Chapter Twelve
Womb
All was uncertain.
There was a pronounced softness around me. Beneath me. Reaching cautiously out with my hands, I felt an odd, yielding material. There was sound, too. A powerful, pounding beat that filled my body and the air around me. A generator, I thought. Something giving power.
It should have felt claustrophobic, but there was only comfort.
Time was difficult to measure. If only there was light to view my dark surroundings. It reminded me of a story from my childhood, The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, were four children discovered a passage into a fantasy world through a closet. This wardrobe was filled with a collection of fur coats and I felt as if I were there, lost between the softness of fur. Adrift. In my bizarre version of the tale, I felt ensconced not between two worlds, but millions. Or, perhaps, an infinite anthology of realities, each with its own unique story. I had only to choose…
At some point, I heard voices. Two or three distinct people, and they were talking about me! The words were unintelligible (another language?) but they were trying to help. Somehow, I knew this. They were trying to solve some difficult problem. Why do they think—?
Again, the bells. So many bells. I knew these bells. Knew them intimately. If only I could discern their purpose.
The voices gradually grew louder and took form. I could pick out words and short phrases.
“—resonating again—”
“—can’t be—no cohesion—”
“—trying new variable—”
“—recording—”
These words, mixed with the orchestra of angelic bells, lifted my soul and made me want to sing.
Something was happening.
Something important.
Something wonderful.
The bells moved closer, a magnetic storm of fireflies, and the conversation passed clearly through the gauzy layers of my confinement.
“He’s responding, Dr. Atavan. We have solid coordinates. The curve is up seven points.”
“Track now!”
“The wave front ratio hasn’t stabilized. It’s as if… somebody’s reprogramming the destination variable remotely.”
“That’s not possible. Are we tracking?”
“Yes, Doctor. Wait… the wave front is collapsing.”
“No!”
“Should we—?”
“He’s decompiling—”
I felt my body dissolve, float, then reform in the most fantastic manner. Fluid control. No, not fluid. The term foam came to me. Quantum foam. Such incredible power over the subatomic world!
And that was it. I was again swallowed by darkness.
How I appeared is beyond my comprehension or imagination. Somehow, I was simply there. Standing, I rubbed my hands together, lacing and unlacing my fingers. Human fingers. I touched my face. Real skin. Hair. A deep breath. Familiar scent? Yes, definitely familiar. But welcome? Certainly not. The moment I recognized it, the elevator door before me slid open. I should have known.
Abandoning the mental rollercoaster, I walked out into David’s office.
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Science Fiction(TimeFront: Book 2) On a cool evening in late October, William Anderson leaves a small apartment with thoughts of his 10th wedding anniversary. As he crosses the street, a car strikes him, sending his body flying into a storefront window. He dies to...
