apple instantiation. If that happened, her dreams of a new academic discipline would disappear; she’d probably lose her position as chair as well, and they’d both find themselves so fully marginalized they’d have to leave the university.

  “Look!” Alice yelled.

  All three of them started when the handle moved and the door swung inward on its silent hinges.

  Hattie appeared, like she’d said, only moments later. She steadied herself on the jamb. Eliot rushed to her side.

  “Let me guess,” he said, relieved, “the other door was locked.”

  She reached into her shirt pocket and withdrew the book.

  “Alice, take this.” Alice snatched up the paperback. “Find it.”

  Within a minute, Alice stopped thumbing. “Here it is.” She held up the book.

  Sure, enough, an interpolation distorted the text.

  “I need a few minutes,” Hattie said, “to recover … and prepare myself.”

  “For what?” Eliot asked.

  She pointed to the exit. “Out.”

  Everyone obeyed and shut the door.

  Alone now, Hattie grabbed the book and tried to focus. The interpolation listed the items she had brought back. No poetry. No mystery. Just a simple list.

  She scratched down the consonants of the items she had transitioned with but which were now gone. She also retri
eved her notebook in which she always kept a few unused enactment elements. She had three to learn for this stitch to work. They were easy.

  Hattie spent an hour on each because she was still quite high and sometimes let her eyes half close while she stared at the wall in a stupor. She incanted with full voice, knowing everyone could hear. Eventually, she succeeded with the incantations, and each instantiation appeared as expected, the first on the floor to her right, the others in one of the two empty chairs facing her desk. She placed them in her tote, then called the group back in.

  Eliot entered first. “All done screaming like a Sioux warrior?”

  “All done.”

  She withdrew a hand-sized color photograph from her bag.

  Masumi and Alice gasped.

  In the photo, Hattie stood with a young woman with short, blond hair and a big smile. The woman wore a flight jumpsuit. Hattie stood next to her as they posed for the photo in what looked like a cramped, industrial corridor. Neither Alice nor Masumi said anything as they stared at Katee Sackhoff, who’d played Kara “Starbuck” Thrace. Neither of them could process that this was the actress, and the character.

  “That’s really her,” Alice said.

  Eliot stared at Hattie with concern. “You look like you might pass out. You need to lie down.”

  “Fine.”

  He helped her to her feet, then led her to her apartment. Alice helped him get her into bed, while Masumi lingered behind.

  Masumi had seen the television show, of course, had watched all four seasons. Syfy’s Battlestar Galactica was one of the few shows to quit at the right time.

  Starbuck had always been her favorite; Masumi should have known Dr. Sterling would have liked her. She found herself wanting this to be legitimate. Still, she ran over the scenarios, while Dr. Brandeis and Alice fussed with Dr. Sterling.

  Consider the facts. I challenged her last night. If she’s running a scam, that’s one day to make the arrangements. No, no way she could contact the actress in time. Photoshop then. Very simple. Yes, that has to be it …

  Masumi heard Dr. Sterling call her name. She wandered into the apartment. Dr. Sterling was drinking a full glass of water. She lay on her mattress in her bedroom and shut her eyes.

  “I’m so tired,” Dr. Sterling mumbled. “I need to rest.”

  “Exactly,” Dr. Brandeis said.

  “Masumi, come here.”

  Masumi stepped toward the bed, but refused to kneel. “Nice photo.”

  “You’re not convinced?”

  “No.”

  “Alice, hand me my bag.”

  Alice retrieved the bag from the other room and laid it on the bed.

  Dr. Sterling struggled to sit up but shushed Dr. Brandeis away. “I had a feeling you’d be resistant …”

  She tossed a crumpled piece of green military clothing at the foot of the bed.

  Masumi held up a sturdy, blended tight-fitting shirt with odd-looking chevrons embroidered in black on one arm. It stank of sweat and engine grease. On the other, they saw what appeared to be an upside-down diamond figure with wings. It looked like an enlisted insignia.

  “Deck hand, ordinance handler,” Dr. Sterling said. “I think. Turn it around.”

  On the back, written in bold letters: Galactica Class Battlestar, Dog Out CF-RT, Deck Runner.

  “I found it in a pile, I assume, waiting for laundry,” Dr. Sterling said.

  Masumi let it fall; Alice grabbed and caught it.

  For a moment, Masumi actually trembled. She took a few steps backward, then righted herself.

  Dr. Sterling watched as Masumi struggled with the truth. “I have one more item in my bag, if you need more proof.”

  “No way you could have faked that shirt in time,” Masumi said.

  “What?” Dr. Brandeis asked. “What does that mean? A photo and some shirt?” He looked to Masumi. “What are you saying?”

  “It’s real, Dr. Brandeis,” Alice said. Then she fell to her knees at the side of the bed and asked, “You met Kara Thrace?”

  “I did.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I approached her in the mess and claimed to be a reporter from Caprica. I wanted a photo. She was nice, but in a hurry. We only chatted for a few minutes. I wanted to tell her about the coming attack, but I didn’t.”

  “Hattie,” Dr. Brandies murmured, “what’s happening?”

  “Nothing, Eliot,” she managed. “Everything.” She shut her eyes and pulled the covers to her chin. “I need to rest.”

  He directed everyone out of the room.

  “The Hunchback then?” Masumi asked from the doorway.

  “Yes,” Dr. Sterling said, “two days.”

  “What about me?” Alice asked, galvanized.

  “Right,” she managed, almost out. “Pick a book, any book.” She freed one hand and began rummaging around on the bed. “Leave the photograph.”

  * * *

  Hattie let herself half-dream in the heady embrace of the transition. Her body still basked in the warm rush of wave after wave of endorphins.

  The sights and sounds of the massive spacecraft filled her mind from those few hours she’d spent aboard it. She breathed deeply and felt the air fill her lungs.

  Hattie heard her apartment door clang shut as Eliot gave her privacy. He’d surprised her with his resistance. She would address that later. Now was the time to revel in her accomplishment.

  She focused while the vision remained, remembering arriving in the corridor as people walked by. She’d followed a group as she struggled to compose herself, knowing it might take a few minutes. She wanted to make sure she was aboard the ship; she looked for portholes, but found none. She wandered until she found the flight officer’s mess, the one in which Kara would be eating at that hour. A PR team entered, and she followed. Pictures were taken and distributed. She asked about the hotshot Raptor pilot Starbuck and found her eating alone, just like in the novel. Hattie waved over a photographer.

  Hattie wanted to tell Starbuck what she knew about the coming attack. But such truth might cause more trauma than good, she thought.

  Revelation—of any kind—could be a danger to the integrity of the narrative.

  Instead, Hattie sat and asked questions and chatted, and then left the officer alone. She knew that within hours the attack would occur, the epic struggle, embraced by American television viewers, beginning.

  Hattie wondered if she had watched the pilot in which these events occurred, instead of having read the book, would the transition have worked? Maybe, just maybe Corbin might be onto something with this Lucid Media Projection method … Something to try, she thought, as a powerful wave hit her.

  Her eyes rolled back in her head, and a long breath caught in her throat. She calmed and fell into a deep sleep where she dreamed of ships in space and dashing, female fighter pilots she hoped to take to bed.

  * * *

  Outside, Dr. Eliot Brandeis sat at Dr. Sterling’s kitchenette table and tried to focus. Alice and Masumi quietly argued over the decision that Masumi go next.

  He couldn’t believe he was hearing this acceptance.

  Masumi, though, admitted little, demonstrating a willingness to comply, but without commitment. Alice appeared ready to begin swirling like a dervish in fantasyland.

  “She has to appear before a hearing tomorrow,” he said. The girls looked his way, as if forced to acknowledge the importance of this information. “I went today before a preliminary hearing by the board of trustees and the state regents to determine the nature of her claims at the demonstration.” Neither girl reacted. “They want a private admission this was a stunt. She has overplayed her hand.” He waited for them to process this. “We could be formally censured.”

  “What does that mean?” Alice asked.

  “I don’t know. But I do know it’ll make doing anything of importance here difficult.”

  “But they’ve given her the library, Dr. Brandeis. Promised—”

  “All o
f that can be taken away. Have you read the papers? Half the witnesses say they were tricked. Stephan is pushing this angle. They’re calling her a fraud. Calling us a fraud.”

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Masumi said. “If she’s right, they can all go to hell.”

  “You still don’t believe her?” Alice asked.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Listen, ladies,” Dr. Brandeis said, “whatever is happening, her suggestion that all you have to do is read a book and—zippo, you get to go inside it—is the most ludicrous idea I’ve ever heard. Apples out of thin air, that’s a big enough mystery. This is something altogether more problematic.” Alice glowered and Masumi remained withdrawn. “How’s Towns, by the way?”

  Masumi looked to Alice. “You haven’t told him?” Then to Dr. Brandeis, “Towns works for Hexcom.”

  Alice snorted. “A subsidiary of Lyell Publishing—”

  “I know what it is,” Dr. Brandeis said. “Works for them?”

  Masumi nodded. He covered his face with his hands.

  “I have to go read,” Masumi said.

  “Do you speak medieval French?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Do I need to learn the language?” She covered her mouth in surprise. “Dr. Brandeis, if I arrive in medieval France, I won’t be staying long.”

  “I wonder what I should read,” Alice said.

  “Green Eggs and Ham.”

  He laughed. “Here There Be Monsters.”

  “The Bible,” Alice said.

  Dr. Brandeis smiled again. “Don’t read the last book.”

  Masumi finally couldn’t resist a chuckle. “Or the first couple. I have to go.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dr. Sterling sat outside the president’s office, waiting for the board members and regents to invite her in. The receptionist busied herself with secretarial duties, leaving Dr. Sterling to imagine that the august portraits of faculty and administrators hanging in their wide frames had already laid blame on her. The room was also lined in hip-high rosewood and beveled glass cases full of gleaming awards. Riodola’s proud history as a research institution was on display for everyone to see.

  Science awards, mostly.

  She sat in the cool air-conditioning and realized how desperately she wanted this over.