chapter 9
TEAM 2, YEAR: 2016
Time Remaining: 185 Days
With no balance and no way to stop himself from falling forward into the path of the oncoming bus, Owen braced for the hit, but it never came. As quickly as he had found himself in the street, he felt himself being jerked backward. The corner of the bus’s bumper clipped his foot as it flew by, the driver honking madly. Owen stumbled back awkwardly; his mind unable to process what was happening. The arm that saved him tried to steady him, but he toppled over backward. He expected to feel hard concrete, but instead, something soft broke his fall. Owen lay flat on his back and the blue sky above him became obscured by the faces of concerned people looking down at him. Time then seemed to stop as if to compensate for the whirlwind he had just experienced. He could hear his heart pounding a rapid tattoo in his ears and he stared without seeing, paralyzed by fear, relief and confusion. In those brief milliseconds that had just passed, he had come to terms with the fact he was going to die, but then he had not.
He heard a woman’s voice beneath him swear and realized he was lying atop the person who had saved his life. The people around him who, just moments earlier were too caught up in their own world to let him through, helped him to his feet. He adjusted his jacket as someone slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and brushed him off. Owen turned to thank the person and winced in pain as he put weight on his right foot. The pain evaporated when he caught a glimpse of the woman who had saved him. Collecting herself by the bus shelter a few steps away was a woman unlike any he had ever seen before; the perfect mix of rugged yet feminine. She seemed deeply concerned about her backpack. Owen watched as she inspected the outside of the pack quickly then opened a zipper on the front. From where he stood, the bag’s contents were obscured but her shoulders fell with relief at the sight of whatever was inside. She smiled warmly at the man with her, revealing perfect white teeth. The man who accompanied her looked even more so relieved. She zipped the pack, slid her arms through the straps and pulled her long, dark brown braid out from between her back and the bag. Not a strand of hair hung out of place. She was average height with a slender but wide, athletic build. He worried that she may have broken something or sustained bruised ribs at the very least, but her muscular frame appeared miraculously uninjured, with the exception of a gash on her forearm. Her outfit seemed unusual to Owen; more like a uniform than something a woman would wake up in the morning and choose to wear. She wore a black fitted canvas vest over a dark grey t-shirt and her matching pants resembled something a SWAT team member would wear. The man she stood with wore a matching outfit. They must be a couple, he thought. Tourists maybe?
The woman held up her arm to inspect the cut from which blood had now trickled to her wrist. Owen saw something in the cut catch the sun then cringed as he watched her extract a jagged piece of glass. She scowled at the glass and tossed it into an open garbage can two bus benches away with barely a glance. Her partner took a water bottle out of his backpack, wet a tissue and handed it to her. She took it impatiently and wiped the blood off her arm quickly and distractedly as if this was wasting valuable time. She looked up at Owen, who, as she did so, realized he had been staring.
“You alright?” asked the woman.
“Uh, yes. Thank you.” He nodded awkwardly. “Sorry, I’m a little lost for words.”
Owen tried desperately to keep the pain in his foot from showing on his face as he limped toward the pair. He was very aware that the woman had just plucked a shard of glass from her arm and seemed to feel no more pain than had it been a tissue from a box.
Her redheaded travelling companion smiled. “All in a day’s work.” His thick Scottish accent took Owen by surprise.
“You’re Owen Taylor, right?” the woman asked.
Owen was thrown by her question. He knew he had never seen this woman before; he would never have forgotten that smile or her electric green eyes. He looked at the pair with a puzzled expression. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I am.”
“Perfect. We were looking for you, actually,” said the woman.
Owen smiled. “Well, I have to say I’m glad you found me.”
Her face softened as she smiled. “I believe that. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“Sure.” Owen hesitated. “Have we met before?”
“No, sorry, we haven’t met. I’m Morgan. Riley Morgan, and this is my partner, Finn McLaren.”
Riley shook Owen’s hand with a firm grip. She pulled him in close and whispered to him quietly. “It’s crucial that we talk. It’s about national security.”
Owen was not surprised to hear that someone wanted to discuss something involving national security, though he would not have phrased it with exactly those words. His most recent project with the International Space Coalition required clearance far and above what most high-ranking NRD officials would be granted, but nothing was a matter of national security, per se. While it was no secret that he was being outsourced to ISC, the details of the project were confidential. Owen guessed the pair were from the central NRD office and wanted to discuss security protocols or a changeover in contacts.
“Is there somewhere we could speak privately?” asked Riley.
“Yes, absolutely. We can use my office. It’s only a few blocks from here.” He pointed down the road, then felt foolish. “But you probably knew that already.” Owen limped as he walked with his two visitors. Every step shot a lightning bolt of pain through the top of his foot.
Owen entered the foyer and signed his two guests in at the security desk. The security guard gave Riley and Finn each a plastic visitor card with a clip at the top. Owen dug through his bag and found his ID badge. He glanced up and saw Finn tuck the badge into his pocket. Owen noticed Riley watch as he clipped his badge onto his shirt pocket and then she did the same while elbowing Finn, who then pulled the badge out of his pocket and did the same. Owen thought it seemed like bizarre behaviour, but little of his morning had been typical, so he dismissed it. He led Riley and Finn down the main hallway past large offices, through a metal door that revealed a dimly lit concrete stairwell. One of the ceiling lights flickered, giving the stairwell an ominous feel.
“It’s not as dodgy as it looks, I promise,” said Owen, looking over his shoulder at his guests. He stopped at the third door on his right and used a key to unlock the door. “Geology used to be a large, happening department, but it’s become a bit of a old dog over the last few decades. Much of its budget has been allocated to newer and flashier fields like biodiagnostics and nanotechnology. Something about ‘larger return on the government’s investment’ and ‘standing out on the world’s stage.’ I used to have an office on the second floor, but about eight years ago I got downsized. It’s not that bad; the basement’s rather quiet.”
Owen limped behind his desk, tossed his keys onto a shelf and slid out of his jacket. He forwent the coat rack at the far side of the room and instead slung his jacket over the back of his chair.
“So, what can I do for you guys?” asked Owen as he sat. He slid his laptop out of his messenger bag and set the bag neatly on the floor beside the desk.
Riley and Finn seated themselves in the two chairs opposite the desk. Riley, who Owen had gathered by now to be the more senior of the two, spoke first.
“Owen, we need to discuss the progress you’ve made on the Key Eleven light signatures you’ve been cross-referencing for the International Space Coalition.” She had specifically left out, “and we’re here from 2097,” planning to jump that hurdle later.
“Oh,” said Owen, completely surprised. He had not expected anyone here to have this level of knowledge about the project. He knew that no one at the NRD but himself had been read in on his mandate, including his boss and his boss’s boss. Only he and a select few people at the ISC knew he was working on light samples specific to Key Eleven. Unsure of how to handle their request, he proceeded vaguely. “Are you looking for a preliminary report of my findings? I was under the imp
ression that I had a couple of months still to file the reports.”
“No, we’re not here in that capacity,” she said. “We’re here to help you with it.”
Owen frowned, finding this news highly unusual. It seemed counterproductive to throw new people into a project like this part way through. Even more peculiar was that no one at the ISC had mentioned this to him. “I wasn’t aware I was teaming up with anyone on this. Who’s your contact on this? Have you been briefed?” Owen tried to piece together what they were telling him, but he was finding it difficult after the morning’s events. He could still feel his body buzzing from the massive adrenaline surge. “In fact, I’m sorry, but I don’t even recognize you guys. What office do you work out of?”
The two guests shared a look. “We do work for the NRD, but not right now,” said Riley, hoping he would get over this last hurdle quickly. She looked at Owen with her straightest expression. “We do work out of this office, but in the year 2097.”
As part of her research in preparation for the operation, Riley had learned everything she could about Owen Taylor’s shortened career. She knew he had been employed by NRD for over fifteen years and was one of the few astrogeologists on staff; the only one in Tricity. His work was less “astro” and more “geologist” than a person with the same title employed by an organization with a more comprehensive astronomical component. He was one of a small number of experts in his field worldwide.
Riley also knew the project Owen was currently participating in for the ISC was an extension of the first project he had been hired to work on. Again, he had been selected for this project over a handful of others around the world who shared his specialty because of his extensive knowledge of astronomy. It had not occurred to Riley until seeing family pictures, art and sports medals, that behind Owen the astrogeologist was Owen the person. She had been intrigued by his career and impressed by how much he had accomplished in fifteen short years. But now, having met him this morning, he intrigued her as a person.
Trained to observe everything, Riley noticed several things about Owen that did not seem to add up. She took in every detail of his office while he had settled in at his desk. Floor-to-ceiling shelves were lined with neat rows of organized books and binders, with the exception of two. One shelf displayed a collection of rock samples, trophies, several plaques and awards, all covered with a thin layer of dust. The shelf above contained more personal items. Two picture frames—one containing a recent photo of Owen and an older gentleman sitting in kayaks, thoroughly soaked. The frame next to it held a faded, yellowing photo of a young woman holding a toddler. The other shelves overflowed onto the floor where binders, folders and boxes of rock samples lay in neat stacks. Topographical maps of South America were affixed to another wall. A painting of three canoes resting on the shore of a secluded lake hung above a small fridge. Hanging off both sides of the painting’s frame were several dusty cycling and tennis medals.
Owen and his office space intrigued Riley. He likes order. Makes sense, Riley thought, he’s a scientist. He’s definitely involved in his work, but no recent awards. Is that because he doesn’t feel the need to show them or has he been less active in his career? No recent athletic medals… Feeling his age? No, he just got hit by a bus and walked back to the office. Must be too busy. Maybe more pressing priorities? Kids maybe? No…there’s no pictures of kids and there’s dust on the photos of the only two people he cared enough about to frame. The woman in the photograph? Easy. Mother, deceased. The man? Probably father. Alive? Dead? Hard to tell, photo’s pretty recent. He’s a very attractive man, smart, too, but no ring. No ring mark. No pictures of any other family or friends. Odd…
Owen stared across his desk at the beautiful woman claiming to be from the future and said nothing. He blinked several times while he tried to make sense of what she had just told him. He smiled, thinking surely it was a joke, but neither guest laughed. He looked from Riley to Finn, as if waiting for him to give some kind of visual cue that would confirm that she was indeed joking—a twitch in the corner of his mouth, a crinkle around his eyes—but Finn remained as stony-faced as Riley and this made Owen uneasy. Neither of them said anything. Riley leaned back in her chair slightly and crossed her ankles, her posture as perfect as a dancer.
“I’m a bit confused,” said Owen, finally. “Is this a joke? I don’t really get it.” He chuckled nervously. He felt uneasy but then realized obviously, clearly, this was a joke. They were very convincing, but there was just no possible way they could be from the future.
Riley and Finn laughed with Owen for no better reason than there is just no easy way for a person from the future to explain this fact to a person from the past without sounding utterly ridiculous, and laughter was better than other reactions.
Riley pressed forward. “Owen, I know this is a lot to take in, but we really are from 2097. I know you don’t believe me, and I know it’s a lot to take from two strangers you’ve just met. It’s a long story and we’ll explain it all. But what I need you to understand right now is that we’ve come here because we need you.”
Owen’s laughter died instantly and he eyed the pair with distrust. He wondered who these crazy people were that his director at ISC had sent him to work with, that was if they really were sent at the request of the ISC. Owen’s suspicion of the pair grew rapidly. “I don’t understand. You’re obviously not from the future, so let’s move on with the project.”
Riley fought an unexpected urge to talk louder and more slowly as if that would make him understand. She side-stepped his question and continued.
“There’s a problem in 2097 and you’re the only person who can help us. Here’s my identification key.” She unzipped the main compartment of her backpack and retrieved her keys. The only similarity between what she called keys and what Owen considered keys to be, was that they hung collectively on a key ring. Her keys were a series of narrow metal rods of different shapes, all the length of his pinky finger. She selected a hexagonal key and let the others dangle from the ring. She held it out for Owen to inspect.
Owen had no patience for people wasting his time or making a fool out of him and, in this case, he felt it was both. Becoming irritated, he took the key from her, thinking it looked more like a hex wrench than a key. He turned it around in his hands. Owen saw the words, “NRD” engraved on three of the sides, but that failed to impress him. “It’s a metal rod.” Seeing nothing else of interest, he returned the keys to her and as he did so, his eyes fell on the red call security button on the phone sitting on his desk. He decided they had one minute to start making sense before pressing that button.
Riley took the keys back from him. “This is my NRD identification key. It operates, I guess, in the same way this card does.” She held up the visitor’s pass clipped to her vest. Riley leaned in toward Owen’s desk and held the key up in front of her.
Owen watched a light flash from the tip. It projected a three-dimensional holographic image of something that looked like an identification card. The size, clarity and legibility of the projection was equal to that of his computer screen, despite being partially transparent. On the left side, a head-to-toe, three-dimensional image of Riley wearing black military fatigues rotated in place. When her figure completed a full rotation, the image changed to a close-up of her face. After a few seconds, her face switched back to her rotating figure. To the right of her likeness was text. Owen was only able to read “Riley Morgan, Level Six, Black Ops, Field Op Lead” before she removed her thumb from the key and the projection disappeared. Owen was impressed by the lengths to which she had gone to convince him. It was a realistic prop, but at the end of the day, it was still a prop. Time travel only existed in science fiction.
Owen stared at the pair sitting opposite him, expressionless. He tried to find meaningful words but failed. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand your intent. You’re clearly not from the future.” He felt it was becoming time for them to leave and he eyed the red button on the phone again. Call
ing security would be awkward for everyone involved. After all, they had just saved his life and he had just signed two crazy people into to a highly secure federal building. Calling security would mean a lot of questions.
“I don’t really have time for this; I have a lot of things to do, so please let me walk you out. Thank you again for saving me, I did appreciate that.” He stood and motioned toward the door. They had seemed so genuine; nothing about them in any way seemed shady or dishonest. He wanted to believe them, but simple logic prevented it.
Riley also stood. Her demeanour was quite calm, Owen noted, considering she was about to be chucked out. “Owen, I know you don’t believe me, and trust me, I wouldn’t either if I were you, but you need to hear me out. This is more important than you can understand. Please take a leap of faith for a second.”
Finn chimed in with his thick Scottish accent. “Owen, we need you to wrap your nut around this because we’re not here for a vacation.” Finn was a shade taller than Owen, about six-foot-two, but unlike Owen’s lean, medium build, Finn was as broad in the shoulders as a rocketball linebacker. “We need to get you up to speed on this and briefed as soon as possible.”
A subtlety in Finn’s voice gave Owen pause. There was a hint of desperation or, perhaps, helplessness. “If you were really from the future, wouldn’t you have brought some more compelling evidence?”
At this, Riley chuckled. There were plenty of ways that she could prove this, but they were concepts so foreign, so fundamentally different from what Owen could imagine, that it would look like trickery. Worse, they could have harmful effects if he did not receive a proper explanation. She thought of something simple like b-loading a book into his mind. However, she guessed Owen would be no more likely to let her put a metal object near his head than he would take a HOP pill to keep him fed for a week. Instead, Riley reached again into her backpack and removed a white, padded and zippered case which he assumed contained a tablet. She unzipped the case and took from it a black rectangular device similar to the tablet he had expected, but with one very noticeable difference. Unlike Owen’s tablet, this device had a clear window in its centre, as if someone had cut a large rectangle and replaced it with glass. She held it up for Owen to see. “You want proof? Sit.”
Owen did not sit and instead alternated his gaze between her and the device.
Riley smiled. She enjoyed a challenge. She walked behind his desk and stood in front of him. “You want proof, right? Let me see your foot.”
Owen remained standing and looked sceptically at the object in her hand. “What is that thing?”
“It’s a medical appliance. Please sit and take off your shoe.”
Owen stood motionless. The boy inside him wanted to believe so badly, but his adult logic told him that everything about this situation was certifiably crazy. He sighed loudly and rolled his eyes as sat. He kicked off his shoe, happy to do so as the swelling had made it quite uncomfortable.
Riley knelt on the floor in front of him and gently set his foot flat on the ground. Owen was grateful he had thrown away the first pair of socks he grabbed that morning after seeing a hole in the toe. He leaned forward and watched carefully as Riley held the scanner over the top of his foot. He could see the fabric of his sock through the clear glass centre. A flash of red light illuminated his foot, then his mouth fell open as the transparent centre of the device disappeared and an x-ray image of his foot appeared on the full surface of the instrument. She looked at the x-ray briefly, touched the screen, and the image was replaced by text too small for him to read.
“Ouch,” she said under her breath. She looked up at Owen, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you were walking on that foot.”
“Why?” Owen felt foolish but had asked the question before he could stop himself. Although he remained convinced this was nothing but an elaborate act, he ached to know what she pretended to know.
“You’ve fractured your first, second and third metatarsals.” She ran her hand gently, almost caressingly across the top of his swollen foot.
Owen cringed and nodded. “Okay,” he squeaked through the pain. “I believe you.”
“No worries, though.” She put down the scanner, looped her fingers and extended her arms. “I can fix that.”
She held the scanner over his foot again and tapped the touch screen interface several times. The x-ray photo disappeared and the clear window reappeared. Owen saw three short bursts of ice blue light illuminate his foot. Within seconds, the pain and swelling had vanished.
“Whoa. What just happened here?”
Riley rubbed the top of his foot again, this time with more pressure. He barely felt it. She motioned for him to stand up. “I fixed your foot.”
Owen looked down at her sceptically. “What do you mean, ‘you’ve fixed my foot?’”
“MediScan. Mobile medicine, compliments of the year 2097.” She held up the tablet-like device for him to see.
Owen saw the MediScan logo on the top left corner of the screen. She tapped the screen several times until the skeletal image of his foot appeared and she handed the device to him. He saw three distinct lines in three of the longest bones in his foot. Riley took the medical tablet back, knelt down and held it over his foot again to re-run the scan. When it had finished, she passed Owen the device.
Owen looked at the x-ray image of his foot and the black lines that had been there just moments ago had disappeared. A blinking green box on the screen read, “DIAGNOSTIC NORMAL.” Owen shook his head, not sure if he could believe eyes. “No offence, but I’m not entirely sure I believe you.”
Riley took the device from him and stood as she zipped the device back into its case. “You don’t have to believe me. Put some weight on that foot.”
Owen pressed gently on the top of his foot. He felt no pain, so he increased the pressure. He felt nothing except the pressure from his hand. He stood and slowly shifted his weight onto the foot. It felt fine. He jumped up and down on it and then stopped abruptly as the only possible explanation occurred to him. She must have sprayed his foot with some kind of topical numbing agent, and if his foot truly was broken, jumping was going to make it much worse when the numbing wore off.
Riley sensed Owen’s scepticism but knew they were on the right track.
“How many people have one of these?” Riley asked, as she pulled a battered-looking, cylindrical metal tube with a clear glass end from one of her pants pockets and held it up for him to see.
“A flashlight? Everybody?” Owen looked from the battered black device to Riley. He was becoming impatient again. “I’ve got two right here in my…”
Owen turned to his desk to open the top drawer but jumped back when the entire desk glowed with red light. He jumped again when it started to rise into the air. Owen looked at Riley open-mouthed and saw her pointing the “flashlight” at his desk. The tool emitted a narrow beam of red light that engulfed the entire desk and the items on it. The desk, with the drawer still partially open, hung a foot above the ground. Owen stood speechless, his mouth agape.
“I’m assuming that you don’t see too many of these around the office.” Riley looked at Owen, pleased to see him frozen in shock. With the effort of setting down a pencil, Riley lowered the desk back to the floor and released the beam.
“Or one of these?” said Finn. He took a similar tool out of his pocket and aimed an equally narrow laser beam of blue light at the bike trophy on his shelf. The trophy became engulfed in blue light and quickly shrank. Finn picked up the miniaturized award and handed it to Owen. Owen’s eyes widened, unable to hide his amazement. He was blown away by the utterly preposterous displays he had just witnessed.
“How about one of these,” said Finn, with a smirk. He aimed a fuzzy white light on Owen’s chest. Owen’s smile disappeared, replaced with a mixture of shock and betrayal. Blindly, he stepped backward, knocking over a neatly stacked pile of binders behind his chair.