Daniel was just as curious as Chloe, but someone had to be the adult in the room, a thankless job. “Remember, this belt killed someone.”
“Becton probably hemorrhaged, as Zin described,” Griffith said. “He didn’t know the boundaries. We do.”
Mathieu picked up the helmet, examining the alien light. “Using this device to flow empros is no different than what we do in this lab. Granted, the components and wires seem a bit flimsy.” He wiggled one of the wires stapled to the leather, loosening it. “But if we keep the compression small, a test should be safe.”
“One moment,” Zin said. His fingertip probe extended to touch a second chip on the belt. A moment later his metal eyebrows raised. “Excellent! I’ve located a log file. It seems Mr. Becton has been quite productive. The node list shows several jumps to various dates in the future.”
“Including 2053?” Griffith asked.
Zin nodded. “Yes, several nodes within that year, but many other years too. The device clearly works, and I do see sufficient control, just not enough built-in safeguards. But the health risks can be avoided if you pay attention to the limits I described.”
Chloe asked Griffith. “Will a test help with your mission?”
Griffith nodded.
She smiled. “Then I will test it.” Chloe grabbed the belt and put it around her waist, cinching it to the final hole.
“No, Chloe, you don’t have to do this,” Daniel said. “We came to you for advice. Give me the belt, I’ll do it.” He reached out, but Chloe pushed his hands away.
“I want to,” she replied and pointed to a chart posted on the wall. “I have completed thirty-seven empros tests. You have one. I have the experience. You don’t.” She smiled to Griffith. “D’ailleurs, mes nouveaux amis, it will be fun.”
Mathieu handed the helmet to Chloe, and she put it on, flipping the visor down over her eyes. With her nose ring and lip piercing still showing below the visor, she looked ready to rumble.
Daniel acquiesced. This belt, this mission seemed to be a freight train he couldn’t stop. Maybe he didn’t want to stop it. A dark tunnel might be coming up, but there could be something fascinating waiting on the other side. Human curiosity was a powerful motivator.
They took a step back while Chloe leaned over and scrolled to a command listed on the display, now upside-down for everyone else. “Bye-bye,” she said and pressed the Enter key.
Prefaced by a quickly rising tone, the yellow light flashed inside the helmet and Chloe winked out of existence. Gone, as if she’d never been standing there.
A slight breeze blew around Daniel, filling the space where Chloe had stood. It had happened so quickly, he wasn’t sure how to react. “Holy sh—”
A voice called from the lab’s doorway behind them. “Ici. Over here.” Chloe closed the door and took off the helmet. She strutted to the workbench and laid the helmet and belt on it.
Daniel held a hand to his head. “Wow. Then it did move you in space. I thought it wasn’t supposed to do that.”
“That’s not what happened.” Mathieu smiled. His hands were behind his back.
Chloe swaggered, her head held high. “This time, I play the game.” She walked to Mathieu and circled around him. He stood ramrod straight, unmoving, his hands still behind his back.
“Connard,” she said in an accusing tone.
“Yes, I am a shithead,” Mathieu said, nodding. “Now, please, Chloe. Release me?”
She spun him around so the others could see his back. His hands were bound by a white plastic strap. Another strap wrapped around his ankles, making his stance unstable.
“Maybe,” she said in a haughty tone. “Or maybe I leave you this way.”
“Holy…” said Daniel again. “You just did that?” The startling reality of flowing empros was beginning to settle in. Daniel hadn’t felt a thing. No blip in his thoughts, no hiccup in his breathing. He hadn’t even had time to blink. Yet forward time had frozen, at least for Chloe.
She laughed. “Yes. I’ve been gone… uh, about one hour.” Chloe pulled a utility knife off the shelf and slid its blade open. She held the knife below Mathieu’s grimacing chin.
“Tu te comporteras?” she asked, clearly demanding a change in his behavior toward her. His head bobbed up and down. She slit the plastic strap from his wrists and then from his ankles. Dropping the knife on the workbench, she leaned against it, her arms crossed.
She puckered her lips and blew a puff of air in Mathieu’s direction. “Puhh.”
Mathieu took a deep breath and rubbed his wrists. “Lesson learned. As you can see, in what was just an instant for us, Chloe has been busy.”
Mathieu picked up the tie strap and examined it. “She’s been up to the equipment room. That’s where the straps came from, two floors above. She probably took the stairs since the lifts wouldn’t work in empros time.”
He pointed to a paper coffee cup on the workbench. “That wasn’t here just a few seconds ago, so she’s probably also been to the CERN café. It’s two blocks away. Did you take a croissant, too?”
Chloe nodded and licked her pierced lips. “Delicious.”
Mathieu walked over to the smug woman and looked into her eyes. “But I think she did more.”
Chloe’s snooty expression didn’t waver. “I did.”
“I think she compressed forward, possibly looking ahead to the future. I wonder what she saw?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She flicked Mathieu away like brushing aside a fly and turned to Griffith.
Her haughtiness disappeared, and she spoke in earnest. “Griffith. I saw things. From tomorrow. Things that have not yet happened. A date on a computer. A newspaper. It was…” She didn’t complete the thought, either unable to find the right English word or perhaps unable to express the emotion.
She turned to Daniel. No smiles, her words simple and sober. “Time compression. It works.”
14 Commandment
USS Nevada
North Pacific, 300 nautical miles southeast of Adak Island
October 8, 2023 15:22 Pacific Time
Fire Control Technician Second Class Joshua Swindell returned to the forward torpedo room, where his bunk and locker were located. With space in short supply, submarines doubled or even tripled the function of every room, and that meant sailors were rarely alone. An off-duty roommate lay in a bunk supported by chains over two torpedoes. He looked up from his book. “Hey, Josh.”
“Hey, Robbie,” Joshua said, his voice jittery. His heart had calmed, but the lingering unease remained. The second vision had been more fearful than the first. Joshua nodded and closed his fist tighter around the object in his pocket. No one could see the commandment from the Lord.
He opened his locker and pulled out a toilet kit. He would need the small mirror inside. He also pulled out a magazine with a teen girl on the cover. “I’ll be in the head,” he told his bunkmate.
Robbie’s face was buried in his book. “Careful, cowboy. Whip that thing too much and it’ll fall off.”
Joshua paid no mind to the taunt. Sins of the flesh were common for sailors on lonely duty. But the darker thoughts rampaging through his mind would surely bring eternal damnation. He’d even acted upon those thoughts at their last port of call. Twelve years old, the Indonesian girl had told him as she’d put her clothes back on. Her confession only made him want more.
Bypassing the nearest head, he sought a quieter location two decks below. He opened its door and peeked inside. No one there. There was no lock, but he flipped a paper tag stuck on the door from green to red, an unofficial marker that privacy was sought for a few minutes. Most sailors respected it.
Not bothering to drop his pants, he sat on the toilet seat and laid the magazine across his thighs. Sturdy enough. The mirror from his toilet kit was small, but it was all he had. The Lord had been specific. Spin upon mirrored glass. Joshua’s redemption for his sins would begin today.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the oversize
d coin. The writing around its edge confirmed the Lord’s verbal instructions. As he placed the coin against the mirror and snapped his fingers, Joshua’s heart raced once more.
The coin made a hum that grew louder, though the overhead ventilation fan would probably drown out the sound for anyone who might pass by in the hallway. As foretold, the coin spun faster. Sweat appeared on Joshua’s forehead. The hum became a high-pitched shrill and then, thankfully, went away.
A cone of light popped upwards from the spinning coin, startling Joshua, but the spinning image inside held his attention. It finally settled—a bearded man with long gray hair dressed in a hooded robe with wide purple stripes on both sleeves. The man stood at the base of a tall building with a golden spire that soared to the heavens.
Joshua began to tremble as the man spoke. “My son. A higher duty calls to you. Listen and obey, but fear not, for your path is virtuous.”
The voice was low in volume, but the Lord had assured him it would be. The bearded man spoke about every man’s duty to confront the evil that walks among the righteous. He became more animated as he talked, waving his arms and punctuating key words with angry shakes of his head. It was a sermon much like those given each Sunday by Pastor Stephan back home.
The man’s face was now flushed red and he yelled his final commandment, a call to arms. He stopped, breathing heavily, and as the man calmed from his fiery oration, a young woman joined him. She wore a veil that reached to the floor, made from a thin translucent material. The veil flowed in the wind like angel’s wings, and Joshua could make out her shapely figure beneath the graceful folds of cloth.
Olivia, she called herself. She walked closer, her three-dimensional image growing. In one hand, Olivia held a coin much like the one spinning. She hooked a fingernail under a sliver of metal on its edge and spoke of a hidden chamber within.
She came closer still until her beautiful face filled the spinning cone of light. Her voice became sultry and beckoning. “My love. Your task is difficult, but do not falter. I will be waiting for you in Heaven.”
Her image twisted into spinning lines and disappeared. The cone of light went dark; the coin slowed and finally fell to one side. Joshua picked it up, searching for the sliver of metal he hoped he would find.
It was there, along the edge opposite the stamped words. He could just get a fingernail under it. He lifted, and a small slip of paper poked out from a tiny compartment. Joshua withdrew the paper and unfolded it to the size of a fortune from a Chinese cookie. The paper displayed a single line of printed numbers and letters.
LCR4592F-66GP17-3T8V19-B008D4-8Q210K
He recognized the format immediately. Every launch code began with the same three letters.
********************
On his shift later that night, Joshua logged in to the launch simulator system on the fire control computer. Simulation was a normal part of his workday; no one would notice. He withdrew the slip of paper from his pocket and typed the code into the system. A map came up, showing the submarine’s current position just south of Adak Island in the Aleutian chain that stretched from Alaska across the Pacific. Two red lines started from the sub and arced in opposite directions, one ending at Vladivostok, Russia, the other at San Francisco, California.
Russia was one thing, but targeting his own country? Was it even possible? The simulation didn’t lie. Its software was an accurate representation of the real fire control system. Joshua began to tremble. As foretold, his task would indeed be difficult, but it had been commanded by a power higher than any other that walked this mortal world.
The Lord’s voice had been clear. “Do not fear your task. Those who have strayed will die. All others will receive everlasting salvation.”
He looked again at the map, confirming the targets. Then he noticed a third red line. Like the other two, it started from the sub, but it arced in a loop and ended back at the sub’s position.
Joshua closed his eyes, the trembling becoming uncontrollable. He understood now why the beautiful woman had told him she would be waiting in Heaven.
15 London
The hired car passed many of London’s biggest tourist sights. The Tower, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Shakespeare Globe theater. The talkative driver pointed out some of the lesser-known sights: the ancient scaffold where noblemen and paupers alike had been executed, and the nearby pub appropriately named Hung, Drawn and Quartered.
Daniel laughed to himself. “The grisly side of London. Nothing quite like it.” He almost felt like one of the captives, his fate to be determined not by a jury of his peers, but by the High Lords of Ignorance otherwise known as politicians. In a few minutes, he would be in front of several of the most powerful.
Griffith sat in the back, along with their newest collaborator, Chloe Demers. Griffith had suggested she join them, traveling at least as far as London. He wanted her expertise, he’d said, but Daniel detected something more. A collusion of sorts between them, though exactly what it represented eluded him.
Chloe had agreed, and Mathieu didn’t object, acting somewhat subdued after Chloe’s unambiguous rebellion against his history of sexual abuse. On the flight, Griffith fully explained the mission to Chloe, who absorbed the incredible story of the coin and its message without objections.
The car passed over the River Thames, where Big Ben was only minutes away from striking 6 p.m. Rather late to be meeting with heads of state, but Daniel hadn’t set the schedule. They turned on Whitehall and paused at the Downing Street security gate, where a policeman carrying an automatic weapon examined their documents and radioed to someone on the inside.
A minute later, the trio stood on the porch in front of a simple black door, the very understated entrance to what the British simply referred to as Number 10.
The door didn’t open and none of the police standing around provided any instruction. What was the protocol for popping by the prime minister’s house? Daniel lifted the knocker protruding from a lion’s mouth and tapped on the door.
It was opened by an older man dressed in a waistcoat, his formal demeanor no different than any butler from Queen Victoria’s day. “Dr. Rice?” the butler asked. Daniel nodded and reached for his passport, but the door opened wide and the man ushered them in with a bow. The old-fashioned English civility was almost certainly backed up with unseen modern systems. No doubt their faces had been examined on a hidden security camera from the moment they’d stepped out of the car.
The entrance hall had a checkerboard floor and a staircase leading up, the wall lined with framed photographs of past prime ministers. Daniel recognized the room immediately, probably from a TV program and probably from many years ago. While he might forget a birthday, details of scenes like this were permanently stored and instantly recalled. The brain works in funny ways.
The butler placed their overnight bags in a closet. “The prime minister asks that you join him in the Cabinet Room. However, before we go upstairs, are there any personal needs that I can help with?” The English have a way of disguising even the most basic of questions. They’d already used the toilets at the airport though it might be interesting to see what the prime minister’s loo looked like.
“We’re good,” Daniel answered. If English movies were any guide, he felt like he should be handing a hat and overcoat to the man. At least an umbrella. The unseasonably warm weather in both Switzerland and now England required nothing more than a suit jacket. Daniel was thankful he’d packed that much.
The butler motioned to the stairs and started up. “This way, please.”
Daniel and Griffith exchanged a timid smile. Meeting with the UK prime minister, the US president and whoever else might be up in the Cabinet Room set off a slight case of jitters. Griffith didn’t look any more assured. On the other hand, Chloe, now wearing a black dress but with all her facial accessories still intact, beamed like she was waltzing into a celebrity party.
They passed photographs of Churchill, Wilson, Thatcher, Blair, May and others who ha
d lived in this historic house.
“How old is Number 10?” Daniel asked.
“The house itself dates to 1684, but in 1732, King George the Second offered it to Sir Robert Walpole, who was the first prime minister to live and work here.”
Surprising. From the outside, the plain brick building looked relatively modern.
At the top of the stairs, the butler guided them through a reception room with a large portrait of Queen Elizabeth—the first, not the second—hanging above a fireplace. A dark hallway led to a closed door. “The Cabinet Room, sirs, madam.”
He opened the door to an empty conference room. Sunlight streamed through several windows on the opposite side. On one wall hung a Turner landscape of a serene countryside, no doubt equal to any in the Tate Britain museum. On the other hung an eighteenth-century lord dressed in fine robes with a white wig.
“Sir Robert,” the butler said, waving to the painting. “His presence is still felt at each cabinet meeting.” Steeped in the past, somehow this constitutional monarchy had managed to make it intact to the twenty-first century. In some ways, modern Britain was thriving. It helped that their language had been forever stamped as the language of the world.
The butler motioned to a tray in the corner stacked with bottles of water and cans of soda. “Refreshments are available. Please take any seat on this side of the table. The prime minister and his guests will be in shortly.” When he closed the door behind him, the room became unnaturally quiet, with only the muted sound of cars passing by on Whitehall.
“The British version of a SCIF,” Griffith said.
“It’s lovely,” Chloe said.
“It’s certainly better decorated than our secure conference rooms,” Daniel acknowledged. He examined an antique clock on the mantelpiece, probably two hundred years old and still ticking.
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