The Fall (15 page)

“Okay,” he said. “What else are you including in your first round of observations?”

“Just one more for now. Something you mentioned before. Hastings and his scientists showing up at the eleventh hour and requesting a profile change, which apparently I managed to overturn. But the real observation here is that the Pentagon brass wouldn't inject itself into such a critical project at the last minute without a very powerful motive.”

“Agree,” he said. “Now what?”

“Now we come up with a hypothesis that best fits those five observations,” she said, before inspecting the suit again. “But first I need something to drink, though it's way too early for a Red Bull.”

“How about some coffee?” he said.

“Yeah. Why don't you go make us some while I take another look at this suit? I get the feeling that you know where everything is in that kitchen.”

Jack got up and stood there for a moment, just watching her hands move over the lower section of the outer shell, fingers on the micro helium boosters in the boots, checking valves and hoses with obvious expertise before checking straps, attachment rings, and the internal wiring backbone connecting the central computers in the helmet to the rest of the suit.

He shook his head and did as he was ordered, going into the kitchen and finding everything just as he remembered, from the filters, coffee, and the same damn Mr. Coffee in the corner of the countertop, under the roll of paper towels hanging from the underside of the cabinets. He stared at it a moment.

Just roll with the punches.

Jack moved almost on automatic, taking all of five minutes to produce two cups of steaming coffee, which he set on the table, right next to the framed picture of Angela and Pete.

I guess her scientific process is eventually going to get to that,
he thought, before saying, “I'm assuming you still drink it black?”

She looked up from the inside of the upper outer shell, where she had her fingers wrapped around a purple-looking device that he never recalled seeing before.

“Yeah. Black is good … Jack, what's this?”

He sat down and leaned closer. It looked like a round piece of purple glass the size of a quarter under a Velcro strap, which not only hid it from view unless you were performing a close inspection but the inside was laced with some sort of film of the same color as the glass. “I've never seen that before.”

“Strange,” she said, biting her lip again for a distracting instance before adding, “Everything else I recognize, though some modules are far more refined than my original design, like the helium boosters, the magnetic locks to keep your limbs from moving, the faceplate projectors, and the TDRSS antenna, even the suit's black box, which we should look at later … but still, I know basically what they are—what they do. But this … let's just call it my
sixth
observation for now, because I have no clue what it is.”

Jack leaned forward for a better look. “It looks like some sort of crystal, but it also has something in it.”

She brought it up to her eyes. “A microchip … it's embedded in the glass.”

“Definitely not seen it before,” he said, reaching for a cup and handing it to Angela, who held it backward, running her hand through the handle and closing her eyes before smelling the coffee just like she always did.

“Any ideas?”

She slowly shook her head.

“Now do we get to theorize?” he asked. “Because I have one.”

“Not yet,” she said, before taking a sip. “First, it helps to arrange the observations in chronological order. So, the first one is Hastings and his gurus showing up the night before the jump. Next is the telemetry going crazy at the instant when all critical energy readings—altitude, speed, temperature, and G-forces—reached this mysterious harmonic of twelve.”

“The third,” Jack added, “is the telemetry returning to normal after twelve thousand feet with a mysterious loss of energy, as shown by the unused third ablation layer of the OSS.”

She nodded. “The fourth observation is the changes you've noticed after exiting this … energy-loss passage, which leads to you arriving here. The fifth one is this strange device hidden in the OSS. And the last one is you being here.”

Jack took a sip of coffee and decided to wait and see were she went with all of this.

“I think I can state with scientific certainty that something out of the ordinary took place during those twelve thousand feet,” she started. “I'm not sure at the moment why it never happened before, given the hundreds of times that space vehicles have reentered Earth since the space program began in the sixties. To answer that I would have to review their reentry energy transfer profiles, but my educated guess is that it has something to do with those harmonic of twelve energy readings. And I would venture to say that none of the prior reentries hit that sequence of numbers in unison, which I think is part of the key to opening this … I'm going to use the word
portal
for now.”

Jack nodded. “Works for me.”

“All right,” she said. “Once you entered this portal, the laws of physics of classical mechanics stopped working, so we can't go there for answers because none of the laws of gravitation, or electromagnetism, or any other traditional science were in motion.”

“So, where do we go for answers?”

“There are three other fields of physics besides classical mechanics,” she said. “And my guess would be that what took place could be explained with one or more of those fields, though I have to admit that my knowledge is quite superficial because they are beyond my areas of expertise. The first field is called quantum mechanics, and it helps explain the really small things at the subatomic level. The second is Einstein's theory of relativity, which covers the other end of the spectrum, the really big things. Now, the problem is that each of those two polarized fields, while working almost perfectly for their respective realms, have very serious problems when confronting each other, and the mathematics break down. This is where the third field, string theory, comes in, reconciling the mathematical conflict between those two fields of physics. But, like you said earlier, this is where it goes beyond my pay grade. However, I know a professor at FIT and one at MIT that might be able to help.”

“Fine,” he said, “but the fact is I did go into this
portal
, as you call it, and I did enter a state where the traditional laws of time and space stopped working. And I was in there for a little while, losing almost twelve thousand feet of altitude, before literally bursting back out.”

She exhaled, placed her cup of coffee on the table and did the same to his, before once more holding his hands. “That's right, and when you did, you arrived here, to a place where not only some things are quite different, but where you also died five years ago.”

“So what
is
this place?” he asked. “Because unless I'm suffering some sort of delusion as a result of the jump, it sure as hell isn't the same place I left at the launchpad.”

“I'm not sure. Up to the moment I saw you, I knew it as planet Earth, the third planet in the solar system, which is part of the…”

“… Milky Way galaxy,” he completed. “Just like where I came from. But then again, it isn't the same place. It can't be.”

“That's because it isn't,” she said, bringing his hands to her lips and kissing them. “The world you left when you got aboard that rocket is not the same as the one you are living in now. That much is for certain. And what's also pretty obvious is that the transition took place during those twelve thousand feet. The key question that remains is … how did it happen.”

“And
why,
” he added. “I'm a SEAL, Angie. I'm trained to never believe in coincidences, so I refuse to believe this was an accident, otherwise I'm pretty certain we would have seen it in prior reentries. But what's even more bizarre, is that the purple halo began well before the portal sucked me in. I first saw it just as I became supersonic,
miles
before I reached this harmonic of twelve. While I'm sure that the portal and the harmonic of twelve may be related, that doesn't explain why I saw that haze well before everything else, and it also doesn't explain why Mission Control couldn't see it.”

“All I can go by are the observations, Jack, and the main differences between prior reentries and yours are three. The first is Hastings showing up. The second is this strange harmonic of twelve. The third is this glass token with the embedded computer chip.”

“We need to figure out what it is,” he said. “Maybe that'll give us another clue how I managed this … jump to another … dimension? Is that what this is?”

“Something like that,” she said, still holding his hands, her eyes filling again. “Call it another dimension or a parallel world of sorts. At this moment, however, the reality is that you are
here,
Jack. You found a way to come back to me.”

Jack briefly closed his eyes, feeling a headache forming behind his temples, unsure how he could explain this one to his wife back home—assuming, of course, that he could actually figure a way to return to wherever home was. For all he knew, he could be stuck here forever.

And suddenly, as he opened his eyes and stared at this version of Angela, he realized the degree of devastation that his wife back home must be going through at this moment, thinking that he'd burned up on reentry, probably blaming herself, just as this woman felt five years ago for not having built the OSS strong enough to protect him. It didn't really matter that they were on the verge of a separation, lacking intimacy for so long. She still had to be shattered at his sudden death.

You gotta get back, Jack.

You have to—

Angela drew him closer, and he chastised himself for lacking the strength or the desire to resist, to hold back, to tell her that he couldn't go through with it. He knew it was wrong, but it'd been too damn long since they'd shared a moment like this.

As he stared at the chocolate freckle, Angela bit her lower lip.

Emotion won.

He gave in and went to meet her halfway.

But Angela stopped, pulled back, and said, “I've been seeing Pete.”

Jack blinked, frowned, and pointed at the photo. “I'd gathered as much already.”

“I'm so sorry,” she said, looking away, then at him, and finally at the photo again. “I was a mess for the first three years, Jack. I couldn't be around people, much less
see
anyone. Pete was there for me from the start, holding my hand, helping me along, fighting hard to maximize my government pension, and even nudging me toward the job at FIT. We became … a bit more than friends about six months ago.”

“Angie … I … I understand,” he lied, jealousy filling his gut.

But why are you jealous, Jack? She isn't your wife.

“Pete's a great guy,” he added, forcing the words. “He was there for you. I know he'll make you very—”

“Jack. Stop. You really don't get it, do you? You're the love of my
life
. Always were, always will be. And although I've developed feelings for Pete, it's
nothing
compared to what you've just reignited in here,” she said, stabbing her own chest with an index finger. “You're my
husband
.”

“But, Angie … we just figured out that I'm not—”

“Shut up, Jack. Now it's your turn to listen and trust me.”

Taken aback, he slowly bobbed his head once.

“I lost you once,” she began, a hand back on his face. “For a long time, I would have given anything—
anything
—for a chance to hold you just one more time.” She took a deep breath, adding, “And here you are. Call me selfish. Call me whatever you want. I don't care how you got here, or where you came from, or even how long you'll be around. At this moment, you
are
here, on my planet. And
that
makes you
mine
.”

Jack stared at her long and hard. Angela always had a gift not only for words but also for calling things exactly as she saw them.

Before he could reply, she slowly pulled back the right sleeve of her nightshirt, revealing her Triumph tattoo.

He shook his head and smiled in sheer disbelief at this strange reality unfolding before him, finally unzipping the battle dress's right sleeve from wrist to elbow, exposing his right forearm and the matching tattoo there.

“See,” she said. “A tropical storm may have vanished, your Cuba may be a communist state, and your version of America may still be in the British system of weight and measures. But you and I are still destined to be together, in
any
world.”

Jack continued to combat his confusion, feeling torn between the very real needs of this very real Angela in front of him who had suffered so much, and who obviously still loved him a great deal—and who made him feel so damn good—and the Angela back home who'd sent him to sleep on this couch for the past two years.

But last night had been different. Last night Angie had—

“However,” she said. “As much as I want to be with you, I first need to talk to Pete. I've developed feelings for him, Jack, and I owe him that much after all he's done for me. He'll understand, especially when he sees you.”

“He still with NASA?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean?”

“A lot of things have changed there, especially after you died and I quit the program. The OSS, if you remember, was NASA's way to inject new life into the space agency.”

He nodded. “Project Phoenix.”

“Right. The program stalled a few months after I resigned. Too many technical problems that couldn't be resolved. Believe it or not, we made a pretty irreplaceable team. I came up with possible solutions to problems, and you were my tireless guinea pig while Pete handled the Pentagon and kept the funds flowing. Well, Pete could never quite find replacements for you and me, and the Pentagon eventually lost interest in the OSS, especially after the dramatic field failure in Afghanistan. Rumor is that Hastings has basically turned the space agency into its own R&D facility for military satellites and classified weapons programs. But that's just a rumor. I lost my clearance long ago. Pete still heads everything.”