Phase Shift (8 page)

"And this is the study of alternate worlds?
Alternate realities?" I hesitate before I ask, "Time travel?"

"Guilty as charged." Dr. Morales sips
cautiously from his latte cup. A light dusting of foam clings to
the bristle of his moustache. He gropes for a napkin and wipes it
clean.

"Tell me: exactly how does that work?"

"Why the sudden interest in Physics?" he
asks. "Thinking of switching departments now, are we? Sorry, guys,
but there are no vacancies."

"No, no,” Palmer says, shaking his head,
"it's not that." He takes a quick sip of his latte and jumps as if
he’s just singed the taste buds off the surface of his tongue.
"It’s for this course Molly’s teaching. On Pseudo-archaeology? She
has a few questions for you."

Dr. Morales smiles plainly.
"Pseudo-archaeology?" he asks, doe-brown eyes narrowing in
suspicion. I'm pretty sure he thinks we’re having one over on
him.

"That’s right," Palmer answers. "It's
searching for plausible-sounding explanations for weird stuff using
selective archaeological evidence. You know, like attempting to
prove aliens had something to do with the alignment of the
pyramids?” I fight back a cringe at Palmer’s definition of the
discipline. I suppose, however, that to an outsider, someone who
has not developed an interest in the field, it is a fair
assessment.

Dr. Morales’s eyes narrow even further.

“Anyway,” I say, “I have a few questions, if
you don’t mind my asking.”

Dr. Morales contemplates this for a few
seconds, but before he can say anything, I thank him for his time
and ask, "Is it possible to use solar radiation to create a kind
of...warp bubble...around a person which would allow them
to...slip...into another world?"

"Seriously?" Dr. Morales asks with a
smile.

"Seriously, Xander,” Palmer says. “We
wouldn't take up your time if these questions weren't for
real."

"Okay then." He takes a long sip of his
latte and then says, "Scientists theorize there are—in theory—many
different worlds out there. Could a person create a sort
of...personal wormhole, a warp bubble, so to speak, and use it to
travel from one world to another? In theory? Yes."

"In theory," I repeat. I can hardly believe
my ears. Could the papers be for real?

"Yes. In theory. In theory dinosaurs roamed
the Earth and were wiped out by a catastrophic meteor shower. In
theory we are descended from apes. In theory—"

"From a common ancestor between apes and
humans," Palmer corrects. Dr. Morales looks at him like he’s from
outer space or something. "Not the same thing."

"Look,” says Dr. Morales, “you might just as
well have asked me if time travel were a reality."

"Do you know a Spencer Prescott?" I ask
him.

"I know of him, yes."

"Then he's a real person? Taught here? At
the university?"

"I chose to do my graduate work here because
of Dr. Prescott. Greatest mind in the world of Physics—barring
Hawking, of course. Son of a bitch retired the year before I got
here. By then it was too late to enroll elsewhere. Been here ever
since."

"Prescott theorized this sort of travel
would be possible, didn't he?"

Dr. Morales grins. I've surprised him, I can
tell. "You have been doing your homework, haven't you? Yes, that
was the gist of Prescott's theories."

"In fact, Prescott claimed to have had a
device he called a modulator which allowed him to visit such a
world using the warp bubble technology, didn't he?"

Dr. Morales shrugs and slouches into his
seat. "Spencer Prescott was an old man when he retired."

"But you said he had a great mind.
Comparable to Hawking. Isn't that true?"

Dr. Morales squirms and considers me with
distrust, but then he takes another sip of his latte and smiles.
"Age tends to do things to the mind. Yes, Dr. Prescott was a great
mind—a Nobel Prize winner twice over, no less—but he was close to
eighty when he retired. Abandoned real Physics for Pseudo-science
in the end. The two of you would have had a lot to talk about."

"What would the people look like on one of
these worlds?"

"Come again?" Dr. Morales chuckles, as
though he cannot believe the topic of our conversation. Honestly?
Neither can I. Frankly, I'm surprised he's tolerated us for so
long.

"Would they exhibit parallel evolution, or
would it be divergent, taking on a totally different path?" I can't
believe I'm asking this, but imagine a world populated exclusively
by Neanderthals? Or a real-life planet of the apes? Or a
super-evolved hominid, one so much further beyond modern man in
thought capability and physical prowess, even someone like a
Prescott would be considered an idiot on the I.Q. scale?

"That would depend on when the parallel
world came into being."

"And the laws of Physics on such a world?
Would they be governed by the same physical laws as Earth?"

Morales shrugs. "As their world would have
split off of ours, or at the very least from the same world as ours
once split from, I suppose so, yes."

"So in theory,” Palmer says, “Prescott could
have been right: it may be possible to enclose yourself in a
warp-type bubble and use it to travel to another world." He looks
across the table at Morales who stares back with profound
curiosity. "In theory," he adds.

Once more Morales smiles. It is a thin,
tight-lipped smile he assumes only as long as he needs to
contemplate his answer. "In theory, anything's possible," he
says.

Tobin Watertester was a Shift Seeker. He
belonged to a self-described secret society of adventure seekers,
dedicated to finding and exploiting the next random shift in the
planet's phase. The group was an interdisciplinary one, composed of
people from across the mass, each bringing with him or her a
unique, indispensable skill. The group met once a month to discuss
strategy. Messages as to where and when a meeting might occur were
transmitted via secure Geo-link site, containing time and global
positioning satellite co-ordinates. It was imperative the identity
of each and every Shift Seeker, as well as the locale of each and
every meeting, remain secretive. What they were doing, though
seemingly benign, could be construed as an attempt to undermine the
integrity of The Pact, and was therefore illegal.

Tobin searched the street addresses for the
one on the scrap of papyrus in his hand. He had never before been
to this part of the Prefecture. Seeing as the meeting location
roamed, he might never have occasion to frequent this part of the
Prefecture again.

At last he found the building, a drab, grey,
brick structure, one and one-half stories tall. It cast a gloomy
air, dark and hollow, as if abandoned many years ago. Reluctantly,
Tobin knocked on the wooden door. Forest green paint chips fell
from the door and floated silently to the ground between his feet.
He awaited a response, growing more and more nervous with each
second. His presence in this part of the Prefecture was highly
unusual.

By day, Tobin Watertester traveled the
confines of Golan Prefecture Major, testing major and minor bodies
of water and freshwater holding tanks to ensure alkaline and saline
acceptability. By night, once monthly, Tobin met clandestinely with
other Shift Seekers, to examine minute fluctuations in air
channels, temperature, or barometric pressure, anything to indicate
the whereabouts of the next likely random phase shift upon which to
capitalize.

At first, the group played it safe,
tentatively seeking random pockets through which members traveled,
always in triads, regaling the rest of the group with the strange
sights they had seen. They had even created a log site on The Link,
accessible only through hidden memory address, in which fellow
seekers might share their exploits on the foreign planet.

To date, Molton Masterchef held the record
in his cohort for the most extreme shift. Tobin hoped to best his
record with the information he would receive at that night's
meeting. If, that is, anyone cared to let him into the
building.

He knocked again, in the prescribed fashion,
and awaited a response. Presently, he heard footsteps and then the
latch on the other side was thrown and the door squeaked open. A
rush of stale air preceded Molton Masterchef. "You were able to
attend."

"For a moment I believed you weren't opening
the door in an attempt to bar me from besting your record," Tobin
told him.

Molton clapped Tobin on the shoulder. "Nice
to see you again, old friend."

The men smiled at each other. Molton bolted
the door behind them and lead Tobin to the meeting room, located in
the cellar of the building. On their way, a resident or two gawped
at their passing. "Don't mind them," Molton told him, "they will
not remember you were here come morning."

"What is this place?" Tobin said.

"Various things to various people." They
arrived at a darkened stairwell. "Our business is down here."
Molton lead him down the steps to where a corner of the cellar had
been cordoned off with soundproof barriers stretching from floor to
ceiling.

Gathered around a table sat Sobal
Meteorologist, Morsinth Engineer, Borsnook Engineerson, Samkin
Tailor, Nynat Marinebiologist, and Sandeep Cooksmate, the members
of Tobin's team, each of them Seekers in their own right, who
regularly gathered to discuss the seemingly insignificant
peculiarities in weather conditions which, when properly analyzed,
wove a detailed tapestry depicting a single event: the most likely
location of the next random shift in a small pocket of the planet's
phase resonance. They greeted Tobin as he pulled a chair to the
table. Each member of the team readied his or her respective
Gaia-link handset to report on their activity over the past month.
Sobal Meteorologist was the first to speak: "I have run the data
several times and it is confirmed. In exactly," he paused to
examine the countdown displayed on his Gaia-link handset, "one
hundred twenty hours, sixteen minutes from this moment hence, a
random shift in the planet's phase is likely to occur approximately
three hundred units above the planet's surface, ten and one-half
units southwest of Western Sanctorum." He rested his handset on the
table before him. "The most likely way to successfully access the
pocket, short of a free-fall from above (which is highly unlikely,
seeing as there are no buildings taller than Western Sanctorum in
the immediate vicinity thereof) is to use a craft with the
modifications we discussed during our last meeting."

"Were you able to make the necessary
modifications to the craft since last we met, Morsinth?" Tobin
asked.

"Thanks in no small part to my offspring,
Borsnook, yes," the man answered. "Tell him of our accomplishment,
my son."

"My father and I were able to fortify the
hull integrity and boost the propulsion system to withstand
altitudes exceeding that of the norm," Borsnook Engineerson
replied. "The hover mechanism was over-clocked in order to optimize
maximum attainable and sustainable altitude. In addition, the
vehicle was equipped with phase detection technologies which
provide constant global positioning feed in order to quickly and
efficiently detect and surmount the transition between this world
and the next.

"I envy you, Tobin. I wish I were able to go
along."

"Your time will come, my son," Morsinth told
him. "Your time will come."

"Thank you, Borsnook," said Tobin.

"My father was able to install a
water-cooling system for the hover mechanism. It was one of his own
devise," Borsnook said, proudly.

"Thank you Morsinth," Tobin said.

"I have retrofitted the satellite locator
with a receiver through which we may monitor atmospheric tendencies
in the moments before, during, and after the shift," Sobal
Meteorologist told the group.

"Well done, Sobol," Tobin said. "Samkin? How
did you fare?"

"I have fashioned three containment suits to
the travelers' measurements. Each suit is able to withstand
elevated radiation levels to Borsnook's parameters."

"Well done, Samkin," said Tobin.

"Here, here," Borsnook echoed. "Nynat?"

"I took the suits of Samkin's design and
outfitted each with a breathing apparatus."

"My lungs thank you, Nynat.

"And lastly, Sandeep."

"I have prepared an array of simple, yet
tantalizing meals to nourish you on your journey. Each is packaged
so as to remain hot or cold, whichever need be, for the duration."
The man wrung his hands together in eager anticipation. "I promise
you will not be disappointed."

"My taste buds and my expanding waistline
also thank you, Sandeep." All in attendance laughed at this last
remark.

They had exactly one week.

The craft was ready a full twenty-three hours
ahead of pocket formation.

Two hours prior to pocket formation, Tobin
Watertester, Luna Groomersmate, and Sobal Meteorologist boarded the
craft and approached the phase shift site.

The hovercraft paced the area until Sobal
detected a change in the atmospheric pressure.

Luna was the first to observe the formation
of the funnel cloud. She tapped Sobal on the shoulder who in turn
touched Tobin on his. "Ready?" he asked, probably more to himself
than anyone in the craft. "Here we go," he said, before anyone
could reply.

The shift was almost instantaneous. Tobin
ushered the craft through the centre of the funnel. It was rough
going at first. The tiny, four-seater craft shook, threatened to
come apart for a harrowing fraction of a second, and then was
calm.

The breeze rapidly slowed to
insignificance.

Sobal's display went dark.

Luna gasped. They were heading for a tall,
grey structure that stretched to the skies. It narrowed as it grew
toward the clouds and thickened as it sank toward the ground.
Glass-enclosed tunnels spanned the structure from top to bottom.
Lighted shuttle cars defied gravity as they sped either up or down
through the tunnels.