Super World Two

by Lawrence Ambrose

  Nate felt the sharp tingle of adrenaline he'd been hungering for since joining the DHS. He hoped it wouldn't be a case of being careful what he wished for.

  "Understood, sir," he said.

  JAMIE CLUNG to the warm glow of being with her daughter as she flew west toward Portland, Oregon. Tildie Armstrong lived just outside the city limits in a modest one-story house with a large yard. Jamie wasn't sure if she owned or rented it, or if she lived there alone. She'd found no records of her being married or having children.

  Posing as a student over the phone seeking an appointment with her, Jamie had learned that Tildie got off work at five-thirty on weekdays. She had no idea about Tildie's routine, but Jamie didn't see her reserved friend spending a lot of time hanging out in bars or otherwise sampling Portland's nightlife.

  Jamie was happy to find Tildie's one acre yard sheltered on all sides by tall pine. A long driveway led up from a rural road to a cottage-style house surrounded by flower beds that were starting to bloom. No neighbor had a clear view of the house or the yard. Jamie dropped down on a small hill in the backyard where she could observe the driveway. She broke out her new laptop computer. It detected a strong WI-FI provider, but that did no good without a password. Jamie reconciled herself to reading one of the novels she'd downloaded from WordCraft, the premier online bookseller in this world. She'd found bestselling novels by authors she'd never heard of, but perhaps the eeriest experience of all was seeing novels by authors she knew, often with titles and story lines that were semi-familiar but different.

  Tildie rolled up the driveway in an older Volvo. Jamie zoomed in on her face, which was filled with lines of worry. She kept glancing at her rearview mirror. The object of her concern soon appeared: a helmeted figure on a motorcycle, tires ripping up gravel and dirt as it raced after her, skidding to a stop where she'd parked by the front door. The rider leaped off the bike, ripping off his helmet. Jamie judged it significant that her friend remained in the car while the motorcyclist rapped his helmet against the driver-side window. She judged it doubly significant when he yanked a tire iron from his bike and returned to the car, coiling his body for a swing.

  Jamie pulled the tire iron out of his hand and sent it flying down the driveway. While the young man clutched his wrist and stared open-mouthed at the renegade tire iron, Jamie flew around the house, landing just before stepping into view from behind the garage.

  "What the –" the cyclist sputtered. "Who the hell are you?"

  "A friend." Jamie strode toward him. "You must be the abusive boyfriend."

  "I am not abusive. I just wanted to talk."

  "With a tire iron?"

  "I was just trying to convince her to open the window. I wouldn't have actually smashed it."

  "Oh. You were just threatening her with a tire iron."

  "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

  Tildie climbed cautiously out of her Volvo, staring at Jamie, obviously wondering the same thing.

  "Uh, hi," she said, before turning to her pursuer. "Val, go home. How you're acting now – this isn't you. You know that."

  "I just want to talk, goddammit! After all our time together, is that asking too much?"

  "There's nothing left to talk about, Val. I know you think there is, but there really isn't." Tildie spoke calmly, compassionately. "You just have to accept that and move on."

  "Easy for you to say, since you never cared for me the way I care for you."

  "It's not about caring, Val. It's about being compatible. No matter how much I cared, it wouldn't make us compatible."

  Val smoothed his long hair back with one shaking hand. He eyed Jamie, his lips compressing in scarcely suppressed anger. Though she guessed he was in his mid-twenties, about Tildie's age and only a few years younger than her, he seemed much younger. He looked like a misbehaving little boy who'd been told to go sit in the corner.

  He turned from them with the jerky motions of a marionette directed by an angry puppeteer and stalked back to his bike. He slapped his helmet into place, yanked his motorcycle off the grass, and raced off spraying gravel. Tildie sagged against her car, releasing a ragged breath.

  "God," she whispered.

  "Are you okay?" Jamie took a step toward her, but pulled up when Tildie gave her a sharp look.

  "Where did you come from?" she asked. "I don't know you, do I?"

  "No. I was waiting for you. I'm Jamie. Jamie Shepherd."

  "You were waiting for me...why?"

  "I want to talk."

  A loud horn sounded from the road. They turned to see Tildie's ex-boyfriend emphatically flipping her off. He and his motorcycle suddenly rose twenty feet in the air. Only for two or three seconds, but long enough for the startled young man's scream to carry back to them before Jamie set him down with a gentle thought. Tildie's ex eased back on the throttle and putted cautiously from view with several nervous backward glances.

  "Did you see what I saw?" Tildie asked in a hoarse voice.

  "That must be some powerful motorcycle," Jamie laughed. "It practically went airborne."

  "It did go airborne." Tildie regarded her with abrupt suspicion. "Why are you laughing?"

  "The terrified expression on his face, and that shriek."

  "Are you saying...you had something to do with that?"

  "It seemed only fair after his behavior."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Turn around."

  Tildie did. Her Volvo now hovered thirty feet above them. Tildie staggered backward, looking from Jamie to the Volvo with wild eyes.

  "Who...?" She choked on a cough, staring at Jamie as if she was a dangerous and unexpected beast. "What are you?"

  "I'm your friend. Or I'd like to be." Jamie made a calming motion with her hands and the Volvo lowered back to the driveway. "Look, I know it's a shock. Just take a few breaths, Tildie. I'm not dangerous, I promise you. There's a completely rational explanation."

  "You're an alien?" She rasped through another cough, holding her throat. "Or a god?"

  "No, just a human being with unusual powers. At least unusual on this world."

  "You come from another world?"

  "Yes. But not an alien one. Another Earth. A parallel or alternate Earth."

  "Oh." Tildie sounded half-relieved. "A world where people have superpowers?"

  "Exactly."

  "And you decided to drop in on me because...?"

  "We worked together on my world." Jamie smiled. "Another version of you and I did. We were like super-powered police. And best friends."

  Tildie collapsed on the hood of her car, wheezing out her breath like a punctured blow-up doll while dark clouds gathered overhead.

  "Maybe we should go inside," said Jamie. "You could have a drink or something."

  "Maybe some tea?" She spoke in hopeful tones. "Chamomile tea."

  "Sounds good."

  Inside, the house had an open floor plan, radiating out from the centrally placed kitchen. A lot of hardwood, mostly dark and in need of dusting or sweeping or refinishing. The place had an organic, back-to-earth kind of feel that Jamie thought matched her friend.

  Jamie found it interesting – when it wasn't too frustrating – to see how her friends and family responded to the "big reveal." They all reacted differently, but in some key ways – initial fear, skeptical questions, and tentative acceptance – they were all the same. Except for Greg Horner. For all she knew, he could still be nursing fantasies about her being a DARPA creation.

  But Tildie was the most receptive so far of her friends to her long and tangled story. Not only didn't she find the idea of parallel worlds, hostile aliens, and superpowered people hard to accept – she seemed to relish those possibilities.

  "I have to confess," she said at one point, "I've always had a fantasy of being a superhero. Or superheroine. I watch and read everything related to that. It's my dirty little secret."

  Jamie was buoyed by Tildie's enthusiasm and willingness to help – she'd been hoping for an ally like her �
�� but she wasn't all that excited about placing her friend in harm's way.

  "Maybe I could find a way to get to Brian Loving," Tildie mused. "Though I'm not sure what I would say to him if I did. 'Hey, did you know your angels are really aliens and that this heaven you're sending people to is a virtual reality show?' Somehow I don't think that would go over very well."

  "No. He wasn't very receptive to the idea on my world, either."

  "A virtual heaven." Tildie said it with a reverent, dreamy smile. "Just like Earth but everyone living forever and free to make their own society. What a cool idea!"

  "Too bad I'll have to destroy it if it exists." Jamie's smile fell flat. "Or try to."

  "That would almost be a shame."

  "But who wants to live forever, as the song goes."

  "What song?"

  "Queen. Late-eighties, I think." That drew a blank look. "You don't know Queen?"

  "Nope."

  Jamie sighed. "I should do an online search and see who on my world is famous and successful here. It never occurred to me to think about that...about the possibility that songs and performers I love might not have accomplished anything noteworthy here – or might not even be alive."

  "Yeah. That would suck. You're welcome to use my computer to go online, by the way, and do whatever you need to do."

  Jamie was beginning to appreciate her friend more and more. "Thank you. I really appreciate you not freaking out and being so willing to help. I'm so glad I decided to come see you."

  Tildie reached across the table and rested her hand on Jamie's. "You're carrying a lot on your shoulders, aren't you?"

  Jamie bowed her head. She had no words, just a glowing gratitude. In that moment, she knew how desperately she missed the comradeship of her team.

  "I might take you up on using your internet connection," she said, straightening up, dismissing an urge to let her emotions get the better of her. "We could start by finding out where Brian Loving lives."

  "WE HAVE something new," said Nathan Andrews.

  The largest computer screen Nate had ever worked with – a six foot by six foot high definition LCD that hung on one wall of the mission room – showed a grainy human figure against a background of blue sky and cumulous clouds. According to the Osprey drone's telemetry that figure was six thousand feet in the air and moving just over one thousand miles per hour. The location was above northeastern Minnesota.

  Jack Brickman stood with the rest of the team – two intelligence techs from downstairs, including Adrianna, a guy from Operations, and some gangly dude from the Science and Technology Directorate – all staring over the conference table at the screen. Nate had expected Jack Brickman to be a big, square-jawed hard-nosed veteran, but Jack was of average height and build, his pleasant features usually arranged in calm reflection. From the first moment they'd met, Nate had the strongest impression that Jack would kill you while wearing his vintage mellow expression. He was a man of few words, and when he spoke it was in a quiet voice that made people lean toward him and ask him to repeat himself.

  "If this is a person, is it male or female?" Jack Brickman asked, his bland gaze focusing on Nathan.

  "I'd say female," said Nathan. "Looks like long hair and a female body shape."

  The others murmured agreement.

  "The woman in the Lexus?" asked Brickman.

  "It's possible. But at this resolution, I can't say for sure."

  "This is the best resolution we can achieve?"

  "We were lucky to get even something this good at the speed she was traveling."

  Brickman turned to the gangly DHS scientist. "Any idea about how she's achieving propulsion?"

  The S&T scientist, Mark Abrams, pressed his thick-rimmed glasses firmly into place and frowned at the screen. With his receding curly blond hair and round glasses framing wide, blinking blue eyes, he reminded Nathan of an exotic and startled bird.

  "I would guess rocket pack," said Mark, "but I don't believe any non-armored person could survive anything close to that speed. Assuming that is a person, she doesn't appear to be wearing protective clothing or even goggles."

  "How would you explain that?"

  "I can't."

  "She's not human," stated one the Operations agent, a tall, broad-shouldered guy with an eighties mustache named Nick Winger. "How about that for an explanation?"

  No one spoke for three or four seconds.

  "An escapee from DARPA?" the other Operations agent, Holden James, suggested. "A synthetic?"

  "Either that or she's a real-life Supergirl."

  "I hate that show," said Adrianna.

  "DARPA denies it has anything like her," said Nate.

  Nick shot him a cool smile. "What would you expect?"

  "I don't think it's one of ours," said the ST scientist, Mark Abrams. "We liaise with DARPA and Trinity Labs regularly. I've seen several of their most advanced projects in artificial intelligence and self-propelled flight and I've seen nothing like this."

  "What's the alternative?" Nick raised his hands.

  That drew another brief round of silence.

  "Zachary Walters knows who or what she is," said Adrianna.

  "Right." Nathan frowned. "Unfortunately, he hasn't written or said a word about her or his car flight – no communication about her to anyone – since we started the TIP on him."

  "He hasn't even mentioned it to his girlfriend during pillow talk," Adrianna grumbled. "What guy does that?"

  "He's keeping a secret," said Brickman. "We may need a more direct approach."

  "I could pay him a visit," said Nick. "I'm sure I could convince him to unburden himself."

  Jack fingered his chin. "I'm thinking of a more subtle approach. Nathan." He swiveled to face him. "How do you feel about working for the EPA? On a temporary basis, of course."

  Nate smiled. "I always wanted to do something for the environment."

  Chapter 5

  THE FIVE DAYS SINCE Zach's bizarre flight into the atmosphere with his enigmatic host had inched along as if his disbelief was creating a drag on time itself. The more time that passed the more it seemed unreal. What was worse, the woman had made an impression on him. The kind of impression that had him seeing her face when he was kissing Stephanie. Or was it merely the power of suggestion – her claim that they'd been together on her world? Whatever the case, he found himself waiting for her return and annoyed at himself for hoping it would be soon.

  Zachary noticed the slim dude with the goatee anguishing over a flat tire from halfway across the parking lot. He was poking around in his older model car's open trunk and glaring at the tire as if it was verbally taunting him. Zach smiled. The guy with his hipster jeans and granny glasses was probably some science nerd who'd never changed a tire in his life. Not that Zach, raised by two academics in an upscale suburban neighborhood, had a lot of experience working on cars, but growing up in North Dakota knowing how to change a tire was practically the law.

  "Hey," Zachary greeted him, two cars down from his Lexus. "Could you use a hand?"

  "I could use a jack. Which seems to have magically disappeared." He straightened up, smoothing back sweaty brown locks and offering a stoic smile. "I guess I'll have to take a major hit on my manhood and call a tow company."

  "Let's not take it to that extreme," Zach laughed. "I have a jack and a lug wrench. You have a spare?"

  "Yes. Assuming it isn't flat."

  "Let's see."

  Zach reached into the trunk and dragged out the tire, bouncing it on the asphalt. "Since it's all rubber, not much chance of it going flat."

  "Oh. Duh."

  "I'll get my jack and wrench."

  "Thanks, man. You sure?" Nate noted his dress shirt and slacks. "I'd hate to get grease on any of your clothes."

  "Don't worry, dude." Zach grinned. "I'll let you do all the grunt labor."

  "Sounds good to me."

  Zach dug out his jack and lug wrench, conveniently bundled in a leather pouch in a rear panel of his SUV. H
e positioned the jack under Nathan's Honda Civic and directed him in loosening the lug nuts.

  "Haven't seen you around before," said Zach. "Where do you work?"

  "Homeland Security Research. I actually just got here. Had the chance for a transfer to Colorado and jumped at it. I've always wanted to live here."

  "Yeah, it's pretty fantastic here. But then I grew up in North Dakota."

  Nate grunted a laugh as he wrestled with the lug wrench. He didn't need to act much to appear clumsy. He'd changed a tire maybe once before in his life. He'd been raised by a single mom, heir to his dad's considerable property and savings from his years as a Biogene executive, and she'd never seen a job she wouldn't happily pay someone to perform.

  "I'm from southern California," said Nate. "San Diego area."

  "And you were desperate to come to Colorado?"

  "Well, I've been living in New York for most of my adulthood. But for whatever reason, Colorado has always called to me."

  Nathan completed tightening the nuts and lowered his car.

  "Man, I can't thank you enough," he said, glancing at his hand before extending it. "I don't think I'm too greasy. I'm Nathan Andrews, by the way."

  "Zach Walters."

  They shook. Typical alpha, Nate thought, noting his six-one height, square shoulders, and confident smile. Too good-looking to be a research scientist. More like a male model posing as a scientist. Nate imagined Adrianna drooling over him. Still, he was obviously a hell of a nice guy, and Nate couldn't help liking him.

  "Are you doing anything now?" Nate asked. Making a connection was part of the plan, but it still felt impulsive. "I was just thinking I'd like to repay you for being a good Samaritan. Can I buy you a drink?"

  "That's not necessary. I was glad to help. I know what a pain cars can be."

  "From your Lexus?" Nathan gave him a skeptical smile.

  "Not so much. But I haven't always driven a Lexus. My first car was an old Yukon that had some bizarre electric problem. It would break down without warning, usually at the worst possible time – then run fine the next day. The mechanics never did figure it out."