“Thanks. Sorry if I annoyed you.”
She smiled. “You didn’t.” She leaned close and whispered into his ear. “It really was nice to meet you.”
Daniel left the examination room and returned to the lobby, wondering not just about the medical tests but about his own behavior. Even with a girlfriend waiting for him, he’d still flirted with the nurse. Maybe it was just habit. Maybe the people of the future would label flirtation a form of abuse. He hoped relations between men and women would never get that sour.
********************
Daniel sat alone in the darkened lobby, reading Nala’s latest text message.
No worries. I like late dinners anyway.
It gave some reassurance that the FBI diversion wasn’t going to rob them of an enjoyable evening. They’d already had more time together this week than in the past three months, but it was her first trip to Washington, and he didn’t want to make it her last. Screwing things up with Nala had always been a Daniel Rice specialty.
But this week had been different. Just the day before, they’d found themselves alone at sunset at one of the most scenic of Washington locations, the Jefferson Memorial, watching in silence as deepening orange clouds reflected off the still waters of the Tidal Basin. He’d turned to her and they’d kissed, this time not sensual, but long and heartfelt. That single kiss produced a deeper connection than he’d felt with anyone. He thought she’d felt it too.
A large figure loomed, interrupting Daniel’s daydream. “Ready for you, Dr. Rice.” Agent Griffith’s voice was rough.
Nala would have to wait a bit longer.
Daniel rose and followed down another impossibly long corridor. They passed through a doorway and Griffith closed the heavy door to the SCIF. Inside, Agent Torre sat at a table with two others, a woman introduced as Assistant Director Yarborough, in charge of the National Security Branch, and a man, Assistant Director Hanson, in charge of the Laboratory Division—the famous FBI Crime Lab.
“We were just discussing, Dr. Rice, your doubts about the video message.” Agent Griffith took the lead even with the higher-ups in the room.
Daniel sat alone on one side of the conference table—apparently the hot seat. “I have doubts. What about you, do you buy it?”
“I’m keeping an open mind,” Griffith answered.
Daniel nodded. “Skeptical thinking is not that different. I’m open to some pretty strange ideas—most scientists are—but not without evidence. The stranger the idea, the more evidence required, or I’m not on board.”
“So, you don’t believe it’s possible to get to the future?” asked Yarborough, a stern-looking woman with pale skin and gray hair.
“That’s not my concern. With the right technology, time travel to the future is possible. Not easy, but not prohibited by the laws of physics. For example, get close to an intense gravitational field like a black hole. Time slows down for you but not for everyone else. Leave the field and you’re suddenly in the future. This is solid science proposed by Einstein more than a hundred years ago and well validated today.”
Daniel pointed to Agent Torre’s briefcase, presuming the coin was still inside. “But communication from the future to the past? In the scientific world, that’s something you only hear from fringe players. So, no, I don’t buy into the premise that this message comes from the future.”
“The man in the video is suggesting you will go to 2053,” Torre said. “He says he’s you, and he remembers doing it.”
Daniel waved a hand, trying to quell the outlandish talk that had been surfacing since they watched the video. “Look… even setting the illogical paradox aside for now, knowing that something is scientifically possible and doing it are two entirely different things. Even if I wanted to, I have no mechanism of jumping to 2053.”
Yarborough exchanged a glance with Hanson. “Let’s leave the logistics of time travel alone for a minute,” she said. “I’d like to focus first on the content of the message and the evidence for its veracity. Among other things, Dr. Rice, the National Security Branch has the duty to protect the United States from weapons of mass destruction. The video explicitly alludes to a nuclear threat.”
Daniel knew a little about how the FBI operated. They often held their cards very close. “You’ve determined that the nuclear threat is credible?”
“We have,” she acknowledged. “Credible enough to devote investigative resources. Set aside the video for the time being—it’s not the primary evidence since videos can be faked. However, much more compelling evidence arrived in just the last few minutes.” She nodded toward Hanson.
Hanson was likely a Mormon elder in his private life. Blond, clean-cut with the unmistakable lines of an LDS garment showing under his dress shirt. He cleared his throat. “Dr. Rice, the lab just finished comparing your biometrics. Thank you, by the way, for your help on this.”
The nurse’s biometric sampling.
It wasn’t hard to figure out who they wanted to compare against, but Hanson was implying they had undisclosed medical information about the man in the video.
“Compared my biometrics to what data?” Daniel asked.
“I’ll explain,” Hanson answered. “Beyond the video, the coin had additional data recorded on its surface, much like a DVD. We were able to read it without much trouble. Know what we found?”
“Biometrics, I’d guess.”
Hanson smiled, pressed a few buttons on a phone and turned it around for Daniel to see. It showed a diagram, a graph of a red line jumping up and down in a rhythmic repetition. “This is an electrocardiogram recorded on the coin. These squiggles are almost exactly the same as the heartbeat we just sampled from you. Close enough that we’d call it a biometric match. There’s a small difference, but it could be explained by age. We’re getting input from a cardiologist right now to be sure.”
The comparison was interesting, but not compelling. Anyone might have found another EKG—assuming he’d had one in his medical file somewhere. He’d taken many physicals in his life.
“That’s just the beginning, though.” Hanson pointed to Agent Torre. “Can you show him the chamber?”
Torre opened his briefcase and pulled out the holographic coin once more. He held it out for Daniel’s inspection. “Right here, Dr. Rice. On the edge.”
Just beyond the words SPIN UPON MIRRORED GLASS was a sliver of metal. Hanson put a fingernail under it and lifted. A narrow lid hinged, revealing a hollow chamber inside the coin. Daniel peered inside but didn’t see anything.
“It’s empty now,” Hanson explained. “Cleaned out at the lab. But along with the video message and the data, they sent physical evidence to back up their claim. A small clip of hair. Your hair, now that we’ve had a chance to compare. It’s a perfect protein match. Maybe even too perfect, given there was no indication of pigment loss.”
“He’s gray, I’m brown.”
“Exactly. We’re not sure what to make of that, but there’s little question that it’s your hair. Protein matches are already ninety-eight percent reliable and getting better every year. There’s every reason to believe that protein will replace DNA as the preferred biometric of the future.”
Again, interesting, but not conclusive. Hair is hair. He’d left quite a bit of it on the floor of barbershops around the world. The fact that hair in the coin wasn’t gray was supporting evidence for the barbershop explanation.
Hanson continued. “But what’s special about this snippet of hair is the fluid that surrounded it. A vegetable oil made from a combination of plants. Soybeans and olives, mostly, but it also included a rare plant that only grows in the Dead Sea area of Israel. Religious organizations use this oil for ceremonial purposes.”
Daniel didn’t interrupt the explanation. In fact, he listened with rapt attention.
“Most people don’t know this, but in our Criminal Justice Information Services Division, the FBI maintains an extensive database of every bit of material that might conceivably be found at any c
rime scene. And it so happens that we had this particular oil on file. We matched the oil in the coin’s compartment to a ceremonial oil used by a Baptist church in Atlanta, Georgia. There’s no question—the oil in the coin came from that specific church. In fact, from a specific batch. We called the church; the bottle is still on a shelf. They’ve been using small amounts of that oil in ceremonies for the past ten years.”
“You’re saying a church in Georgia sent the message?” Daniel asked. He was impressed with the FBI’s ability to narrow down the source so quickly, and he didn’t doubt their extensive database was the reason.
“It’s a bit more complex than that.” Hanson glanced at Yarborough and Agents Griffith and Torre. From their acknowledgments, they’d all been briefed. “You’re familiar with how carbon dating works?”
Daniel nodded, but Hanson explained anyway. “Then you’re aware that the carbon-14 isotope decays radioactively at a specific rate, changing into carbon-12, over time. While any plant is alive, carbon-14 is replenished as the plant draws nutrients from the soil. But as soon as the plant is harvested, that cycle ends and the amount of carbon-14 begins to drop. We simply measure the ratio of the isotopes in any sample and we can tell how old the plant is.”
“So, you dated the oil found inside the coin?”
“Yes.”
“And it matched the oil from the bottle in Georgia.”
“Not quite. Chemically we can tell they’re from the same batch, the same harvest. But the carbon ratios don’t match. The oil from the coin has a lower ratio, making it slightly older than the same oil in our database. About thirty years older, in fact.”
Daniel put the pieces together quickly in his head, but the picture forming was disturbing. Two samples, one thirty years older than the other but both from a bottle of oil currently sitting in a church in Georgia. If the evidence was accurate, there was only one possible answer.
He shook his head, wondering where this craziness would end. “The oil inside the coin came from the same bottle, but thirty years into the future.”
5 Vision
USS Nevada
North Pacific, 800 nautical miles southeast of Adak Island
October 6, 2023 10:15 Pacific Time
The obliteration of every scrap of life on Earth begins from this place.
Two rows of twelve vertical tubes, each tube painted orange, eight feet in diameter. The missile deck of the USS Nevada, SSBN-744, an Ohio-class Trident submarine, held technology capable of unimaginable destruction.
A narrow gap separated the rows of missiles, creating a walking path down the length of the compartment. Near the middle, a lone sailor kneeled, his hands clasped together. Even in the cool air of the compartment, his forehead was damp. The smells of metal and paint and the hum of ventilation fans filled his senses.
The sailor tuned out the stark surroundings of his workplace and focused inward. His sins were deep. The unholy desires that rampaged through his mind had become impossible to ignore. He’d even acted upon them, and more than once. The miraculous visitations he had experienced over the past week made it clear that penance was due.
He dragged the darkness inside of him toward a place of light. “Hear my cry, Lord. The sins buried in my soul have driven me to you, my protector. Care for me, grant me your grace and guide me to your holy commandments.”
Overhead, security cameras hung from the ceiling, pointing in each direction down the walkway. On a ballistic missile submarine, places of absolute privacy did not exist.
The cameras were of little concern to Fire Control Technician Second Class Joshua Swindell. He accepted that his prayer would be observed, even recorded. He was equally confident that it would be ignored. Personal actions of religious devotion were protected by military regulation. Even at the fitness-for-duty assessment, required annually for every crew member serving on a ship that could destroy the world, questions of a religious nature were never allowed.
“I have been in your presence, Lord, and I seek your guidance for my repentance. I am a beggar knocking at the door of your limitless love and mercy.”
An overhead light flickered and the pathway where he kneeled creaked. He opened his eyes and surveyed the floor for the miracle he hoped would come once more. As he watched, a faint outline of the soles of two bare feet formed on the vinyl surface. It was little more than an imprint, but the miracle was unmistakably real. He could just make out the pads of ten toes, an empty void forming the arch and the round prints of two heels.
He has arrived.
Joshua lowered his head and pressed his hands together. “Lord, I am in awe of your presence. My faith has been rewarded.” He bobbed his head rhythmically in a physical chant to the supernatural power that filled the room.
Barely above the sound of the ventilation system, a soft male voice arose from nowhere. “Kneel before me, Joshua Swindell, and receive the abundance of my grace, for you are blessed.”
Joshua’s hands trembled, and his voice quavered. “I am surely blessed. No man loves you more than I.”
The voice was little more than a whisper but carried a firm tone. “My son, I stand before you. Lift your head and gaze upon me.”
Joshua’s arms shook uncontrollably, and his eyes filled with tears. He slowly raised his head. The corridor was empty, yet the impressions of two feet on the vinyl remained. “I am your servant, my Lord.”
In the empty air in front of him, a handprint appeared. A human hand, but only a vague outline with no connection to a body. The hand moved through the air and its fingers opened to reveal a chain, with a key dangling below.
Joshua shivered as beads of sweat appeared across his forehead. “I see you, Lord.”
“You tremble, Joshua.”
“My Lord, I am afraid. Your presence is more than my mortal eyes can bear.”
“Do you fear me, Joshua?” The voice was calm but its authority unquestionable. Joshua’s eyes followed the hand as it reached upward. A portion of a lower arm materialized but remained disembodied at the elbow.
“I… I am fearful of your power,” Joshua said.
The voice became stern. “You should be. I have powers beyond your imagination.” The hand outline thrust toward him and shook the key. “You will follow my plan, Joshua, without deviation. Your salvation depends on it. Do you understand?”
Joshua bobbed his head rapidly. “I will. I will, my Lord. Guide me. I will obey.”
“Then rise,” the voice commanded. Joshua slowly lifted himself from the floor. His legs wobbled, and his heart raced.
His whole body shook as the hand came to rest on his shoulder. From out of clear air, a second hand appeared and grasped his other shoulder. Then, just inches away, the ghostly face of a bearded man with long hair materialized.
Joshua jumped, his mouth wide open. “Oh! Dear Jesus.”
The hands held firm and prevented him from withdrawing. The face hovered in front of his own. Its form was incomplete, only eyebrows, cheekbones, the tip of a nose and a bearded chin. All else was emptiness, as if whole sections of skin had been erased.
Lips appeared, and when the mouth opened, he could see right through to the missile silos behind. “I have chosen you, Joshua,” the voice whispered. “Together, we will fulfill my plan to cleanse the world of sin.” One hand dangled the key in front of his face. “Take it.”
Joshua reached up and grasped the chain. The key at its end was not like any other, but he recognized its shape immediately. “It’s… a launch key,” he stammered.
“This is your task. Redemption for your sins.”
Joshua trembled. “You want me to launch a missile? I… I can’t. It’s not possible. It takes multiple keys… a launch code… and a lot more.”
The voice continued quietly. “Your crew will soon be conducting a readiness drill. During this drill, you will unlock the Fire Control Room safe and retrieve the launch trigger. You will enter a code that I provide and launch missiles to targets of my choosing.”
&nb
sp; Joshua bowed his head. “But the weapons control officer…”
“He will already be dead.”
Somewhere in the back of Joshua’s mind, he recalled his training—the fallibility of the human mind; recognition of symptoms of psychosis in crewmates, or even in yourself. But this was no imagined spirit. He could feel the hands on his shoulders and the breath on his face. This was a commandment from God, and no Earthly constraint could overrule.
Joshua looked up and tears ran down his face. “As Abraham did before me, I will obey. But… my Lord, like Abraham, the burden you ask me to carry is so great.”
The lips opened once more. “There is no greater virtue than the action of a righteous man. Prepare your body and spirit for this undertaking, Joshua. I shall visit you again in two days. To test your resolve.”
6 Deliberations
Daniel weighed the claim against the evidence. A message from the future, carried to the past. An exotic 3-D image of a man claiming to be his future self.
Strange stuff, but the evidence was not easily dismissed. Elliott Becton had had access to advanced alien technology that could suspend time. How this technology worked and what Becton had done with it were issues begging for an investigation. The DNA and electrocardiogram matched Daniel’s own biometrics. Compelling, but insufficient on its own. The face and voice from the video certainly looked and sounded like him. Again, fascinating but it could be faked.
The most compelling evidence was the oil, chemically matched to a single bottle. Oil that proved to be thirty years older than its modern-day source, as paradoxical as a son who is older than his father. The carbon-14 results were indisputable.
Daniel wrestled with the possibility that the message, the hair sample and the oil were truly from the future. The affront to everyday normality made his stomach churn.
The Quantum Series Box Set Page 64