Somewhere among the lights, people were having a party; someone was sitting in the dark thinking about ending their life; one of those houses had a couple making love. His mind shifted trying to imagine how the valley had appeared thirty years ago.
Silicon Valley was a virtual wasteland when he’d started here ten years ago. A few houses and smaller factories, but nothing compared to now. Once news of his success and the move to the Valley hit the media, every computer-related business on the planet set up a shop here.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft beeping sound. As he moved away from the windows and down the hallway to the bedroom, the sound grew louder. He opened the door to the spare room and flipped on the lights.
A computer filled the wall opposite the door. Metal frames held boxes filled with circuit boards, and wires connected them together to make a thinking machine. Lights flashed on and off while processing information. The noise was the computer’s way of saying a solution had been found to yesterday’s problem. He sat down and punched the button to turn on the monitor.
Michael assembled this computer with more thinking power than anything else in production. NASA’s capability didn’t come close, and they were ahead of most companies on the planet. The screen brightened, showing several lines of text.
Error line 36589 code missing or corrupt.
Please enter code and try again.
I don’t know if this is going to work, but I have to try. His fingers tapped at the keyboard entering the six lines of code he’d written earlier. When he was done, the middle finger of his right hand hovered over the enter key as he reread the lines of text. Finally, with a deep breath filled with hope, he pressed the key. The computer beeped once, and the screen went blank except for a blinking cursor in the top left corner.
The doorbell rang. Michael turned off the monitor and the lights before closing the door. His nerves were on edge about the project, and he wasn’t expecting nor needing company right now. When he opened the front door, Heather Sykes was standing on the step, her suit jacket slung over her right shoulder and her high-heels suspended from her left hand.
“Can I come in?” she asked softly and smiled slyly but didn’t move. She seemed uncertain of his answer.
Michael took a deep breath while letting his eyes run from her face to her stocking feet. Should I let her in and risk my urges getting the better of me? he wondered. Is there an upside to sleeping with her? Is that what she really wants?
He smiled, not quite a happy effort, and stepped back to let her pass. She moved like a cat toward the living room, dropping her shoes by the door and her jacket next to his before flopping on the sofa, pulling her feet up beside her. There was nothing left to his imagination about what she wanted. Her eyes sparkled in the light from the recessed bulbs, and he could see her breathing rapidly. She held out her arms, reaching for him.
“Heather,” his tongue felt rigid, and he nearly choked. “Heather...ummm, I don’t think this is such a good idea.” He wanted her, but now that he’d put the words into the air, he couldn’t take them back. Her expression became shocked, hurt, and angry, in that order. She sat up and adjusted the blouse to hide her chest.
“Are you saying I’m not good enough for you?” Her voice sounded mad, but her face said relieved.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m thrilled you want me, and I want you, but I can’t get distracted right now. I need to concentrate on this mission. After I’m done, we can try this again.” Hoping he’d smoothed any hurt feelings and left the door open for a night of passion soon, he smiled.
Her mouth twitched in an effort to smile back, but she didn’t look at him.
“Would you like a drink?” he offered, trying to change the subject and dampen his growing sense of guilt for hurting her.
“Well, since I drove all the way out here, I guess I shouldn’t go home empty-handed.” Her smile said all was forgiven, for now, and the sexual glint was back in her eyes. He opened a bottle of red wine, expecting they could talk like friends over a couple of glasses.
She accepted the drink he held toward her. They sat in silence for a minute before she began to tell him about the schoolgirl crush she had for him. Her older brother hated Michael for being smart and because Heather liked him. Tonight was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but something she’d been dreaming of for many years.
“I’ve wanted to have sex with you since I was fourteen, Michael.” She stared into her glass while her face became the color of a ripe apple. He wondered if her open honesty was the booze talking. “I’d lie on my bed at night and imagine us together, and then you graduated and left me. When I finished college, your picture was plastered on the front cover of every magazine in the country. I remembered those adolescent feelings for you, and became determined to get close to you again.”
She stared into her wine for another moment, her words spoken barely above a whisper. He shifted in his chair. She took a deep breath, her eyes focused on him. They were sad and needy. “If we just had sex, I’d be all right with that, but I really want a longer relationship. I’m not shallow or a slut screwing for easy money. If you can find a spark of love for me, that’d be wonderful because I know it would grow. I’d do everything in my power to fan it into a flame.”
My God, she’s proposing to me. What the hell am I going to say? Marriage is the last thing I want right now, he thought.
He smiled broadly, staring out the window, trying to organize his thoughts. She’d be great to make love to, I'm sure, but is that all I want? Could I live with her for the rest of my life? Would she still want me once she finds out what I’m like? God, I’m so useless around women. I wish I’d spent less time with computers in high school and more time dating girls.
“Thank you, and I need to be honest with you, too.” Mike stammered. “I remember thinking the first time I saw you in school that you were cute, and I’d like to get to know you better. The day I saw you at the office, I couldn’t believe you were the same girl. All my feelings for you rushed back into my mind. Like the school-boy images about being able to get into your pants.” He blushed and slid forward on the sofa, holding out his hand in panic. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. As for a relationship, let’s see what happens after this project is over. I won’t promise anything, but maybe after a date or two, we’ll know if we can stand each other’s company. I have no doubt the sex will be great, and you are gorgeous to look at, but as I said, I’m not able to focus on anything but my work at the moment. Am I being too blunt talking about sex? I am, and I’m really sorry. Oh God, I’ve made a mess of everything haven’t I?”
She set her glass on the table and moved to the arm of the chair beside him. Holding his face in her hands, she pressed her lips to his. They were warm and soft. He gently moved his free arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. Her head moved back, and the scent of her perfume enveloped his senses; her green eyes sparkled, and tears welled up.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time. I’ll accept that for now, but I’ll want more later,” she breathed.
He smiled and kissed her again. Before another word was spoken, she stood, grabbed her jacket, and moved quickly toward the front door, stooping to grab her shoes. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work. Thanks for the drink,” she shouted over her shoulder as the door closed with a small click.
Michael stood staring at the dark wood of the front door for a minute, wondering if he’d done the right thing and if his refusal would affect their future. A beep from the computer down the hall ripped his mind away from her. He frowned, walking toward the bedroom. The computer shouldn’t be done yet. Something must be wrong, or else the program worked perfectly, but he wasn’t feeling hopeful.
He turned on the light and sat, pressing the button for the monitor again. The blinking cursor was below a single line of text.
Program complete. Please go to results.exe for outcomes.
Michael frowned and typed results.ex
e.
The screen went black and then brightened, filling with lines of text. At the bottom of the screen, Hit enter to continue followed by the blinking cursor.
He scanned the results for error messages. Nothing on this page, so he hit enter. A new page appeared which had the same results. Frustrated, he hit the enter key several times and waited. The screen filled only half way this time, and the last line read, Program complete. Ready to send and receive.
His heart beat faster. All I need to do is attach the relay node and find out what happens. He couldn’t stop his fingers from trembling as they plugged wires into the computer. Several times, he needed multiple tries to fasten the correct lead, but finally everything was attached. The node was a four foot by two-foot-wide stainless steel table in front of the computer. Now what, he wondered in a panic. I was so concerned with getting the program right I didn’t think about sending something.
The first object he saw was his father’s old coffee cup full of pens. Deciding an old mug appearing in the past wouldn’t create too many concerns, he dumped out the contents and set the cup on the table. Rushing to sit at the keyboard, he banged his hip on the corner of the desk, yelping with the pain but ignoring it. Typing in the date, time, and location, he pressed enter and realized there was going to be a problem.
How will I know if it went anywhere or not? He watched the cup become transparent, but not completely disappear. The program had a built-in four-minute window of operation, which would give him a quick look around, but not enough time to get into any real trouble when he went into the past.
Keeping track of the time, at exactly four minutes the mug became opaque once more. He grabbed it off the table. The pottery was warm in his fingers. Not too hot, but more like his father had just finished drinking coffee. This mug went somewhere, but how do I know that it was the right time and place? A mental image of a tiny camera came into his mind followed by a clever smile.
“Yeah, I could attach a video camera and record what happens.” He felt giddy, elated, as he dug through the closet for a keyhole camera. Moving one of the boxes on the shelf, he found the tiny black camera, a battery pack, and video receiver; he nearly burst out laughing. The devices had a six-hour battery and storage capacity, which would be perfect, and they fit neatly into the mug. A self-contained time spy. The idea made him laugh.
Clipping the camera to the rim of the mug and arranging the rest of the apparatus inside, he placed the unit on the table once more. His finger came down on the enter key, and he watched the mug almost disappear again. Four minutes later, his excitement rose, making his fingers tremble while trying to pull the receiver out of the mug before making the attachments to the computer.
Typing the command to download the video had to be repeated twice before he managed to hit the correct keys. Once the words were in the right order, the machine crunched the data and spit a command back on the screen.
To view images, press enter.
He held his breath and pushed the key. The screen went black, and for a moment, he thought there hadn’t been nor was there going to be anything to see. Suddenly, an image of the kitchen in his old house appeared. Everything was exactly as he remembered, even the same cupboards and curtains. The cup must have been sitting on the table. His chest hurt, and he thought he might faint as he stared at the monitor.
A bird flew by the window on the screen, but otherwise, Michael was becoming anxious for something other than the cupboards and curtains to appear. As if by command, a face shot onto the screen scaring him. His father was peering into the camera; his eye so close it was a blur.
Tears began to stream down Michael’s face as he watched a younger version of his father moving about the kitchen in the old home. He was right there, obviously intrigued by a cup full of spy gadgets which hadn’t been invented yet. A moment later, there was nothing but cupboards and curtains again, and then blackness as the mug traveled back through time.
Michael backhanded the tears off his cheeks while staring at the mug on the table. He had proof that leaping to another time and place was possible, but the cup’s partial disappearance puzzled him. Obviously, the mug went back in time but didn’t completely disappear. Would the same thing happen to him? What would happen if something went wrong? Would he be stuck halfway between worlds? How could he keep his body safe in this time?
There wouldn’t be much trouble on this end. Billy had agreed to be here when the time came, but he couldn’t say the same for the other end. Did the mug only partially appear to his father? Was that why he seemed so confused? How would a living, breathing human seem to someone on the other end?
“I must figure this out before I try to jump. Jesus, imagine showing up as a ghost. Not only would I scare the shit out of everybody, but also, I might affect time in ways that I don’t want to happen. How…how can I be positive about what happens at the other end?” Talking aloud always calmed him, and usually brought out the correct solution, but not this time. He felt further from an answer than before. A thought floated along the edge of his mind, something to do with the past and his childhood, but he couldn’t snatch the moment.
Leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes. Images of his father staring at the strange mug filled his mind. Dad never said anything about seeing something strange appear; at least not when I was around. Still, he didn’t seem too interested in using his favorite coffee mug after that weekend Mom and I went to Aunt June’s in Detroit. Now that I think of it, he never used the cup after that weekend. No wonder—he’d seen it full of gadgets, and it probably seemed like a bad dream. I have to find out how visible I’ll be when I travel back. I’d rather be totally invisible than show up like a ghost or a hologram. I’ll think more about it tomorrow, but right now, I’m too tired. The unclear thought tickled the inside of his head again, and this time, he saw shadows moving over the ground. Effort wasn’t helping. The harder he tried to bring the image into focus, the less he could see clearly.
He switched off the monitor, stabbing at the button in frustration, and then killed the light as he went across the hall to his bedroom. The overhead light shone down on a king-size bed, a dresser, and a television on a stand in the corner. A set of floor to ceiling curtains covered sliding glass doors to the two-tiered deck at the back of the house.
Slipping out of his shirt and pants, he slid under the covers before flipping on the television with the remote. His favorite twenty-four-hour news channel appeared. The time before going to sleep was the only time in the day he could find out what was happening in the world. A tornado struck the mid-west United States last night; the reporter talked over the scenes of destruction. Michael heard and saw their pain and made a mental note to donate to the relief efforts.
Chapter 3
Heather Sykes drove away from Michael’s house with tears streaming down her face. The kaleidoscope created by her weeping blocked her vision, and she nearly missed the turn at the bottom of the driveway. Twice more there were narrow escapes with vehicles on the way to her house on the other side of the valley.
“You’re such a stupid slut, Heather,” she shouted at the road ahead. “He probably thinks you’re nothing but a gold digger. Way to go, flash your tits and he’ll ask you to marry him on the spot. How did that work out for you?” For a moment, the shouting cleared her vision in time to see the curve ahead, but she immediately went back to blubbering.
“How could you be so wrong about him? Why didn’t you know he’s timid around women?” she giggled and sniffed. “Why didn’t you realize he’d be absorbed in working on this project? You’ve been with the company three years, and you didn’t notice he’s compulsive about seeing things through to the end. Fuck, you're stupid!” Full-blown bawling followed for a minute but dwindled to sniffling.
The familiar shape and glow of the 7-11 on the corner of her street appeared in the darkness ahead. She pushed the brake pedal and turned the corner. Her house was the third on the left. She reached up and pressed the garage door
opener on the sun visor. The big door opened, and the overhead light was on as she pulled into the driveway and parked carefully inside the garage.
Her blubbering stopped for the thirty seconds it took for her to switch off the motor and press the button once more to close the overhead door. She watched it come to a stop and then buried her face in her hands against the steering wheel. Self-pity drained her of tears for the next five minutes. I should go in the house, she thought. Sitting here isn’t doing any good, he’s probably going to fire me tomorrow, and I wouldn’t blame him. Grabbing her purse, she opened the car door and clumped up the two steps to the door separating the garage from the house. None of that mattered now as she blinked through her tears, trying desperately to see the keyhole.
Heather lived alone in a two-story condominium. She kept a cactus in a shallow pot on the windowsill, had a sofa she’d rescued from a thrift shop, a kitchen table with one chair, and a few pictures on the wall, but otherwise, the house was empty.
That’s how her life had been until now. The less there was to tie her down, the easier it was to move on. Her wardrobe was another matter. Clothes filled two closets in the two-bedroom house. She’d had another one renovated to accommodate her shoes. Three racks, which pulled out of the closet with shelves on both sides.
The dark entrance greeted her, but she didn’t turn on any lights. With a deep sigh, she slipped off her shoes and walked in her stocking feet toward the stairs to the second floor. There were only ten steps and three more to her bedroom, but they seemed to take an eternity. There was nobody in her life to talk to about her crumbling world. Parents long dead, and her brother absorbed by his own life. The pale glow from the street highlighted the bed. She closed her eyes while sitting on the edge of the mattress.
The phone rang. She jumped and reached for the receiver on the nightstand beside the bed. Michael spoke softly in her left ear, and her heart melted.
An Altered Course Page 3
