Storm Warning

by Jaxon Reed

  “Is that possible? Can you harness time travel like that?” Collier said.

  Hsu shrugged and sighed.

  He said, “I have spent my career researching how to do such a thing, trying to answer that very question. I can tell you what I’ve learned. Time travel is possible, to an extent. We’ve known since lab results in the 21st century showed peculiar activities in quantum-based experiments, that certain paired molecules can affect one another across both time and space.

  “Teleportation was observed back then, too, although only at the molecular level. Research continued on that front until the breakthrough with Elixabeth Wu at Louisiana State University, which led to the Wu Drive and interstellar transit. After that, experiments on time travel mostly fizzled out since teleportation proved so much more viable.”

  “Until recently,” Kraft said.

  “Until relatively recently,” Hsu said, nodding. “Mr. Kraft’s father, Ivan Kraft, hired me over 40 years ago to look into making space travel faster. I’ve been working on this problem all that time.”

  Jamieson glanced over at the two Boggs, who smiled back at him.

  He nodded at the two and said, “So, obviously you figured something out.”

  Hsu said, “Yes. First, I discovered it is fundamentally impossible to travel to the future, since it has not occurred yet. However, I managed to find a way to observe the past using quantum mechanics.”

  “This looks like more than just observing the past,” Collier said.

  The two Boggs looked at each other and grinned.

  One said, “I never realized how good looking I was. I’m observing myself in the past, and I must say, I am impressed.”

  The other one said, “I never realized it either. This is a profound and wonderful experience, seeing myself in the flesh like this.”

  They gave each other a high five and posed in various strongman positions.

  “Oh good grief,” Jamieson said. “One of them was bad enough.”

  Kraft interrupted the prancing Boggs.

  He said, “Try to put it in simple terms for them, Pritchard. Skip all the scientific mumbo-jumbo as best you can.”

  Hsu said, “Right. So, I discovered we could essentially send back an ocular presence based on quantum cells that transmitted past events from any given location to the present. This breakthrough came about ten years ago. The math is complex, but I was able to drop a quantum eye so to speak, a sort of camera, on any point in the past going back up to one month. The further back, the weaker the connection. But it was easy to go back and look at things that happened a day or two ago.”

  Jamieson said, “Wow. Instant replay of the past. I bet that has some commercial potential.”

  “It has law enforcement use, too,” Collier said. “We could find out who did what. Somebody got shot? Send a camera back and see who did it.”

  Hsu nodded at both of them.

  He said, “That is true, although we have not commercially exploited anything yet. But I brought it much further along in development.

  “Some years later, I couldn’t sleep one night and a brainstorm hit me. Instead of just sending back ocular molecules, why not send back an entire human? Cloning technology had advanced sufficiently to make such an endeavor feasible.”

  The future Boggs slapped both his cheeks and gasped dramatically.

  “I’m a clone?”

  Seeing this, the present Boggs mimicked his moves exactly and stared back at everyone with an identically horrified face.

  “I’m a clone?”

  “Can you guys please take this seriously?” Collier said, frowning.

  Hsu ignored them.

  He said, “Essentially, yes. This one is a clone. We built a chamber in which a device replicates a candidate’s body and assembles it in the past.

  “Earlier this morning, Mr. Boggs’ time clone showed up in this room looking for me. I realized he was from the future. After quizzing him with Mr. Kraft, we knew to expect the three of you sometime later today.”

  “Why today?” Collier said.

  “Because he told us. Mr. Boggs’ clone, that is. Originally, I had planned to not send anyone back farther than one day, for the sake of safety. In fact, we haven’t sent anyone back at all . . . except for one person.”

  “Let me guess,” Collier said. “That would be Holland Bainer.”

  “Yes,” Hsu said, his eyebrows shooting up. “Although, I should not be surprised you knew that. Come along, I’ll show you where Mr. Bainer is, at least in the present, and maybe you can help me figure out what to do about him.”

  9

  The group walked through a secured door and into a much smaller room.

  Here, three seats sat positioned around an arced wall, with ventilated hoods attached to articulated metal arms above each one.

  On the left chair, a man sat perfectly still, his eyes closed under the hood. Above him, a holo displayed a readout of his vital signs, all showing normal.

  “Good organ activity,” Jamieson said, watching the heartbeat monitor. “He’s still alive.”

  Hsu said, “Yes. There is nothing wrong with Mr. Bainer in the present. It’s the past we’re worried about. Note the brainwave scan.”

  Everyone looked up near the top of the holo. The brainwave readout showed some extreme fluctuation, although no one present had the medical knowledge to fully decipher its meaning.

  “So . . . he’s in the past right now?” Collier said. “Like Mortie?”

  Hsu said, “Well, his mind is, inside a version of his body created by my machine.

  “You see, we can’t actually send a person’s physical self back into the past. The problem was rectified with cloned cellular attunement that coalesces around their mental projection.

  “So, it’s not really them,” he nodded toward the Boggs clone. “But, it’s their mental essence inside a reasonable facsimile that can interact with things . . . in the past.”

  “Honestly, Doc,” Jamieson said, “that has got to be the most profoundly awesomest thing I’ve ever heard of. You figured out time travel!”

  “To a certain extent, yes.”

  Collier said, “So what Bainer is seeing now, in the present, through his neural link . . .”

  “Is actually happening to his clone in the past, yes.”

  “Okay,” Jamieson said. “We’ll just wake him up. Easy peasy.”

  Hsu shook his head. “No, it’s not that simple. We think sudden removal from the system may result in considerable brain damage. We can’t just wake him up without being certain. For the sake of safety, he has to come back on his own, if he is able.”

  “Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do,” Jamieson said.

  Hsu nodded and said, “Mr. Bainer has worked on my team the last eight years. Our efforts were all highly classified, as you may imagine. Nobody knew anything about our work here beyond a select few, especially during the war.

  “But the last year or so, Mr. Bainer became obsessed with being the first person to travel back in time. Even if it’s not really the physical self going back. He wanted to do it, he wanted to be first to actually experience it.

  “But I delayed human trials because of the risks. We simply don’t know what the effects of going back like this are on the brain. I designed the experience to be as realistic as possible through the neural interface. What the clone in the past sees and feels, the subject in the present sees and feels. I wanted to run more experiments before opening it up to human trials. I wasn’t ready to take that step yet. The project has been mothballed almost since the beginning.”

  He sighed, and seemed to grow exponentially more tired.

  “Earlier, Mr. Bainer gained access to this room without my authorization. He sat down in that chair and sent his conscious self back into the past. We . . . aren’t entirely sure where he is, exactly. Or when. I never met a second Mr. Bainer in the past. At least . . . If I did meet him, I did not see his face. I have some ideas about where he is, though.”

>   Collier and Jamieson frowned at each other with Hsu’s odd phrasing. He seemed to be hedging his statements, somehow.

  Oblivious to their expressions, Hsu continued.

  “Fortunately, one cannot go back any farther than when I first threw the switch on the cellular replicator you see here. Behind that door, there is a clone bank. It was connected with the quantum circuitry and everything was turned on before the war. So, there is a built-in limitation, if you will.”

  Jamieson said, “That makes sense, I guess. What did you call it? Cellular regenerator?”

  “Replicator. Essentially, it takes a scan of a person from the present and replicates them in the past, clothes and all, via the clone bank. They are then free to wander about and observe past events in a version of themselves, such as Agent Boggs has demonstrated for us.

  “Like I said, this was my ‘eureka’ moment, creating a form of time travel even though it’s not a real method in the way one ordinarily thinks of it.

  “In the interest of science, Mr. Kraft graciously allowed me to continue this line of research, despite the fact it does not directly solve the issue I started working on for his father so many decades ago. Indeed, it does not solve our ongoing efforts to increase the speed of space travel at all.”

  “I see. So, when exactly did you first activate the replicator? What’s the farthest extent someone could theoretically go back?” Jamieson said.

  “This machine went online about four and a half standard years ago.”

  Jamieson and Collier shared another look.

  Boggs and his clone shared a look, too, both raising their eyebrows.

  Collier said, “That’s just before the war. Right around the time StarCen moved on Gotha Mu.”

  Jamieson rubbed his chin.

  “Say . . . you don’t think . . . I mean, you don’t think Mr. Bainer here could be trying to change the outcome of the war, do you? Could he actually change the past?”

  Kraft said, “All of my employees are very well screened, Agent Jamieson.”

  “But your screening is not perfect, is it?” Boggs said. “We heard SSI spies got wind of the Condor-class, they just couldn’t warn the League on time. So, you’ve been infiltrated before.”

  His clone glared at the CEO accusingly.

  Kraft said, “Nothings perfect, but we do screen carefully for that sort of thing.”

  Boggs’s clone said, “So, you’re saying there’s a chance.”

  “I’d like to think there’s no chance, Agent Boggs. But could a League spy work deep undercover for a couple decades before taking a chance at extraordinary sabotage after the war is over? Sure, anything’s possible. But not everything is probable.”

  “He might not be a deep spy,” Collier said in an agreeable tone. “But . . . what if he’s a defector? What if he’s convinced he could alter the past by talking to the right people before the war even starts?”

  For this, no one had a ready answer.

  “I do not care to play hypothetical games,” Hsu said. “But what if he’s just a scientist looking to explore the limits of human capability? By forcing his consciousness back into the present, we run a risk of rendering him brain dead. I’m not willing to take that risk, yet.”

  At this scenario, again no one had a reply.

  Boggs broke the silence.

  He said, “Well, it’s time for me to do my part, I suppose. I mean, look at me. I’m wearing the same clothes and everything. It’s pretty obvious that I am going to get in that chair and . . . go back in time as a clone . . . or become a past clone or however it works.”

  Hsu nodded and said, “I agree. You have already done it, no doubt. You may sit in the middle chair, next to Mr. Bainer.”

  As Boggs moved to the seat, everyone watched him carefully.

  He sat down and Hsu began making adjustments, lowering the unit’s hood over his face.

  His clone said, “Hey, wait a minute. What about—”

  They heard a slight Pop!

  When everyone turned to look, the clone was gone.

  10

  Stormy exited Dirk’s building well supplied. She also left the building burning with several dead bodies inside. But that did not bother her.

  What concerned her now was finding a new place to live. Her building was gone, and obtaining another safe and comfortable location for a home base would take some work.

  The new home should probably also not be in this neighborhood, she decided, with the increased police presence and added scrutiny Eastside was about to receive.

  She walked several blocks until she found a bus stop, changing her face along the way. She boarded and paid the toll with a credit token.

  Bus travel could still take place relatively anonymously, especially with her framer. Stormy did not like to take unnecessary chances. She wore a new face the security cameras onboard would not recognize, even though she doubted her old face was on PLAIR’s radar yet.

  No one noticed the weaponry she carried either, thanks to her backpack and the large duffel bag she grabbed out of Dirk’s storage room.

  There was a slight possibility the missile launcher and heavy rifle inside the bag would be detected somewhere, but she considered it a remote chance. With the end of the war, the Republic had turned inward, and focused on restoring civil liberties which were perceived as suffering during the conflict.

  That meant the local AI would not be snooping much on anyone. The only way she could set off a sensor would be to walk inside a secure building where explosives and weapons were forbidden.

  Out here in public, even on public transit, she gambled there would be no unauthorized examinations of her luggage.

  Even if there were, she felt comfortable enough with her current firepower to take on any police who might be called to deal with her.

  But, as she expected, no alarms went off when she boarded. She found a seat and sat back to look out the window as the autonomous vehicle slowly made its way of Eastside.

  Overhead, she watched fire trucks flying in with red lights flashing. Other emergency vehicles would be arriving soon to investigate the damage she left behind.

  She stayed on until the bus finally returned to the main transit station near Octavia Park, several kilometers and many stops away from Eastside.

  Here, everyone still onboard had to exit. She made her way through the crowd and into the station, to the public lockers.

  Stormy doled out several credits and rented storage space for her large weapons, safely tucking them away. Then she headed for the bathroom.

  Looking in the mirror, she touched up her new face. She used the sink to freshen up a little. Then she headed out of the station to find something to eat.

  Three hours later she wandered into a nightclub off Mathers street, several blocks from the bus station. It was still early in the evening. The place would not start rocking for a while.

  She sat down at the bar, ordered a drink and waited. In her sports bra, she actually did not look out of place.

  The first guy who approached was older, and he had a band of slightly lighter skin on his finger. This was a telltale sign of someone who normally wore a wedding ring, but had removed it for the night. She brushed him off. After a while he gave up and left.

  The second guy had bad breath, and she did not find him attractive at all. She ignored him. Given the cold shoulder, he eventually moved on looking for other fish in the sea. Or at least, a woman who would talk to him.

  The third guy who approached later that evening looked younger and seemed easygoing. She sized him up with a glance and smiled. This one she let buy her a drink.

  She nursed the cocktail, and him, along. She flirted and seemed really into everything he said, transmitting positive signals. She asked him questions about where he lived and what he did for work.

  The more he talked about himself, the more he actually seemed like an ideal candidate. He had a loft apartment on the edge of Octavia Park, in a part of town that was up and coming. He cl
aimed to have lots of young neighbors, urban professional types without many kids. When she asked him about busybodies and nosy types on his floor, he indicated there were none.

  Stormy made up her mind. She stood and curled an arm through his elbow.

  “Take me home with you,” she whispered.

  The following morning she woke up in his bed and had a flashback to her SSI training.

  “What motivates people?” her instructor asked the class. Then he answered his own question.

  “Most people are motivated by sex or money. Oh, sure, there are other things. There’s power, fame and glory. But the primary motivator for most people is usually sex, money, or both.

  “When you find a person’s primary motivator, you can control them. You control them by providing or withholding their motivation in order to coerce them to do what you want them to do for you, whether that’s selling secrets that betray their government or whatever.”

  Stormy had been trained not just as a spy, but as a handler as well. No one knew what working deep undercover for years might involve, but SSI Director Munk suspected she would need to recruit others at some point.

  Certainly, she would need to use others. She would need to find resources, human resources, and consume them as needed.

  So Stormy and agents like her were trained in the art of using people, of uncovering their deepest desires and manipulating them with that knowledge.

  Men, young men especially, were relatively easy to control. For a woman like Stormy, who had been engineered to look especially voluptuous, it was like shooting fish in a barrel. Seduction was actually a class at SSI school, and she had passed with flying colors.

  Get a man in bed, and you can make him do whatever you want.

  “That one never gets old,” the instructor had said. “It works every time.”

  This young man’s name was Jock McDaniel. He was fresh out of college, working in his first real job as a database administrator for a legal firm. His parents, his entire family in fact, lived on another planet altogether. And Stormy was now his girlfriend.