The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series

by Jacqueline Druga

  Henry placed his hands on his hips and really took in the view. The large lab was so comparable to the cryo-lab in Beginnings. It seemed to be, at one time, so state of the art. It had to have been air tight, barely any dust formed on the counters. But Henry didn’t see it. For as big as the lab was, it wasn’t quite that big that it could be hidden. “Where is it?”

  “Where is what?”

  “The thing we came all the way over here for.”

  “Oh, the Quantum-Regressionator. Yes, it’s right here.” He picked up a box no large than a shoe box.

  “That’s it? That brown leather box. Right.”

  “Part of it Henry. Here, I’ll show you.” He lifted the lid.

  “It looks like wires and contacts.”

  “Yeah, it does. And in an essence, that’s what they are. But in actuality, they are electro-probes.” Godrichson spoke in a mature, explaining manner.

  “O.K. Somehow I thought it would be bigger.”

  “Like a car? A huge box like contraption. Or better yet Henry, how about a telephone booth? Hmm?” Jason started to grow sarcastic along with being annoyed. “That is such a lame, Hollywood, civilian view of what quantum physics really is. You probably think you can travel to the future too, a time sequence yet created. You would think you’d sit in an H.G. Wells invention and turn a switch. You would.”

  “Then how does it work?” Henry asked, ignoring Jason’s tone.

  “You want me to explain years and years of research in a paragraph?”

  “If you can, I’d like to hear it.” Henry leaned against the counter.

  “Quickly, these electro-probes are placed strategically, in an area no wider than three feet, and no taller than seventy-seven inches.”

  “A doorway.” Henry folded his arms. “Like in an archway?”

  “Yes. You have three computer components. One breaks down the codes for the regressionist to set his or her destination. The second sends a signal to the computerized power source, and the third sends the desired amount of power needed to cause the correct magnetic field desired for quantum movement.”

  “Power source?”

  “Yes. This.” Jason laid his hand on a box marked ‘radioactive materials’ “Uranium.”

  “Uranium?” Henry’s eyes widened.

  “Small amounts that are never exposed to the regressionist. Uranium is needed for power in any regression that breaks the barriers completely. This is my theory that I am very close to proving. Barrier breaking regressions are those over, say, one hour. I have enough Uranium for eight trips. Of course, Uranium is only good for a destination of no further than twenty-five years. After that I’d need a power supply of radioactive materials that would be large enough to generate a forty megaton nuclear explosion. So you can see that any of those movies you have ever witnessed in your life, where the time traveler went hundreds of years either way, is completely far-fetched. It would be explosively dangerous to the regressionist as well as anyone in a fifty mile radius.”

  “O.K. sounds good. Let’s go.” Henry turned to pick up the first computer monitor.

  “You aren’t buying any of this, are you?”

  “Jason it’s a great explanation. However, I am very much a realist. But . . . if it gives you pleasure in your life believing that you can actually accomplish, what is it you called it? Quantum-regression?” Henry reached over patting Jason on the shoulder in a pacifying manner. “You go right ahead.” He picked up the computer monitor and walked out the door.

  “Laymen.” Jason spoke with a grunt and began to grab equipment also.

  ^^^^

  Frank ran hard through the wooded area just outside the back gate. A look of determination was on his face with his revolver held tight. “Where Greg?” He asked into his headset, still running.

  “Keep going. He’s darting, trying to lose . . . bear left fifteen degrees.” Greg instructed via radio from the watch tower.

  “Is he close?” Frank kept his eyes peeled ahead.

  “You’re closing in. He should be . . . oh shit! Behind you! Now!”

  Holding out his revolver, Frank spun himself around, firing blindly once into a man no further than ten feet from him. “Yes, I got him. Shit…” He turned forward to run again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That one’s useless too, Dean. I don’t see the other.”

  “Pick up speed, Frank, ten more degrees left.”

  Frank veered his body. As he passed a large bush area he could see the SUT running with full speed. “He’s in my focus.” Frank slowed down holding out his revolver steady with both hands. Closing one eye, breathing heavy from running, Frank talked to himself. “Hold still. And . . .” He fired. The SUT dropped down. “I got him!” Frank, still not taking a chance, ran to where the body fell.

  “Is he dead?” Greg asked.

  Frank happened upon him. He kicked him with his boot, rolling him over. “Yep, he is.” He placed his revolver back in the harness. “Hey, Greg?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Didn’t you work for a coroner?” Frank knelt down to the body.

  “Yeah, Frank, why?”

  “Leave Dan in the tower alone for a few minutes. Come on down here.” Frank reached feeling for a pulse. “I need your help.”

  ^^^^

  Frank saw Dean and Ellen as soon as he hit the lab door. They leaned against the counter, back to him, appearing to be reading something. He knocked once and stepped in. “Dean.”

  Dean turned from his paper work. “What’s going on, Frank?”

  “I brought you something.” He held up a large silver bucket.

  Ellen walked to Frank and kissed him. “What do you have?”

  “Wanna see?” Frank asked with a smile, showing Ellen the contents.

  Ellen screamed. Loudly. Her voice vibrating, her hands shaking as she stepped back frantically from the bucket that merely showed the bloodied brown hair.

  Startled by Ellen’s screams, and confused by Frank’s laughing, Dean moved to see what Frank had. “Oh, excellent.” He reached his hand into the bucket. “And it’s still warm.”

  “Fresh.” Frank handed it to him. “Thought you’d be happy. Do something with this.”

  “I’ll put him in the fridge. We have a patient to see.” Dean took hold of the handle and carried the pail, like Little Red Riding Hood, to the fridge.

  Frank, still laughing, saw Ellen, horrified, leaning against the counter. “What’s wrong?” He kissed her on the cheek.

  “Please Frank. Please don’t tell me my husband did that to someone.” She pointed to where Dean was.

  “Who me?” Frank shook his head. “No way. I couldn’t cut off some SUTs head. Greg did. Dean needed it to try to get a hold of that microchip.”

  Ellen looked at Frank then at Dean. “There is something wrong with both of you.” She walked by the counter and swiped up a stack of folders. “I have a room to get ready for our patient.”

  Dean’s head shook, confused, as Ellen walked out. “She’s rattled over a head in a bucket when she thrives on Bunny Autopsies?”

  “Go figure.” Frank said.

  “I should go too. Thanks for the specimen.” As he went to leave, Dean stopped. “I’m curious.” He scratched his head. “Why do you call them SUTs?”

  “Oh . . . Stupid, Uniformed, Target.”

  Dean nodded. “A Frank acronym.”

  “Uh . . . yeah.” Frank ran his hand down his goatee. “Of course my father has another name for them. Maybe you could help figure out what it stands for. You’re a scientist. I haven’t had a chance to ask him.”

  “Sure.” Dean looked at his watch. “I’ll spare the minute. What is it?”

  “Get this . . . Elk.”

  “As in a larger version of a deer?”

  “Yeah. Henry told me he specifically called it that when he was telling George about what I shot.”

  Dean opened his mouth, a smile crept upon his face, and sarcastically he spoke to him. “Wow, Frank,
I’m baffled.”

  “Me too.”

  “Ask Joe. I’m sure he’ll fill you in.” Turning around and rolling his eyes as he did so, Dean left the room.

  ^^^^

  Jason leaned close to Henry, checking with doubt over his shoulder, as Henry worked under the hood of the truck. “Can you fix it?”

  Slowly Henry turned his head to Jason, the look on his face all but said, ‘don’t be so stupid’.

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “I blew a rad hose.” Henry wiped his hands on his pants and moved to the open driver’s door.

  “How are you going to improvise on that one?” Jason followed him.

  Henry reached behind the driver’s seat. “With a new rad hose.” He pulled one out. “You don’t actually think I’d drive in a plague ridden world without replacement parts?”

  “I didn’t give it much thought.”

  “That is why you work in theory, and I work in reality.” He felt the closer presence and breathing of Jason over his shoulder. “Can you . . .” Henry shooed him back. “Please.” Henry adjusted the rifle that hung over his shoulder and reached the new hose into the truck. As he worked under that hood, the thumping of metal, the moving of the truck and the slight groan caught his attention. “What the hell is he doing?” Henry shifted his head to the right to peer from under the hood. He saw Jason’s legs extended on the ground. “Jason . . . shit.” Stepping back and around the truck, a man, a man he did not see, jumped, maddening for Henry. His large stature seemed frightening. A long reach, holding a knife, swung forth. Henry ducked, stood up, clenched his fist and delivered a punch to a man who seemed to barely feel it. Realizing that, Henry, using the butt of the riffle, pummeled the man in the face. Once, twice, and three times until blood shot forward, and the man fell to the ground. Ensuring his and Jason’s safety from the man who had attacked them, Henry placed his one foot on the man’s chest, the other to his cheek, and with a quick step and a snap, he broke the man’s neck. Adrenaline pumping, Henry turned to Jason. “You all right?”

  Wiping his bloodied eye with the back of his hand, Jason looked up to Henry with a squint. “I’ll be . . . Henry! Watch out!”

  He felt the arm go around his throat. The strength of the hold lifted Henry from his feet. It was strangling to him. Henry reared his head forward, snapping it back into his attacker. He turned abruptly around, reaming the assailant with the rifle’s butt. Then in one motion, Henry spun the rifle barrel forward, clicked back the hammer and fired once. Back flew the man.

  Out of breath, Henry stood there, searching to see if there were more. He saw no one but Jason. He reached his hand down to him, helping him to his feet. “You O.K.?”

  “Fine. That was very impressive.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess training with Frank has its advantages.”

  “It does.” Jason brought the palm of his hand to his eye to catch the blood. “But somehow, I was expecting Karate moves from you.”

  “Why? Because I’m Asian? Oh that is such a typical, clouded, Caucasian way of thinking.” Annoyed, Henry went back to the hood of the truck to finish fixing the problem.

  Snickering, Jason reached into the vehicle for a cloth. He stopped dabbing his blood when he heard something in the bushes not far from the over grown road. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah.” Henry lifted his rifle and positioned it. He brought it to his focus, aiming as he searched through the scope.

  “Don’t shoot!” A woman’s voice called out as she stumbled through the trees. She slowed down, looking oddly at the truck, running her hand across it as if she had never seen one. Her long black hair was mangled, and she was dirty. A bloody abrasion took up most of her cheek. “Can you help us?” She sighed when she saw the two bodies. “Please. They came after us.”

  Without hesitation, Jason stepped to the woman to follow. He saw Henry did not. “Henry? They’re hurt.”

  “O.K.”

  “You’re not helping?”

  With a slight shake of his head in irritation, Henry finally moved. “All right. God, if they all are injured, El is gonna have a fit.” He walked with Jason behind the woman. “Because you know we’ll have to take them. This better not be an ambush. And, I don’t even think we have room in containment. Is there even room in the truck?” Henry stopped when they reached the clearing. He whined when he saw what was left after the attack on the camp. “Great.”

  “Henry?” Jason said. “I’m curious. How many friends do you have in Beginnings?”

  “Really one. Just Frank.”

  “Did you ever ask yourself why?” Jason, leaving Henry behind, went to aid the injured.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For as eloquently and precisely as Dean handled his scientific experiments and mixtures, that was how badly he fumbled with the infant tape measure. “Useless. We won’t pull it off, El.” He laid the roll on the examining table in room two.

  “Sure we will.” Ellen pulled the tape and let it snap back into the roll. “Just pretend you know what you’re doing. You remembered how I told you the examination went.”

  “Yes. I am not a pediatrician.”

  “You examine Brian.”

  “That’s different. Brian is . . . is . . . Brian is different.” Dean ran his fingers through his hair. “Why do we have to do this?”

  “Because we want Melissa to trust us as good caretakers for Marcus. If she doesn’t, she’ll never allow us to do some of the testing we want. So today we do a normal infant exam.”

  “On Marcus?”

  “On . . . Marcus!” Ellen smiled when mother and son stepped into the exam room. “Look Dean, Melissa and . . . Marcus are here.” Holding her hands out, Ellen reached for the baby. “Oh look how cute he is, Melissa.” She took the baby into her arms.

  Melissa gave an agreeing nod. “And growing fast.”

  Ellen ran her hand over the roundish baby’s hair. Hair that was so animal like in color and texture. “You’re a cute guy.” Ellen smiled at him. “He’s smiling.”

  “Yes, he is.” Melissa proudly set her hand on Marcus’ back. “He’s a good baby.”

  “Are you a good boy?” Ellen asked, in such an unlike Ellen way. “I just love this kid. And trust me, I don’t like kids.”

  “I got him all undressed for you. Are you ready?” Melissa asked.

  Dean picked up Marcus’ chart. “Ready. El? Wanna weight him?”

  “Absolutely.” Ellen carried him to the scale, setting him down and humming as she did. “Twenty-three pounds. Pretty big for a few weeks.”

  Melissa helped Ellen lay the baby on the table. “He’s not going to stay a baby for long, is he Dean?”

  “I don’t know.” Dean placed his stethoscope in his ears and began listening to Marcus’ breathing. “I’d like to do a complete scan on Marcus, not yet, but soon.”

  Melissa agreed. “Sure. Hey Dean?”

  Dean lifted his head, lowering his stethoscope. “What’s up?”

  “He makes this noise.”

  “What kind of noise?” Dean asked.

  “Well, this grunting type noise, sort of a soft . . . growl. Is that normal?”

  “Uh . . .” Dean dragged his words out. “Yeah, it’s normal. El . . . Didn’t um, Billy, grunt?”

  Ellen raised her eyes from the chart she looked at. “Yep. Grunts and groans, just like his father.”

  Dean widened his eyes to her then faced Melissa. “Normal.” Dean checked the baby’s reflexes. As he flicked his finger on the bottom of Marcus’ foot, Marcus heaved back his leg and snapped it forward at Dean’s fingers with a smack. Dean pulled back his hand shaking his finger. “Fussy?”

  “No. You just tickled him.” Melissa ran her hand over Marcus’ head.

  Dean opened the baby’s mouth. “Oh, wow.” He shined the light in there. “His gums are swelling. I think I see a . . .” Dean began to reach in to feel the gums, but thought twice about it. “…tooth.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway . . . Melissa get Marcus dr
essed. I’d like to speak to you about some tests I want to run.”

  Melissa nodded. “Nothing too painful.”

  “Nah.” Dean shook his head as he walked behind Ellen, peering to double check her notes. “Can I speak to you in the hall for a sec, El?” he whispered. When he saw Ellen nod, he took her by the arm to the door. “Melissa, we’ll be right back.” Stepping into the hall, Dean closed the exam room door. “Well?”

  “You did great.” Ellen complimented.

  “Too soon to get permission to remove some of Marcus’ skin for reaction purposes?” Dean asked.

  “Um, no. She trusts you. Go on.” Ellen stopped him before he went in. “But, Dean, as a mother myself, I suggest phrasing it as . . . skin surface, allergy testing.”

  “Got it. Thanks.” Dean winked, and returned back into the room with Ellen, smiling as he did.

  ^^^^

  To Henry, Joe didn’t look very happy after escorting the eight new people into the clinic for Ellen, Dean, and Andrea to tend to. Henry supposed, as suspected, Ellen complained badly. It showed on Joe’s face as he emerged from the clinic building. Even though he hated to burden Joe more, there was one other thing to be settled in order to put the whole North Dakota mission to bed. “Joe?” Henry darted up to him. “You didn’t say where you wanted Jason set up.”

  “I didn’t?” Joe scratched his head leaning toward Henry, peering at the truck parked across the street. “He really has a time machine in that truck?”

  “That’s what he thinks.” Henry looked backwards to Jason. “Joe.” Henry dropped his voice to a whisper. “He has uranium.”

  “Uranium?” Joe peered to Jason. “Jason, what the hell do you have uranium for?”

  “For my Regressionator. Minuscule amounts, safely sealed in separate containers. Eight of them.” He moved closer to Joe and Henry.

  “And what would happen, damage wise, if one of these eight containers would happen to explode?” Joe asked.

  “Not much.” Jason shrugged. “It would cause an explosion yes, only really wiping out a quarter of a mile maybe.”