Paradigm Rift: Book One of the Back to Normal Series (9 page)

Ellen watched Dr. Papineau work, as he hunched over and studied a few small, round gauges. Without so much as even looking up, he waved his hand in deliberate motions like an orchestra conductor. Doc Stonecroft responded like a trained musician, with one eye focused on Papineau and the other on the potentiometer he was adjusting. Papineau’s right hand began a slow sinking motion, and Stonecroft matched the change with perfection.

The pair of scientists may have been born on different continents, spoke different languages, and raised in different times, but they were of one mind most days.

The French physicist straightened up, though it didn’t make him much taller, and lowered a pair of heavy duty, dark goggles. “
Juste un peu plus, arrêter!
Stop.”

As if on cue, Doc Stonecroft rotated towards Ellen Finegan, who stood at the ready near a large metal door fitted with a thick plate window. His hopeful eyes met her hazel ones, and he nodded. Her right hand gripped a bar that resembled a gear shift. She slid her own set of goggles down, though she always despised how they made her look, and Stonecroft followed suit.

She could hear his oft-repeated admonition in her mind: “Safety before beauty!” Ellen took a half-step forward and peered through the thick glass. She engaged the control bar.

A distinct hum formed and intensified. At the outset it was more felt than actually heard as it permeated the floors, the walls, and the glass. Like a caged beast
,
the deep rumble increased
,
powerfully and fearfully.

Then it began—erratic flashes of pale green light poured through the tinted window. Startled by the luminous development, Ellen recoiled. She glanced over at Stonecroft who calmed her with a reassuring nod. He raised his right thumb, beckoning her to go higher, and she deferred to his wisdom, but not without trepidation.

As the bar progressed, the reverberating hum became almost deafening, followed by an even more intense and unstable light show. She imagined it would have been beautiful had it not been so unpredictable and terrifying. The bar passed the 50% marker, 55%, then 60%. Everything was progressing in accord with their projections.

Even Papineau was smiling, and that was rare.

But the elation among the trio was premature, for exactly four seconds later the palpable hum exploded with an ear-splitting compression wave, a blinding green flash…then darkness.

Ellen said what they all probably felt. “Uh oh.”

__________________________________

Katie Long dried the last few dishes before the onslaught of the late afternoon rush at the uptown diner. The lights flickered, then dipped to a rich amber, and then the entire kitchen went almost black except for the bluish glow from burners on the gas stove.

Beverly broke through the swinging doors, flooding the small space with sunlight from the front windows. Katie popped her with the damp dish towel for scaring her. Bev laughed it off and threw her hands up.

“Wow,
another
power outage on a Friday? I am so surprised.”

Sunday, September 8, 1946

We’ve been talking a lot about our need to get help from the scientific community. We need a physicist or engineer that thinks outside the box, maybe even outside of time.

Ken mentioned Albert Einstein. I shot down the idea:
he’s too famous, too connected with the government. Can you imagine what would happen if he met us? He always said that time travel is only theoretically possible forward into the future, not backwards.

But I know three men who would disagree. Not only would we make him look like a fool, but there are no guarantees he wouldn’t turn us over to the Feds. Think about it: he gave, arguably, the greatest discovery of all time to a president. What would keep him from delivering us to another president?

In a sense, Einstein created atomic warfare to stop the Nazis. What would keep him from giving us up to end atomic warfare with the Commies?

So, in my opinion, Einstein is out.

Larry brought up Tesla.

He’s perfect, except…he’s dead.

The unmarked police car kicked up a growing cloud of dust as it careened off the paved county road into a gravel parking area just on the outskirts of town. Denver, once again sharing the front seat with the Chief, peered out at the unimpressive beige building more or less in the center of the lot. The front of the establishment had a few large windows and a single door at the entrance. Several cars were scattered about and a delivery truck had backed up to a small side dock.

The Chief pointed at a waist-high sign out by the road flanked by shrubs. “
See
? Nelson Manufacturing. This is where the magic happens.” Denver noted the excitement in McCloud’s face, but he found it hard to drum up any of his own.

Billy tapped on Denver’s shoulder from the back seat. “Trust the Chief—you’ll see.” Denver nodded, but only as a courtesy after this bland first impression.

Of course, he knew that exteriors rarely matched interiors. He had seen enough command and control centers in Afghanistan that looked like abandoned dives, but housed millions of dollars of techno wizardry about six feet past a cloth door and several guards armed to the teeth. Spooks from the CIA had delighted his unit with tales of rusted, broken-down fishing trawlers off the coast of North Korea housing sophisticated listening stations that rivaled the cockpit of the Space Shuttle.

Denver suspended judgment for the moment.

McCloud came to an abrupt stop directly in front of the entrance and hopped out. Before Denver and Billy had even shut their doors, he continued his explanation. “It's a genius set up, really. Pretty well all the Jumpers work here, right here, well, except for Billy and me. We’d planned a big meet and greet for you today at the factory during dinner, but, uh, your little stunt with my squad car and the bus…well, it kinda changed that. But, you’ll meet everyone soon enough.”

“Sorry to screw up your party,” Denver replied. “I was—having issues.”

The Chief laughed, “You ain’t the first, and you sure ain’t gonna be the last. Don’t worry about it.”

Denver studied the building. “What do you make here?”

Billy piped up. “Oh, windows.”

Denver was further deflated. He had hoped for something a little more exciting. “Windows?”

“Windows. At least upstairs,” the Chief said as he opened the front door. It took a few seconds for Denver’s eyes to adjust to the light or the lack thereof as he entered the spacious but Spartan foyer area.

Still not impressed.

The Chief guided Denver across the dim room to a desk occupied by a middle-aged Asian female and a teenage girl. They were studying a large book.

“Afternoon Ms. Swan, Tori,” the Chief said as he looked up and around at the ceiling. “Lemme guess, Shep's trying to save a few bucks by turning the lights off again?”

Leah Swan turned a page, pointing at something for Tori to read. “Hey Chief, uh, no—we lost power earlier, probably two hours ago. We're on battery backup. Again.”

“Price of progress, I reckon,” the Chief observed.

Leah muttered something to Tori and then rose to meet them out in front of the desk. The teen was unflinching and gave no indication that she even noticed their arrival. Denver thought it was kind of odd.

Chief McCloud initiated introductions. “Denver Collins, Ms. Leah Swan. Ms. Swan, Trailer Denver Wayne Collins. Leah here is our receptionist and, uh, she will be your teacher—”

Leah interrupted. “
And
accountant.
And
HR Manager.
And
whatever else Shep needs done. A real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Collins.” They shook hands and she motioned towards the desk. “And this, this is Tori.”

There still was no reaction from the teen. “Tori,” Leah called out, “can you stand up and say hello to Mr. Collins, please?”

Tori rose mechanically and stared at Denver. “What's your birthday?”

Denver was caught off-guard and looked hopelessly at the others. Leah nodded towards Tori. “It’s not a difficult question, Mr. Collins. Would you care to answer her?”

Denver took the rebuke in stride and cleared his throat. “Uh, January twenty-first, 1979.”

Tori continued to stare, and bobbed her head a bit. Denver wondered if maybe there was an inside joke going on at his expense. The pause was more than awkward, but no one else seemed to care but him.

Tori broke the silence. “Sunday, you were born on a Sunday.”

He thought for a moment. “Well, yes, that's right. It was on a Sunday.” He broke out in a smile, his first in a good while. “That’s…that's amazing.”

“Tori is an amazing person,” the Chief offered.

“Calculating dates is only one of her many exceptional skills,” Leah boasted. “You should view some of her artwork. Simply inspirational.”

Denver was still trying to analyze the young lady’s parlor trick, but McCloud kept things moving. “Well, now that introductions are good and over, Ms.
Whatever-Else-Needs-Done
, would you mind locking the front door? We're about to have a VIP tour, and I sure don't want any interruptions.”

Leah brushed past them, and the Chief motioned for Denver to follow him in the opposite direction. As they arrived at an unmarked door in the back, he unlocked two different sets of heavy deadbolts.

What do they have in there?
Denver wondered.
A T-Rex?

McCloud shoved the large metal door open, and escorted the impromptu tour group out onto the production floor of Nelson Manufacturing.

The foyer had been dark, and Denver discovered that the somewhat noisy assembly area wasn’t faring much better. The gymnasium-sized expanse was sporadically lit by a handful of lights scattered above. Denver scanned the vacant walls.

Interesting—a window factory that doesn’t have windows. Nice.

Several employees were occupied in various capacities throughout. Only a few of them seemed to notice the newcomers. The Chief whistled toward one small group. “Shep! Yo—
Shep
!”

One of the workers tapped a large male on the back. Denver guessed that the man was likely in his early fifties. Shep looked up and waved at the Chief, and after giving some final instructions, jogged over to meet up with them. Denver could tell by the way that Shep carried himself that this had to be the boss, the top dog (that is, if they had bosses here at the magic factory). Even his flat top haircut somehow gave the impression of authority.

The Chief leaned over and confirmed Denver’s suspicion. “That’s Shep. Plant manager.”

The out-of-breath boss arrived and McCloud spoke first. “Mr. Sheppard, I present to you Normal’s newest arrival.”

Shep extended a strong hand with an even stronger handshake. “Robert Sheppard, Mr. Collins. Pleased to meet you. Absolutely pleased.”

“It's Denver.”

Robert smiled broadly. “Then, it's Shep, Denver. Now we're even!”

Everyone minus Denver seemed to find that marginally humorous. “So, McCloud,” Shep asked, “what does he know about the operation?”

“Only the bare minimum,” McCloud replied. “I saved the juicy details for you.”

Shep corralled a very tense Denver by the shoulders and moved him down through the middle of the factory. “Hey, loosen up,” Shep said. “You are among friends here.”

Denver clenched his jaw.
Easier said than done, buddy. You didn’t have a gun to your head a few hours ago.

He studied Shep’s clothes: a pair of dirty khaki pants, and a short sleeve, white dress shirt that was way too tight.

It looks like too much man shoved into too little shirt.

Shep's name badge caught his eye in particular: Robert Sheppard, Plant Manager: 0191966.

Shep halted the tour. “Sorry I don't have your badge yet. Maybe Monday or Tuesday. Everyone gets a badge.” He pointed at the ID number. “The last four digits reminds everybody here of the year you jumped from.”

“But I thought this place was supposed to be a safe haven? If everyone here is a Jumper, then who cares what year?”

Shep postured like a college professor who was just asked a typical first-week freshman question.
“Well, Trailer Collins, your question reveals the problem.”

Denver sensed a well-rehearsed exposition coming. Shep elaborated, “All of us are from
sometime
in the future. As our research advances, hopefully, all of us are going to go back to our same future one day. And we want it to be the
same
future,
capiche
?”

“I’m sure it all makes sense to you, but, uh, I'm a little new at all of this.”

Sheppard grinned and nodded. “Trust me, we were all there at one time. It’ll get easier. You can bet your bottom dollar on that one. But I don’t want to steal too much of her thunder. Leah will go into more detail with you when you start your TOC”

“Sorry, TOC?”

“Temporal Orientation Classes. Yeah, sorry. We got more damn acronyms around here than the Army. The TOC—it’s like time-school. She will get you up to speed on everything from money to politics, even top-forty music. Everything.”

Denver shrugged. Acronyms didn’t bother him, the Army didn’t bother him, but school—well, that was something different.

They started moving again. “It ain’t as bad as it sounds,” Shep declared.

“I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Sheppard.”

“Please, it’s Shep. Anyway, we have rules, Mr. Collins.” He caught himself. “Sorry,
Denver
. Protocols have been set in place to protect each of our futures. No one is allowed to share information involving future knowledge with a Prior. Even the slightest bit of improper information can have, as Doc says,
disastrous temporal consequences
.
”

As Denver tried to digest the complexities of it all, they were interrupted by a stocky African American male with greasy hands and rolled up sleeves. He handed Shep a large, oil-covered bearing in a handkerchief.

“Load wasn't being distributed properly,” the worker said. “It was only a matter of time. We probably need to order at least two more.” Shep studied it for a moment, then wrapped the bearing, returning it.

“Denver Collins, this is Terrance Gaines. Terrance is our plant mechanic and head of maintenance.”

Terrance rolled his eyes. “It's usually a department of
one
.”

Denver shot out his hand, but Terrance held up his wiggling dirty fingers and smiled. “I'll have to take a rain check, Mr. Collins. Welcome to Normal...at least, your
new
normal. Nice to have a new Trailer.”

“Uh, thanks, Mr. Gaines. And, it’s Denver.” He looked at Terrance’s badge.
1983
.

“Hate to leave good company, gentlemen, but it’s late on a Friday, and stuff has piled up. Especially with the power problems.” Terrance gave a rough military salute and departed.

Denver started to move again, but Shep held up his arm to stop him. The plant manager leaned in close and spoke in low tones. “You will soon learn, just exactly the kind you can trust, and the kind that you shouldn't.”

Denver looked into his serious eyes, and then glanced back at Terrance in the distance.

Shep stepped over and blocked his view. “You know what I mean?”

Denver thought about it.

No
. No, he didn’t know what Shep meant, and this time, it was getting uncomfortable as he considered what Shep
might have
meant. Denver was rescued from the intimidating exchange by the arrival of the Chief and his sidekick. It was the first time today that Denver was actually glad to see McCloud.

“The original Jumpers set this whole shootin' match into motion, back in the late forties,” the Chief said. “They realized that it was too dangerous to try to merge Jumpers into the community.”

Shep wasn’t going to let the Chief wrestle the tour from his control so easily. “I was getting there, Chief. Anyway, the more interactions between Jumpers and Locals, so to speak, and you increase the likelihood of something said or done that exposes us, or that endangers all of our futures.”

McCloud moved directly in front of Denver. “Imagine what people would do, if they knew, they really
knew
, you were from the future. The fear, the mistrust, the, the—”

Shep broke in. “
The
Exploitation
. No thank you.”

Officer Billy started to fall back. “Hey Chief, I'm gonna go to town and lock up the station and take care of the back door, and clean all the mess up. See you at breakfast! Be seeing you around, Mr. Collins!”

Denver nodded, and Shep didn’t miss a beat. “Our founder, Mr. Phillip Nelson, built the plant in forty-nine. Its function was to give all the Jumpers a job, a daily cover story if you will, while we actually work on something much more important to all of us.”

“Your founder? What do you mean?” Denver inquired.

“Uh, Phil was our leader,” Shep said. “He was the very first Jumper, at least, we think he was. It’s really hard to be sure about such things.”