Reversion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 3) (12 page)

“No, we don’t have the time, nor the clearance.”

“I understand,” Griffith said, hoping he hadn’t just upset his boss, the head of the department. “Can I ask . . . where did you get this sample?”

“I can’t get into the specifics. But what I can tell you is that someone was wearing it.”

“A uniform? Or a space suit? Or can’t you tell me?”

Kleezebee hesitated. “You’ll need to ask me a different question.”

“Okay. Maybe you can answer this. I’m going to assume that when you say ‘someone was wearing it,’ you mean a humanoid?”

“That would be a logical assumption.”

“Then it’s possible the synthetic XNA may have been genetically engineered to match a specific person’s DNA.”

“Why?”

“To create a molecular containment field. Think of it as a DNA-specific bio-suit, built for a single person. If I’m correct, it could be used to protect the subject at a cellular level from intense exposure to certain fundamental forces.”

“Atomic?”

“That, or gravimetric, assuming it was tuned and energized properly. What happened to the rest of it?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. If this material is from another world, then the owners probably won’t be back for a while. The leaders of our military aren’t the most gracious of hosts when it comes to uninvited visitors.”

A vision of a downed spacecraft near Roswell, New Mexico, flashed in Griffith’s mind. “I understand. Do you want me to e-mail the full report? I can send it to you now.”

“No, a hard copy would be better. I’ll send Bruno down to collect it when he stops in to retrieve the sample.”

“I’ll have them both ready for pickup. What about the electronic version of my analysis?”

“It needs to be deleted. I’d prefer to keep the analysis and its results just between you and me. No one else can know about this. Not even your lovely wife.”

“Not an issue. I’ll destroy all copies. Local and in the cloud. You have my word as a gentleman and a scholar.”

“I knew I could count on you. You’ve never let me down and I appreciate that. You’re a good friend, Griffith, and a broken-down old man like me can never have enough of those. I’ve gotta run to a meeting, but say hello to Stacy for me.”

“I will,” Griffith said, hanging up the phone. He took the micro-sample plate from the machine and carried it to the work desk. He found the padded, letter-size envelope in which Bruno had delivered the sample. He opened it, then slid the plate next to the original piece of X-graphite material waiting inside, never bothering to uncouple the micro-sample from its mounting plate. He wanted Dr. Kleezebee to know he was thorough and dedicated to secrecy by returning the entire sampling mechanism intact. It may have been overkill, but he didn’t want any doubt to remain.

He walked to his flat screen monitor and used the touch screen interface to delete the analysis folder stored locally on the machine. Then he changed screens, allowing him to access and remove the remote backup copy that had been autosaved to the university’s server network.

“Just like it never happened.”

He walked to the job board and reviewed the log book. Next up was a fluid analysis—sample number L-212. He looked inside the cold storage unit for a sample with the matching number. He found it—a sealed jar from the genetics department. He held the clear glass container in front of his eyes and shook it gently, making the yellow-colored liquid swirl around inside the glass. It looked unusually thick.

“This better not be monkey pee,” he mumbled.

He returned to the log book, then took the red perma-marker from his coat pocket and stuck the end of the pen with the cap in his mouth. He bit down on the cap, pulled the pen apart, and put a checkmark next to the sample number on the log sheet. Then he brought the tip of the pen back to his mouth. He was about to put the two pieces back together when a sneeze rose up out of nowhere. His back arched and his stomach tightened as a glob of snot flew out of his nose. The jerky body motion caused him to miss the cap in his mouth with the pen. Instead, the tip of the red marker hit his chin and traveled up to his eye.

“Damn it. Not again,” he said, thinking about the last time this had happened. It was a month ago when Lucas Ramsay just happened to stop by for a visit from across the hall. He turned and looked at the lab door. He waited for it, but a knock never came.

“Whew,” he said. “Once was embarrassing enough.”

He put the sample jar on his desk and was about to head to the bathroom to try to scrub the ink off of his face when his cell phone chimed. Inside the flip phone was a text message from his wife. His heart danced as he read Stacy’s note.

Hi sweetie! Just wanted to tell you that I love you. I have dinner waiting. Plus some tasty dessert. It’s date night, honey! Don’t be late, otherwise I’ll have to start without you! Wink. Wink.

He typed his response into the phone pad.

Love you, too. I hope you’re going to wear the red outfit I bought you last week. I’ve been dreaming about seeing you in it all day.

His finger hit the send button. A few seconds later, the phone chimed again, this time a smiley face appeared on the message line. He looked down at his zipper, watching a bulge grow in his pants.

“Houston, we have liftoff.”

Just then, a double knock rang out from the lab door.

“Not now,” he said, trying to push down on his erection, but it wasn’t getting any smaller. In fact, his penis seemed to react to the added pressure, making it grow thicker and stronger. He panicked, grabbing the two closest items on his desk—a soldering gun and resin. He scrambled to the door, planning to tell whoever was on the other side of it that he was in the middle of an important experiment and they needed to come back later. If nothing else, he hoped to stall the visitor long enough to allow his hard-on to dissipate.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. It was Kleezebee’s lead research assistant, Dr. Lucas Ramsay, from the lab across the hall.

“Hey, Lucas!” Griffith said as his brain sent a torrent of words streaming to his mouth. “It’s wonderful to see you. Do you need my help with something? Wow, you look especially handsome today. How is your project coming along? I hear you’re getting a new lab tech tonight. How’s your mother feeling? What were those marines delivering? They sure looked impressive in their uniforms, didn’t—”

“I’m fine, the project’s fine, Drew’s fine, we’re all fine,” Lucas said with an annoyed look on his face. “If you’re not using it, can I borrow your hand truck?”

“Sure, go right ahead. It’s right by my desk,” Griffith said, hoping that Lucas wouldn’t look down at his crotch and see his swollen penis pressing hard against his pants.

Lucas didn’t say anything, then turned sideways and took a wide berth as he scooted past Griffith. Lucas never looked down.

Griffith sighed, then more words arrived on his lips. “Do you need me to help? Did you know I work out regularly and can lift heavy objects? You should be careful with your back. Be sure to lift with your legs; hernias can happen easily.”

Lucas still didn’t respond as he walked to Griffith’s desk.

Griffith waited until Lucas put his hand on the dolly before he glanced down at his pants. His erection seemed smaller, but it was still noticeable. Keep talking, he told himself. Keep Lucas focused on something else. He pushed the soldering gun and resin near Lucas’ face.

“I’ll bet you’re wondering what I’m doing with these. It’s a funny story, really. Would you like to hear it?”

Lucas ducked his shoulder as he brushed past Griffith, pushing the dolly toward the lab door.

Griffith tossed the soldering gun and resin onto his desk. “Do you want me to get the door for you?”

Lucas turned and held out his hands while standing near the exit. “Sorry, but this delivery belongs to Dr. Kleezebee and contains classified material. Nobody else is allowed within twenty feet of it.”

“Okay, I understand. Take your time. Just return the dolly when you’re done. I won’t need it for at least a week. When you stop by again, we should go to lunch—”

Lucas opened the door and pushed the hand truck outside into the hall. The door closed behind him.

Damn, that was close,
Griffith thought, feeling his penis finally go limp. He stood next to the lab door his with ear pressed against it. He could hear Drew Ramsay laughing in the hallway.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Lucas told his brother. “Now let’s get this shit inside already.”

Masago turned the steering wheel of the Tumbler hard to the left, then jammed on the brake, sending the all-terrain vehicle sliding sideways through the dirt until it came to a stop, just inches short of a twenty-foot-tall, four-fingered saguaro cactus. Her heart was pounding, pushing her endorphins into overdrive.

“Do you have any idea how much one of them weighs?” Lucas asked with his hands gripping the safety bar.

“Before or after the rainy season?” she replied, giving him a smirk.

“We could have been crushed!”

“What? You don’t like my driving?”

“Not without downing a six pack first.”

“We’re here, aren’t we? And in record time.”

“I didn’t know we were in a race.”

She took her helmet off and put it on the dash, then shook her head to set her flowing hair free as it draped around the contours of her neck. She smiled at him.

“You gotta admit, that was one kick-ass ride.”

“For you, maybe.”

“You need to lighten up. Have a little fun once in a while. Besides, you were wearing a helmet.”

“Okay, Danica in the number ten car,” Lucas said, breathing heavily. He let go of the safety bar and took the helmet off, tossing it in the back. “But I’m gonna need a minute.”

“You really need to find your big-girl panties,” she said, appreciating the comparison to NASCAR driver Danica Patrick.

“That’s easy for you to say. You were the one driving. I was totally at the mercy of a crazy person. I swear to God I saw my life flash before my eyes—twice.”

Masago rolled her eyes, then pointed to a stand of brush twenty feet ahead. “That’s where I found you. Under those bushes.”

Lucas didn’t respond. He didn’t move, either.

“Are you just going to sit there? Or do you wanna go find your glasses?”

Lucas looked to his right, leaned forward, then sat back in the seat before turning to Masago. “Can you pull up a bit? I don’t think I can open my door. Not without getting a face full of spines.”

Masago released the brake, letting the vehicle idle forward ten feet until it was clear of the saguaro. “Far enough?”

“That’ll do,” Lucas said, releasing the seatbelt from its latch. The retractor drew the belt away and back to its home position. He opened the door and got out of the vehicle, then grabbed his makeshift crutch from the storage area behind the seats. “I’m not sure my leg can make the climb.”

“I can,” she said, assessing the pain level in her thigh. It was manageable. “What do they look like?”

“Super high tech. You’ll know it when you see it. It’s loaded with electronics along the frame.”

“When was the last time you remember having them?”

“At the top. They were in my hand before I jumped. I must’ve dropped them on the way down.”

She looked up at the cliff, wondering how he’d survived. “That’s one hell of a fall.”

“I managed to slide part of the way until my foot caught a rock and sent me flying. That’s when my knee decided to pick a fight with the cactus.”

“And lose, badly.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“Anytime,” she said, surveying the wall of dirt and rock before her. “I hope you’re not in a hurry, because this is gonna take a while. They could be anywhere.”

“It shouldn’t take that long. Not with gravity, velocity, and acceleration working in our favor. It’s just mathematics, really, especially since several variables are known, such as my starting point and my ending point, each with a velocity of zero and, of course, my body mass. If I calculate gravitational acceleration in relation to the distance traveled, I should be able to predict several probable landing spots. Of course, that’s assuming I can accurately factor in the unevenness of the terrain, air resistance, the prevailing winds at the time, and—”

Masago grabbed his shoulder. “Never mind all that. How about we just find them the old-fashioned way? With feet and eyes, okay?”

“Sure. But I was just trying to—”

“Show off?”

“No, limit the search area with a little applied physics.”

“You really shouldn’t worry about impressing me. I already know how smart you are.”

“But I wasn’t trying to—”

“Yes, you were.”

Lucas paused, then sighed.

“You and your bad knee stay down here and search, and I’ll work my way up to the top. Hopefully I can retrace your steps. I’m sure there are plenty of tracks to follow.”

“That’s an understatement. Just look for the out-of-control skid marks and the pissed-off cactus. And be careful. I’d hate to lose my chauffeur.”

“So you do appreciate my driving skills?”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

Masago smiled, then walked to the rear of the car and opened the latch to the cargo area. She dug through the supplies stuffed inside until she found a rock climbing harness. She clipped it around her waist and hips before securing the leg loops. She grabbed her stash of spring-loaded metal carabiners and fastened the oval rings to the side of her harness, then found her rope anchors and a few other essentials, including a two-hundred-foot coil of braided, blue and white climbing rope. One arm went through the center of the rope before she tucked it around her shoulder.

She shut the trunk and went to the base of the mountain, trying to decide which climbing path would be safest. The first hundred feet looked doable, if she used the staggered formations of rock as hand and footholds. After that, the sheer rock face was waiting for her. A challenging task, indeed.

Her left hand grabbed the front of a protruding edge above her while her right foot found its way into a gap between two boulders about waist-high. She leveraged herself up, repeating the same maneuver with the other hand and foot. She looked down at Lucas. He was standing directly under her with his hands raised. His palms were just inches under her butt.