The paths of logic were only one source of anxiety. His raw instinct weighed in too. Daniel knew himself well. If ever he needed to convince himself of such a wild claim, this was exactly how he’d do it.
Deputy Director Yarborough pulled her chair closer. Like a sadistic psychologist, she seemed to be observing his internal analysis along with his discomfort. “There’s more,” she said. “Predictions. Specific, and credible.”
Daniel surfaced from his internal processing. She looked fatigued. Perhaps they’d been working on this case for days. “One of the predicted events has already occurred,” she said.
“A chemical spill in Argentina,” Agent Griffith said. “Yesterday, at twelve fourteen p.m. Eastern time. Data from the coin predicted it to the minute. It even identified the chemical as chlorine.”
Of course, chemicals spilled regularly somewhere in the world, but the odds of guessing the place and time were astronomical. Daniel didn’t doubt their statement, but it wasn’t like reality to play games of chance.
Griffith didn’t let up. “A train derailment in Italy is supposed to happen on Sunday. Then a bomb in Israel on Monday. We’ve passed information to both countries, but it’s not clear how seriously they will take it.”
Daniel took a deep breath. “Not your average psychic prediction.”
They’re one for three, he thought. Already better than the entire history of psychic prognostications. He almost hoped the Italians did nothing with the information. At least it would validate the second prediction.
“Dr. Rice, I was skeptical, just like you are,” Yarborough said. “But I’ve come around.” She leveled her gaze at Daniel. “How about you?”
“The chemical spill is substantial corroborating evidence,” Daniel said, nodding. “No doubt any crime investigator or prosecutor would be satisfied. But I’m still bothered by all of this, and it’s not just the evidence. It’s the paradox of time travel.”
He waved a hand in the air. “Sure, forward time travel is possible, even reasonable. Someday, it may be common for people to jump to the future for a variety of reasons. But it’s a one-way trip. Backward time travel is fantasy. There are just too many logical inconsistencies. Who’s to say that the past even exists?”
“We’re not talking about going to the past,” Yarborough said. “Just the future.”
“I realize that, but the message claims to be from the future, in which case, we are its past. If the message is true, information has been transferred to the past, and once the universe allows that to happen, logical paradoxes pop up all over the place. Why, for example, would my older self remember traveling to the future? Even if I had the means to do it—which I don’t—I could easily decide not to go.”
“You sure about that?” Agent Griffith asked. “If the message is true, you may have no choice.” It was a deep thought, particularly coming from a law enforcement officer, but Daniel wasn’t buying it.
“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” Daniel asked. “What do you want from me?”
Yarborough became the spokesperson for the group. “Agreed, let’s get to the point. We need your help, Dr. Rice. We’d like you to accompany Agent Griffith to the Kennedy Space Center. Determine how this technology works and whether or not its functionality is capable of supporting Becton’s claim.”
The video message had expressly stated that Daniel should use this belt to get to the future. Griffith had provided a photo, but the contraption looked more like a kid’s science project than a time travel device.
“Where’s the belt now?”
“We have it,” Yarborough said. “You and Agent Griffith will take it to Florida. We’ve been in contact with NASA, and they’re standing by to help.”
“Then you already have the technical experts. You don’t need me.”
“Oh, but we do, Dr. Rice.” She seemed to be enjoying her power over him. That she had the backing of the highest people in the administration—even the president—wasn’t something Daniel was ready to question.
“After we understand how the belt functions, we’ll need you to comply with the message request.”
“You want me to use this belt to go to Atlanta on June second, 2053?”
Her sadistic smile confirmed his fear. “Yes, we do.”
********************
Silver-haired, battle-hardened Agent Griffith sat across the aisle from Daniel on a Department of Justice Gulfstream G-550 at forty-five thousand feet somewhere over North Carolina. The two men were the only passengers.
Spread across Daniel’s lap was a wide leather belt, the kind sold at any hardware store for carpenters to carry their tools. Two of the pockets had been ripped away, leaving only a stitched outline. In their place, small circuit boards were attached by screws that pierced through the leather. Soldered wires connected to several LEDs, one dangling like a Christmas tree light not fully secured to its branch.
The metal cylinder on one side was likely a power component, though it seemed more than just a battery. Wires ran from the cylinder to a series of tiny integrated circuits stapled directly into the leather. Glued to the strap side of the buckle was what looked like a miniature smartphone or music player. It included a small display and numeric keypad.
Fastened to the other side of the buckle was a single black toggle switch. Daniel fingered the switch but didn’t flip it on. He raised his voice to be heard over the roar of the airplane’s engines. “On-off switch?”
Griffith nodded. “Yeah. We got that far. Nothing much happens when you turn it on.”
Best to keep it off until we get to Florida.
Daniel shrugged. “It’s certainly interesting, but I’m not an engineer. The people at KSC will need to figure this out.”
“Let’s hope they have some answers.”
Griffith’s always-severe countenance had softened somewhat, mostly after he’d finished explaining that the FBI had initially suspected that Daniel might be involved in a conspiracy along with Elliott Becton. They’d dropped that idea after the interview. Either Griffith was relieved that a prominent scientist was not a domestic terrorist, or he was miffed that his suspicions hadn’t panned out. In either case, Daniel had been accepted as one of the good guys.
In addition to the belt, they’d brought a motorcycle helmet, which appeared to be an integral part of the setup. Daniel noted a yellow LED glued to the inside of the helmet visor, looking suspiciously like the same light built into katanaut transfer chairs at Kennedy Space Center. Griffith even played a KSC security video that revealed Becton alone on the portal floor, tinkering with one of the transfer chair hoods.
Like any other investigation that Daniel had been involved with, motivation played a key role. He rubbed a hand across his chin. “So why does a NASA engineer get involved in a covert and probably illegal use of highly sensitive alien technology?”
“We’re looking into that,” Griffith answered. “We’ve already searched his home and office. The guy was a brilliant engineer and had some other homemade devices around his house, though nothing remotely as advanced as this. The history from his computer browser told a sad tale of a lonely guy. No significant other, no girlfriends. He frequented those online sites for incels.”
Daniel nodded. “Involuntarily celibate.”
“That’s it. Guys that get rejected a lot. Their frustration can turn into anger against women. Not sure yet how that might figure into his little time-jumping project. Maybe he thought he’d have better luck finding a girlfriend in the future?”
“A unique motivation, if that’s the answer.”
“We’ve got some other agents working that part of the case. The main thing for you and me is to figure out how this belt works.”
They talked for another half hour, finally settling quietly into the comfortable seats when the pilot announced their descent. Puffy clouds streamed by the airplane window, and Daniel’s thoughts turned quickly to Nala.
They had met for a near-midnight dinner at a deserted restaurant. She’d been m
ore understanding than expected, given just a few hours to sort out plans before Daniel was due back at the airport. He’d withheld the details of his newly assigned mission, simply saying that the FBI needed him in Florida for a day or two.
“It’s your job, Daniel. Go do it,” she’d told him. “We’ll find another weekend to enjoy the outdoors together.”
Those last few words had come with a smirk, and Daniel knew why. Ever since their trip to Haiti, “enjoying the outdoors together” had taken on a very personal meaning. Coded language between the two of them.
Daniel had laughed at her reference, and soon they were both giggling uncontrollably. It wasn’t a bad way to part.
He’d miss her. He already missed the hiking weekend that would never be. Another in a series of missed opportunities in their on-again, off-again relationship. “The distance between us,” they’d often laughed, not meaning anything emotional, but the physical six hundred miles between Chicago and Washington.
His mind wandered further back in time. To Haiti. Nala’s birthplace. It wasn’t the tropical destination most Caribbean tourists would pick, but Haiti with Nala had been an altogether different experience. The beach was just as she had portrayed it—astonishingly beautiful and delightfully isolated. The tropical setting had cleared the busy world from their minds, and nights wrapped around this intoxicating woman were unforgettable.
Nala had an intriguing way of luring Daniel into behavior he didn’t recognize in himself. Not only had he joined her in the shower—long considered personal space, as he’d consistently told other women—but he’d joined her in song in the shower. Les Misérables, of all things.
Of course, singing had been the tamest of his Haiti performances. The deserted beach had provided a backdrop for one of Nala’s most interesting obsessions…
Soft sand. The shade of a palm tree. A tranquil blue-green sea that stretched forever. She returned from the house, a cold beer in hand, and took a swig before setting it in the sand beside him.
She stood above him, toes in the sand, with beads of perspiration across the smooth brown skin of her stomach. A drip ran across her navel and disappeared into the colorful wrap covering her bikini bottom.
“Hot,” she said, and he nodded in agreement.
A mischievous grin spread across her face. She looked both ways down the empty beach. Intrigued, he stared as she untied her bikini top, dropped it to the sand and ran her hands across glistening breasts. “Ahh, much better.”
His pulse quickened, and his widening eyes fixated on the delicious curves of her body.
She untied the wrap at her waist and dangled it over his face. He breathed in deeply, catching the womanly scent that permeated the cloth. She tossed the wrap aside, hooked thumbs under her bikini bottom and slid it down an inch.
A tightly trimmed patch of hair peeked above the fabric. A Greek letter tattoo adorned one hip bone. Her head tilted slightly to one side. “More?”
He nodded, feeling a stirring below.
She pushed the bikini bottom to her toes and flipped it toward the palm. Hands on hips with nothing left but sunglasses, she flashed a wicked smile. “You’ve never done it on the beach, have you?”
Daniel’s head shake seemed to spur her on. She dropped to her knees, pulled off his swim trunks and teased one hand across his abdomen. Daniel’s heart pounded from her touch.
“Gals on top. Guys on the bottom. That’s the beach rule.” His puzzled look prompted her impish smile to broaden. “Keeps the sand out.”
She straddled across him, pushing each knee into soft sand beside his hips. “A secondary benefit, really.”
Her breasts brushed across his chest as she leaned in close and whispered into his ear. “The best thing about the beach rule is that from up here, you are all mine. And as the biker girls say, I’m going to ride you like a Harley on a bad stretch of road.”
His inhale trembled. His hands pressed into the curves of her waist as this unpredictable temptress lowered onto him.
The jet banked left, passing over a strip of sand marking the coast of central Florida. A vast stretch of blue water extended east to the horizon. Haiti was out there somewhere. Daniel leaned his head against the window, a sheepish grin on his face.
7 Florida
Midmorning on Saturday, the Gulfstream touched down at Kennedy Space Center and Daniel walked with Agent Griffith into the lobby of the Neil Armstrong Operations and Checkout Building. A key part of the Apollo program in the 1960s, the O&C building had recently regained fame as the location of an interdimensional portal capable of sending people to points across the galaxy.
Only a year since first contact, there were already several friendly civilizations willing to meet and share information with humans. Technology and information were the new traded “goods,” the modern-day equivalent of cocoa beans and tea carried by colonial ships that at one time had connected Europe to the rest of the world.
Though it was a weekend, three men and one woman waited for them in the lobby. Daniel already knew Augustin Ibarra, the head of NASA’s Human Spaceflight division. He was introduced to the other two men, an engineer and his supervisor. But he saved a warm embrace for the only woman in the group.
Marie Kendrick wrapped her arms around his neck. “Good to see you again,” she said.
She looked great. Her dark hair was cut shorter, with a flare in the back, and she’d changed her glasses too: a stylish modern look instead of last year’s thick frames. Always ready for something new, this young woman would never stay in one place for long.
“I was expecting the engineers, but how’d you get involved?” Daniel asked her.
“Daniel Rice visiting my corner of the world?” She beamed. “I couldn’t miss that. Besides, I knew Elliott Becton personally, so maybe I can help.”
“No more trips to Ixtlub?” The home planet of the Dancers, a species of graceful aquatic creatures, had become familiar to every person on Earth through multiple NASA missions. Along with Marie, several of the original team members had returned to Ixtlub several times, including the French broadcaster Stephanie Perrin, who had hosted in-depth documentaries that not only provided dramatic video of the watery planet but examined its biology and social structure. Perhaps most important, the continuing missions had established once and for all that the Dancers were neighbors, new friends, trading partners and scientific associates—not alien invaders.
“The Dancers are so last week,” Marie said, laughing. “We’re prepping for another first-time jump. A fascinating planet orbiting a K-type orange dwarf star in Virgo. Actively volcanic, and only five hundred and fifteen light-years away.”
“A flash of yellow light, and you’ll be there,” Daniel said, feeling the excitement of discovery that she exuded. He was jealous. Marie was having all the fun.
He quickly corrected his thoughts. She’d paid a price on the first mission. The Dancers’ original headband had taken a toll, producing a psychosis that Marie spent months learning how to control. She’d been in touch with Daniel once or twice since then and thankfully, hadn’t mentioned any recurring hallucinations.
If they got any time alone, he’d ask her how she was doing. For now, it was wonderful to see her enthusiastic smile again.
“I can’t wait to meet the Virgans, or whatever we’re going to call them. Zin says they look like giant praying mantises, so that’s going to be weird. They have a unique way of communicating through vibrating gestures. We’re learning a few words. It’s really fun.”
She spun one hand in a circle with several fingers splayed at odd angles, quivering. “That means ‘thank you.’ I already know about ten words.” She lifted both eyebrows and waited for Daniel’s acknowledgment.
He gave it willingly. “I am impressed, Marie. You’re on a roll.”
“Thanks to you. And Augustin.” She put a hand on Augustin Ibarra’s shoulder. The older man grinned like a proud father. He might have heard her thank-you speech before. “If we hadn’t met at the W
hite House a year ago, and Augustin hadn’t asked me to join the Fermilab investigation, none of this would have ever happened.”
“Zin’s ideas on probabilities notwithstanding?”
“Yeah, Zin’s big on probabilities. Heck, to Zin, I was a probability. I guess I still am.”
“Where is Zin, by the way? Can we bring him into this group?” Daniel looked at Agent Griffith, who had remained quiet as Daniel and Marie reminisced. “Zin may be the one person—er… android, who has all the answers you need.”
Marie deferred to Augustin Ibarra for the answer. He shook his head. “Sorry, Zin’s in Geneva right now, working with the CERN team. But let’s see if our engineers can help with your questions.” There were nods all around, and Ibarra waved the group to follow him.
They reconvened in a small room with a sign on the door that read Electronics Test. Filled with computer displays, keyboards, electronics boxes and wires, the room had no chairs and only one hip-high table in its center. Agent Griffith laid the belt and helmet on the table, and the NASA engineers huddled around like kids with a new toy.
“That’s a sixty-amp circuit breaker,” the engineer said, pointing to one of the components stapled to the belt. “Hell of a lot of current for a twelve-volt circuit.” He touched red and black leads from a voltage multimeter to various connectors to confirm his assessment.
He studied the largest component on the belt, an eight-inch-long cylinder that looked like three large flashlight batteries fused together. There was some technical writing on its side.
“It may be one of those new lithium-ion supercapacitors, but I’ve never seen one this big. They’re usually just a button cell, no thicker than a dime.” He tapped the cylinder. “I bet that baby packs a wallop when you turn it on.”
“We’ve flipped the on-off switch,” Griffith said. “Things on the belt light up, but we don’t know what’s happening.”
The engineer pushed the only switch on the belt, and a white LED illuminated. A second later, the display on the mini-phone near the belt’s buckle lit up. One line of text appeared, but upside-down. He rotated the belt for everyone to read.
The Quantum Series Box Set Page 65