Our-World

We took a private jet to Boston for refueling, then flew to Bar Harbor, Maine. After that, we traveled by helicopter to a private island about thirty miles east. The island, as far as we could tell, had no name, which seemed like a clear indication that visitors were not welcome. During the journey, Esker was reticent to disclose the details of what we might encounter, only sharing aerial photos of the island and information about, if not the owner, the occupant.

The island belonged to James Downey, an eccentric billionaire known for his isolationist viewpoint, both personally and professionally. In his career, he backed political candidates who shared a similar, America-first ideology. On a personal level, he was infamous for investing heavily in often-cited, poorly documented elite doomsday bunkers hidden in undisclosed locations across the United States and Canada. Our island destination was rumored to be the playground of Downey’s equally reclusive genius son, Palmer.

Palmer had just celebrated his seventeenth birthday. Little was known about him personally, with the lack of information partly due to his age and his father’s aggressive efforts to keep the family out of the headlines. Palmer Downey was said to be a genius, holding degrees in physics, mechanical engineering, and artificial intelligence. Esker had been slow to connect Palmer to Derek Smallwood, and that seemed increasingly significant as we approached Palmer Island, the name we had come to use for the remote, unnamed location.

The island appeared through the glass canopy at the front of the helicopter, and Piper muttered something quietly as she leaned closer to me. We were both in the back seat of the craft, glancing between the pilot’s and copilot’s seats.

“That’s imposing,” Piper said over the communication channel we used throughout the flight. The noise of the turbine engine was nearly deafening, but the over-ear headphones muffled it to a bearable level.

I couldn’t disagree. The island was only a few acres in size and roughly circular. There was a tiny black sand beach with a substantial wood and steel pier extending into the water on the southern side. Two larger freighters were docked, and a third could be seen approaching from the southwest.

(more…)

Our-World
Nowhere Kansas

Esker managed to retask a satellite for consistent coverage of the small group of buildings above the underground silo. It took a day and a half to extract Pike’s team from the wilds of the Pacific Northwest, rearm them, and transport them to the airfield I had flown from when I last attacked the facility. Piper and I seized the opportunity to gear up ourselves. We gathered weapons and the Airbike, then arranged with a small freight service flight to meet Pike and team.

The Airbike was covered and secured to a pallet for transport. It was being wheeled into our rented aircraft hangar just as Pike, Lauer, Unger, and Seger walked through the service door.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Pike said, gazing at the Airbike. He circled the pallet slowly as I undid the shipping straps.

Alley Lauer whistled in admiration. “Where can I get one? How fast does it go? Is it difficult to fly?” Suddenly, she appeared sheepish. “Sorry, I have about a hundred questions.”

“Anyone who wants to give it a try can have a turn once we finish this op,” I said, pointing everyone toward a long table filled with assorted gear. “Time is short. Our target is underground here.” I tapped the enlarged view of the outbuildings, the only surface structures representing the long-decommissioned missile silo.

Piper woke up the laptop at the end of the table, and the small projector attached to it came to life. The projector displayed highly detailed video against the corrugated wall of the hangar. The footage was stop-motion captured, running at four times normal speed. It showed a pair of paneled vans moving aggressively down the dirt road leading to the facility.

“This was twenty-one hours ago,” Piper explained. “In the following three hours, two more pairs of vans arrived.” The screen switched to show additional clips of the shaky, high-resolution video. “Personnel and equipment were dropped off at the entrance of the underground structure, and then the vans left.”

“What about Breslin?” Pike asked as he returned to the scattered engagement photos of the outbuildings on the table. “Is he confirmed? I didn’t see him on the video.”

“We believe he arrived on site before we could set up the imagery. Kansas has no significant strategic value to the military and the three-letter agencies, so no one was monitoring the area.”

(more…)

Our-World

There was a blinding flash, and the world went topsy-turvy. I swallowed hard. My ears popped, and the usual sense of dizziness began to fade. Piper stood two feet away. Her eyes rolled dramatically in their sockets, and her legs started to buckle. I caught her before she could fall and pulled her tightly to me.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” she said, pressing one hand to her lips. She took a deep breath and looked up into my eyes.

“It gets better with time. You’re in the same place I was shortly after all this started. The Transition still isn’t easy, but it no longer feels like my brain is in a blender.”

Piper swallowed hard and shut her eyes tightly. “I don’t know how you did it.”

Grinning, I leaned in and kissed her softly at the nape of her neck, just behind her ear. “Maybe I can take your mind off it?”

She slapped her hand against my shoulder and pushed me away. “Keep that up if you think vomit is sexy. What’s wrong with you?”

Laughing, I dropped down to sit at the end of the bed. “I’m just happy you’re able to make it back and forth. The side effects should improve over time. In the short term, you’ll likely recover more quickly. Just keep breathing. It helps.”

A plaintive chirp sounded from the cell phone on the nightstand. Our eyes turned to the device. It was the tone Esker had adopted when interrupting our time. I’ll admit I felt a surge of pride in the AI’s improving social skills.

“Go ahead, E,” I said. “You’re not interrupting.”

The phone screen lit up in time with Esker’s voice. “You’re sure? Your cortisol levels are elevated, and your heart rate suggests—”

Waving my hand in the air, I said, “What’s on your mind? Did you miss us?”

(more…)

Wild-Side

The garage buzzed with activity. Piper adjusted the strap on a rifle featuring a traditional stock and grip but missing the usual long, thin barrel. She focused intently on the chunky rotary assembly situated halfway down the stock. It was a grenade launcher with a six-round capacity, courtesy of the forward-facing, 40-millimeter chambers arranged in a ring, reminiscent of a classic six-shooter. Activating a lever, she released the cylinder and set it on the table. A replacement was close by, the previously empty slots now filled to capacity.

Lacy picked up the discarded cylinder and started dropping thick shotgun-like rounds into the chambers. The task took just seconds, and when she finished, she set the speed loader on the table alongside seven others like it.

Piper turned the mounted loader smoothly around one and a half rotations beneath the launcher’s barrel. She was careful to keep her finger away from the trigger and repeatedly checked the position of the safety as she worked. “This is a crazy idea,” Piper said, not taking her focus off the weapon’s preparation. “We should take our time with this. Rushing seems hazardous.”

Gray pushed a third of Lacy’s speed loaders into a saddlebag. He strode quickly to the Airbike, stepped onto the frame, and slung the bags on either side of the saddle seat. “Breslin is losing his mind like never before. If we’re going to take advantage, we need to move now.”

Wiping sweat from her brow, Piper exhaled and looked up in frustration. “Rushing is a mistake.” She appeared worse for wear, her hair in a tangled ponytail and perspiration causing her tank top to cling in a way Gray would have found distracting under other circumstances.

“Is Tripp in position?” Gray asked, glancing at Lacy.

“Almost,” she confirmed. “He promised to be ready.”

Piper’s gaze shifted between Lacy and Gray, noticing that Lacy wanted to say more.

“What is it?” Piper asked.

Lacy wiped her face, paused, then shrugged. “You should let one of us help. What was that phrase you used originally—lots of moving pieces?”

(more…)

Our-World

The heels of Breslin’s shoes clicked against the granite floors of the spacious suite as he approached Chris Ingersoll. The FBI agent had his back to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the cityscape beyond. The late afternoon sun had just dipped behind the high-rises to the west, casting the room into shadow. A light seemed to blaze in Breslin’s eyes, and Ingersoll wondered for perhaps the hundredth time if the rumors about the man’s animal savagery could be true. Although they had only met face-to-face a handful of times, there were whispers. Talk circulated about how Breslin could shift from calmness to unprovoked acts of savagery without a moment’s notice. Breslin was clearly already agitated, and Ingersoll was certain he was about to witness a new side of the man in charge.

“Agents are still conducting interviews,” Ingersoll said, trying not to cringe at the sight of Breslin stalking toward him. “The local PD is continuing the search. Ledger can’t get far.”

Stopping just beyond arm’s reach, Breslin’s gaze bore into him. The flesh rippling at Breslin’s smooth-shaven jawline suggested he was grinding his teeth. “He’s gone, and you know it. He travels throughout this country, and you can’t find him even with your so-called resources.” The popping of knuckles was unmistakable. Breslin’s hands were at his sides, though they were balled into bloodless fists. When he spoke, it was through a clamped jaw. “Tell me about the Kansas facility.”

Ingersoll gave a half-shrug in response but said nothing.

Breslin stepped forward slightly, his face contorting and his mouth beginning to open with a demand that was sure to follow.

“The forensic report came back,” Ingersoll said quickly. “But it contained nothing we didn’t expect.” Avoiding Breslin’s gaze, Ingersoll focused on a spot on the floor between them. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a slight tremor in his hands and quickly shoved them into his pockets. “A single-man assault on the installation. He parachuted in. We found the rig at the edge of a cornfield a little over three miles from the fence line. The techs believe it caught the wind and was dragged away. There’s no doubt it was Ledger’s, even though they have nothing to connect it to him.

“Evidence? I won’t be prosecuting him,” Breslin said. “You know better than that.”

Nodding slowly, Ingersoll said, “Sure—but you want to know if he has help.” He tried not to shrug again. That only seemed to infuriate the boss. “He was by himself.”

“He’s always alone,” Breslin snapped. He glared at Ingersoll for several seconds, then turned slowly and began to pace the bare room again. “Update me on Miranda Norton.”

(more…)

Wild-Side

A flash of light erupted and a ringing filled my ears. I knew everything had changed forever when I blinked away the orbs floating in my vision. I immediately noticed the lack of physical pain. The head-to-toe burning that had accompanied every Transition was absent. At most, there was a slight disruption in my balance. There was no strange taste in my mouth, and the urge to vomit had vanished entirely. Perhaps most importantly, I was still dressed. I wore the same tactical pants with pockets lining the outside of each leg, the same t-shirt and hoodie I’d had on when I laid down and closed my eyes, and the same hiking boots I’d worn back home.

Fighting the fear that I was dreaming, I patted my chest, stomach, and the front of my hips—arriving on Wild-Side in any form other than naked was a win. It was almost too good to believe. My wrist brushed something at my hip, and my eyes widened as I felt the holstered gun. It should have been the first thing I checked.

A smile split my face.

“Hell yes,” I whispered to myself. “About damn time.”

I was fingering the point where the subcutaneous, rice-sized adapter had been injected into my forearm before I became aware of it. The device was designed by Cormac and Lacy and included in the packs stowed with the Airbike when it was sent to Our-World. The tiny device would log everything possible from the Transition and then help me better adjust physically to the Crossing I experienced nearly every time I fell asleep. The idea was that by making infinitesimally minor adjustments to my existing biorhythms, the device would allow some control over my shift between Branes. The first step was to reduce the physical discomfort associated with each crossing. The second was for me to cross with my clothes and any gear I was in close contact with before the Transition. Cormac suggested that the second part might be easier than the first since I’d somehow managed to bring Piper with me previously.

“Way to go, Doc.” I grinned.

Clothes, and I didn’t feel like horking my guts out.

The tiny device in my arm would gather additional data with each subsequent Transition, ultimately giving me greater control over my shifts between Branes. Although I didn’t understand what that would mean at the time, I hoped to manage how I brought Piper to Wild-Side and only assist her in crossing when it was intentional. There was a possibility that the device would ultimately grant her control over her own Transition.

A beelike buzzing in the trees overhead brought me instantly to my feet and heightened my senses to full alertness. I hadn’t been that distracted by a Crossing since the early days. It was a bad time for my situational awareness to falter, and my heart began to hammer in response to the realization. My pistol was drawn and shifting quickly as my eyes tracked the sky, visible through occasional gaps in the green tree canopy. The temperature and the sun’s position indicated that it was daytime or afternoon.

My HUD blinked to life and displayed the time as one twenty-four in the afternoon, with the temperature at seventy-one degrees Fahrenheit. I had never even noticed the minor indicators in the corner of my eye that were meant to show the status of my HUD as it booted.

(more…)

Our-World
Shelbyville, Tennessee

For obvious reasons, Alison Springs wasn’t safe for us anymore. Besides, that unprecedented thunderstorm proved we needed to take immediate action to prevent another storm like it from revealing our position or affecting our general location with the same catastrophic consequences. We doubled back to Piper’s apartment to gather the few items needed for a road trip, but then we didn’t hit the road…

We took to the skies.

Derek Smallwood agreed to meet us just outside Shelbyville, Tennessee. With the Quad-Airbike cruising at an average of one hundred sixty miles an hour, we could make the trip in a little over three and a half hours. This was assuming we could fly the shortest possible distance, which was, of course, a straight line. This was more or less achievable, with some minor adjustments. We had to climb to extreme altitudes around densely populated rural areas and avoid a few commuter flight paths by diverting slightly.

Ultimately, we completed the trip in just over four and a half hours. Our gear was packed into overstuffed backpacks that hung like saddlebags across the seat behind Piper. We wore our armored suits, allowing us to transition to high altitude and back down to our more comfortable cruising level of around twelve thousand feet without making the trip unnecessarily tricky or fatiguing.

Smallwood had parked his rig in a small clearing in the woods, beyond what appeared to be a long-fallow field, two additional cornfields, and about a mile down a dirt road from an ancient-looking farmstead. He must have traversed the rutted, rocky, overgrown trail that skirted the barren field to reach the back and enter the tree line. It was no small feat considering what he was driving. I approached from the south and made a pass, searching for signs that the meeting location might have been compromised. Thermal and IR scans of the field and the canopy beyond the tree line revealed only the outline of Smallwood’s RV and what seemed to be a single human presence. The forest registered multiple life signs of various sizes, all too small to be human.

Circling again, I approached low and slow—buzzing quietly just five feet above the path’s surface. We traced the route Smallwood likely took as he drove in. The rough terrain would have been tough on his suspension. Piper laughed behind me, clearly sharing the same thought. “The last stretch of his drive must have been incredibly uncomfortable,” she mused.

(more…)