Reversion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 3)

by Jay J. Falconer

  “Randol?” Griffith said, using his most pleasant voice.

  “Jerking off again, Davies?”

  “What? No! Never! I was fine-tuning some equipment I knocked out of alignment.”

  “Like I said, jerking off. I’ve never heard anyone call it ‘fine-tuning his equipment’ before, but whatever. Next time, lock the door or do it in your car. None of us wants to be a witness to that. I’m sure there’s a rule or two somewhere in the bylaws of this fine institution about being a perv on the state’s nickel.”

  Griffith felt his face flush with embarrassment. He didn’t know what to say.

  “Relax, I’m just fucking with you,” Larson said with a half-smile on his lips. “Damn, Grif. You really need to take some time off once in a while. Spend it with that beautiful wife of yours. You’re wired so tight that if a fly landed on you right now, it’d start a chain reaction and you’d shit blood.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means, don’t take everything so damn serious all the time.”

  “Why are you here, Randol?”

  “I have a job for you.”

  “Do you have a work order? I need authorization.”

  “It’s for the university.”

  Griffith fiddled through the items on top of the table and sorted them back into place. “Everything I do is for the university. But I still need authorization. There are procedures in place.”

  “President Lathrop sent me down here with this,” Larson lied, taking a swatch of fabric from his case. He crossed the room, weaving between the setups around the lab. He put the material on the table.

  Griffith’s eyes widened when the fluorescent lights glistened off the gold circuitry covering the fabric. He backed away, bumping into the same table he’d smashed his head against, sending more equipment falling to the floor. This time, though, it didn’t sound like anything shattered.

  For a moment, he thought it was the same sample Professor Kleezebee had sent down for him to test earlier. He pictured the envelope he’d given to Bruno and couldn’t remember if he’d sealed it properly. Had the swatch fallen out accidentally? Somewhere in the hallway or on campus? Was he responsible? Kleezebee would be pissed and have his job. His career could be over. Stacy would leave him. He’d die alone, broke and miserable.

  Panic was about to take control of his mind and body when a calmer version of himself rose up after realizing that the shape of Larson’s material was slightly different than Kleezebee’s sample. This one had a denser circuity pattern near its perimeter and one of its corners was cut at an angle instead of being squared off at ninety degrees.

  Larson shook his head. “What the hell is wrong with you, other than the usual geek stuff? Get it together, man. It’s just a piece of cloth.”

  Griffith nodded, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Where did you get this?”

  “That’s really not your concern, now is it?” Larson put one finger on the center of the swatch, pushing it closer to Griffith. “Let me make this simple for you. I need to know what it is, what it’s made of, where it came from, and what it’s for.”

  “That’s it?” Griffith said with his most sarcastic tone.

  “And I need it yesterday. I mean, President Lathrop needs it yesterday. This needs to be kept absolutely quiet and is on a strictly need-to-know basis. That includes your wife and those two eggheads across the hall. You read me?”

  Griffith nodded.

  “When can you have the results?”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  Larson squinted and tilted his head. “Have you forgotten you owe me? Big time?”

  “No, I remember. But this is my job—my career we’re talking about. There are rules.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to find a way to make it happen. Rearrange your schedule, prioritize your action items, think positive, say ten Hail Mary’s or whatever. But you need to do what I’m asking. What the president is asking. We’re in a hurry, and this is more important than anything else on your to-do list. Trust me.”

  Griffith stared at Larson for a moment, trying to decide if he should break protocol and run the analysis without authorization. Then he remembered the promise he’d made to Dr. Kleezebee. He owed Larson, but he’d already given his word to the dean of the department.

  “You of all people know how hard it is for me to refuse,” Griffith said, hating himself for never having the backbone to say no—to anyone.

  “Then don’t. Just do what I ask and we’re square. I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”

  Griffith’s skin tingled along his ribs, sending a rush of resolve into his soul. He clenched his fists and took deep breaths. “I want to help, Randol. I really do. But I can’t. I’m sorry. Not without full authorization from Dr. Kleezebee. I can’t risk my job.”

  Griffith saw Larson’s eye start to twitch and the artery in his neck expand. He knew the look and knew what was coming.

  “You owe me, Grif, and I’m here to collect. All you need to do is turn on your little machines and work your nerd magic. Nobody will ever know.”

  Griffith shook his head.

  Larson rammed his fist into the table, sending several of the instruments into the air with its recoil. “Just run the tests, damn it!”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” Davies said, wondering where the words of defiance were coming from.

  “You smarmy little shit!”

  “I need you to leave before I call security,” Griffith said, fighting the urge to run. He needed to stand his ground and not cave. Just this once.

  “Hmmm. I wonder what President Lathrop or Kleezebee would say when I tell them how you met your wife?”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Oh yes, I would. I’m sure they’d love to hear how smoking-hot Stacy looked when you first saw her working that pole on stage. How she took you into the VIP room and unzipped your pants to take your mind off your problems. I’ll bet she swallowed, too.”

  Griffith felt his throat tighten. “I was going through a rough divorce back then. I was drunk, and you forced me into going.”

  “That’s not how I remember it. Imagine what the rest of the faculty will say when they learn you married a slutty, sex-crazed stripper, who sold herself for money.”

  “She wasn’t a prostitute. She was an aerial dancer.”

  “That’s how you want to spin this? So, tell me. What did that blow job cost you in the VIP room? A hundred? Two hundred? That’s sex for money, Doc. Illegal and grounds for immediate dismissal.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I can. Because you owe me. Because you never would’ve met your wife if it weren’t for me,” Larson said, walking the room like he was preparing to do battle. “You don’t know this, but I used to take Stacy into the back room at the club at least once a week . . . yeah, that’s right. Me and her in the dark. Alone. And let me tell you, she took really good care of me. And I’m not just talking about a little knob polishing. Every regular knew her deal. All you needed to do was pump a few shots of Patrón into her and damn, she really cut loose and broke all the house rules. Imagine how many other men over the years took her in the back and changed her oil? Probably while you two were dating. All strippers lie and slut around, Grif. It’s their nature. Stacy was no exception.”

  “That’s my wife you’re talking about!” Griffith yelled. His lips wouldn’t stop quivering.

  “Shit, before she sat on your lap that night and started rubbing your cock to work another twenty out of your wallet, I’ll bet she was in the back room humping half of Tucson.”

  “Stop it!”

  “I’ll stop when you agree to run the analysis.”

  Griffith sucked in his lower lip, throwing the swatch of material at Larson. “No! I’m not helping you. Get out of my lab and take whatever that is with you. I don’t care what you say or who you say it to. My wife and I love each other. It’s genuine. It’s forever. And nothing yo
u or anyone else can say will ever change that.”

  “Don’t test me, Davies!”

  “Tests are over. Get out, now!” Griffith said, walking away. He pulled out his cell phone and held it up with his finger on the number one button. “How about I call Dr. Kleezebee right now and report you. I don’t believe for a second that President Lathrop authorized any of this. You’re the pervert, not me. You’re the one who gets drunk every day. Everyone knows where you go at lunchtime. Maybe I should call your wife? I’ll bet she’d love to hear all about our trip that night to the club and what you were doing with that chubby dancer. What was her name? Chastity?”

  “Fuck you, Davies. You’re going to regret this,” Larson said before he stormed out the door.

  Griffith’s knees gave out and he dropped to the floor, shaking and hyperventilating. He felt vomit threatening to erupt, but he managed to keep it down. He took a series of deep breaths, then dialed Stacy.

  “Hello?” she said.

  Griffith burst into tears. “Stacy?”

  “Honey? Are you hurt? What’s wrong? Talk to me. I love you.”

  Griffith managed to speak through the snot running out of his nose. “Larson was just here.”

  “What happened? Tell me!”

  “He said you had sex with him in the VIP room every week and whored around with half of Tucson.”

  “He’s a liar. Don’t listen to him! None of that is true!” Stacy shouted into the phone. “I never did any extras in the VIP room like the other girls, and definitely never with a disgusting creep like him. He’s total scum, sweetie. Don’t believe him. I swear, I’m telling you the truth!”

  Griffith took a deep breath, letting the tears slow. “I believe you, honey. I love you so much it hurts. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  “I’m sorry he hurt you. I love you and always will. Don’t you ever forget that!”

  “Me, too.”

  “Damn him,” Stacy said in a wicked tone. “He won’t get away with this, I promise.”

  Griffith struggled to his feet, using the desk as a brace. “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just come home now and let me take care of you. Okay? It’s date night.”

  “Okay. I’m on my way.”

  22

  Lucas stood in the center of his campus lab, next to the three transport containers of E-121 sitting on Griffith’s dolly, trying to decide if he should do as he was told and wait until Kleezebee arrived to open them, or ignore the orders and inspect the contents now. He didn’t want to disappoint his boss, but his curiosity was nagging at him to peek inside to get a head start.

  He bent forward at the waist and made a series of slow, rotating circles to stretch and flex his back muscles. The unexpected apartment move earlier in the week hadn’t helped his spine. Kleezebee didn’t give them much notice, citing the sudden need to gut and renovate his aging apartment complex just north of campus. Lucas decided not to complain to his boss after he learned the new place they were moving to was much larger and fifty years newer, and still free of charge. Plus, there were no scorpions at the new pad and the HVAC unit was brand-new, a welcome bonus when the blazing summer rolled around.

  “Maybe I should unpack these crates to make some room?” he asked Drew.

  “No. You can’t. The professor told us to wait.”

  “How long?”

  “An hour maybe. He said it couldn’t be helped. He needed to handle something urgent that just popped up.”

  “But they take up so much damned space. It’s getting difficult to move around in here,” he said, resting his hands on the top crate.

  “Try it from a wheelchair, then complain.”

  “Right, sorry. Sometimes I forget.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not,” Drew said, pushing his wheelchair back casually with his feet.

  “You know I don’t see you that way.”

  “I appreciate that. You’re about the only one, other than maybe the professor. Everyone’s always staring at me like I’m helpless. ‘Oh, the poor little crippled boy.’ Sometimes, I just want to scream.”

  “I hear ya, bro,” Lucas said, pawing at the topmost box. “Looks like all we need to do is cut the security tape and pop these latches. It’ll only take a minute. What do you think? Wanna see what’s inside?”

  “We already know what’s inside. The E-121 modules.”

  “Yeah, but don’t you want to see what they look like? I do. It’s killing me not to know.”

  “Why don’t you move them to the corner so they’re out of the way? The professor will be here eventually, so let’s just do what he said and not make waves.”

  “You sure know how to be a buzz-kill.”

  “No, what I know how to do is do what I’m told, thank you very much.”

  The combination of the sharp ache in Lucas’ back, the medical bills piling up from Mom’s stint in ICU, and the fear of blowback from the paper he’d sent to Dr. Green had left him more on edge than usual.

  “Where’s Trevor?” he snapped at Drew. “He’s usually here by now.”

  Drew didn’t answer. His head was buried in the operations manual for their experiment. Ten seconds later, he looked up. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Where’s Trevor?”

  “Probably in the cafeteria, eating.”

  “There’s a shock.”

  “He’s a big man. It takes a lot to fuel that engine.”

  “I take it Kleezebee changed the schedule and assigned him the late shift tonight?”

  “I think so, but he told me yesterday he might come in early today. Something about fixing the bug in his code.”

  “Hey, I have an idea.”

  “Let me guess. You wanna have Trevor move the containers for you.”

  Lucas smiled. “Great minds think alike.”

  “It would save your back.”

  “Exactly,” Lucas said, letting the smile grow. “What’s the point of having a disgraced Olympic athlete on the team if you can’t order the brute to move your E-121 samples, and possibly your sofa? Maybe even clean the toilets.”

  Drew recoiled visibly. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “What?”

  “That was mean and spiteful, even for you. What’s wrong with you lately?”

  Lucas rubbed his temples. Sometimes his mouth spoke without thinking. “Just tired, I guess. I get a little cranky when I’m stressed. Haven’t been sleeping well the past few nights.”

  “Crank-O-Potamus would be a better term.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You sleep like a rock.”

  “That’s because I have no regrets. What does Mom preach to us? Treat others as you’d like to be treated.”

  “Yeah, heard that one a million times.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “Enough with the Bible shit already.”

  Drew rolled closer in his chair. “Trevor’s all tough on the outside, but I think he’s really sensitive about what happened to him in the Olympics. It wasn’t his fault the samples got switched.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I would never say it in front of him.”

  “He’s a good friend and we need him on our team. How would you like it if your lifelong dream got taken away by one simple mistake?”

  An image of Dr. Green reading his thesis and blasting him publically across the Internet flashed in his mind. “It was a joke. I was kidding.” Lucas said, wanting to change the subject. He pointed at the operations manual. “What’s so fascinating?”

  “I think we need to check the calculations again.”

  Lucas rolled his eyes. “You’ve been over them a thousand times. They’re perfect. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Yes, it has. The power yields are lower. Someone tweaked my calculations.”

  The security scanner buzzed. Lucas turned around. “What now?”

  “Maybe it’s the professor.”

  “About time.”


  The door swung open. It was Bruno and another man, who was dressed in full business attire. The visitor’s trim-fitting suit barely drew attention away from the acne scars covering his face. The surface of an asteroid had less damage than this man’s complexion. His tie was a touch off-center and it looked like he was hopped up on caffeine based on the way he was fidgeting and moving through the door. Lucas waited for Bruno to introduce him, but the security guard closed the lab door and disappeared without saying a word.

  Lucas cleared his throat. “Can I help you?”

  The man squared his shoulders and stared at Drew for a few moments before turning his attention to Lucas.

  “Dr. Lucas Ramsey, I presume?”

  “And you are?”

  “Randol Harrison Larson the Third.”

  “Well, good for you.”

  “Lead counsel for the Advisory Committee. Didn’t Dr. Kleezebee mention I was going to stop by?”

  “Nope. But then again, we’re usually the last two people he informs—about anything.”

  “He should’ve told you I needed to perform an inspection.”

  “Of what?”

  Larson’s face changed from a pasty white color to a pinkish-red color. “Liability. We must mitigate potential exposure for the university.”

  “Our experiment?”

  “Yes,” Larson said, putting his briefcase on the floor to feel around his pockets. “Damn it. I forgot my pen.” Then he threw his hands up in the air. “Shit, and my clipboard.”

  “Are we having a bad day?” Drew asked in a tone that made him sound like a smart-ass.

  Lucas felt awful, realizing his temperament was rubbing off on his normally sweet foster brother. He sneered at Drew, hoping to stop him from saying anything else that might add more fuel to the attorney’s fire.