by L. Eira
In all his life, Zack had seldom done anything worthwhile without his twin. At this moment, she was very much on his mind. Was she safe all by herself? Was she scared? He knew she was resourceful and highly intelligent and, therefore, more than capable of fending for herself. Still, he wished they were together.
Maybe it’s me I’m worried about, he pondered. She’s always there to help me think things through. He took a deep breath. I’ll be OK. You will too, Mackenzie!
Low to the ground, Zack crawled behind a thicket, like the army grunts he was spying on. About one hundred yards away, an older man barked out orders, his instructions demanding feats beyond his underlings’ physical capabilities.
“Go, go, go,” he yelled to the troop. “Over this wall, ladies and lesbos. We have a civil war to start and a country to fix. You’re not on your daddy’s farm anymore, soldier! You’re in General Homer’s private army. Let’s go, let’s go!”
Overhead, three aircraft zoomed by, and five targets, around two to three feet tall, exploded in the distance as they passed. The preciseness of the blast caused Zack’s insides to shiver. The targets disintegrated into a million particles that vaporized and then gently fell to the ground like falling snow.
They’re preparing to start the war that eventually leads to global destruction and Armageddon. I have to stop them. Zack swallowed hard. Somehow.
Zack heard some noise coming from right behind him, the typical crescendo hum of charging pulverizing weapons, the type of armament that could dissolve all your bones and internal organs and leave behind only a handful of mushy remains. He turned around slowly. Three barrels pointed at his chest; three soldiers stood ready to kill.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The old man knocked menacingly on the car window. “I’m calling the police,” he warned. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. He turned and disappeared into the home.
Mackenzie looked at her computer virtual image and saw how to place the vehicle in reverse. She imitated the maneuver until the R was displayed. She pressed the accelerator, and the car rushed away from the house. This is easy! she thought. She mimicked the video on the virtual screen in front of her until the R became a D. She gunned the red Toyota Camry and smiled as the distance between her and the driveway where she appropriated the car increased rapidly.
Suddenly, Mackenzie felt a gut-wrenching discomfort in the pit of her stomach. Something’s wrong! she mused. But what? Who? Where? She took a deep breath. Something’s wrong with Zack!
She knew her connection with her twin was indestructible and fervent, no matter the distance, physical or temporal. She knew something was amiss with Zack, something beyond his control. Or hers.
And then, she noticed her. And him. A blue Camaro had just pulled up to the same red light and now idled just to the Camry’s right. Valerie Rovine Baten. No, not Baten yet. At this point in time, she was only Valerie Rovine, her mom-to-be. Valerie was sitting in the passenger’s seat. Behind the wheel was the boy who had tried to shoot them earlier. Doug, the imbecilic quarterback who had dated their mom many, many moons ago. Actually, right now. Mackenzie’s first reaction was to hide her face, but soon she gathered that the couple would not have recognized her at this time.
In her contemplative state, she didn’t realize she was staring right at Doug and Valerie, who were glaring back.
“What are you looking at?” yelled an infuriated Doug, his face in a scowl. “Nothing to see here!”
Mackenzie mouthed the words “Sorry.” The light was now green, and she accelerated through the intersection. Soon, the Camaro drove by fast, Doug’s middle finger extended.
“Bitch!” she heard him say as the distance between their cars augmented.
What does this really mean? she mused. Why am I here now, meeting up with these two? There has to be a good reason for it. Mackenzie gripped the steering wheel tightly as she thought. Is this a pivotal point in time? Do I discover something that will be important later on? I wonder what—
The Camry suddenly came to a halt, jolting her into the steering wheel and interrupting her thoughts. Her reflections had claimed her attention at the worst possible time. Her car’s front bumper struck the Camaro’s back fender, pushing it into the intersection a few feet.
Goddamn it! These vehicles don’t yet have anticollision autostop.
Smoke spewed from inside the hood of her car, obscuring her view. Mackenzie released her seatbelt and began to open her car door. Burly hands grabbed her collar, choking her. Her body was propelled out of the car toward Doug’s infuriated face.
“You’re going to pay for this damage, bitch!” he said. “Look what you did to my Camaro.” He threw her against the Toyota. Mackenzie closed her eyes and prepared to be struck as Doug’s right brawny arm drew back, his hand in a tight fist and his lips peeling back from his clenched white teeth.
Zack was forcibly placed in an army jeep and driven to an old-looking farmhouse. The walls were constructed of reddish brick, the roof covered with black tiles. Green shutters accented multiple windows. Two soldiers carrying machine guns pulled Zack from the jeep and pushed him toward the house, hurrying his steps.
“Well, hello,” said a man sporting what looked like an officer’s uniform. “Who do we have here?”
“This is Zackary Rovine, Colonel,” said one of the soldiers. “We found him in the woods that surround the farm to the west.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” The officer looked Zack over, top to bottom, and then gazed deep into his eyes. “Rovine, huh? So, what’s your story, son? What were you doing spying on us? Who are you working for?”
“Oh, no, sir,” said Zack. “I wasn’t really spying. I was just curious.”
One of the soldiers handed the colonel a handheld eTablet. “Thank you, Corporal.” His eyes scanned the screen. “According to my iFact, you are who you say you are.” He smirked. “Your DNA profile proves you are, in fact, the son of the illustrious Dr. William August Rovine. The problem is that when we dug into it further, we discovered your DNA was e-filed just yesterday. Yet I know you weren’t born yesterday.” He chuckled. “There’s an old saying like that. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday,’” he mocked. Then suddenly his demeanor changed, the smirk on his face instantly morphing into a scowl. “Whomever you’re working for didn’t do a good job changing your ID, boy. Apparently they didn’t realize we have access to all e-File data. They did a good job changing your genomic signature. I must admit, the record looks real. But they forgot to change the e-file date to your birthday, boy!” He gave a nod to the soldiers, who approached Zack, machine guns drawn. “Besides, I happen to know Dr. William Rovine has no sons. So, I’ll ask one last time, boy. Who are you working for?”
“Nobody, sir. I was looking to see what—”
“I wasn’t born yesterday either!” The colonel turned to the sergeant. “He’s a traitor to his country. Take him out back, deep into the forest, and get rid of him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ellie and Brent sat next to each other at the table. Across from them sat Older Ellie, a cup of steaming coffee in her hand. The diner was full that day, with different types of people gathering to partake in its breakfast-time culinary delights.
“Do the school and our parents know the trouble we’re in?” said Younger Ellie. “And that we’re not in school? It’s been almost a week.”
“Who said you’re not school?” said Older Ellie. “I believe if you were to check the computer system at school, you’d find that the two of you and William have yet to miss one class. In fact, the three of you aced a quiz in algebra just yesterday.” She smiled and took a sip of coffee. “The computer terminal at Knight Hall where William is supposed to be staying indicates that he was reassigned to Bronson Hall. There, that terminal indicates William is assigned to Knight Hall. Same thing with you, Ellie.”
“How did you do that?” said Brent. He drank some of his orange juice.
“Our technology from 2059 can easily decipher
and overcome the security features of today’s computer systems. I asked my computer to infiltrate the school’s computer system and place you kids in the classes you were supposed to be in. Eventually the teachers will talk to each other and figure things out. This will only buy us a short period of time.”
“What about Brent’s parents?” asked Younger Ellie.
“They’re going through a bitter divorce right now,” said Older Ellie. “His mom is in Europe getting away from it all, but his dad doesn’t know it. He thinks Brent’s with her. She thinks he’s with him. Pretty sad, really.”
“I keep telling you,” agreed Brent, his head bowed. “They don’t give a shit about me.”
Younger Ellie came to Brent and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“Well, we need to concentrate right now on getting William out of jail,” she said, breaking the long moment’s worth of silence. “How do we do that?”
“Let’s get the e-news about him,” said Older Ellie. She produced a small gadget from her pocket. “Computer, find out all you can about recent events concerning William August Baten.”
“Computing,” said the pleasant electronic woman’s voice. “Dr. Ellie Smithson, my connection to the Global Net is nonexistent. Reason for this is unclear. I can connect to a much less robust system called Internet. Should I look into connectivity issues at this time?”
Brent smiled at Younger Ellie, hearing his last name next to her first. A warm sensation came over him, but he fought to remain unaffected. He could tell Ellie had a similar feeling. She smiled back.
“Computer, no,” said Older Ellie. “The Global Net system in this location is unobtainable. Use the present Internet system to gather as much information as you can. Collect important information and search the computer systems of the local authorities. I will let you know when I’m ready for the results.”
“Yes, Doctor. I’m glad you are giving me time for this search. I’m afraid this may take several minutes. Computing.”
The two teens looked at one another and then at Older Ellie, unsure whether they could speak without interfering with the computer’s function.
Older Ellie spoke first. “Our computer systems improve drastically over the next forty years, but our eggs Benedict deteriorated by as much, if not more. This food is great.” She took a forkful of egg and English muffin, and then sipped her coffee.
“The computer called you Dr. Ellie Smithson,” said Younger Ellie.
“Oh yeah,” said Older Ellie. “You two lovebirds get married and have a wonderful life together.” Her eyes moistened. “Until—”
“The global war,” said Brent, interrupting her thoughts. “Or the deadly virus.”
“And time travel,” said Younger Ellie.
Older Ellie nodded.
The three finished their breakfast without speaking, and then walked out of the diner.
Sparks knocked on the door. A sign read, “Tim Hunter, Chief, CSI, Team B.”
“Come in, Detective Sparks,” said Hunter.
“I need you to verify the fingerprint evidence on the gun we recovered from the murder scene,” said Sparks. “I’m not sure that ditsy broad knows what she’s—”
“First of all, I don’t appreciate you calling any of my people names. What are you, twelve?” Hunter got up from his chair. “Second of all, my fingerprint techs are both men, and they are both proficient at what they do. I trust both implicitly. You may not like what the report says, but it—”
“You’re right,” said Sparks, moving some books off the couch to make enough room to sit down. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have called her a ditsy broad. I’m sure she’s a well-trained professional just—”
“Who are we talking about?” asked Hunter.
“The new older lady. She joined your team today. You were angry at her for not reporting to you at the scene earlier today.”
“What are you talking about, Sparks? There’s nobody new on the CSI team.”
“What?” said Sparks. “How could you have already forgotten what happened only a few hours ago? The older lady who talks way too much! Can’t shut up. She wanted to take the gun to evidence and take care of the fingerprints for me. Remember now?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Hunter. “But speaking of giving evidence materials to a ditsy broad you don’t know without first checking proper ID—”
Sparks began to violently shake his head. “I would never—”
Hunter pressed the intercom button. “Lula Mae, send her in.”
The office door opened and Sally came in, her big bosoms first, and then her exceedingly red lips and smile.
Hunter gestured toward her. “Please come in.” Then he turned toward Sparks. “The gun in evidence showed up in our basket without proper paperwork. I did some detective work”—he paused to smirk—“and found out from Sally over here that she saw you give the evidence to an older woman and asked her to carry it to the evidence room.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Sally. “She took the gun from Detective Sparks and said she would take care of it.”
Sparks remained silent, his eyes wide open.
“Thank you for coming in, Sally,” said Hunter. “You can now return to your work.”
Sally smiled, half curtseyed, and then left the office.
Hunter sat back down behind his desk. “Do you know why we have rules around here, Detective? Do you know why you can’t just have anybody do your work for you, Sparks?”
“I gave the evidence to one of your CSI people,” said Sparks.
“Yes, the new ditsy older broad you keep talking about. Well, guess what? We have no new employees. The last new ditsy older broad we hired was a little over eighteen months ago when CSI Kirk Kigler joined our team, and he’s a decorated agent with our department.”
“So why was she working the scene today?”
Hunter shook his head. “There was nobody new working the scene today. If there were, I would know.”
“There most certainly was, and you had a conversation with her.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Hunter got up, his hands in fists, his arms at his side.
“No,” said Sparks. “But we’ve both been had by this older woman.”
“I wasn’t had by a woman. You were.”
“I have to go.” Sparks got up briskly and walked toward the door.
“This isn’t over yet, Sparks,” yelled Hunter. “You’ll have to answer for not following protocol while handling evidence.”
And Sparks was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Mackenzie closed her eyes and braced herself for the strike of Doug’s burly fist.
“Whoa!” yelled Valerie.
Mackenzie opened one eye.
Valerie hung on to Doug’s bicep. “Let’s not go around hitting people. This was an accident.” She turned to Mackenzie. “Are you OK, miss?”
How funny it was to hear her own mother call her miss. She has no clue. She wanted to say, “I’m your future daughter,” but she knew better.
“Look what you did to my Camaro,” said Doug. “You stupid bitch.”
“Calm down, Doug,” said Valerie. “This was just an accident. Nobody meant to hurt your precious Camaro. Let her go.”
Doug let go of Mackenzie’s lapel.
“I’m not hurt,” said Mackenzie, once she was able to calm herself a bit. She took a deep, soothing breath. “Any of you hurt?”
“Everybody’s OK,” said Valerie slowly.
“The Camaro is not OK,” yelled Doug. “I just got it painted and fixed up. Look what you did to it. You goddamn stupid bitch.”
“Quit calling her names, Doug,” said Valerie. “It was an accident.”
Doug shoved Valerie aside, causing her to fall backward, her head hitting the pavement, hard. Mackenzie rushed to her side.
“She’s unconscious,” said Mackenzie. “Computer, assess health status on Valerie Rovine-Baten. Uh…computer, change request to Valer
ie Rovine.”
“Scanning,” said the emotionless computerized woman’s voice.
“Wait, what are you doing?” said Doug, puzzlement all over his face.
The mechanized electronic voice continued. “Dr. Valerie Rovine-Baten is experiencing an expanding acute subdural hematoma. I am also detecting unusual changes in her cellular apoptotic qualities, consistent with significant rejuvenation from last known cellular scan. I will monitor her heart rhythm and vital signs and advise you of any changes. Would you like me to summon emergency care?”
The underground parking lot was deserted—deserted of people but not of vehicles. A multitude of cars, vans, and trucks were all neatly parked in rows that seemed to go on forever. Sparks looked under the vehicles for feet belonging to anyone but the man he was meeting with clandestinely. There was no one else in sight. Faint light bulbs poorly illuminated the area.
“You wanted to see me?” said Kirk.
“Kirk Kigler, the fingerprint expert,” said Sparks. “What happened to the fingerprint analysis?”
“I contaminated the gun with the boy’s fingerprints, just like you asked,” said Kirk. “Just in case the kid hadn’t touched the weapon at the scene.”
“What do you mean?” said Sparks. “If you did as I told you, why does the goddamn official report show no known fingerprints on the gun? And William Baten’s fingerprints are in the system. Hell, I put them there myself.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Sparks,” said Kigler. “I put a good index finger print from William Baten’s file on the trigger of that gun. There’s no way that would be missed.”
“And why weren’t you the one running those prints?” said Sparks. “Didn’t I tell you to make sure you ran that report?”
“I was waiting for you to bring in the gun to the department, but you never did.”
“I didn’t want to be the one on record as bringing the evidence bag to you. So I gave it to one of—” Sparks suddenly stopped talking.
