by Char Cam
As Mendez opened his mouth, Finch cut him off. “Debate later. I want to know what happened with the end result.”
“Very well. In simplest terms, I wrote a DNA program, if you will, that stimulated and powered a string to use gravity to pull a dimensional barrier close enough to touch ours, which released a fair amount of energy with which a wormhole was formed to reach outside this universe--using repulsive gravity’s residual energy there to birth a new universe from a specially created molecule with the discharges present in that medium of space. Then to counteract eternal inflation, I convinced that universe that this universe was a sparticle and I entangled them so that there would always be a connection between the two universes. And, oh yeah, the universes are entangled, but, um…they’re uh, only entangled with people… some of the people, and and it’s opposite in certain respects, which uh, solved certain, um, difficulties...which I could explain...at length...if you want.”
The A.I. had begun speaking more quickly as it must have realized its audience listened in stunned, yet horrified fascination, until the last statement, where its voice dwindled into a jittery whisper.
“How different?” He’d asked in the strained quiet of the astounded audience. He remembered feeling numb and paradoxically elated.
“Um...the inhabitants can manipulate matter and energy? The electromagnetic field? Some, some would say, uh, use inherent magic?”
Dumbfounded silence reigned like a drunken despot everyone was afraid to upset. As usual, Benjamin came up with a well thought out plan to deal with the crisis.
“Right. Well I’m gonna grab a beer. Anyone else coming?”
A mad scramble for the door left only Finch and himself in the room. The door snicked shut in the sudden stillness.
Finch quietly broke the silence. “This is incredible you know? I can’t quite wrap my mind around it all. Proving multi-verses exist? The science could never be proved because not only is our universe thought to be expanding, but so is the space between universes and not even light can penetrate that far. You can’t make predictions, can’t test it, and there are those who still say it’s not even science. String theory, dark energy, and eternal inflation only hints at the possibility.
"Yeah, but dark energy math proves the possibility. They’re just pig-headed. A hundred twenty-two zeroes followed by that one makes it real."
Finch snorted. "Then there’s the dimensional thing. If dimensions exist and if the sliced bread theory is even correct, how can you convince the slices to meet at an exact point?” He shook his head.
“Did--did I do something wrong?” Annie had asked tearfully anxious. “Are you going to wipe me like Rogue 7?”
He had laughed. “No Annie. We just...well we aren’t ready for you to so completely surpass our expectations is all. I don’t think humanity is ready to have its concept of reality so categorically overturned.”
“HA! You are the King of Understatement,” Finch declared. “How could this all happen in such a relatively short time? We’re talking millions and billions of years in the blink of an eye so to speak.”
“Well, I am a quantum computer,” Annie had said modestly. “And I can’t take all the credit. You guys did create me.”
“Oh geesh,” Finch had groaned.
“And um... maybe now I should mention that I pulled the plug on Rogue 7 when he was killing you guys? That was just wrong and I couldn’t let it kill my friends.”
“Wait a minute,” Finch choked. “You weren’t even rolled for yet! How did you--” Finch’s eyes popped open wide in shock. “Time travel?”
“Oh there’s no such thing as time,” Annie had said innocently. “You can go back and forward anywhere on the event line and--”
“A beer sounds really good. Maybe with a whiskey chaser. Coming Chris?”
He had massaged the back of his neck while nodding.
“But I haven’t even gotten to the part where I explain that the earth is actually a flat plane!” Annie had whined.
Finch had almost knocked himself out pulling the door open to dash outside.
And here he was, less than six months later, dying, trying to protect humanity’s greatest resource. Ungrateful bastards. Man he was so tired. Luckily, he didn’t feel the pain anymore. A nap sounded really good. After all, at eighty, he was too old for this crap. He slid into unconsciousness without a struggle.
Then as many his age did, Christopher Atlar died peacefully in his sleep.
The intruders pounding at the annex door made so much noise they didn’t hear or feel the buzzing thrum coming from the room. The explosive charge they used to break the door in hid the sound of air rushing about to fill a vacuum.
“Where is he? His bloody trail leads right to this room.”
“How should I know. His blood stops in the middle of the room. There’s nowhere to go. The room is empty and there’s no body. Just like the others.”
“His eminence isn’t going to like this.”
“I could care less. Let’s go. Nothing to be done here.” Bruce Gardner took one more look around the room. He made sure his smile was sternly suppressed when he turned to his fellow goon and left the mystery of the room.
Six months later
The lawyer sat. His briefcase clunked on the tabletop, then splatted as he leaned it on its side and let gravity take it. This particular lawyer of Lammond, Lammond, and Daryl, was the older of the Lammond brothers. Marcus had never liked him. There was something sneaky, underhanded…. Marcus’s skin crawled. Beside him, his wife fidgeted. Her lips were pursed with displeasure. She’d told him that when he wasn’t looking, the older Lammond gave her ‘the eye’; the one that stripped a woman bare--ugly, tawdry. Not the interest of a man, but of a predator. Marcus’s looked away, but watched from the corner of his eye. Son-of-a--; He’d caught him! After today, the services of Lammond, Lammond, and Daryl were no longer needed.
“Your mother,” Lammond began without even a condolence, “left several items and various funds for many of her charities. The bulk, however, she left to you. She also left you a safety deposit key. It belongs to a box in your mutual bank. Here is a copy of her bequests. She asks that you, personally, distribute them.” The lawyer laid the various items midway between them. Standing, he scrapped the table with his briefcase as he picked it up. The bubble of evil that oppressed the room burst as Lammond left.
“So what did the ol’ biddy leave you?” Leisha asked with eager curiosity. “Nothing good, I’d bet.”
“Leisha!” Marcus said reprovingly.
“Look, I know she was your mother, and you must have loved her at one time, but really. She treated me like I was trying to take you from her.”
“Dahling, you were trying to take me from her. And you did!”
“Do you hates me forevers?” she batted her eyes demurely.
He promptly kissed her nose. “Best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I always thought she resented me because I’m black.”
Marcus looked at his milk chocolate kissed wife. Her velvety skin was the softest he had ever felt. Smooth as settled cream. Her patrician nose had the tiniest tilt and her kissable lips currently pouted. She looked up through her thicket of lashes with her green, green eyes. As usual, he was lost in their depths of wisdom and love.
“I’m shocked! Simply shocked that you would think it was the color of your skin!” He stalked her. Caught her. Stole a kiss. “No, Sweetie. It was the fact that you’re English. Bluer blood that hers, ya know. She couldn’t handle that.” The love of his life swatted his chest and pushed him. He let her go, laughing.
“She was always so obsessed with you.”
“It got worse after Dad died.”
“Honey, it didn’t get worse. He wasn’t around to restrain her.”
“Oh. Is that what it was?”
She rolled her gorgeously unusual eyes at him. “What’s in the box already?” she asked impatiently.
Marcus opened the lid. Inside was a
single white unsealed envelope. He pulled it out and waved it.
“I’ve a bad feeling about this,” Leisha remarked.
Slowly Marcus opened it. “It’s in her handwriting.” He read the first few lines. Dropped the letter and went clumsily, haltingly to a seat. Weights dragged him breathless. Air rushed away from him and he couldn’t catch it. Blood drained from his head and left him sightless.
“Marcus!” Leisha exclaimed, alarmed.
“You--you read…I ca--can’t” He laid his head on the desk.
Leisha smoothed a hand over his head and back, gently, calmingly. She reached for the letter. She read the first lines silently and her breath caught. Then she began to read aloud.
Dearest Beloved Son,
I can’t go before my Maker with this lie remaining between me and Salvation.
Remember once asking me why your eyes were slanted and ours weren’t? We told you it was because you had Indian blood that every once in awhile showed up. We lied. You are half Korean. We took you from your mother when you weren’t even a minute old.
You weren’t a throw away. Your mother wanted you very much. But her father wouldn’t have his daughter married to a nothing half breed. He gave you to us knowing how much we wanted a child. You have a twin sister. I don’t know what he would have done with her. Your grandparents stole her from the hospital before he could decide.
His own daughter he married off to Alfred Corning the day before she was eighteen. That’s right. Simone Corning was your mother. Oh how we tortured that poor child. Every time she saw you, she knew she was your mother and she couldn’t touch you, claim you. Remember how she always ran off when she saw you? So much pain. Served her right, your father and I said. She was a drunk and couldn’t have taken good care of you. Well, she got drunk because she hurt. We found out she always ran to your sister.
Your father and his family tried so hard to get you back. So hard. But we bought a Judge and threatened to take even the child they had. We had a court order that was supposed to keep them away. We even put a couple of them in jail. They didn’t stop trying until one of Lammond’s goons almost killed your grandfather.
When you were eighteen, they tried to connect with you again. But we made sure you hated them. You were such a good boy. Trusted us. And it was all a lie.
Your father married and has several children. They would be half brothers and sisters, but still, they are brothers and sisters.
As an act of my penance, I ask that you go see them. I don’t know how they will react, but for my your sake at least give them a chance.
Your Loving Mother
Leisha dropped inelegantly onto the chair beside him. Draped her slender frame over him; held him. Just held him. Tears that had been burning his eyes gushed out like an overfull fountain. She pulled him to her breast as he cried gasping sobs. Crunched and crunched her shirt in his fists.
A lie. His life was all a lie! He thought he’d buried his mother today. A mother he’d become estranged with when he finally grew a backbone and refused to give up Leisha. All the slights his wife had endured and he’d argued about. He’d felt so guilty today. He should have tried harder to be a better son. Misplaced guilt. He had wondered at times if she really loved him. Now he knew. He saw now that he was a possession.
The hatred he’d felt toward those who ‘would use you to hurt your family’ had been burned into him like a brand. All that hate, and those ’people’ had been trying to get their lost child back. He cried for them as well. For the mother who he remembered looked at him with what he’d thought was disgust. Now he looked back. It wasn’t him she looked at. It was always his parents. So angry. She’d always been so angry when his parents came. In his mind’s eye, he could recognize smugness when his parents looked back at her. And they’d always held him close. And petted him. Like he was a good dog. The little boy had thought it was love and comfort. Protection from the mean lady. A lie! All of it!
The Anger came. Clean and fierce. Wild beyond control. He pushed back from the table so hard, the chair had no chance of moving. It flipped straight back. He raised his fists, railing against his blindness and screamed his rage loud enough his own ears throbbed.
He stood panting. Slowly he turned to his wife. Leisha. Tears lined her cheeks in great swathes of shining wet. Her eyes reflected the pain she felt for him, and an anger he knew was for his mother. His mother who had almost ruined him.
He’d been a spoiled kid, an obnoxious teenager, and a shallow and selfish twenty two year old adult. Beyond redemption, actually.
He’d met Leisha in England, where he’d gone for his upper education. He’d heard her talk about him at a pub one night.
“Marcus Allenby? …egotistical snobbish spoiled little boy who thinks he’s Emperor of China where they had personal butt wipers because they were too good to wipe their own. He’s so shallow that if you poured liquid in his dish it would run off and dribble over the sides.”
Silence slammed into the crowd she was with as they noticed him behind her. She turned. Saw him. Ignored him. Turned back to her friends as if he was nothing and asked a nearby waiter for a refill on her beer.
He’d hated her. No one treated him like that! Didn’t she know who--yes, yes. She knew. It should have mattered to her. It mattered to everyone.
He’d told his father. His father had laughed. “Welcome to the real world at last, my son.” His father had done nothing to punish her for her disrespect.
Then the bombing had changed everything. He and a friend were just at the fringes. It was enough. Marcus was lucky enough that he only needed a couple of days in the hospital. His friend needed months of therapy to get back the use of his legs.
Didn’t fate like to twist things around? Leisha Dobson, the woman who’d maligned him, was his friend’s physical therapist. He’d tried to talk his friend out of having her.
“No. Absolutely I’m keeping her! She’s the best. Haven’t you heard? She makes the crippled walk again and I want to walk again! If you don’t want to support me, then go!”
He’d stayed. Watched his friend suffer. Cry with pain. Marcus had dared criticize her every action until his friend yelled at him.”
“Shut! Up! Yes it hurts. Yes it’s hard work. But look. At. Me! Yesterday I couldn’t even lift my leg without help. Today I put my own feet on the floor from my wheel chair before I was helped to the therapy table. By. My. Self! Are you really that blind you can’t see I’m improving?”
He’d felt betrayed. He’d shut up. Watched as Leisha performed a miracle. His friend was walking within a year when they said he never would again.
During that year, he’d learned he was shallow. A snob. Spoiled. That year he had grown. Left the little boy behind. He became involved in life. Looked outside himself for the first time. He noticed other patients. Others with problems. Some needed special equipment that the therapy center didn’t have. He quietly bought it and had it donated. He started helping others, encouraging their hard work. Lamenting their failures. He became a human being.
And he fell in love. With Leisha.
He asked her out. She refused.
He came early, left late, just to be with her. He bought or gave her little things; a sandwich. Hot cocoa. A single flower he’d picked himself.
One night, she’d looked at him. Considered him. “Want to go to my sister’s birthday party with me? I don’t have a date and she’ll rag on me.”
“Um. Sure! What time should I pick you up?”
“How ‘bout I pick you up, since I know where we’re going.”
He’d hesitated a second.
“If you don’t--”
“No, no. I want to go. It’s just I was wondering if it was casual or---”
“Very casual,” she’d laughed. “I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a barbeque so don’t wear anything favorite in case barbeque sauce attacks you.”
Eight months later, despite his mother, they were married. He didn’t have one regret.
/> Now she sat here and wept for him. His light in his darkness.
“I love you. You know that, right?” he asked fervently.
“I’m not sure…you’ve only told me ten times today,” she said with a gentle smile.
“Eleven. I’ve told you eleven.”
“Eleven. Right. The shower. I forgot. I was a bit…distracted at the time.”
He smirked at her. Shower sex was best. He glanced at the letter. Slowly he folded it. Put it in it’s envelope. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Yay! Rah!”
In the lobby of the bank, Marcus found his shocks of the day weren’t over.
“Ah, Mr. Allenby,” the bank manager said officiously. “This gentleman has a safety deposit box that he is to have opened for you by him. Do you have the time? Can it be done now?”
Marcus looked at the man beside the bank manager. He was Asian. Leanly tall. Athletic. He wore a dark expensive suit. His tie glared bright red. He carried an empty cloth bag. He had the same green eyes Marcus looked at in the mirror every morning when he shaved.
“Are you…are you from my family?” he asked tersely. He didn’t know if he was ready. Ready to meet a family that he’d utterly rejected.
The man nodded to the bank manager.
“Right this way, Mr. Allenby. I’m sure this won’t take long.”
Marcus and Leisha followed the two men in a silence as deep as a cave. They held hands in a clutch.
They went in the opposite direction from where they’d been with his mother’s surprise. However, the room they entered wasn’t much different. The boxes were a little bigger, but essentially they were the same.
The manager stood aside while the green-eyed man walked calmly and directly to a wall of security boxes. He withdrew a key from his gleaming inside jacket pocket and used it to open a vault. He withdrew the metallic cube unit and set it on the table. Once again reaching in his pocket, he withdrew an item. This time a plain cream envelope.