Sliptime

by Jeffrey Grode

  “Not intentionally, but your grandfather defied direct orders. Both Homeland and the FBI see him as a threat.”

  “My grandfather is a hero.” Ben said. “He just has his own way of doing things.”

  “Look. I’ve only known your father for a short time, but John is a good man. He risked his life to shut down Erde’s portal, so I’m giving you a chance for his sake.” Lovitsky folded his arms. “I know you’re using a portal device. If you willingly surrender it to the FBI, you might avoid prosecution. You might even help get your grandfather out of jail.”

  Ben shook his head. “If you want my help, then call Agent Gendrick now and find out what happened to my grandfather, otherwise stop harassing me.” He tossed the cellphone to Lovitsky.

  Lovitsky thought for a moment and took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s hope we don’t both end up in jail.”

  Ben arrived ten minutes late for practice. Coach frowned and made Ben run wind sprints on the empty basketball court while the rest of the team practiced in the wrestling room. He’d pissed off his coach, but Ben welcomed the punishment as a reprieve to mull over Lovitsky’s news—the FBI had arrested GranPat.

  Should he tell his parents? No. He didn’t want to get his father and mother involved again. Dad had almost sacrificed himself by trying to blow up the beacon during the OHW, and an enemy robot had nearly vaporized his mother. Maybe Amo could help fix this.

  “Hope you got yer head outta yer ass,” Coach said as he walked into the gym. “You almost cost us the match Wednesday. Look. Yer better than LaGreca, but you let him win. Don’t settle for second place.”

  Ben ran the length of the court, turned around, and ran back. Run, turn, run, and repeat. “Yes, Sir,” Ben huffed, but wouldn’t slow down.

  “I know you work hard, Ben, but you have to keep yer eye on the prize.” Coach folded his arms over the silver whistle that hung around his neck. “What do you want from all of this?”

  Run. Ben pictured himself beating LaGreca in the section finals, and how Trudy would be so happy for him. Lori too. Turn around. His mind slid slide-ways to Terra and how much he liked Ruth and what life might be like with a child. Run. How would it feel to hold his baby boy or girl? Turn around. With GranPat in jail, it might be just a matter of time before Homeland Security discovers the family’s teleportation medallions. Run. Whose blood had spilled on GranPat’s cellar floor, and why? Turn around. Ben sprinted faster along the wooden floorboards in the gymnasium.

  “Well, son?” Coach said. “Have you figured out what you want?”

  “No. Not yet. But I will.” He slowed and then jogged toward the door. “Sorry, Coach. Gotta go.”

  Coach’s eyes opened wide. “Where are you—?”

  Ben jogged to the locker room, showered, and dressed. He found a deserted classroom and locked the door from the inside. Should he teleport to Carmichael and visit GranPat, or would he end up in a cell too? Unsure if the FBI would visit him next, going home seemed like a bad idea. After weighing the probabilities, he decided to keep his promise to Jack. He used his p-medallion and disappeared.

  Ben waited on the front porch as the frigid wind stung his exposed skin. He shimmied from one foot to the other to stay warm. Terra’s winter seemed colder than Earth’s.

  The door opened. “You’re early. It’s only 8:15.” Jack wore a towel around his neck.

  “Let him in and close the door,” Patsy called from somewhere deeper in the house. “I can’t afford to heat the streets of Carlston.”

  “C’mon in.” Jack stepped aside. “My grandparents are here.”

  Ben dusted the snow off his jeans, entered the house, and slipped off his shoes. “We need to talk.”

  Ginger’s paws clicked on the tile floor as she ran over and smelled his shoes. “Hi, girl.”

  Patsy joined them in the foyer and hugged him. “Ben. So good to see you again. It’s been too long.”

  “Nice to see you too, Mrs. Fuller, and happy birthday.” She’d been so frail when he’d last seen her at the hospital, especially after the CSD agent had shot her. “You look good.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Thanks, but you look a little thin.”

  Ben smirked. “Keeping my weight down for wrestling.”

  “I’ll make sure he gets some cake, Mom,” Jack said. “We’re going up to my room.”

  “Okay, but be quiet,” Patsy said. “Grandma and Grandpa are resting in the guest room.”

  As they walked up the stairs, Ben realized something. “Shit!”

  “What?” Jack asked.

  “I forgot a birthday present!”

  Jack waved him off. “You don’t have to give my mom a gift.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “No. I mean I don’t have a present for my mom.”

  “Ease up, Bro. You still have time before her party, right?”

  “Yep. I’ll find something.”

  Once inside Jack’s room, Ben closed the door and his eyebrows rose. Light blue paint covered the once stark walls. “You painted your room.”

  “Mom did while I was away at school. She even put up some shelves.” Photographs and trophies lined the room. “It reminds me of your brother’s room on Earth–like a memorial.”

  “Very nice.” Ben moved closer to the shelf and studied a picture of Jack’s deceased brother, Ben.

  Jack flopped on the bed and pointed to the desk chair. “Okay. You look like something else is bothering you. Sit down and open your word hole.”

  Ben sat, but didn’t relax. “GranPat’s in jail.” He related his encounter with Lovitsky and why the FBI had arrested his grandfather. “I don’t know how much they know about the medallions or Amo, but we have to be really careful.”

  “Balls up! Will they make him talk?”

  Shit. “Like use torture? Hope not. He’s one of their top scientists. They need him.”

  Jack shook his head. “Nobody can hold out forever. We need to do something.”

  “No, I do. You need to stay on Terra.” Ben grit his teeth. “If they see you over there, they’ll know for sure we’re travelling.”

  Jack frowned. “Okay, but we need some ideas.”

  Ben motioned his head toward the closed door. “Can Albert help?”

  “Maybe. I’ll go see.” Jack left the room and returned with his grandfather.

  After they exchanged greetings, Ben told Albert about GranPat’s arrest. “Can you help us?”

  “Not directly. I’ve been held prisoner by your FBI before and would be of little help. Let me consider what you’ve said and get back to you with some ideas. Oh. I almost forgot.” Albert reached into his pocket. “I do have a spare bronze medallion I borrowed from Patrick.” He held the t-medallion in his hand. “It’s not functioning well. Could you return this to him for repairs? It may be of some help.”

  Ben reached for the medallion. “Let me have a look at it.”

  “No! This thing might be dangerous.” Albert said gruffly as he jerked back his bandaged hand. “Promise me you won’t fool with this yourself. Give it directly to Patrick.”

  “Okay,” Ben said. What’s his problem? I probably know more about using the medallion than he does. Oh. Maybe he’s still angry with GranPat about—

  “Good.” Albert gave Ben the t-medallion. “A careful man is a smart man.” Albert wet his lips. “Do you happen to have a spare bronze medallion with you?”

  Ben tilted his head. “No. Just my portal medallion. I keep my time medallion in a safe place.”

  Albert studied him. “Ahhh, well then. We’ll think of something. Besides, I’m sure Patrick will talk his way out of jail. He always finds a way to get what he wants. Just remember to give this bronze medallion directly to your grandfather.” Albert turned and left the room without a goodbye.

  Ben looked at the t-medallion and put it in his pocket. “Did I piss off your grandfather?”

  “Pop-Pop?” Jack shrugged. “Nah. He hasn’t been the same since our CSD shot him and your FBI kept him prisoner on Earth,
and now he’s helping Grandma Betsy recover from her implant surgery.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Hmmm.” Jack shrugged. “Sometimes she’s forgetful and a little ditzy.”

  “Really? She seemed fine when I saw her last summer.” Grandma Betsy had been very kind to him. She had helped convince him not to blame himself for his brother’s death.

  Jack nodded. “We’re hoping it’s just temporary.”

  “Me too.”

  Jack’s eyebrows knit together. “I’m going to check on her. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Jack stood and left the room without closing the door.

  The digital clock near Jack’s bed read 8:40. Ben fished the t-medallion out of his pocket. As he turned it over, he saw tiny scratches on the round casing. Albert was nice enough to return the medallion, but what good would it do GranPat if it didn’t work? He studied the medallion for a flaw, but all of the dials and switches were in place. Was it a battery issue? He flipped on the power switch and the display flashed as expected, but the time was off by a year. The frequency was unfamiliar, or was it . . . where had he seen that frequency before? Oh.

  “Here now. What are you doing?” Albert snorted. “I told you not to fool with that!”

  Ben twitched in surprise as Albert, Jack, and Grandma Betsy entered the room. Ben turned the power switch off, but was immediately surrounded by a red light and . . . he traveled.

  Jack reached out his arms to where Ben had been, but he was . . . gone.

  “What happened to the boy?” Grandma Betsy asked as she scratched her temple.

  “Goddamn fool!” Pop-Pop said under his breath. “I warned him.”

  Jack’s shoulders tensed. “Where did he go?” Should have been a green light, not red.

  Pop-Pop shook his head. “I told him not to fool with it, but he didn’t listen. Well, it’s a hard lesson, but he’ll learn.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed at the smug resignation on his grandfather’s face. Did this have something to do with his grandfather’s fight with Patrick? “C’mon Pop-Pop. Where do you think he went?”

  “Where, when, who knows for sure.” Pop-Pop left the room with Grandma Betsy in tow.

  Jack listened to his grandparents’ conversation as they walked back down the hall.

  “Who was that boy?” she asked.

  “Jack?”

  “No. The other one. The boy who disappeared.”

  “Nobody you need remember, dear,” Albert said

  “But how could a boy just disappear?”

  “How indeed. Extraordinary, wasn’t it?”

  Chapter 22

  Patrick sat on his squeaky metal cot in the county lock-up. His orange jumpsuit contrasted with the gray cinderblock walls of his private cell. He’d not yet been formally charged, and assumed the FBI meant to make him nervous enough to spill secrets. They didn’t understand he meant to protect them, his family, and Earth from annihilation at the hands of enemies from a parallel world. To be fair, he had warned the FBI. And fairer still, he meant to control the process because he didn’t trust any government with the power of teleportation.

  He leaned against the cold wall and closed his eyes. Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb, had struggled with his conscience after seeing the horrible devastation of his creation and the subsequent proliferation of atomic weapons. Oppenheimer had quoted the Bhagavad Gita, ‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’ After trying to develop international controls for nuclear power and weapons, and pissing off politicians, Dr. O. had been stripped of his security clearance, political influence, and any aspect of control.

  Patrick closed his eyes and whispered. “How could teleportation, travel between parallel worlds, or time travel, ever be controlled if I share what I know with anyone?”

  “The odds suggest near to impossible,” Amo’s voice answered through Patrick’s earpiece. “Did you believe otherwise?”

  “I hadn’t thought it all the way through. I—”

  Footsteps in the hall echoed louder as someone approached.

  “Wake up, old man,” the guard called though the bars. “You’ve got a visitor.”

  Patrick opened his eyes. Dr. Simmons, his associate from the S&T, stood outside his cell, but Patrick didn’t move from his cot.

  The guard opened the cell, allowed Simmons to enter, and closed the door behind them. A small scar under Simmons’ left eye twitched as he approached Patrick. “We need to talk, Boss.”

  “Boss?” Patrick folded his arms. “Don, I’m willin’ to bet you didn’t get in here usin’ your S&T credentials.”

  “No.” Simmons eyes met Patrick’s. “I used my FBI creds.”

  “Did you come here to twist me arm?”

  “No. The FBI doesn’t know I’m here. It’s Dr. Caliban. He’s locked me out, and I’ve heard from a friend in the lab that Caliban plans to wake Zander today.”

  “By himself?” Patrick stood. “Will he use the microprocessor I gave to Agent Miller?”

  “No. SAC Miller locked it away as evidence and won’t budge.” Simmons met his eye briefly. “I hoped you might have a safe copy we could use instead.”

  Patrick touched his earpiece and cleared his throat.

  “Negative,” Amo replied through the earpiece.

  “We do not,” Patrick said. “How much time do we have?”

  Simmons grimaced. “Caliban already extracted a microprocessor from a warrior bot. He’s flying solo in the lab as we speak.”

  “Chrissakes! I warned him about Zander and the internal beacon. We have to stop him. Can you get me out of here?”

  “Not without paperwork,” Simmons said.

  Plan B then, but can I trust Simmons? “Ok, Don. Thanks for tellin’ me about Caliban’s plans. I got this. You can go now, before you get involved any further.”

  “I figured you might have another way out.” Simmons’ eyes looked anxious. “Take me with you. You’re going to need my help.”

  Patrick raised his eyebrow. “Can I trust you with a few secrets? You can’t tell anyone, not even Agent Miller.”

  Simmons searched Patrick eyes. “Don’t ask me that. I’m sworn to support and defend—”

  “I know, the Constitution and the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.” Patrick said. “I’ve sworn oaths too, but I’m tryin’ to protect the planet. Can’t you at least compartmentalize the information until we sort this out? We need to leave before it’s too late.” And I am goin’ to need his help.

  “Okay,” Simmons nodded, “but once we’re done, you tell Miller what you can.”

  “Fair enough.” Patrick smiled and touched his earpiece. “Amo. Please i-phase and join us at my present coordinates now.”

  Light concentrated in the air and a portal manifested from Patrick’s cellar into the jail cell and then closed.

  Simmons looked impressed and confused. “I don’t understand. Wasn’t that our exit?”

  “No. We’ll need a portal from here to the S&T Lab.”

  Vsshhhh-click. “Yes, Commander. I have the coordinates,” Amo said i-phased and invisible.

  Simmons startled. “Who was that?”

  “Ahh,” Patrick said. “That’s one of the secrets we discussed. Hang on.” Light re-manifested on the cell wall. “We’re going for a ride.”

  Patrick, Amo, and Simmons teleported into the hallway outside the S&T lab’s thick metal door. Amo stayed invisible. A surveillance camera hung above their heads.

  Simmons looked pale. “My God. We’re here already. How did you do that and who is Amo?”

  “I’ll explain later. Do you have a weapon?”

  “No. It’s still in the secure locker in the county jail. I don’t know what I’ll tell them when I go back for it.”

  “That’s the least of our worries,” Patrick said. “Use your entry keycard.”

  Simmons ran his card and the door lock flashed red. “I’m still locked out.”

  Fwump. An explosion sounded inside the lab. The w
alls vibrated and the door buckled outward.

  “Amo, deactivate the camera above our heads and get us inside.” Patrick pulled Simmons back and away from the door.

  The surveillance camera exploded with a surgical laser burst. The metal door groaned, cracked, and wrenched inward as the door frame gave way. Patrick trailed Amo’s audible footsteps into the lab. A wide-eyed Simmons followed.

  Inside the S&T robotics lab, overhead fluorescent lights flickered and sparked as they hung down from the damaged drop ceiling. Rows of deactivated Erdian robots salvaged from the OHW lay upon worktables that lined the length of the laboratory. The bots lay either intact or disassembled, but all were presumably disarmed, catalogued, and studied in what resembled a morgue for mechanical beings.

  In the center of the lab near a scorched worktable lay Dr. Caliban on the floor. Blood poured from a gaping wound in his abdomen. Simmons knelt and applied pressure to Caliban’s wound to stem the blood loss.

  “Oohhh.” Caliban’s eyes rolled open. “McDugan. What are you doing here? You should be in jail.” Blood poured from the wound despite Simmons’ attempt to staunch the flow.

  Patrick grimaced. You damn fool. “What happened, Phylo?”

  Caliban coughed blood. “Homeland was anxious about our slow progress . . . and your damn secrets. They ridiculed me at the last briefing, and asked if you were in charge instead of me. The Undersecretary asked me if I was a real scientist or not. I needed a . . . breakthrough for the Secretary so I . . . inserted a microprocessor from one of the other bots into Zander. The sonofabitch woke up and shot me from a laser port we’d missed. I should have listened to you, but—”

  “Where is Zander now?” Patrick heard Amo’s footsteps advance toward the far side of the lab.

  “Don’t know . . .” Caliban’s eyes closed. “You have to stop him.”

  “We need to get Dr. Caliban out of here,” Simmons said. “He needs help.”

  Patrick felt Caliban’s neck for a pulse. “He’s gone.”

  “Hold on.” Simmons jumped up and rushed to a defibrillator hanging on the wall. He brought it back as Patrick ripped open Caliban’s bloody shirt. “Ok. I’ve had training, but I’ve never done this in real life.”