Singularity: The Synthesis of the Ethereal and the Corporeal
Vincent Berg
by
Humans become angels on earth,
not in heaven.
Singularity: The Synthesis of the Physical and Spiritual
Copyright © 2012, 2015 Vincent Berg, all rights reserved.
Bookapy Edition
ISBN: 978-1-941498-99-6
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. All rights reserved by the author, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
Product names, brands, and other trademarks referred to within this book are the property of their respective trademark holders. Unless otherwise specified, no association between the author and any trademark holders is expressed or implied. Nor does it express any endorsement by them, or of them. Use of a term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the validity of any trademark, service mark, or registered trademark.
As always, I’d like to thank all of those who’ve put up with me during the highs and lows of this story’s creation. It’s hard supporting temperamental authors, and the rewards aren’t always as clear cut as more time and attention.
I’ve got a long line of people who’ve helped with the story, but I’d like to thank:
• My editors: Gary Bywater, Gordon Johnson, Michael Martin, Mike Omelanuk and Robert Grimmett.
• The cover astronaut image is courtesy of NASA/JPL-Caltech.
• Cover and chapter fonts are Colo Pro Black Regular by S. Simov of Fontfolio and Debock Regular by Tama Putra, both from fontsprings.com.
• Internal graphics: “Set of text separator line” by Narong Jongsirikui of comzeal and “Decorative elements, border and page rules” by 100ker, both from AdobeStock.
• Section break images (all images from AdobeStock):
I: “Stars and galaxy outer space sky night universe black starry background of shiny starfield” by Juliia Sokolovska.
II: “Forest astronaut concept/3D illustration of astronaut materializing in the middle of dark forest” by grandeduc.
III: “Political report” by pressmaster.
IV: “Caucasian male holding a gun” by h368.
V: “Close up tensed man with friends discussing in background” by wavebreak3.
VI: “Solar system series: Neptune with stars in the background. Elements of this image furnished by NASA” by Инна Архипова.
• I’d also like to thank Cindy Capatani for her personal guidance in energy medicine practices.
Beyond the Vale
Venturing into space, one often encounters incomprehensible events. Beyond the human vale of tears, Eric Morgan stumbles onto a world of ethereal beings composed of energy. Afterwards, nothing remains the same.
1) Singularity: The Synthesis of the Physical and Spiritual (formerly Singularity)
2) Reaching Beyond the Corporeal (not yet released)
The Holes Binding Us Together
Threatened, Peg ventures into her worst fear, the holes she’s avoided her entire life, and discovers magical gates to other places. Are they a blessing, a curse, or evidence of mental illness?
Not-Quite Human
Discovering more in common with aliens than the rest of humanity, a group of misfits set out to learn who they are and search for their ancestral home, or somewhere to call their own.
1) The Cuckoo’s Progeny
2) Lost With Nothing to Lose
3) Building a Nest of Our Own
A House in Disarray
Investigating her boss, NYPD Police Commissioner Eddleson, Detective Em Rules’ life is thrown into disarray by the arrival of her sister-in-law and niece, Becky.
Demonic Issues
Seeing the demons within, the world of those afflicted with mental illnesses radically changes, dragging Phil Walker, the medical establishment and everyone else along as he battles demons, dragons and fairies.
1) The Demons Within/p>
2) Speaking With Your Demons
Zombie Leza
A decade after the zombie apocalypse, Leza lives, communicates with and controls thousands of undead. Whether she’s mankind’s last best hope or the source of their demise is anyone’s guess.
The Nature of the Game
The athletes at Windsor High are aiming for professional sports careers. They don’t make waves. When Taylor meets the flamboyant Jacob there’s a distinct cultural clash, as casual meetings under the bleachersr risks millions.
Stranded in a Foreign Land
Discovering an injured, shipwrecked alien, Josh shelters it and seeks to rescue its companions, despite being pursued by the American and other militaries.
Upcoming Books:
Stumbling Over
Peering into the past, physicist Adrian Moore and his peers shatter history, struggling to find each other and preserve the knowledge to restore reality.
1) History Ain’t What it Was
2) Reclaiming a Limited Life
3) Finding Time for Lost Souls
Books can be found on my website at:
www.vincentbergauthor.com
Eric Morgan clutched his harness, his breath falling silent as the final countdown began. The hair on his hands stood on end and the tension was a palpable essence. He was equally amazed at what was about to occur and terrified at what it entailed.
A senior NASA pilot, Eric was aboard a much-heralded test of a new technology which promised to revolutionize space flight. It could also change human destiny forever. He stood to travel farther in a few seconds than every other earthling combined since they climbed from the primordial ooze. Instead of traveling miles above the Earth to the now defunct Space Station, hundreds of thousands to the Moon, or millions to the nearby planets, this would throw him light years into the unknown, without any forward momentum. Best of all, without tons of fuel, there was no chance of his ship blowing up under him.
The technology to accomplish this, the Interstellar Spatial Displacement Device (ISSDD), is a fancy term for teleportation. It’s not as sexy as it appears in the movies, requiring a huge infrastructure. Yet it would transport him from a stationary position inside an enclosed NASA laboratory to a point ten light-years away.
While the researchers felt confident that it worked, they encountered problems during testing. They could send things from one end of a lab to another, but faced complications they hadn’t anticipated. There was the obvious problem with moving two things into the same space, but there were ‘displacement’ issues too. In short, transmitting something to a stationary target caused it to fall into the object as gravity affected it before it completely materialized. This also determined how air molecules shifted on both ends of the teleportation. For the return trip, the capsule was programmed with a complex algorithm, accounting for the Earth’s rotation, elevated twelve feet in the air. That allowed it to materialize completely before falling to the landing pads beneath. The only solution to the displacement factor on the outward journey was to utilize areas with few stray elements.
Open space was the simple fix, but there were tremendous amounts of random junk within Earth’s solar system. The gravity of the sun attracted passing comets, and interspace collisions multiplied the debris filling the cosmos. That meant there were numerous miniscule objects traveling through the otherwise empty vacuum of space. Transporting into another object would have unpleasant effects.
That’s why they chose an area clear of potential obstructions; a particularly dark region where they’d never detected any celestial bodies. The hope was, while only there for a few minutes, they could determine where the universe’s missing mass was hidden. Since the estimated mass of visible objects didn’t account for the acceleration of the universe, scientists realized there were huge amounts of unobserved matter. There were several theories concerning ‘dark matter’ and ‘dark energy’, but being unable to detect, it has always been difficult to observe.
They speculated that the gravity which attracts objects to large bodies—such as stars—also disrupts dark matter. Seeking an area with no such dynamic, they were sending Eric’s ship to a region with no detectable physical objects. He stood to witness entities never before observed, from whether dark matter existed in such regions, to making entirely new astronomical observations. What he learned would influence future research into the nature of both time and space.
However, the biggest issue wasn’t technical or theoretical, it was practical. Without any earth-breaking projects in decades, NASA had steadily lost the interest and enthusiasm of the public, and more precisely, the legislators they relied on for funding. With the Space Station abandoned and Congress questioning the negligible benefits of manned missions to the other planets, NASA depended on this solitary initial flight to reinvigorate the public’s interest.
The idea was intriguing. They could transport a fully staffed crew near a foreign solar system and set up facilities for the future. They’d record all the details not otherwise possible, and return to plan the next stage of the endeavor. There were still numerous issues with reaching a habitable planet. Yet the concept of jumping from one observatory position to another whet the most hardened skeptic’s enthusiasm.
The problem with space travel is that our fastest rockets can only travel a fraction of the speed of light. With any meaningful destination hundreds of light years distant, it would take hundreds to thousands of years to travel there. What’s more, the resources required to maintain a sustainable crew were unrealistic. They’d have to recycle everything they consumed. They’d need to create a complete viable ecosystem which could survive for at least a hundred years with no room to expand. The idea you could do so without complications, when putting a few people in orbit in a closed container and not compromise their physical and mental health, was preposterous.
Making space travel into a series of jumps, from one safe location to another where we could build facilities to allow us to undertake the next stage, was encouraging. Especially if we can do so for a fraction of the cost of flying a manned voyage to Mars.
To generate the enthusiasm needed to get the necessary funding, this solitary trip had become a media circus. Live video cameras were mounted around the ISSDD capsule. They’d record his disappearing and reappearance. To commemorate the event, part of the mission was to flash a light bright enough to reach the Earth in another ten years. That would prove, in a visceral way, the massive distances they’d crossed in the blink of an eye.
Essentially, the entire future of space travel rested on Eric’s narrow shoulders. Seeing there was little he could do to affect the journey, it left him feeling frustrated, anxious and uneasy. He’d return in several minutes an international hero of unimagined significance. This initial test was being watched by millions, with schools across the globe halting their daily lessons to witness the unfolding events.
“Final countdown initiating,” a faceless voice announced over his earphones. He let out a long, calming breath. While nervous, it wasn’t as if this process hadn’t been tested. They sent robots on short excursions, revealing the technique worked by photographing the surrounding stars and correlating them to existing star charts. They transferred small animals—mostly mice, since PETA raised a stink about resuming testing on primates—but this was their first time sending a human. As a result, he already had a whirlwind schedule of speaking engagements once this enterprise was completed. In fact, it would take longer to release him from his tiny capsule than for the entire ninety-seven trillion kilometer journey! That’s one-hundred and ninety-thousand trillion kilometers round trip! No matter how many times he heard the figure, it still boggled Eric’s mind.
As the disembodied announcer counted down the seconds before launch, Eric tried to prepare for the unknowable. To distract himself, he thought about the processes instead.
NASA achieved the teleportation process by capitalizing on advances in string theory research. Since these ‘strings’ connected multiple places huge distances apart, they’d found a way of forcing the strings open. That provided a way to access any of the way points touched by any one string. It was a controversial premise when first proposed. Many detractors warned it might cause the annihilation of the Earth. Those warnings proved baseless, as various experiments revealed no such danger.
Since you could only visit locations devoid of matter, they traced these strings, settling on a number of destinations. The final selections were based on isolation, a lack of nearby objects, but near enough to Earth to correlate where the end result was. Once they’d done the initial research, and found many of these waypoints, they learned how to calculate where each point resided in physical space.
“3 …” the voice called out, bringing Eric’s attention back to the present. With his launch only seconds away, it didn’t make sense concentrating on other topics. He checked the vast array of sensors, ensuring each operated properly.
“2 …”
He glanced around the small cabin, looking for anything out of place. Since he’d only be gone for five minutes total, there wasn’t a need for much inside the tiny metallic capsule. Besides, if something did go wrong, and he was stranded trillions of kilometers from Earth, an extra few hours of oxygen or a spare suit wouldn’t buy him much. Either the machinery to make the return jump worked or it didn’t.
“1 …”
This time Eric did hold his breath. He realized it was silly and wouldn’t affect anything, but he was used to planning where he jumped. Having flown test aircraft and shuttle missions for years, he was experienced with facing the unknown, but he’d always watched what was coming. This time, he was going in with no idea where he was diving, relying on emotionless machines to decide which spot in the pool was safest.
“LAUNCHING!”
The various readings on his display jumped and a hum enveloped the entire craft as it created the linkage to the imaginary strings linking worlds together. It took a few moments to generate the energy to create the opening for the ship to slip into. Eric once again grasped his safety harness as he waited for it to launch. There was a building whine, increasing and growing more blaring, and then he was gone. Simply no longer there, screens across the world revealed an empty platform where his tiny craft once stood.
The transition, while transparent to Eric Morgan, left him dazed. Before he was even aware he’d successfully jumped trillions of kilometers, the ship’s alarms blared, alerting him that something was wrong.
Scrambling, he checked the various displays. Despite being largely automated, the capsule was arrayed with a variety of sensors to record this region to correlate where he’d ended up with their observations of the nearby galaxies. He scanned down a list of problems with the craft: “Structural Integrity Compromised”, “Unexpected Forces Affecting Craft Performance”, “Unable to Stabilize”. As he wrestled with what was happening, he was blinded as the interior was bathed in brilliant lights from outside.
If he wasn’t distracted by the alarms—necessitating immediate action—he’d have remembered to close his eyes to avoid this problem. As he groped for the display he couldn’t see, squeezing his eyes closed too late to do any good, he recalled what happened. In order to record the success of the trip, the ship was equipped with a massive array of lights to shine in a direct beam for home. The idea was, after he returned, the Earth would receive visual confirmation in another ten years when the signal reached Earth. It was designed to reinforce for everyone how phenomenal the distances were.
The majority of his ship was dedicated to the massive beacon and the power cells to operate it. There wasn’t much need for life support since he was only expected to be gone a matter of minutes. Generating enough illumination to be visible ten light years out required a tremendous power outlay. Most of his remaining time was waiting for the systems to regenerate the energy needed to return.
The lights clicked off, though his vision was slow to recover. Meanwhile, the clarion calls of multiple alarms continued. Eric was desperate to discover what was wrong. From what he’d read, there was a systematic failure and he was understandably anxious about taking corrective action. However, the ship wasn’t constructed to facilitate repairs, only with getting him there and back. Glancing at his oversized gloves, there wasn’t much he could do even if he had tools.
They’d assured him it would be a safe journey. While teleportation was a risky venture, since two physical objects can’t occupy the same space, NASA patiently informed him about the multiple test drones they’d sent. Each separated by millions of miles and taking images of the region, so they felt secure the area was free of obstructions. Clearly they were wrong about the risks. Deadly wrong!
Cursing, he opened his eyes to almost complete darkness, his pupils still constricted. The dimly lit interior was obscured by floating dots obscuring his limited vision. Like most electronic devices, there was a switch to make the display read its output audibly, designed so he could get updates while doing other things. However, he couldn’t see enough to find the damn thing.
The ship lurched, jarring him. He squinted, trying to force his eyes to adjust—which they did—just not fast enough to do much good.
Another terrible groan echoed as the entire craft shuddered, and he felt himself stretched backwards. Not yanked or pulled, but elongated, as if space itself was stretching in some weird relativity demonstration. He remained firmly strapped into his seat, but the monitor was now farther away than it had been. When he reached out for it, his limbs seemed more distant than they were moments before.
Eric had no idea what was occurring. No one ever warned him of this, since it had never been encountered before. He wondered what unknown hell he’d been thrown into. There was some unforeseen phenomenon here which was not only ripping his ship apart, but affecting the physics which maintained the vessel’s molecular structure.
The capsule’s whine increased in pitch and he heard a couple loud pops, announcing the outer seals bursting. He realized the craft’s limited oxygen content would be sucked from the ship. He reached up to check his suit’s oxygen, but his elongated body wouldn’t respond. His arm took an extremely long time to move, appearing to be moving great distances. His vision cleared, but the display was too far away to read. His arms were moving as quickly as humanly possible, so he pitched forward to bring the suit’s controls to his gloves.
A high-pitched whistle announced the evacuation of the ship’s oxygen, and everything not tied down began to fly across the ship, only to bounce back when they struck the craft’s walls. Although he had no reason to doubt his suit, with his hand half way to his helmet’s controls, he took a deep breath of the remaining oxygen.
He understood it was a futile action. The capsule wasn’t designed for a lengthy deployment and hadn’t been equipped with a mechanism to exit the ship. Whatever air was available in his suit wouldn’t mean much. What’s twenty minutes of oxygen when you’re trillions of kilometers from the nearest rescue? They wouldn’t even realize he was in trouble until he’d been dead and adrift in space. Still, he soldiered on because, frankly, there wasn’t any other option. When your life is on the line and you’re staring death in the face, you don’t quibble over how many moments you may have left. You grab any last second you can and hope it’ll be enough.
Convinced his suit’s air was working, he glanced up. The display he’d been so concerned with seemed incredibly distant. So far away, he could barely make out the dim glow of its screen. A random nut smashed into the corner of the screen, shattering the upper left corner, but it wouldn’t make much difference now. Another groan, followed by a large crack and the screen went blank as the capsule’s power cables snapped. So much for returning to safety!
The shriek of grinding metal pierced his ears, as he was further stretched towards some unseen point. His vision began to dim. He couldn’t tell if it was from the strain, or if he was witnessing actual events. It appeared the entire ship was losing its molecular stability, and the physical structures around him dissolved before his eyes.
Realizing there was no way to save his life, and no way to try, even if he understood what was happening, he thought of everything he’d left behind. With no immediate family, partially why he’d been selected for this mission, he hoped there was someone who’d care what happened to him. He wished he could see his wife—ex-wife, he reminded himself—or his sister and niece, but realized there was no hope of that. He was trillions of kilometers away, and it would take ten full years for the faint glow of his arrival to appear. Without sending another probe, they wouldn’t even know whether he was here or somewhere billions of miles further out in space. Even if they could identify what happened, they’d have no way to understand what occurred.
Closing his eyes and sighing, he surrendered himself to the universe, allowing it to do what it wanted. He hoped his demise would be swift. Surprisingly, being stretched across space and watching his molecular bonds dissolve was painless. The ship broke apart as the last of the air was sucked out. The vast expanse of space opened up before him and the mystery of the ship’s failures were forgotten. He lived the most spectacular death ever witnessed by man.
The pain he’d avoided sprung upon him with a vengeance. His entire body convulsed, as if being ripped apart an atom at a time, each cell howling in protest. He assumed whatever was pulling him asunder delayed the nervous system’s response. He thought he’d screamed, but even in the tight confines of his helmet, he couldn’t hear a thing, and he blacked out from the agony.
Only … he didn’t lose consciousness, only the awareness of his body and what was transpiring around him. His mind seemed clear, as if freed from the constraints of his mortal body. But instead of analyzing what was occurring, his thoughts drifted, still alert but largely unfocused, probably a sign of the shock his brain experienced.
The destruction of his craft and his imminent death no longer mattered. All he was aware of was his imagination, and he could clearly visualize the memories of his life. He saw a perfect image of him as a baby, and the memory triggered others. He could not only see, but feel, sense and taste his mother’s breast before his suckling mouth. She vanished even as he clutched at her, never once questioning what was transpiring.
His mind leapt from one image to another, showing his parents standing over his crib, scanning the rooms he’d been raised in, his explorations of the expansive floor from only inches away. He crawled swiftly from room to room, but his visions didn’t wait for him to catch up. Jumping ahead, he saw his siblings, first the older brother who’d died years ago in an unfortunate highway accident, and his younger sister born after him. Only now, she was crawling towards him herself, grasping for him as if afraid she’d never reach him. The sentiments he felt at the time swept over him. He felt love for her, his protectiveness and jealousies, as well as her desire to be by his side.
Eric began to realize something was seriously off. The fact he felt her joy struck him as a violation. It wasn’t possible, even if he could explain the visions, but it was enough to snap him out of his passive state. But the dreams continued. He became his parents doting on him, his brother and sister. He saw himself playing with both, and felt a deep remorse he hadn’t realized how short a time he and Franklin had together before he’d be yanked out of his life.
He saw childhood pals, people he couldn’t remember yesterday but were now standing before him in larger than life clarity so intense he saw each individual pore. His dream moved about as friends and family swept in and out of the house. Yet, as the waves of emotions at seeing these long forgotten souls rolled over him, his mind resisted. No longer complacently accepting what happened, it searched for the truth behind them. His logical brain began applying itself to these flashbacks. What were these visions? They seemed to be of his life, but the detail and vitality weren’t his. They weren’t his memories, because he’d never seen anything this clear, and had forgotten them many decades ago, even if he had. So where did these recollections originate, if not from him?
As he questioned the reality of these apparitions, Eric remembered what he’d just experienced. He recalled being sucked out of his ship, his body ripped asunder even as it dissolved in a fading haze. Unable to stand these meaningless dreams which had no bearing on what was occurring, he stood in protest. In this latest dreamscape, he was around twelve and his buddies and he were playing in his bedroom. Ignoring everyone, he walked to the door and peered out into the hall. His friends never ceased their activity, not curious what he was doing. The hallway stretching before him was as unrealistically detailed as the other illusions. He observed every mote of dust, every spider web in the corner, even scratch and crayon marks on the walls.
Realizing this made no sense and was somehow being projected onto his mind from elsewhere, he strode down the hallway. He descended the stairs, ignoring his sister and brother in their rooms, never even glancing at him. Reaching the front door, he grasped it, braced himself as if expecting a rush of cold air, and thrust it open, searching for an explanation.
What greeted him, however, was much more unreal than the overly realistic memories. As the door swung free, it revealed the endless expanse of open space in a clarity he’d never witnessed. The house he’d been in, his childhood home, vanished. All around him stretched the vastness of the universe. He could see individual stars, colossal sweeping galaxies, and far distant supernovas which shone brighter than the Earth’s moon. Realizing something still wasn’t right, he clutched his head, wondering what helmet he wore which afforded him such unlimited clarity of vision.
His hands touched his head and it felt … odd. As if his fingers slipped through his skin. Twisting in space, he glanced at them and saw he wore no suit of any kind, nothing to protect him from the ravages of the airless void: the absolute cold, the lack of oxygen and the constant bath of ever-present radiation. He felt nothing as the universe stretched out before him, enveloping him like a long-lost friend.
But, strangest of all were his hands, held in front of his disbelieving eyes. They were translucent and glowed with an unearthly light; as if only a vague display of what his appendages might look like if he still possessed them. They glittered, like a high-tech Christmas tree. It was then he realized he heard what sounded like a mighty chorus humming in the background, even though sound waves couldn’t exist in the vacuum of space. Instead, it was like he heard the songs of the cosmos, detailing everything we could never hope to comprehend.
It was then that he lost it. He remembered screaming, but no voice rang out. The noise didn’t echo in his own head, there was no sound at all. His mind rejected everything and began to unravel. He again had no clue what was occurring, but wasn’t about to put up with these fake images anymore. He wanted the truth, no matter how painful.
That was his last thought. Afterwards, nothing remained but darkness, and he slept in the infinite silence of an eternal peace.
Until …
Eric rolled over, slowly stretching his arms over his head, keeping his eyes firmly shut. That was, without a doubt, the best sleep he’d had in ages. He knew it was time to get up. NASA was designed for and run by engineers, which meant they follow structure. He’d trained over the years to wake at the same time every day. He peeked through his lids reluctantly, opening his eyes wide a moment later. He was surprised to see the sun, not only up, but shining in his window. It was already late afternoon, and he never woke up later than seven in the morning. Glancing at his watch, he discovered he wasn’t wearing it. Sighing, he searched his bedside table, but didn’t find anything there. Sitting up, he studied his alarm clock, noticing it wasn’t moving. It’d stopped. That was the problem with the mechanical clocks he preferred. He appreciated the beauty of their intricate design, but if you forgot to wind them, they ceased functioning.
Growling, he scooted to the edge of the bed and threw his legs over the side. He was surprised to discover he was nude. He always wore pajamas. Even when summer was at its hottest, he at least used shorts. Nothing seemed right this morning. Something was off.
Stopping to consider what day it was and what he’d done last night, his eyes popped open. “God damn!” The memories of his last moments flooded back in a rush. He’d died trillions of kilometers from Earth, with no hope of rescue, ripped apart by some unknown interplanetary force. How did he end up back in his home, completely naked with nary a scratch or other evidence of what he’d experienced?
There was no way anyone rescued him. They had no backup Spatial Displacement Units. NASA researched his destination and decided there was little risk in a flight lasting only a few minutes in an empty segment of space. So how the hell did he end up here, and who put him to bed, undressing him and removing all his things?
Shaking his head, he stood and surveyed the room. There was no medical equipment, none of his possessions, nothing to show he’d been to the hospital or carted in. The fact his alarm clock was off showed no one spent enough time here to notice it wasn’t working.
He switched on the lamp and recoiled, holding his hand in front of his face. “What kind of bulb is this, and why would I pay money for something so obnoxious?” He peeked at it, but couldn’t stand the light, so he shut it off. It didn’t add much illumination as there was plenty of sunlight. He massaged his temple before lowering his hand, scratching his hand on the stubble on his chin. “That’s at least twelve hours of growth, which provides some idea of how long I’ve been here. If someone dropped me off, I’ve been on my own that long. Now I need to determine what day and time it is.”
Standing and spinning in a slow circle, he scratched his head. “This makes no sense.” Speaking to himself when vexed was a habit he developed in the Air Force. Pilots frequently spoke to themselves to resolve problems. “What the heck could bring me back here?” He sat again to consider his situation.
“I’m clearly missing something. If I was saved, which isn’t even conceivable, there would be someone or something here. At the very least, I’d be under observation so they could analyze how I was responding. The implication is I wasn’t rescued, which doesn’t make sense. How else would I end up here? There’s got to be some explanation, I just need to determine what it is.”
“Damn! I’ve got to call NASA. They’ll be wondering where I am.” As he considered that, his teeth began to chatter. The heat was still turned down. Whenever he traveled to Cape Canaveral he cranked the heater down to reduce expenses. His Wi-Fi and computer would be unplugged to prevent electric surges from frying the electronics. The TV and other electronics would also off to them from draining his wallet. He was a bit of a control freak about minor details.
Growling, he grabbed pants and a shirt and marched into the kitchen searching for caffeine. The polished wooden floors felt cold, and the ceramic tiles were even chillier. As he should have expected, the coffee maker was unplugged. He was more confused than ever. How had he arrived without someone taking the time to turn on the heat or changing anything? Wiping his finger along the counter, he discovered it coated in accumulated dust. Somehow he’d gotten into the house and into bed without anyone bothering to straighten up. The situation continued to get stranger.
Plugging the coffee pot back in, he searched for the grounds, forgetting he always froze the beans to keep them fresh when he left. Slapping his head, he glanced around for something to eat. He was starving, but remembered he rarely kept anything around which might spoil when he was away for long. It was a huge production preparing for the launch, and he was expected to head to Washington and New York City to promote NASA afterwards.
He’d tossed all the bread, fruits and vegetables, plus all the refrigerated products which might mold. That meant he was left with packaged meats, frozen foods and condiments. He normally hit the grocery store on the way back from the airport when he returned. He had random canned vegetables and beans, pasta and rice, but those weren’t exactly enticing combinations.
Sighing, he grabbed some frozen waffles, plugged in the toaster and depressing the plunger and headed for the bathroom. After relieving himself, he stepped to the washbasin to brush his teeth and examined himself in the mirror. As expected, he had a partial day’s beard, but didn’t bear any evidence of dirt, wear or having spent any extended time in bed. Deciding not to sweat about what he couldn’t answer, he brushed his teeth and washed his face. NASA’s Public Relations were ecstatic he was so dutiful about his teeth, since he had the brightest smile of anyone at NASA. It wouldn’t do having him representing the country on National TV with dull ivories. It also didn’t hurt with the ladies, who he shamelessly flirted with.
Returning to the kitchen, he took his lukewarm waffles, grabbed the cold syrup and a fork, sat down and dug in. Though he thought he was hungry, he had no idea just how much. He ate the entire box and was still famished. He found some old crackers in the cupboard, so he munched on them as he debated what to do.
“I need to call NASA, but without knowing what happened, I can’t explain what occurred. Hell, I might still be hallucinating! It’s amazingly detailed for a dream, but not as much as the ones I was having. I don’t even know what day it is, how much time has elapsed, or whether anyone knows about me. It’s possible someone stashed me here, but that seems unlikely.”
He glanced at the kitchen clock. It too was mechanical, an older German cuckoo whose weights were resting on the floor. The microwave wasn’t plugged in. Sighing in frustration, he decided to check the news.
Crossing the room, he knelt to plug the TV in. Handling the cord, he noted an odd sound within the wall. “Damn, likely some kind of termite. I’ll have to contact the exterminators…, once I locate my credit cards.” When he connected it, the buzzing in his head resumed. Turning it on, a jolt of pain flashed through his brain, leaving him reeling. Pulling back, he overcompensated and fell. The discomfort wasn’t overwhelming, but it surprised him. Still, it was uncomfortable enough he couldn’t remain where he was. Apparently he hadn’t escaped his trauma without injuries, after all. Standing, he found the further he got from the TV the better he felt. Taking refuge by the living room door, he started flipping through the channels, searching for a news program. Each time he changed the channel, another mild ache would flash through his temples making his jaw clench.
“… authorities are demanding an accounting from NASA, threatening a Congressional inquiry if they don’t get satisfactory answers.”
“Looks like I’m still in the news,” Eric reflected. “I’m glad I waited until I discovered what they’re saying about me before phoning NASA. They might not have a response now, but wait until I show up. They’ll all be royally pissed!”
The scene switched to NASA’s Press Secretary, Daniel Becket.
“We’re still determining what went wrong. Until we identify a specific cause, there’s no sense making any preliminary statements. We have a lot of data to parse through, though we don’t suspect anything happened on our end. We may not know until we can launch a follow-up probe.”
The camera returned to the reporter, who discussed how upset everyone was. It appeared that was the gist of the report. Eric still wasn’t sure how long it had been, but it was clear no one realized he was back. That changed things significantly. He couldn’t call the space agency and admit he was back without an explanation. It would take quite a bit to convince them what happened to him was real, even if he could explain it.
Holding his temple, he shut the television off. It was hard to think with the constant buzz in his head. As soon as the screen went black, his headache eased, but didn’t halt. He’d needed to have the TV examined. Apparently something happened and it was giving off some kind of radiation, which could be dangerous. He unplugged the set. An unstable component was a fire hazard. His pounding head abated, but he still heard scratching behind the wall and considered whether he might still be dreaming. Only everything was much too real, including his headache and the cold. He couldn’t remember experiencing dreams with physical sensations, but after the dreams he’d had, he couldn’t rule anything out.
Returning to his bedroom, he evaluated his situation as he finished dressing. A phone call wouldn’t work. He needed to talk to his bosses one-on-one for them to take him seriously. What’s more, if he called and informed them he was at his home, they’d undoubtedly panic and send a rescue team. That would alert the entire country he was still alive, which wasn’t a smart move. They had to calculate how to present this to the public, and an explanation to accomplish that. No, he’d need to travel on his own to Cape Canaveral. Only he had no money, credit cards or ID.
“I’ve got it,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I’ll call my sister, Leslie. She can loan me some cash so I can cover expenses and fly to Florida. I shouldn’t be recognized if I keep my face covered. I won’t need an ID because Frank knows me. I can think of some story to satisfy him. He’s a good friend so he won’t blab if I ask him to keep it quiet. Now all I need is to determine how to explain this to Leslie.”
“Well, putting it off won’t make it any easier!” He lifted his home phone and dialed—his cellphone, like his wallet, were still in Florida. It rang three times. He was about to hang up, assuming she was unavailable, when it was answered.
“Hallo?” a small voice asked.
“Becky, could I talk to your mother, please?” he asked. While he enjoyed spending time with his niece, he wanted to involve as few people as possible.
“Uncle Eric?” Becky Thomas asked in a hesitant voice. “Is that really you?”
“It is, but you can’t tell anyone about it y—”
“You’re alive?” she yelled, her voice raising a full octave. “Everyone’s talking about how you died. I cried all night. Mom had to—”
He was preparing to launch into some half-assed explanation when she was interrupted. There was a discussion in the background and he overheard his sister’s voice scolding her daughter about her decorum.
“But Uncle Eric’s alive!” Becky protested. There was no response for several moments before he heard a familiar voice.
“Eric?” Leslie asked, sounding as if she was speaking via Ouija board in a dark parlor late at night.
“Leslie, I can ex—”
“You damn fu…,” she began before catching herself. “How dare you scare us like that? I was devastated. I’ve been on the line all night making arrangements, talking to the press, and—”
“Which is why we can’t speak about this over the phone,” he stressed, speaking slowly and emphatically. “I’ll explain what I can, but I’ve got to get back to Florida. I seem to have … lost my wallet, so I need to borrow some money to—”
“What the hell are you talking about?” she demanded, her voice rising in pitch even above when she was screaming. “Where are you now?”
“I’m at my house. I need you to pick me up and give me a—”
“You stay right there! I want to see this with my own eyes. After getting you back from certain death, I’m not about to let you go gallivanting off. I want to make sure you’re in one piece and that I’m not hallucinating.”
“You’re not, Mom. I hear him too!”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I was taking Becky to practice …”
A whine of “Mooommm!” rang out behind her.
“But she can miss a day.” There was a cheerful cry before she continued. “Hold on and don’t do anything. We’ll be right over.”
“Uh, could you bring some food?” Eric asked.
“Groceries? Like what kind?”
“Anything. There’s nothing here and I’m starving.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got some leftovers. Becky, finish putting your stuff away. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Leslie, I appreciate it.”
The realization that he’d seriously underestimated the situation struck him. His sister said she’d been fielding calls all night, both from family and the national media. It would be more difficult slipping away unnoticed than he’d hoped, but he couldn’t think of a better approach. As she just demonstrated, revealing this information over the phone invoked an overly dramatic response. Eric understood he needed a logical technique to broach the news.
“Are you sure this is smart?” Leslie asked, easing her minivan into a spot by the hanger.
“Mom, he needs to talk to his bosses in person,” Becky chided in an annoyed voice from the back seat. “He can’t do that unless he flies there.”
“He could always—”
“No, Mom,” she insisted in a no-nonsense tone of voice, “if he calls, they’ll panic. If he takes a regular flight, everyone will recognize him. This is his best choice.”
Eric smiled as he climbed out. “Thanks, Becky, I couldn’t have phrased it better myself.”
She beamed and hurried to trail him.
“Only because she’s echoing your exact words,” Leslie mumbled as she got out too, but she had trouble objecting to his ideas. She, like her daughter, thought the world of Eric. Despite being rocked by his disappearance and feeling betrayed when he’d reappeared, she trusted his judgment. She shrugged. “I still think this is a mistake.”
“And you can continue thinking it while you tell the guy inside what I suggested.”
She continued to protest as she took his spare keys. “I don’t—”
“Leslie, are you suggesting you won’t do this for me?” To drive the point home, he flashed her his best puppy-dog eyes. It was successful with the ladies, and it worked on her since they were kids.
Becky smiled. She was familiar with her mother and understood her uncle knew how to push her buttons.
“Eric, I’d do anything for you. You know better than to question whether I’ll do it. I just—”
“In which case you’d best hurry,” he said, turning her around and pushing her towards the building, slapping her ass to speed her progress.
She hurried inside, letting the steel door slam behind her.
Eric turned to his niece. “All right, we’ve got a few minutes before we can make an appearance. Are you missing anything because of this? Didn’t you have anything scheduled for today?”
Becky shrugged, shuffling her feet. “Only soccer … and gymnastics.”
“Sorry to interrupt your schedule. Couldn’t your mother have dropped you off?”
“Nah, Dad’s away on business, so he couldn’t take me. My soccer practice is later, so she’d have to wait to take me. Then she couldn’t pick me up on time, so she decided to bring me along.”
“Well, I always love seeing you,” he said, punching her lightly on the shoulder.
Becky wasn’t about to let it go at that. She flung herself against him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Not having much choice, he hugged her back, lifting her up. “Damn, Uncle Eric, I thought for sure you were dead!”
“Yeah, sorry about that. It wasn’t my intention. And what’s with the language?”
Becky flashed him her best sneaky look. “Heck, if I’m not allowed to say it now, I never will be.”
He grinned. She realized he wouldn’t get angry for pulling a fast one on him. “It’s not the words, but your age. You’re not supposed to use those terms.”
“But if I don’t practice, how will I know how to say it when I’m older?” She flashed him a brilliant smile.
“Okay, you little scamp, I think the coast is clear. Knowing Jimmy, he’s already back in his office playing Doodle Jump.” Taking her hand, he led his niece around the side of the building, heading for his private plane, which his friend prepared for today’s flight.
Eric was correct. There wasn’t anyone outside to observe him. Since they reached the airplane before Leslie, he began preparing for takeoff. The plane, his pride and joy, was a King Air, a fast long-distance aircraft. He’d bought it at a government auction a friend tipped him off to. It was confiscated from a drug smuggling operation. They’d stripped off all the interior paneling, which he lovingly recreated by hand. As a test pilot, he loved it for its speed and control, which was handy for getting across the country fast with minimal delays.
“Anything I can help with?” Becky asked, leaning in to see what he was doing.
“Not at the moment, but when I’m ready, how about you start her up for me?”
“Can I really?” she asked, dancing in place.
“I’m sure you can,” he said, checking the engines to ensure nothing came loose. “That’s why I asked.”
“I see you couldn’t wait to get underway,” Leslie said, approaching from the hanger.
“I get to start the plane, Mom!”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to hang around so long Jimmy or someone else might recognize me. The sooner I get off the ground, the less likely I’ll have a problem.”
“Are you almost ready?”
“I’m set,” he answered, closing the housing. He flashed his niece a thumbs up and backed away from the propeller. “Start it up, Becky!”
Her grin shone as bright as a spotlight as she started the engines.
He turned and kissed his sister. “Thanks a million. You saved my ass. I appreciate it.” He pulled back to address her directly. “This is no doubt going to take time to work out and identify what happened. I’ll undoubtedly have to explain to the entire world what the hell I did or didn’t do. We’re unlikely to talk until my name is plastered on every newspaper in the world. But as soon as this is over, I’ll take you, Becky and even Fredrick out to dinner as a thank you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, but I’m sure Becky would appreciate you making a big deal over her. Be careful. I expect a lot of people will feel personally betrayed when they discover the reports of your death weren’t real. Be prepared for some fallout.”
“I will,” Eric said, giving her a final kiss goodbye before backing up. “Say hello to your husband when you see him.” With that, he strode to the plane’s cab. Opening the door, he lifted his giggling niece out.
“Take care, cutie,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “And remember, no telling your friends I’m alive until after we release it to the press, Okay?”
She nodded as her mother guided her away from the plane. Eric climbed in, waving as he taxied toward the runway. He had a long flight ahead of him, and a lot to consider on the way.
“Space Coast Tower, King Air November two-eight-zero-zero Zulu, ten north Inbound, one-two-hundred with Alpha.” Eric hoped, by keeping the approaching communications short, the flight controllers wouldn’t recognize his voice.
“King Air November two-eight-zero-zero Zulu, radar contact. Enter left downwind runway eight-one. There’s no inbound traffic today, so maintain one-thousand feet and descend at pilot’s discretion making a visual approach,” the ATC said. Eric smiled. With no one else using the runways, he had more leeway. With no need to keep checking in, there was less chance of them recognizing him.
After several moments of silence, the radio crackled with another message. “King Air November two-eight-zero-zero Zulu, call tower.” His heart raced. Being told to call the control tower was the last thing any pilot wanted to hear. It meant they’d screwed up so badly the air-flight controllers didn’t want to lambast them over an open channel.
“Affirmative,” Eric sighed. It might be completely innocent, but he didn’t like the implications.
Dialing into the tower’s private frequency, he tried again. “Space Coast Center, this is Zero-zero Zulu.”
“Who the hell is this? I know for a fact this is Eric Morgan’s plane, and he died yesterday. He’d never let anyone else fly his aircraft, and his relatives would still be grieving.”
“Frank?”
“Yeah, this is Frank. Who is this?”
“It’s me, Eric. I’m not dead, although I’m sure as soon as word leaks out, I’ll wish I was.”
“Holy crap! How the hell did you survive that? Billions of people watched you disappear without a trace trillions of kilometers from any breathable oxygen, and you show up here?” There was a short pause, as Frank lowered his microphone. “Jeb, it’s Eric. He survived! I’ve got him on the line.”
“It’s a long tale, but I don’t have the full story yet. Excuse me, but could you keep this quiet? NASA won’t want to release this until we have some sort of explanation.”
“Eric? Is that you?” Jeb White, one of the other controllers, asked. Eric groaned again. With the airport personnel this excited, he knew they wouldn’t be able to hide their excitement. Soon the whole airport would be buzzing. Hopefully, they’d keep it under wraps for a couple days. But he was realistic enough to realize they’d tell their wives and girlfriends, and they’d divulge it to their friends the next day. He didn’t have long before NASA would have to brief the press about his survival. “How the hell are you, man? What happened?”
“Sorry, Jeb. I can’t say anything until I check in with NASA. They won’t approve of me volunteering information until they authorize it.” He hoped that was a safe enough cover to explain his inability to detail how he’d survived.
“Man, how the hell can you hide this kind of thing?” Jeb complained. Eric overheard Frank fielding another inbound call in the background.
“Don’t worry. NASA will be informing the entire country once they let me up for air. Until then, they’ll want to keep this under wraps.”
“It’ll be difficult not discussing it.” There was more background noise. “Hey, it was terrific talking to you. We’ve got a couple incoming flights, so I need to go. You’re clear to land. Good luck with the brass, but you owe us a full explanation once this is over.”
“Affirmative, Jeb. You’re on,” Eric answered before breaking off contact, trying to touch down as soon as possible.
This was problematic, limiting how long they could prepare their answers, but they couldn’t keep it private for long, anyway. The longer they waited, the more the public would accuse them of covering something up. The race was on. He knew he wouldn’t rest until they had something to reveal to the press.
Eric used the hanger manager’s phone to call for a cab. It was a short distance to the Cape, but without his car, he had no way to get there. There was no way he wanted to ask anyone at NASA to pick him up. Aside from his personal pride, he was afraid they’d be so shocked they’d send a fleet of government vehicles. No, he needed to keep this quiet. NASA wouldn’t appreciate not receiving advance warning, but they’d agree with the need to constrain the details.
The manager was pleasant, but as Eric left, he noted the man dialing the phone. That didn’t bode well.
Putting on his glasses—Eric’s only disguise—he waited outside, hunkering down by the hanger so anyone driving by wouldn’t notice him. When the taxi arrived, he ran out, jumping in the back.
“Cape Canaveral, please.”
“Kennedy Space Center?” the cab driver asked without glancing back.
“Damn, I guess so. Without my ID, I can’t enter the Air Force Base. Yeah, take me to Space Center. I can call from there.”
“Whatever,” the cabbie grumbled, not caring about his rationalizations.
Eric whistled under his breath, glancing back at the hanger. The little airport got a fair amount of traffic—most of whom knew him. One man’s word wouldn’t warrant much attention. However, repeated calls from various sources would tip off anyone interested. And everyone would be fascinated to learn he was still alive. The cabbie, Jamal Kendricks, not only didn’t recognize him, but didn’t seem to care who he was.
While there weren’t many late-morning flights, his arrival put him in town just as most workers and tourists were breaking for lunch. The NASA Causeway, which normally had little traffic, was swamped. It seemed the news of Eric’s death inspired increased tourism. He noted a few glances. Their heads would swivel, recognizing him from somewhere. They’d stare, unable to make the necessary connection. He was glad he’d worn his dark aviator glasses.
The light turned at the Astronaut Hall of Fame. This time, several people noticed him. Eric sank into his seat, but their friends also pointed, causing others to glance. However, most people leaving the facility were hungry tourists with kids. They didn’t have the patience or inclination to examine those driving by.
There was less traffic crossing the Indian River, but several motorists pointed at him. It was clear these people, coming from the Kennedy Space Center, were more familiar with him. His face was plastered over the Center’s walls. There was no avoiding it now. His glasses didn’t make much difference. Apparently, the media sensation following his death was greater than he’d anticipated. Eric’s first impulse was to cover his face, but as soon as he did he realized his folly. Hiding was a universal sign of guilt and would make people think he was ashamed. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he dropped his hand, smiled and waved, making no attempt to conceal his identity, other than the ineffective glasses.
The unwanted attention continued onto NASA Parkway West. Several people snapped his picture with their smartphones. It would only be minutes before the photos appeared on social media. Eric grimaced, but put on the smile he’s spent months perfecting. As the traffic picked up, people had less time to notice, but he still attracted glances.
“Are you famous?” The driver, dark skinned with a flat nose and heavy brows, spoke with an oddly lilting accent. Eric assumed he was a recent immigrant.
“Nah, I just look like a celebrity,” he lied. “It happens all the time.” Jamal didn’t bother adjusting his rearview mirror, simply shrugging and concentrating on his driving.
Pulling into the Kennedy Space Visitor Complex, more people turned, studying him. Jamal pulled to the entrance. Eric had his money ready and shoved it at him as he tried to make his exit.
“Ey? Want ‘yo change?” the cabbie called.
“Nope. Keep it,” he said, shutting the door. Again, there were more people leaving for lunch than were entering the complex, his progress was impeded by people moving in random directions. As he shuffled past, several stopped to stare. It didn’t take long for a couple to point him out.
“Hey, isn’t that…?”
“It sure looks like it, but it can’t be!”
“He’s supposed to be dead. I saw it on TV last night.”
Focusing straight ahead so he wouldn’t give the wrong message, he passed a news crew stationed in front of the building, broadcasting a report about his disappearance. He couldn’t catch what they were saying, but the on-air reporter paused mid-broadcast, staring at him. Recovering, he directed the cameramen in Eric’s direction. Understanding he’d been caught, Eric turned and flashed them his best smile, waving as he passed, resisting the temptation to bolt. His image would undoubtedly appear on the evening news.
“Eric. Eric Morgan! What are you doing here? How’d you survive?” the newsman shouted, attracting even more attention.
The line of people exiting the center halted, and a new collection formed behind him. Those before him turned to discover what the commotion was. He had to slip past the stopped traffic, giving everyone more time to identify him. Several people now had their cameras out, high-definition SLRs in addition to the ubiquitous cell phones. The newsman kept shouting, chasing after him. The people gawking proved useful, preventing the news team from gaining on him.
Entering the complex, no one inside seemed aware of the distraction. He approached the security desk, set off to the side.
“Pardon me, can I borrow your phone? There’s a bit of a disturbance outside which is getting out of hand.”
As expected, his declaration produced the desired response. The guard supplied the telephone as he issued instructions to his people. They ran out to evaluate the scene, leaving him in peace. It was answered after the second ring. “Robert Givens,” his boss, the ISSDD Project leader, said.
“Robert. I’m afraid I’ll need a lift into work today.” He adjusted his glasses, hoping to hide his face by some miniscule amount. “Seems I’ve gone and left my ID at the office.”
“What the…? Eric? Is that you?”
“It is, but you can verify my identity when you come and get me. You’d best hurry. I was noticed by a few people on the way in. I’ve got a news crew filming me as we speak.” He turned and waved to the news team recording him through the window. The guard was arguing with the reporter and his support staff.
“Sit tight. I’ll be there right away. I’m anxious to learn how you got here.”
“I’ll be waiting. Be sure your hair is combed. I expect we’ll get our pictures taken in the process.”
Eric hung up and visited the restroom, hoping to find a stall to hide out for another ten to fifteen minutes.
Robert Givens, the project manager of NASA’s ISSDD program, stared at Eric across the metal table, slowly tapping his fingers. “So, Morgan, I’m interested in hearing how you came to be here?”
Stanley Wright, the director of Cape Canaveral operations leaned forward with a cold glare. “I’m interested in how he slipped out of the capsule, and where he’s been for the last day. Son, you’ve embarrassed all of NASA. Thanks to you, we stand to lose all our funding. What were you thinking?”
Givens was an older man, with wavy gray hair and a white mustache. His face was wrinkled, showing he’d lived a long, hard life before settling into his current position. Director Wright was just as old, but his hair was still mostly dark aside from his temples and salt-and-pepper mustache. He wore wire-rim glasses, a holdover from his days as a Air Force pilot, and possessed a healthy set of jowls. They both came up through the ranks.
Eric leaned back, waving his arm to indicate the large mirror facing them. “Frankly, I’d be more inclined to respond if I wasn’t being interrogated behind a one-way mirror, in a room little more than a cell, with my every word being recorded.” He stopped and held his forehead, closing his eyes. “This is hardly a setting for a straightforward, honest discussion. As it is, I feel I need to call my lawyer and plead the fifth.”
“Is there a reason you refuse to answer?” Stanley asked, arching his brow.
“Sir, Eric has a point. We’re trying to establish the facts.” Robert turned back to the subject of their ire. “But you need to realize, everyone will analyze how we handle this. The first thing they’ll ask is what was said. We have to record this to circumvent claims that we colluded to defraud the public.”
“Fraud? Are you serious? Robert, you know I played no part in designing that capsule. How could I slip out, unnoticed, and escape a building full of employees while my every move was recorded? I don’t know what happened. We need to analyze the situation to determine what did. Treating me like a criminal won’t answer your questions.”
“We’ve already initiated a thorough investigation to discover how you arranged this,” Stanley assured him. “We’ll establish what you did, but for now, we need to understand what you hoped to accomplish.”
Eric spread his arms, staring at the heavens hidden behind several floors of offices. “All right, if that’s the case, how did I disappear, taking the craft with me, travel light years, and return without anyone knowing? As I said, I had no control over the design of the capsule. I couldn’t reprogram it to break the laws of physics by landing in a secret garage. Even if I did, why would I come here to help figure out how I did it?”
“You might not have accomplished it on your own, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t guilty,” Stanley countered.
Robert sighed, leaning back. “Please, Director, let’s not begin by throwing around unsubstantiated accusations. Eric is right. We need to focus on what happened and work out how to respond. Can you explain exactly what occurred?”
Eric groaned, massaging his temples. “I don’t know. Something went horribly wrong. The initial leap went perfectly, but when I arrived, something I’ve never witnessed ensued. The space around me began to expand, stretching everything out. The ship broke apart, but I didn’t experience any pain. As weird as it sounds, everything in the capsule faded away. I’m guessing the spacing between each atom expanded until everything lost its molecular stability.”
“That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard,” Stanley hissed. “You expect us, experts working with the latest revelations in physics, to believe this nonsense?”
“I’m simply … telling you … what happened.” He enunciated each word, grasping his forehead, wincing with every syllable.
“Let’s wait a minute before fighting amongst ourselves.” Robert leaned forward, laying his hands on the table. “How about if we deal with specifics? If you were pulled apart ten light years from here, how did you return with no capsule?”
Eric’s forehead furrowed as he clenched his fists, channeling his energy. “I … don’t … know. I felt myself being stretched. I saw everything drawing away and the vessel started to dissolve, then I lost consciousness. The next thing I know, I woke up in my bed at home.”
“Oh, isn’t that convenient!” Stanley said with a sneer. “Not only do you prove decades of research unnecessary by accomplishing the same thing on your own, you do it in your sleep.”
“I’ll admit; I find it hard to swallow, too.”
Eric opened his fists, color returning to his flesh, red lines marking where the skin folded. He leaned forward on his elbows, spreading his hands, though his brow remained furrowed. “I assumed you’d have trouble accepting it. I did too. As I’m gone …” He halted, resting his head in his palm for a few moments before continuing. “Since I’m away from home so often, my house is equipped with a security system. If you call the company, you’ll determine it was never deactivated until this morning. I turned it off to leave the house at 9:43.”