Sliptime

by Jeffrey Grode

  “I understand. Please take this.” Amo handed him what looked like a hearing aid.

  “What’s this?” Patrick turned it over in his hand.

  “This device will track your location, allow us to communicate, and permit me to monitor your conversations at a distance.” Amo pointed his green finger. “Notice the volume controls. Should you desire to be rescued, you need only ask and I will assist.”

  Patrick pushed the communication device into his ear, left the lab, and arrived in his basement one second after he’d first left relative time. He raced up the cellar stairs to meet his visitors. The doorbell rang followed by a loud knock. He rounded through the kitchen and toward the foyer. “Hold on, I’m comin.’”

  The cracked door, already damaged from the FBI’s last visit, reminded him how fragile his world had become. People often felt safe watching faraway disasters unfold in real-time on their television news channels, but it often created a false sense of security for the viewer. Bad things didn’t always happen somewhere else. Step outside the lines, or into someone else’s crosshairs, and bad things find your doorstep.

  Patrick tugged the battered door open. “Good morning.”

  Deputy Sawmill stood on the stoop with a heavy metal battering ram. His eyes went wide and he barely stopped himself mid-swing. “Oh. You’re home,” he blurted. The deputy looked a little embarrassed.

  “Yes, I am, but I prefer callers with appointments and generally after noon. How can I help you?” Patrick blocked the entrance with his feet apart and arms folded across his chest.

  Sawmill blinked and turned to those behind him. Agent Miller, Sheriff Banks, and Agent Gendrick stood in the drifting snow. They looked equally surprised. Gendrick broke the silence. “Dr. McDugan, we have a search warrant for your house and an arrest warrant for you.”

  “Where’s Agent Lovitsky? He’s a sensible lad. Is that why he’s here not with you?”

  “He’s no longer employed by the FBI,” Agent Miller puffed in the frigid air.

  “That’s a shame.” Patrick shook his head. “Please come in and warm yourselves. I’ll brew a fresh pot of coffee and we can sort this out.”

  Deputy Sawmill relaxed his shoulders and nodded. Agent Miller’s eyes held no such promise.

  Patrick showed the FBI and Sheriff Banks to the dining room table and poured a round of Joe. He refilled his cup and took the chair at the head of the table. “So, why are you here?”

  Miller motioned for Agent Gendrick to open the discussion. “We have a search warrant for—”

  “The model #7 robot Dr. Simmons found yesterday?” Patrick said. “I’m sure Dr. Caliban would be glad to show it to you.” He took a sip and savored the roasted bean flavor.

  “How do we know that’s the only one?” Agent Gendrick handed the warrant to Miller. “The original had been tagged by the National Guard inventory. The one found underground had no such tag.”

  “Agent Gendrick. Please. You’ve already searched my home and property, but feel free to take a second look. If the robot’s tag is missin’, it may be somewhere deeper in the hole. I have a few shovels in the garage if you want to dig deeper.”

  “Okay. Forget the tag for now,” Miller growled. “You pinched the robot’s microprocessor before it left your property. We want it.”

  “Have a look around the house, but try not to disturb everythin.’ I’ve just cleaned up from yesterday’s mess.”

  Miller’s forehead turned pink, and he pointed his sausage-like forefinger at Patrick. “Okay, be an asshole and make us search for it, but we’ll just arrest you now and dump the fucking place. There’s no telling where people may hide things. We’ll have to gut the walls. Sheriff—”

  “Alright. You made your point.” Patrick frowned. “Agent Miller, I need to speak with you alone. What’s your security clearance?”

  “Top Secret plus.”

  Gendrick shifted in her chair. “Same as mine, sir.”

  Miller held up his hand. “Everyone take a final look around the house including the basement. Go easy. Dr. McDugan and I need a moment.”

  After they had gone, Patrick faced Miller. “What’s all this about?” He kept his voice low. “I told your man Simmons about the plan to reprogram Zander’s microprocessor. The robot may have a portal beacon. I adjusted the microprocessor to ensure he wouldn’t reopen a portal to Erde. I thought we were on the same side here.”

  Miller frowned. “We could have been, but I don’t like cowboys who play it fast and loose. Besides, not too long ago you held a gun on me. I’m not a big fan.”

  “Simmons and I were of like mind with the Erdian bogey. I figured you were as well.”

  “I gave the order to destroy it.” Miller poked his finger into his chest. “Had you interfered, Simmons had orders regarding you. How do I know if the reprogrammed microprocessor will work? What if S&T pops the processor do-hickey into that metal machine and it bypasses your safeguards?”

  “Look,” Patrick said. “I know you have doubts about me, but don’t doubt me scientific ability. I believe I’ve proven what I can do and where I stand in regard to preventin’ another invasion from Erde. I can put the microprocessor into Zander personally, and make sure nothin’ goes wrong. I’m very concerned what might happen if Dr. Caliban tries to wake the robot on his own. Simmons will tell you the same thing.”

  “Simmons does what I tell him, and I’m finished dancing with you. Hand over that microprocessor now, or you will have bigger problems to worry about.” Miller held his hand out, palm up.

  Shit. “Will you make sure it’s put into Zander? Today?”

  “I’ll confer with Simmons and do the right thing.”

  Patrick sighed. He extracted the metallic orb from his pocket and offered it to Miller. “Please be careful with this.”

  Miller stood, took the orb, and grunted. “All right, everyone. Back here now.”

  Gendrick, Sawmill, and Banks joined them. Miller handed the orb to Gendrick, “Bag and tag this and secure it in our evidence room safe. Be careful, this thing’s dangerous.”

  Miller smirked at Patrick. “Sheriff, pat this man down. We’re looking for weapons and anything electronic . . . a watch, radio, telephone, or a medallion. Then cuff him. He’s going to the lock-up for processing.”

  Chrissakes. Patrick’s face darkened. “You’re arrestin’ me? I just gave you the microprocessor. You know what’s at stake.”

  Miller grinned like a fox as they searched Patrick. “Gendrick, read the charges.”

  “Agent Miller, don’t be an idiot!” Patrick growled as they forced his head down to the white tablecloth and cuffed his hands behind his back.

  She lifted the paper. “Felony theft of government property, willful violation of national security, treason, aiding and abetting the enemy, obstruction of justice, threating federal agents with deadly force, false imprisonment . . . Shall I go on?”

  Patrick slumped “That’s enough.” He turned his head and caught Miller’s eye. “Paybacks are hell.”

  “Indeed they are.” Miller took a last sip of coffee and set his cup on the table. “Okay, let’s take him in.”

  Patrick strained against the handcuffs. “What about the microprocessor?”

  Miller shook his head east and west. “Don’t expect bail. You might get a court appearance Monday, if you’re lucky. Then again, this’ll probably fall under the Patriots Act. Just think how warm Guantanamo will be compared to winter in Pennsylvania.” Miller laughed.

  Ben half-woke and heard someone nearby snoring softly. Warm and tired, he didn’t want to get up, but the incessant pressure from his bladder convinced him otherwise. A faint green dot from a ceiling smoke alarm breeched the darkness. Where am I? His eyes adjusted to the weak light and saw Ruth’s face half-covered with blonde hair. Ah, yes. Ruth’s basement. Terra.

  After last night’s party, Ruth and Trudy had asked them both to stay overnight in the basement since the accumulating snow made driving difficult. Ben had fallen asl
eep on the couch, but Ruth had displaced him in the middle of the night. He now lay on a nearby rug covered with a blanket.

  Ben rubbed his eyes, sat up, and searched the room. Where’s Jack? Last night his doppel-brother had fallen asleep on the leather recliner . . . which is now empty. Jack’s coat and shoes still lay on the floor. Shit. Had Jack had gone upstairs with Trudy? Double shit. What if her parents caught them?

  Ben’s bladder pinged like incessant sonar. He stood, dressed quickly, and navigated through the dark room and up the basement stairs. The kitchen’s dimly lit digital wall clock read, 6:32. A small sign beneath read, Unless you want a good lickin’, keep your hands off the chick’n.

  Ben tiptoed down the hall and entered the small bathroom between the kitchen and the foyer. Things had worked out better than expected. If he and Jack hadn’t spied upon the future last night, Lori and Ruth might still hate them both. And I would have a frickin’ hangover, and probably would have cut practice.

  Last night he’d met with Ruth’s parents, Dorothy and Brent Cavendish. He knew Dora and Brett well because he dated their daughter, Trudy, on Earth. It felt surreal to meet their Terran counterparts as Ruth’s itinerant boyfriend. Ben felt ashamed for Ruth’s pregnancy and guilty for cheating on Trudy back home.

  Worse, Dora and Brett had figuratively wrung his neck. Dora had quizzed him regarding his future plans, prospects, and relationship with Ruth. Brent had focused on where he lived and why they’d never met him before. Ruth kept silent. Her parents were as polite, direct, and well-mannered, but after thirty minutes, a grim look passed between Dorothy and Brent. Maybe they saw him as what he was—a teenager who was too young to be a father. Maybe his best would not be good enough. Resigned, Ruth’s parents said good night and left the room together.

  Ben stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and he couldn’t blame them. Someday he hoped to be on better terms with them and Ruth, but he didn’t know what that might look like. He fingered the bronze t-medallion around his neck. What if he snuck a peek into his future with Ruth?

  Ben tried to imagine a happy family with Ruth, but where would they live? With Dora and Brett? Would he have to quit high school sports to take care of the baby? How many years would it take him to work part time and finish college? What if he never had a chance to go to college, and Ruth had to wait tables? What if the baby became sick and they couldn’t afford the hospital bills? What if he gave up and lost himself in alcohol, or pills, and ended up on Jerry Springer?

  If he used the medallion and found a hopeless future, could he go back in time, and never, ever, sleep with Ruth. Could he change the past and fix his future? But wouldn’t that be playing God at the expense of their child? No easy way out today. Suck it up, dude.

  He splashed water on his face and dried with a hand towel. What if there were good times ahead for Ben, Ruth, and the baby? So what if it was hard, if it all worked out in the end. What if he jumped forward in time and found the baby . . . meant everything? His reflection in the mirror stared back at him. I don’t know, maybe I don’t want to know, but this is me doing the best I can. Every day.

  As he left the bathroom he ran into Jack.

  “Where were you?” Ben asked.

  Jack smiled. “Just saying goodbye to Trudy. We gotta go before—”

  “I know. Let’s get our stuff downstairs. I can’t miss practice.”

  Ben tiptoed down the basement steps, grabbed his coat, and pulled on his boots. Ruth still slept on the coach. “Go home,” he whispered to Jack. “I’ll bounce back to Earth from here . . . I need a minute with her.”

  “See you later today.” Jack nodded and left.

  Ben knelt next to Ruth and brushed her hair away from her face. “I gotta go, but I’ll be back,” he whispered hoping he spoke the truth. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Take care of that little baby.”

  Ruth’s breath caught for a moment as she slept, but her eyes stayed closed.

  He stood, turned his back, and pulled the medallion from beneath his shirt. After entering the coordinates, he teleported to his bedroom on Earth. It felt good to be home, if only for a pit stop.

  Ben changed into his wrestling practice gear, dropped his dirty clothes into a growing pile on the closet floor, and stuffed a fresh set of street clothes into his backpack. About to flash to school with the t-medallion, he stopped himself. No. He went back to his closet, knelt on the floor, and reached under the pile of clothes. Lifting the loose floorboard, he extricated a small cardboard box.

  Inside the box he found several old coins, an old wallet sized school picture of his brother Jack, a picture of Lori from seventh grade, a silver flash drive, and a small roll of Terran twenties. He dropped the bronze time medallion into the box. His eyes fell upon Lori’s seventh grade smile. She had been so beautiful. Still is. He sighed and buried the box under the floorboard.

  Silver portal medallion in hand, Ben set the new coordinates and returned to his favorite language-learning booth. He peeked out the window into the dark stacks of the library. Made it. As he left the booth, a bright flash of light blinded his eyes. Someone ripped the p-medallion from his hand and raced toward the exit.

  Chapter 21

  “What the hell?” Ben tried to blink away the flash. Though his eyesight had not yet returned, he stumbled after the dark silhouette who had stolen his medallion. The library door’s overhead exit sign painted a fey green light upon a man with curly hair, one side higher than the other. Lovitsky!

  Shit! Not now. I need that medallion. Ben slid his backpack over one shoulder and gave chase. Lovitisky’s feet clapped down the waxed tile floor while passing lockers and empty classrooms on either side. The thin wiry agent had a good lead, but Ben felt his adrenaline surge and raced after his stalker. He closed the gap near the east wing stairway.

  Ben took two stairs at a time and saw the man push against the exit door. Lovitsky bounced back with a ca-chungg, apparently unaware certain exits were chained shut on weekends. Ben grabbed him around the waist from behind, lifted him off the ground, and threw Lovitsky to the tile floor.

  Lovitsky tried to scrabble up, but Ben immobilized the agent’s wrists, forced him to back to the floor, and twisted the p-medallion from his grip. Ben kept his left knee on the agent’s back.

  “Get off me!” Cried the prone man. “This is an assault.”

  Ben scanned the dark hallway for witnesses and saw none. “You have no right to stalk me or steal my shit. Doesn’t the FBI have anything better to do?” Ben put the p-medallion back around his neck and under his shirt.

  “I’m not with the FBI anymore,” Lovitsky grunted. “I’m a P.I.—a private investigator now.”

  “Who are you working for?” Ben noticed that Lovitsky wasn’t wearing a weapon.

  “Nobody yet. Just got my license.”

  “Then why are you bothering me, and why did you take my picture?” Ben didn’t want to hurt the man, but he wanted answers.

  “The portal watch you smashed last summer wasn’t the only one, was it?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ben said.

  “What’s that medallion you have?” Lovitsky, still face down on the floor, tried to turn his head to see Ben’s face. “Is that the latest version of your portal watch?”

  Ben searched the PI’s back pocket and found a cellphone.

  Lovitsky tried to shift from under Ben’s knees. “What’re you doing?”

  Scrolling through the latest photos on Lovitsky’s cell, Ben found a picture of himself exiting the language lab booth. Other pictures included him at school, outside his house, a football game, wrestling match, at a restaurant with Trudy, and a telephoto shot of him at his desk through his bedroom window. “You got a lot of pictures of me. You some kinda perv?”

  “No. No. I just want my old job back. I thought if I found proof you were still teleporting, then Agent Miller might take me back with the FBI.”

  “Why do you want to work for him? He seemed li
ke an asshole.”

  Lovitsky sighed. “I want back in. I want to protect our planet from an off-world invasion. Your little slide-ways jaunts are putting us all in danger, and I’m going to stop you.”

  “Oh,” Ben said. “I’ve seen your pictures. You caught me coming out of a language booth. Big deal.”

  “I have access to the school security tapes. You went into the library last night and never came out.”

  “Maybe I fell asleep in there and woke up this morning.”

  “I checked last night and all of the booths were empty,” Lovitsky said.

  “Didn’t see a picture of an empty booth, or a medallion. You have no real proof do you?”

  The P.I. shook his head.

  Ben waggled the phone in front of Lovitsky’s face. “But I have proof that you’ve been stalking me. If my attorney brings you up on pedophile charges, you’ll never get back in the FBI.”

  Lovitsky sighed. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to stop bothering my family. We’ve done as much, or more, than anyone else to prevent Terra and Erde from invading Earth. You want to be involved? Help me instead, or my grandfather.”

  “Okay. Get off of me and I’ll tell you something you may not know about your grandfather.”

  “Alright.” Ben stood up and took a step back. “What are you talking about?”

  “I may be not an agent anymore.” Lovitsky moved to a sitting position. “But I stay in touch with Agent Gendrick.”

  Ben narrowed his eyes. “I remember her.” She’d tried to capture him and his friends in the fire tower last summer.

  “Your grandfather might not be as clean as you think. They have an arrest warrant for him with multiple charges including theft. He stole classified equipment.”

  “Let’s see about that.” Ben dialed his grandfather on Lovitsky’s phone.

  Lovitsky stood and brushed himself off. “It’s too late to warn him. By now he’s already in custody.”

  The phone rang and went to voicemail. Ben hung up. “He would never do anything to harm our country.”