Sliptime

by Jeffrey Grode

  “Okay.” Sounds logical if it were even possible. Ben held up the bronze medallion he’d found in the pouch. “Amo, what’s this?”

  “The commander has not yet given me permission to discuss the object.”

  “If you truly are meant to protect me, what would your future-self advise? Wouldn’t he want me to know how it works?”

  “Vsshhhh-click.” Amo blinked. “Yes. He confirms. I will explain its functions.”

  Ben listened to him describe the time-medallion and its operation. Amo had Ben repeat the directions until he had them memorized. The t-medallion uses included communication, teleportation, time travel, invisibility, and more. The new device could whisk you away to preset coordinates by pulling a portal around you, rather than creating a visible portal. After two hours of questions and answers, both Amo and Ben were satisfied Ben knew how to use the device.

  Amo blinked his blue eyes. “Remember, the t-medallion has not yet been tested for human time travel. You must be careful. I suggest you do not try to use it without speaking with Patrick first. You do not want to change something in the past that will negatively impact the future.”

  “Okay, that sounds difficult. How would you even know what to do, or not to do?”

  “Exactly.”

  Ben picked up the apple core and ground it in the disposal. He looked around the room in preparation to leave, but saw the robot watching him. “Amo, what happened to Albert? Why was he bleeding?”

  “He and Patrick had an argument. I intervened. Albert fell and accidently cut his hand with a razor.”

  “Was he seriously injured?”

  “No. Only a flesh wound,” Amo said.

  “What did they argue about?”

  “They argued about science, progress, risk, power, control, and more. The conversation lead to violence.”

  “Why?”

  “I am not one hundred percent sure. I do not fully understand the influence of human emotions upon logic, except that it adds a layer of uncertainty. The argument may have been due to fear, conscience, love, ego, self-interest, or simply because they are human.”

  “Speaking as a human, we don’t always know what makes us angry. Maybe all of the above. I hope they’re okay.” He glanced around the bright white room a final time, sighed, and turned the computer off. “I have to get home, or my mom’s going to kill me.”

  “Vsshhhh-click?” The bot tilted his head to the side.

  “No, she’s not literally going to kill me. Just a figure of speech.” Ben studied the robot. “Do you have weapons?” Amo resembled one of the fighting robots on War Banshee.

  “No. Deactivated.” He flexed his fingers.

  Bet he had a laser. “Goodbye, Amo. See you later.”

  He pushed the red button and walked through the wall into GranPat’s cellar. He checked his phone. Still 6:20? He thought he’d been in there for a couple hours or more, but less than a minute had passed. Ben grabbed his backpack and ran upstairs to use the bathroom.

  When he finished, he heard car doors slam outside the house. He peeked through the front upstairs window and saw several black sedans and a Sheriff’s car in the drive. Agents had gathered around the front stoop.

  The doorbell chimed.

  Ben moved away from the window. What’s this about now? He wished he’d spoken with GranPat earlier tonight when he’d had the chance. GranPat would know why the FBI still watched their family. The chime sounded again. I gotta get out of here.

  “Open the door. FBI!”

  Medallion in hand, Ben hesitated. Wait, what if they couldn’t see me? He moved to the bedroom mirror, and watched his reflection hold the bronze t-medallion. He followed Amo’s instructions and pressed the specific sequence of functions for phased invisibility. For a moment, his skin felt tingly and he disappeared from view. He waved at the mirror, but only saw the bed’s reflection behind him. Frickin’, dickin’ chicken, I am invisible!

  The front door crashed open. Footsteps rushed across the floor and stairs below. Okay, they’re inside. This time he didn’t have to run, he could see what they were about and stayed hidden under an ‘e-cloak’ of invisibility. All he had to do was go downstairs. Quietly. He shivered. What if they bump into me or use K-9s to sniff me out?

  An agent with short brown hair and a blue FBI jacket moved into the bedroom and trained a gun on Ben. Shit. The agent moved across the room, opened the closet, and pointed the gun at the clothes as he searched. Satisfied, the agent checked under the bed. “Clear!” he called, and moved onto the next room.

  Ben sighed in relief. He moved to the hall and saw an agent dumping dresser drawers in the master bedroom. Ben stepped lightly down the stairs and skipped the creaky bottom step. Another agent tossed the living room cushions and looked beneath the sofa, but did not see Ben. Sheriff Banks stood watch near the broken front door. Once in the kitchen, Ben heard others making a clatter in the basement.

  “Blood on the floor. Watch your step,” came a female voice from the basement.

  Ben crept down three steps and peeked into the cellar. Oops. Missed that.

  “Let’s see what they found upstairs,” FBI Special Agent-in-Charge Miller said, rounding the bottom step. Ben had met Agent Miller before the OWH and hadn’t seen him since. They had not been friends.

  Ben’s heart clenched. As he backed up the stairs to get out of Miller’s way, the weight of his backpack increased the level of difficulty. Miller’s broad forehead bore toward him as unrelentingly as a hungry shark. Ben backed through the doorway, but the backpack bumped against the doorknob causing the door to swing further open. Ben sidestepped Agent Miller and Dr. Caliban as they swept past him toward the dining room. He blew out a breath of relief and moved closer to the dining room.

  Miller and Caliban sat at the table and were joined by the other first and second floor searchers. They acted like they owned the place. Miller paged through GranPat’s calendar schedule. “Nothing unusual here except this last entry—‘Albert’s visit.’”

  Caliban’s eyes grew wide. “Oh. Shit.”

  Miller glared at Caliban. “What the fuck! You told me the beacon had been destroyed.”

  “It was.” Caliban shook his head. “I witnessed the destruction myself.”

  Miller folded his arms. “Then how could Albert visit Earth without a beacon?”

  Caliban sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe Albert and his CSD goons picked up on Patrick’s Eye-Spy frequency somehow. Or . . . Patrick may have built another beacon.”

  “I told you we couldn’t trust the old man, or that little shit, Ben. That’s why we’ve been watching his family.” Miller banged the calendar book with his fist.

  Ben, still invisible, ground his teeth. Little shit?

  Caliban waited.

  Miller shook his head. “Okay, so if he built another beacon, where is it? We didn’t see one downstairs.”

  “I don’t know, but if one exists we are all vulnerable. I’ll set up our own portal detection equipment nearby.”

  “Good.” Miller pressed his lips together, and then turned to the other agents. “Anything else?”

  An agent shook his head. “Sir. No sign of the Eye-Spy prototype, schema, or robot. However, the upstairs bathroom sink has been used recently.”

  “Run the UV light over the bathroom sink,” Miller said. “And check for bloodstained clothes.” Miller ran his hand over his scalp. “The blood stains in the basement were fresh . . .”

  Caliban tilted his head. “I think we surprised him, otherwise he would have cleaned up the blood.”

  “Them. Let’s assume both Patrick and Albert were here, but escaped through a portal when we arrived.” Miller stabbed the tabletop with his index finger. “Whose blood got spilled on the basement floor, and why?”

  Caliban’s face turned pink. “If I know Patrick, it may be his blood. He wouldn’t have readily shared his prototype detector with Terra. Maybe Albert brought CSD along . . . and it grew violent. CSD could have grabbed Patrick, the
prototype, the missing robot, and any other equipment they could carry!”

  Ben, still invisible, leaned on the wall in the corner. Bullshit. At least they didn’t find the phased lab.

  A female agent walked into the room. “We found something.”

  Ben recognized her voice and held his breath. Gendrick had pursued Ben and his friends prior to the OHW. They had barely escaped capture. He was glad he used the bathroom earlier.

  “Agent Gendrick, what do you have?” Miller drummed his fingers.

  “We found a secret compartment near the furnace. It’s up in the rafters.”

  Miller sat straighter. His eyebrows climbed further up his forehead. “What’s inside?”

  “A family picture.” She slid it across the table.

  Ben stepped forward, glanced at the photograph, and raised an eyebrow.

  Gendrick sniffed the air and looked in Ben’s direction.

  Ben quietly inched back against the wall.

  Miller studied the photo. “Looks like an old family photo. I see Patrick, Jack, Ben, and three other women. Is it significant?”

  “It may be. The women on the right look like Patrick’s daughter, Patty, and his sister-in-law Ethel. The woman on the left looks like his deceased wife, Betty.”

  “And?”

  “Two things.” Agent Gendrick squared her shoulders. “The car isn’t a known make or model—on Earth.”

  Miller let that sink in. “What’s the second thing?”

  “Ben looks about thirteen in this picture, so the photo is a little over two years old.”

  Caliban shifted in his wooden chair. “Patrick’s wife died six or seven years ago.”

  “Exactly,” Gendrick began, “this is a picture of Albert’s family on Terra. His wife is still alive.” She placed her hands on her hips.

  Miller’s forehead creased. “So Patrick hid this picture because it was from Terra?”

  Gendrick smiled briefly. “Sir, people tend to hide things to keep their valuables or secrets safe. Patrick may have swiped this picture of Albert’s wife because she reminds him of his deceased wife. Perhaps he didn’t want Albert, or anyone else, to know.” She placed her right hand over her heart. “Maybe he was sweet on her.”

  Miller stared at the picture. “Ahh. Your theory speaks to motivation. We may have a crime scene of a different sort downstairs.” He handed her the photograph. “See if you can follow up on that lead.”

  “Yes, sir. Once we process the blood sample we’ll know more.” Gendrick walked back toward the cellar.

  Caliban frowned. “Sounds like a stretch.”

  Miller eyed Caliban. “Love can kill as well as bullets.”

  The S&T director sighed. “I’m looking for a robot, not a love triangle.”

  Ben felt sick. GranPat and Grandma Betsy? Eeeewww. That’s enough for tonight.

  Glad he’d found the bronze t-medallion, met Amo, and spied on the FBI, Ben used the silver p-medallion to travel back to his bedroom in Carlston. Moonlight filtered into the dark room through his window. He removed his backpack and flopped onto his bed. “So good to be back home.”

  Vsshhhh-click.

  Chapter 10

  Patrick, familiar with Albert’s house on Terra, assisted his doppelganger to the upstairs bathroom. Albert suffered loose-limbed and woozy from Amo’s knock to his head, and still bled from the razor cut to his palm he’d acquired when he fell to the floor in Patrick’s lab. Albert’s blade was now tucked safely into Patrick’s pocket. Though Albert’s attack had surprised Patrick, he understood why his doppelganger wanted him dead. I might have done the same.

  “Get out of my house,” Albert murmured. “Ohhh. I feel sick.”

  He guided Albert to the toilet where his former lab partner knelt, grabbed the light blue porcelain throne, and emptied his stomach. Blood dripped from the gash and spattered the tile floor.

  “You may have a concussion, old man.” Patrick found adhesive bandages and tape in the medicine cabinet. “I’m goin’ to patch you up, but I suggest you get stiches to avoid an ugly scar.”

  “What’s another scar, friend? I’ve become used to them.” Albert spit in the toilet. “You always take what you want, don’t you? Some friend—”

  “And you tried to cut my throat.” Patrick washed and bound the wound. “Look, I’m sorry. Blame me, not Betsy. In her, I saw me own wife . . . and fell for her. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Albert glared at him. “Get me to my feet so I can find my bed.”

  Patrick helped Albert walk to the bedroom, pulled back the comforter, and lowered him to the bed.

  “My head still hurts.” Albert pulled the comforter over his chest and closed his eyes. “In the lab . . . What did you hit me with? I didn’t see it coming.”

  Patrick smirked. “I beat you with science.”

  “Beat me with science?” Albert scoffed. “You have never been my equal.”

  Patrick kept silent. Hours ago, he’d wanted to impress Albert with his new discoveries and accomplishments. He’d wanted to earn his doppelganger’s respect, but he now realized his own shallowness had almost destroyed his old friend. Patrick found it hard to respect himself.

  Albert’s eyes remained closed and his breathing steady. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes.” Patrick removed his dark rimmed glasses and cleaned them with his white handkerchief.

  “Are you going to see her again?”

  The wind howled outside.

  “I want to see her.” Patrick put his glasses back on slowly, adjusting the fit. “Tell her I’m sorry.” His breath caught. “Tell her it’s over.” His eyes grew moist.

  “It’s over all right. No one takes what is mine without consequences.” Albert’s eyes opened briefly then closed. “Go see for yourself and then stay away. From the both of us.”

  “What do you mean? Where is she?”

  “Holy . . . Redeemer . . . Hos—.” Albert drifted off.

  Hospital? “What have you done?”

  Albert looked more unconscious than asleep, but his breathing became regular.

  Patrick felt the weight of the razor in his pocket, but shook his head. He turned Albert on his side should he vomit in his sleep. He thought about tying him to the bed, but refrained. The man had been through enough over the past year. Betsy too, but why was she in the hospital?

  Patrick set the coordinates on his p-medallion and disappeared.

  Albert’s head throbbed. He opened his eyes and remembered what had happened. Somehow Patrick had bested him in a fight, but he couldn’t remember how. He checked the clock and figured he’d been asleep for almost two hours. “Patrick, are you still here?”

  No answer.

  Why had his enemy carried him home and left him unrestrained? Fool. He felt his shirt pocket, but the razor was gone.

  Dizzy and nauseous, Albert pulled himself out of bed. Walking five feet to his closet proved painful, but he had to finish this . . . feud. He found his loaded .45 handgun on the top shelf and stuffed it into his belt. Albert pulled the portal medallion from beneath his shirt, entered the appropriate destination, and traveled.

  Patrick’s cellar lights shone too bright. Albert blinked against the glare and his head reeled. Two people conversed upstairs in the kitchen—something about evidence, but neither one sounded like Patrick. More like policemen. Yellow flags marked a brown stain on the floor. Blood? My damn blood!

  Stepping over the markers, Albert marched to the furnace, pushed the red button, pulled the .45, and strode through the wall. Ready for a confrontation, he found himself alone in the phased lab. He smirked. Maybe Patrick did go to the hospital after all.

  Albert rifled through the desk drawers and found a small pouch holding two bronze medallions. He removed one and replaced the other and the pouch in the drawer. While examining the bronze medallion, an odd mechanical clicking noise sounded within the room. His eyes flared. He’d heard the same noise earlier this evening, just before something walloped his he
ad. Goresakes. One mystery at a time.

  Albert dropped the bronze medallion in his shirt pocket and created a portal with his silver p-medallion. He returned to Terra with his new prize.

  Patrick arrived outside Terra’s Holy Redeemer Hospital in a snowstorm. He hurried inside, told the receptionist he was family, and received a visitor’s pass. He found her in room W-663, her head bandaged, her eyes closed. She had company.

  “What are you doing here?” a tanned woman asked.

  “Hello, Patsy. How is your mother?” Miss Betsy looked pale and frail in the bed. A tall vase with a purple and white orchid sat on the side table.

  Patsy shifted in her seat. “She’s okay. Just sleeping. She hemorrhaged a little, but it’s all under control. Doctor’s been by. They gave her a sedative and she’s been out for an hour.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Patsy’s mouth wrinkled. “Dad talked her into getting a new implant. Her old one was outdated and gave her migraines. She wasn’t sure she needed one, but wanted to support Dad and his research. He helped design the implant.” She looked toward the door. “Dad should be here.”

  “I stopped by his house. He wasn’t feeling well, but he’s resting now.”

  “Thanks for checking in on him,” Patsy said. “I’ll look in on him tomorrow.”

  Patrick nodded. Betsy looked peaceful as she slept. He couldn’t help but think about the time they had spent together, and how much she looked like his Betty. “Mind if I sit with you two for a while?”

  “Have a seat.” Patsy motioned to an open chair.

  Patrick and Patsy spoke for several hours about little things. She didn’t seem as harsh as when he’d first met her on Terra. They spoke about her son, Jack, Ben, her work at the insurance company, and her ex-husband Johnnie and his little girl, Suzy. Apparently Patsy had always wanted a daughter, and had offered to babysit last month when Johnnie and his wife, Lucy, took a weekend trip to Aruba. She loved Suzy, but didn’t have a kind word for Lucy.