by Glenn Kleier
“Send me the skinny and I’ll get right on it. Anything else?”
Scotty sighed. “The Lord is still not happy with campaign finance reform.”
Pause. “Uh, yeah, Congress is draggin’ its heels. Would sure help if the Lord has something on my Speaker of the House. Give him a little goose, ya know?”
“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, why not let Secretary Shackleton take a swing at it? She’s doing a great job cleaning up the super-PACS.”
“Good idea. Yep, the Lord was right ‘bout bringin’ her aboard, sure smoothed feathers.”
“That’s it, then. I’ll touch base with you next week. Good luck.”
“Bless ya, Prophet. Thank the Lord from me an’ the country.”
“Bless you, too, Mr. President.”
Scotty hung up, locking eyes with Ivy.
She said, “From puppet to puppeteer.”
“So long as I’ve got the rabbit’s foot. But the more we meddle with reality, the more we change it. Without someone on the other side to update the archives, sooner or later our prophecies will start to fail, and there goes my credibility.”
Last fall after the election, Scotty had lost all contact with Ariel. And not a single appearance of the wormhole since.
Ivy assured him, “The new lab will get your Plan back on track.”
A Plan for a world where humankind would look into the future to avoid mistakes it made in the present. A world of second chances.
Scotty sighed. “We won’t know for three years, not till Talawanda is up and running. I just hope things go well with my meeting today.”
Ivy patted his knee.
Their car passed through airport security onto a tarmac where a small jet idled. Formerly Pembroke Thornton’s jet, gifted to Scotty’s Foundation to assist in its expanding, humanitarian enterprises.
Soon, Ivy and Scotty were soaring above the skyline.
A half hour later, they landed in Philadelphia, cabbing to a university where Ivy had an orientation tour, and Scotty was anticipating an important encounter. Ivy had been accepted here months ago, her school of choice. Pop backed down about her leaving home, despite her affliction. While Scotty’s donation to the Autoimmune Association gave hope for a medical solution, what ultimately allayed Pop’s fears was Ivy coming out. He was still reeling from that.
Money no object now, Ivy would start in the fall as long planned. Though thrilled, she had regrets. She’d wanted to postpone college and work full time at the Foundation.
That caused a squabble between Pop and Scotty. But it got father and son talking and on the same side, for once. Scotty brought in Mrs. Steiner, who got Ivy to capitulate, and Mrs. Steiner also nudged Pop and Scotty into counseling—with her graciously serving as mediator.
A new beginning for everyone.
Scotty and Ivy arrived on campus, and Scotty was impressed. Grand, stately, picturesque. Everything he’d wanted for his little sister. Ivy seemed impressed, too.
They put Homer on a leash and walked to admissions, stopping outside to hug.
“I’ll meet you here after lunch,” Scotty said. “Go enjoy yourself.”
She paused to regard him closely, leaning in. “Listen,” she said, “I know you’re anxious about your meeting. But remember, you’re the new Scotty. You made all this happen, you alone.”
It didn’t help the butterflies he felt.
She punched him in the arm, gave Homer a pat, and strolled into the building.
Scotty stood lost in thought, brought back by a tug on the leash. He looked down to see Homer raise a brow.
Cold feet?
“Lead on, faithful companion,” Scotty told him, and they struck out across the bustling quadrangle toward a statue of Ben Franklin.
Students turned to gawk at Homer as they passed.
Ariel Silva sat in her favorite reading spot, the lawn outside the library under a tree. She was riveted to her laptop and a news story she’d been following.
The Family Research Institute in the City of God had been closed. Somehow, Reverend Penbrook Thornton had come by secret files implicating Ariel’s stepfather in a terrible scandal. The FBI had descended on Phil’s office and led him away in handcuffs, charging him with multiple felonies. Scores of victims from all over the country had emerged in response to the publicity.
Other surprising news. After all these years, Mom had called! They’d talked for hours, and at Ariel’s urging, Mom was coming to UPENN for graduation ceremonies next week. Ariel was ecstatic.
She removed her sunglasses to blot her eyes, and happened to notice a well-dressed, handsome young man walking a little dog on a leash. He appeared headed straight for her, no one else in the vicinity. As he drew close, Ariel marveled to see not a dog, but a cat. Big and orange. She couldn’t help but laugh.
The man grinned back, a warm, wide smile. He stopped in front of Ariel.
“Excuse me, Ms. Silva,” he said. “I’m from the Rose Butterfield Foundation. I wonder if I could have a word.”
What an auspicious day. Last fall, a surprise endowment from the Rose Butterfield Foundation had absolved Ariel of all her student debt. This was her first contact with her enigmatic benefactors.
“My goodness,” she cried, leaping to her feet. She felt so unprepared, wearing one of her frumpiest dresses. “I’m honored and thrilled to meet you, sir.”
“Please, I’m Scott. Scott Butterfield.”
She was further stunned to recognize the name. Or maybe it was coincidence. This gentleman bore no resemblance to the quirky fellow she’d seen on TV, the once-famous Prophet of Queens who’d flashed into prominence last fall, only to vanish. Ariel hadn’t made a connection to the Foundation until now.
She gushed, “I’m grateful for the chance to thank you in person, Mr. Butterfield!” She simply couldn’t bring herself to call him by his first name. “Your foundation has been so generous to me!”
His smile grew. “Our confidence in you was well placed. Summa cum laude.”
She felt herself blush.
“Forgive me if I get to the point,” he said. “I’m here to present a business proposition we hope will interest you. Our Foundation is building a research facility near the new cyclotron up in Talawanda. Nothing like it anywhere in the world, state-of-the-art. When the collider comes online, we’ll be working with TPC on some rather unusual experiments. We’d like you to consider joining us.”
Another astounding coincidence. Ariel had recently been contacted out of the blue by a graduate student at MIT she’d never met. The woman encouraged her to apply for a research position at TPC. Ariel had done so, but had yet to hear back.
Mr. Butterfield said, “We’d like to fly you up to see the lab and discuss plans. The position we have in mind is first assistant to TPC director, Winston Keller.”
Ariel was flabbergasted. Not an analyst, a full-fledged researcher at the world’s most advanced collider, working alongside the world’s foremost astrophysicist. Far surpassing any opportunity she could have hoped for.
Before she could regain her breath to accept, she felt a soft tap on her leg.
The cat, pawing her.
She laughed and bent down to pet it, then gasped and jumped back. It had a dead critter in its mouth. A mouse.
The cat dropped it, and Ariel saw not a mouse, but a rabbit’s foot. A keychain.
Mr. Butterfield hastened to explain, “Forgive me, it’s fake. It’s a flashdrive. But it is good luck. The data it holds has the power to change the world.”
Ariel puzzled at him, and saw the strangest look in his eyes. As if he knew her.
Knew her soul.
She glanced down again, and the cat smiled at her.
It smiled? She’d never seen a cat smile.
And then it grinned, and said, Welcome to our new future.
Other Books by Glenn Kleier
The Last Day (Warner Books)
The Knowledge of Good & Evil (Macmillan)
For more informat
ion, go to www.kleier.com
