Back Cover:

Identity theft has just become a life style.

On a routine chore for his mother, 14-year-old Seth Miller witnesses a hole open up in the air, sees a man exit the hole, and watches his life change forever. The man, not so politely, shoves Seth through the portal and almost 200 years into the future.

Seth learns that the man, in quest for an unknown power, “the black egg,” assumed his identity through a form of cloning called “replicating” just to have a few moments with the egg, and then lived out the life perfectly to protect the historic timeline. 

Now that he’s stuck in the year 2188, Seth can never go back because of that timeline.  Similar identity theft is common in his new home, Antiquity. He meets exact, living replicas of Amelia Earhart, Mark Twain, and Jim Thorpe, among many others, while having to train a new set of foster parents.  In his spare time, he lodged in a cat-and-mouse thriller for that black egg with some of the most impressive criminals of all time.

For my wife Joyce and my family

There comes a time in every rightly-constructed

boy's life when he has a raging desire to go

somewhere and dig for hidden treasure.

- The Adventures of Tom SawyerMark Twain

Antiquity

story of the black egg

a novel

by Ken Walters

Please check out the novel’s other sites:

Chapter One—July, 13 2015—Be careful when the air waves back.

11:38 am.

Seth Williams checked his watch against the BB&T bank clock at the front of the Food Lion. Unfortunately, the two agreed. Rachel Howard wouldn’t be there for another 22 minutes. He thought, she then would have to clock in and do work stuff for a minute or two. She might be somewhere in the store already—maybe. Anyway, she wasn’t there yet, at least wasn’t where he could see her, and that’s what mattered.

Seth was well ahead of his mom on Aisle 7, Canned Veggies—Soups—Condiments. Standing near the end cap, through the corner of his eye, he saw her and his 3 year-old sister Abby. His mom started to motion for him. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew her intent, but after 14 years of seeing her intent at anything that involved him, he knew she wanted him to do something. He also knew he probably wouldn’t want to. It would take a slick move to avoid her motion. Abby reached for something on a shelf, taking his mom’s attention. Seth grabbed the opportunity and ducked around the Green Giant canned corn display to Aisle 8, Cereal.

At the new Food Lion in Taylors, SC, no other aisle was like Aisle 8, with dozens of variations of the same product spanning the entire reach of the aisle on both sides. Hundreds of boxes of cereal. Millions of sugar cane plants gave their lives for this breakfast feast. The boxes almost formed a brick hallway; that is, if all the bricks were stood up and were set side by side. Seth’s favorite cereal used to be Count Chocula when he was a kid, but at 14 the embarrassment would have been too great to be seen eating a cereal named after a baby’s cartoon. He was experimenting with Reese’s Puffs as a new favorite, though he sort of missed the Count’s unique sugar rush. As he walked down the aisle, he pushed over several boxes of Honey-Nut Cherrios. Stock boys needed to have something to do, he thought. In case that wasn’t enough to occupy them, he turned a few boxes of Lucky Charms upside down.

11:39

Seth wore his auburn hair in a mullet style. His hair and his striking green eyes were given to him by his mom. His smallish, pug nose was a gift from a man he’d never met. The boy stood slightly tall for his age at 5”4’ and weighed 90 pounds, which fluctuated by the season. Now, in July, he might need two wet beach towels to be 90. He wore a black T-shirt with the band Acoustical Epoch’s faces covering his chest. AE was simply the best goth rock group ever, he thought, and they would be as close as Asheville in three days. Getting to be there would be a dream, but that was impossible. Quickly, his mind, once again, traced the steps that might make the impossible happen. Even winning the lottery would take too long to get the cash, though there must be some way to get an advance on that kind of money, but getting enough disposable money to buy some numbers would be tougher than winning the whole thing. Anyway... His mom said Seth’s mind never rested, but rather it churned and churned over every little thing. He wondered why she would say that. He thought about it quite a bit, but couldn’t figure out what would make her say it.

11:40

He wore his passion over his shoulder, strapped in a backpack, his retractable land skis. They hooked together for storage and transport and fit perfectly in the backpack. Land skis were, sincerely, the best invention man had ever mustered, Seth thought. Land skis “stored” at about 3 ½ feet. A release pin opened an interior panel inside the ski, pushing out the two halves and making the total ski 5 feet long. A small compartment at the back of each ski housed a soft ski boot that could be hooked into a bracket on the middle panel, and detachable ski poles, which also could extend, fastened to the side of each ski. A control dial at the tip of the ski gauged the self-inflating tires to the terrain. In more expensive models, the ski could interpret the terrain and adjust the tires automatically, but Seth’s had a manual four point gauge: Pavement, Cross Country, Slalom or Velocity. Under the ski, the four sets of tires arced on a curved axel, allowing body movement to give direction, as in skiing or surfing. A single retracted ski could be used like a skateboard but offered more maneuverability than a skateboard ever dreamed. Land skiing was Seth’s obsession and his freedom, where thinking wasn’t necessary and anything was possible.

11:41

His three best friends, Luke, Ethan and Tris were with Luke’s parents in the Australian Outback for summer vacation. Seth wondered what kind of slopes the Outback had, and in his mind, he visualized the four of them skiing some Aussie hills. Tris would be in the lead because fear knew him the least and recklessness his flaw. Luke would be behind and taking a slightly different route, as his personality always pursued a slightly different sameness from those around him. Ethan and Seth would be racing. It would have been great. The trip would have cost his mom $5000, and there was no way a data enterer could manage it. Plus, she’d be hard pressed to do without him that long, Seth thought. He had become her anchor and her compass, though why would one need a compass if they were anchored? Seth’s mind drifted away from the faulty metaphor.

Midway down the aisle, near old people’s Chex and Flakes—which actually promoted “Zero Sugar Added” like it was a good thing—Seth started checking behind him. It would be severe if his mom rounded the canned corn and called out to him. “Seth, get over here right now. I told you to stay nearby.” Gad! All he needed was to have Rachel hear his mom treat him like he was 7 or something.

11:42

He’d never tell her, but Seth had sympathy for his mom, Dana Williams. Caleb Williams married her over in Nebraska and took her to South Carolina where he had the chance for a job in forestry. Then, he dissed her soon after Seth was born, disappeared, possibly in some woods, without a trace or a support payment. Seth couldn’t believe how cruel a person could be to a woman he’d promised to honor and cherish. Selfish. Her whole family was cornhuskers, though none actually husked corn. She talked about moving back, but lacked the funds. She was given an uncontested divorce in 2000, and bounced through a couple of short relationships, men whose faces were barely a memory for Seth now. One had acne scars, he remembered. When her funds allowed a move, things in Taylors seemed all right, so she didn’t move back. When things were

lousy again, and she needed her corn-husking family, she always lacked the funds. The cycle of life.

Five years ago, she hooked up with Michael Clarke, and they stayed together for a long time. Mike was Abby’s dad. He was as close to a dad as Seth ever knew, too. But, from the first day until the last, Seth never trusted him. Mike’s eyes squinted too often, squinted whenever the man was having a real thought, Seth supposed, and they squinted like the thought was about finding an easy answer instead of the truth. Abby was 1 year-old when Mike left the family. Good riddance. Seth had warned his mom; well, maybe he never warned her, but he thought Michael Clarke was just like Caleb Williams. It turned out Seth was right. She deserved better. She was pretty and smart enough to attract a decent guy. Barf. It sickened Seth a little to think of his mom as “pretty.”

11:43

Being 14, Seth knew nothing could ever happen with Rachel Howard. She was 18. The best Seth could hope for were enough conversations with her that she’d actually remember his name after she started Furman University in the fall. Her sandy blonde hair looked like a dune on Myrtle Beach, begging to be land skied, and her light brown eyes matched her precision tan that she had bought at Precision Tan in Greenville. Her body was perfect, or seemed it would be from what Seth could tell only seeing her in a Food Lion uniform. Once upon a time, she was a babysitter, but luckily his mom had never hired her. She did oversee Ethan once when he was 6 and the story went that he was hell-bent at destroying her sanity. Ethan had failed.

11:44

Near the end of the Cereal aisle, Seth smelled bacon from the sample table at the end cap. If he had 50 cents, he might have bought a strip. His mom talked about the old-days back when samples meant complimentary, back when shopping carts weren’t rented, back when plastic shopping bags were free. He glanced down the aisle, surprised she hadn’t gotten to Aisle 8. Seth turned and stepped forward. He gave a full body wave when his mom rounded the generic cereal end cap ahead of him, having done an end-around in her aisle—Sneaky.

“There you are, Seth. Didn’t you see me calling you?”

Recovering from the startle, Seth said, “Uhm, no.”

“You said you’d stay with me. I need you to run to the car and get my purse.” Abby was demanding a slice of bacon. “No, honey, I’ll make you breakfast for lunch when we get home.”

“You don’t have your purse?” Seth asked.

“Yes, it’s right here under the peas. I just want to send you on a wild goose chase.”

“I want bacon now!” Abby whined.

“I’m not spending money for cooked samples. Never have. Never will.”

Seth looked toward the cook, an old woman with icy white hair, and shrugged his shoulders. Suddenly, his mom’s favor dawned on him. “You want me to carry a purse in public?”

Her eyes closed in exasperation. “If you like you could hide it under your coat. Wait, it’s July. You don’t have a coat.”

“Naughty, Mom. I want bacon. Now!” Abby ordered.

“Mom,” Seth said. “I can’t carry a purse around in public.”

“Listen, I’m not gonna deal with two whiny kids. I’ll go get the purse and you can watch Abby. I need a break anyway.”

Abby sent Seth one of her I’m-so-happy-you’re-my-brother-I want-to-kill-you looks.

“Damned,” he said.

“Pardon me?”

“Darn.” What century was his mom from, he thought. Teens say “Damned” and a lot worse and have for a long time. He wanted to curse so bad he could curse. “I’ll go.”

Dana gave him her keys and said she’d be finished shopping soon, so not to take all afternoon. Her auburn hair reached her shoulders, and she was about the same height and size as her son. Barely past 35, she looked younger to most people, but to Seth, especially at that moment, she looked near retirement age. He stared at the fluffy, pink “D” charm on the key chain, and thought “Damned,” again, but wouldn’t say it. He wished his shorts had pockets. Seth waved good bye to the ancient bacon cooker on his way around her station, to keep her from asking him for money and circled toward Aisle 9, Frozen Veggies—Pizza—Frozen Entrees.

“Seth,” his mom said. “Do you want Count Chocula?”

His heart sank for no real reason. “No, Reese’s Puffs.”

His mom smiled. “Don’t take too long, please.”

11:48

Only 11:48, he complained to himself. Time takes entirely too long. That’s what his mom should speed up—time, not him.

The freezer aisle felt good and cold on his skin. He looked forward up the aisle just in time to see Rachel at the front of the store. He speeded up his swagger, past an old man wearing a blue driving cap and talking to a bag of broccoli and farther near the front near two middle-aged housewives discussing how long it had been since yesterday when they’d last seen each other. Why must they leave their carts in the middle of the aisle instead of parking them to the side for their meaningful reunion? Seth worked his way through. One of the women sent him a nasty look when he pushed her cart away a little.

11:49

Rachel was talking to someone at the customer service desk. She had a money tray in her hand to go to her register. Finish talking, he thought. He moved to the magazine section and pretended to browse the comic books. Really, he gazed at her. Despite her uniform, she didn’t look like everyone else. She was perfection in a blue polo shirt and khaki pants. She should star in all Food Lion commercials, star in her own Fox television series, star in a movie about falling in love with a boy four years younger than herself, the movie should have a dozen sequels. Hurry up, he thought.

11:50

Hurry up. He went to a candy display and pretended to be looking through it.

11:51

Hurry up. He glanced to the canned corn end cap to see if his mom had caught up to him.

11:52

Finally, Rachel went to Check Out Lane 4. He took a Snickers bar and met her from the customer side, reading the National Enquirer headline “Tamer Hosny—Elvis Reincarnated?” He took a deep breath to face her.

“Hi, Rachel,” he said.

She looked up from the register and nodded.

“Could you put this Snickers bar on my mother’s bill? She’ll be checking out soon.”

“I’m counting my drawer,” she said flatly.

He waited. Shouldn’t you have already done that, he thought, intently reading her name tag, RACHEL, over and over. His green eyes trailed up from the name tag, lingered a moment at her stunning neck, up to her goddess face and faultless eyes.

“Does your mom know you’re buying candy on her?”

Did the goddess say something?

“Hello. Anybody in there?” Rachel asked. “Does you mom know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re buying candy.” Her eyes rolled in annoyance.

“Not yet, but it’ll be OK with her,” he said.

“Well, first, my lane’s not even open yet,” Rachel explained. “Then, there’s no way to know if I’m going to check your mom out. Third, if she does come to me, I can’t scan the candy bar if you have it and I don’t. So, give it to your mom to buy and it’ll all work out. That’s kind of like what we do at grocery stores. People pick things—I scan things—people pay. Sort of like a miracle of nature.”

Say my name, at least, he thought. Say my name. His stare traveled down to her name tag, afraid to continue looking into her brown eyes.

“But,” she continued. “If you’re leaving the store you can’t take it with you, or else, I’ll have to call the manager and he’s not in a good mood today. You can leave the bar on the counter. If she comes this way, I’ll tell her.”

Say my name, please. He concentrated on her name tag.

“You’re staring at my boobs.”

Please, he repeated to himself, say my name.

“I’m up here and I’m busy, Seth. Go away.”

She did it. She actually said it. “Well, I’ll see you, Rachel.” Focus, he thought, don’t look like a kid. Move toward the front door, he told himself. Walk as if it meant nothing to you. Walk naturally.

“Leave the candy here,” she said.

He pitched the Snickers bar on the counter, going toward the front of the store. If you have a name, you’re real, he thought. She’ll remember me at Furman. By the time she graduates, I’ll be close to graduating high school. That could make all the difference. He took out his cell phone and text-messaged Ethan. “I talked to Rachel Howard about working at the store,” he wrote. He realized it must be midnight and an entirely different day in Australia, but they would envy him when they woke up in the morning and read it.

For a moment, it didn’t bother him carrying a set of keys with a big, pink “D” on them, though carrying a purse did feel something of a downer. Actually, carrying a pink D key chain did bother him, so he tried to hide the keys.

She’d called him “Seth.” Of course, he’d known her almost as long he could remember anything and must have said his name thousands or hundreds of times, but the last time he’d backed her into a conversation, she had called him “kid,” and a name he couldn’t repeat because his mom would somehow hear him.

He swaggered to the front door, looking as old as he possibly could look. Suddenly, he remembered he had been sent to the parking lot.

#

Paris Mountain Shopping Center brought a new strip mall half-way between Taylors and the Pebble Creek Golf Course. Its two staple stores, the Food Lion and Fred’s Department Store, along with Ambrosia Gyros and the Twice Read Bookstore, had been built two years before, but were still struggling to draw many new stores with the “Available Space” advertisement. The parking lot was full only on weekends, and as Seth began his mother’s quest, the parking lot was inactive. Noon on a Tuesday was not exactly a peak shopping time.

Seth saw relatively few vehicles, no people except for a middle-aged guy walking toward the front door and a driver of an SUV leaving the parking lot. Even the corner, which had been so loud when they arrived, had quieted. Apex Construction had been pounding at the curb, working on the drainage sewer. The workers must be taking a lunch break. There might be some frantic stuff there, hard hats and power tools and whatnot to look at. Plus, it was on the way toward Paris Mountain a few miles away.

The humid, 92 degree heat hit him. He withdrew his land skis, uncoupled one, and put it down to skateboard over to the construction site. If he spent the day at Paris Mountain, he thought, maybe he could live out a life with Rachel in an alternate universe of his imagination, where years didn’t matter and beautiful girls weren’t hampered by hang ups about things like age. At the very least, he could investigate that new cave he’d found on his last visit.

No, he couldn’t go to Paris Mountain. He was going to have to lug a huge, brown leather bag in front of Rachel and everyone. “Damned,” he said, and he said it out loud, and said it twice, “Damned.” The middle-aged man walked passed by him, looking at Seth curiously as if wondering what gripe this kid had about him.

Seth re-attached the ski and stuck them in their place the backpack. July 13, over a month before the guys would get back from their Australian adventure, one day in a summer that had been and will be filled with dull and meaningless dribble.

But, he thought, Rachel had said his name.

Dana Williams’ blue 2003 Buick Century was almost as old as Seth and ran on prayers as much as gasoline. It embarrassed Seth. His mom had learned enough mechanics from his granddad to keep it running. Seth could think of little good about Michael Clarke, but at least he drove a decent car, a 2013 Chevy Malibu. The Buick had dings and pings and a broken passenger mirror and a sagging headliner, but it kept moving.

As he approached the car, he heard a strange humming sound. He looked toward the construction site, thinking they were starting up. He thought he saw some movement, though no real activity. The hum got louder, sort of like air escaping a tire. Something felt strange, making goose bumps tingle on his neck. Three feet away from him, the air began moving, not like a wind, but rather with an unstable movement. A more distinct wave developed, the sort that one sees at a vague distance on a very hot day, but this was a yard away from him and in the definite shape of a six-by-six foot square. It became a more defined shape. He felt he could even touch it or put his hand through it.

Before he could inch toward it, an older man in his sixties and wearing a light blue set of coveralls came through the square from nowhere. Seth was so shocked that he couldn’t feel confusion or fear. Only a gasp came from him. In his left hand, the man carried a backpack identical to his, which he immediately dropped, and in his right held a bar that looked like foot-long flute or like a fancy pepper mill. He lightly touched it to Seth’s neck. He reached to Seth’s back.

“Tell them it’s going to explode in fifteen minutes. Be sure and say it.” The man then shoved the boy through the wavy window.

Be careful when the air waves back.

Chapter Two—November 6, 2188—The aroma tasted like fried chicken.

Seth stumbled into a room and fell onto the floor. As he rolled to his rear and reclined on his backpack, he first noticed the bright ceiling. He could see no individual lights, but the ceiling itself glowed. For an instant, he fell into a sort of quizzical trance at it, wondering what lit it, as if the detail outweighed whole, but he shook off the feeling and looked around.

A dozen or so faces stared at him with confused expressions almost equal to his own. Half of the people wore light blue coveralls similar to what the man had been wearing, and the other half wore dark green. No one seemed able to speak, including Seth. He felt like a truck had hit him, not so much with the pain as with that astonishment of “Hey, a truck just hit me.” Before he could ask where he was, two of the blue men knelt near him.

“Who are you?” one of the blue men asked.

Seth still couldn’t speak. Instead, he continued looking about. Near the far wall of a room like a lab, a black, plastic-looking frame about five feet away held the wavy air he had seen near the car. He could hardly think. His eyes began darting from strange image to strange image, pedestals with consoles of buttons, desks with clear-blue globes hovering above, panels with many colored lights. Was he on the Guardians of the Galaxy movie set? He then re-focused on the frame and the wavy window.

From nowhere, a set of blue coveralls flew out from it and hit him in the chest. The man who had spoken to him picked up the coveralls and stared at them blankly, with a baffled expression. The other man looked back at the window, bewildered. The first man pitched the coveralls to the side and looked carefully into Seth’s face, but when it seemed the boy had no answers, the expression changed from suspicion to concern.

“It’s a boy,” said the other man, as if he just realized it, like the person watching a football game, who missed the big play, the person whose brain suddenly went out-of-line by a couple of seconds. Now, he had to wait for instant replay. Some people call it the deer-in-the-headlights-look. “What’s Lyndale doing with a boy?” he asked.

“Portal closing,” a blue woman announced from a pedestal. Her voice startled Seth. The two men, still kneeling, looked toward her. Seth’s stare followed theirs. The wave in the window subsided.

“July 13, 2015,” the woman said.

The too-late-for-the-big-play man stood up and went toward her. “Reopen the portal,” he commanded. “Immediately.”

The still-kneeling man said, “Delay that order. We need clearance for a portal.”

“Colonel,” the first man argued. “Lyndale just escaped.”

“I know, Simmons. We’re all still here, aren’t we?” the Colonel asked. “Opening the portal now and following Lyndale could change the timeline. Plus, we do not have CANAS clearance. Roberta, do not—repeat NOT—open a portal.”

The initial shock started to subside within Seth, but a secondary shock began. Seth concentrated on the people’s actions. The kneeling man still with him must be in charge, Seth guessed. He was in his early fifties, with black hair, graying at the temples, and had a mostly gray goatee. While his face looked stern, it seemed to come from concern more than harshness.

Other people in blue coveralls stood at various strange machines in the lab. The people in green remained mostly still, but some of them had turned away. Seth saw “C-A-N-A-F” written across the backs of their coveralls. Seth looked around at pieces of high tech gadgetry and consoles. On a far wall, two black suits that looked like shiny scuba outfits caught his eye. Again, his brain shifted into that trance for a moment. The suits seemed out of place here.

The kneeing man whispered, “It’s all right, son,” as if he was the only one who still remembered Seth was around.

“Colonel,” someone called from the globe. “You’ll want to see this.”

“It’s almost 200 years ago. I have time,” he answered.

Finally, Seth whispered, “I’m Seth Williams.” The Colonel turned to him.

“You’re a victim to this. You ARE safe.” He stressed the word “are.”

“Where am I?”

“It will take some explaining. It is the year 2188.” The Colonel smiled at what must have appeared as a stunned look on Seth’s face. “I’ll tell you more soon.”

“The future?” Seth said it, but the idea didn’t connect. He became transfixed again by the suits.

“It’s all right,” the Colonel said, tracking the boy’s line of sight.

“What is that suit?” Seth asked randomly.

“You’re thinking about that? It’s called a ‘Reflector Suit,’” the Colonel answered, also almost in auto-pilot. “It is made of a network of miniature globes and nanocams. Each globe transmits the image from the opposite side of the suit, based upon the proximity of a viewer. When a person looks at the suit, when turned on of course, they see an image directly the opposing side for every globe, not seeing the suit or the wearer of the suit.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll explain it later.”

Tears welled in Seth’s eyes. The suit wasn’t important. He knew that. He needed something real to think about.

The man must have understood, so he went ahead and explained. “Using items from 2015, let us say you have a camera mounted on your back and you are holding a screen in front of you. When I look at you, I see the screen, which shows the camera image—everything exactly as it is behind you. Let’s say that I don’t know it is a screen, so I see what I expect to see instead of you. You are essentially invisible.”

“Huh?” Although he understood, Seth had come to a point where he understood nothing. The man chuckled.

A blue woman, standing at a desk, looked at a glowing ball. She said, “I’ve got him on DBO-2745 and twenty other cams are stringing to the area in five seconds-four-three.” A couple of blue people and one green person went to her and looked in the ball.

“Let’s go see what’s happening on the globe.” The Colonel gently massaged the back of Seth’s neck in a reassuring way. The touch seemed to ease the shock slightly. The Colonel pulled up at the backpack to help Seth to his feet and took him toward the globe. On the desk, dozens of small circles began lighting up. Seth looked in the large globe hovering above the desk. In it, a 3D view of the Food Lion parking lot showed. He saw his mom’s Buick Century Seth rubbed his eyes and blinked. It was her Century.

Seth studied action in the backseat, but couldn’t make out what the man was doing. The woman at the globe moved her hand near other circles on the desk, and two of them grew into globes almost the size of the main one, showing different angles of the car.

In a moment the car door opened and he saw himself get out of the car. Saw himself? His face. His T-shirt. His backpack. His land skis. Seth reached back and felt the skis still on his back. Even the blue people seemed amazed at what they saw. A few commented that “replicating” wasn’t possible like that. The Seth in the globe had his mom’s big brown purse in his hand and started back toward the store. Seth tried to remember getting into the car. No, the man had stopped him before he even opened the door. The man had appeared from nowhere in the wavy window. The man had attacked him, pushed him here. Where was that man?

Seth felt a rush as his brain went into hyper-drive, trying to figure this all out.

Suddenly, hyper-drive stopped in a screech. “Wait,” Seth yelled. “The man,” he said. “The man said it was going to explode. This room is going to explode in fifteen minutes. Then, he pushed me.”

An instant elapsed as the people were contemplating Seth’s words.

“Shit.” The Colonel said to everyone, “We have to evacuate—immediately. Lyndale must have rigged a bomb. How much time has already elapsed?” His hand moved to Seth’s back, above the skis, as he pushed the boy. The Colonel turned to a man in green and said, “Contact the other portal rooms to evacuate.” Then, to everyone he yelled, “Out of here! Now. Now. Now. Everyone, proceed out of the room.”

The green people finally came to life and began herding everyone to the door. In the hallway, they looked back at the door that slid into place. All of the blue people and most of the green quickly ran down the hall. The main green man stood nearest the door talked into some sort of phone or walkie-talkie. The Colonel stayed with Seth pushed down the hall away from the door.

“That guy stole my mom’s purse,” Seth yelled when it dawned on him. “You’ve got to stop him.”

This time, the Colonel’s confused expression was a bit less urgent as he listened. “It’s all right. Please, trust me. Your name is Seth, right? We need to move out of this module, Seth. We don’t know the size of Lyndale’s explosive.”

“Don’t tell me it’s all right. He’s got her purse. If you not doing something, give me a phone to call the cops.”

“Seth, he’s not after her purse. That much I know.” The Colonel held Seth’s wrist to pull him along.

Overcome, Seth started to break down. “She’s ready to check out by now,” he cried. “She needs her purse,” he said. “She needs me.”

He broke away from the hold and ran back. The green man was big. Seth tried to dance an Adrian Peterson-type fake on him. The man, un-faked, seized the backpack and threw it and Seth over his shoulder to run away from the module. The Colonel ran, too.

Several feet down the hall, the Colonel pressed some console on the wall, and a larger door started sliding shut to secure the rest of the hallway. Seth struggled to get off the man’s shoulder. As the door almost closed, Seth saw the entire area inside the door light up in a loud blast. The force ended when the door closed. In a moment, the green man set Seth down.

The Colonel came over. To the man, he said, “Thank you, Carl.” Then, to Seth, he stated, “I’m Colonel Talon Hammond. Everything will be fine. Right now, you can’t understand what’s happened. It was a bad thing, a very bad thing, but it is OK for now.”

“All five portals were hit,” Carl said. “But, everyone’s evacuated safely.” Then, he started talking on his thingamabob, too quietly to be overheard.

“My mom needs me,” Seth cried.

The Colonel hugged Seth. Seth’s fist randomly pounded the Colonel’s shoulder. He looked down the hall as an older man in sort of a suit, coming toward them. A moderate understanding began filling Seth. The window to the Food Lion had been destroyed. For the time being, anyway, he was stuck here.

“The damage was contained within the modules,” Carl reported. “I’d like to check with my people.”

“That’ll be fine,” the Colonel said.

“Wait, Carl,” said the older man as he approached. “Talon, I’ve seen everything except the 2015 footage.”

The Colonel answered, “Dad, Lyndale has found a way to self-replicate. He seems to have taken this young man’s identity before sending him here.”

“What?” He older man motioned for Lieutenant Axton to approach.

“I don’t understand it either,” the Colonel said. “He evidently stole the boy’s identity, but there’s no apparent timeline disruption.”

“Then, it logically follows he must have lived out the boy’s life.”

Seth pulled away from the Colonel’s support and looked for a place to run. The older man stowed away his confusion and took on a professional demeanor, extending his hand to shake. “Your name is Seth Williams,” the older man confirmed. “Welcome to Antiquity and to 2188. I am Doctor Philbert Hammond, one of the directors here. A great many questions must be coming to your mind. I promise to answer all of them in time. For now, I’d like Lieutenant Axton to escort you to my office. Doctor Cook and I need to prepare you.” Although a thin, reassuring smile never left his face, at this point it did not seem all that sincere to Seth. “Carl, would you show Seth my office.”

The Lieutenant’s face was as sincere as it could be—emotionless. Carl walked with him toward the end of the hall a few feet ahead. As they walked, Seth overheard Dr. Hammond’s and the Colonel’s conversation continue.

“I know we can’t send the boy back, but can we set a portal to intercept Lyndale?” the Colonel asked.

The older man motioned to stop talking for now. Seth and the Lieutenant turned at the adjacent hall. Seth stopped and knelt, rummaging through his backpack.

“Please come, Mr. Williams,” the Lieutenant said.

“Give me a second to fix my bag. It’s all messed up,” Seth said, wanting to hear more of their discussion. “It’ll only take a second.”

From the corner, he heard the older man. “We can’t intercept in 2015, since the boy would witness it and harm the timeline. Our best bet might be to intercept Lyndale before the entry, but that could cause a short-term paradox. CANAS won’t go for that, but we can see. All portals are down for the time being.”

“Mr. Williams,” the Lieutenant said, impatiently.

“One second.” Seth quietly disconnected one of the land skis. He jerked it from the backpack and ran down the hallway as quickly as he could. The Lieutenant followed. Seth pitched the ski to the floor and mounted it like a skateboard. He kicked several times to accelerate. Axton could not keep up.

Thirty feet ahead, a hall diverged to the right. He right-angled down the new hall. When he saw a door with a stairs insignia in about fifteen feet, he stopped sharp. The Lieutenant stood at the end of the hall behind him, but paused and looked back, as if summoned. His pursuit ended.

Seth went through the door and sprinted down flight after flight of stairs. After a dozen flights, he was exhausted, but kept running. When there were no more stairs, he rested for a moment and placed the ski back in the bag. Cautiously, he opened the door, half expecting a dozen green coveralled people waiting for him. He saw no one.

He walked to the corner at the end of the hall and hid, peering around carefully. A dozen or so people normally milled about a large lobby, all dressed in those blue coveralls. A blue uniformed woman stood behind a large entry desk. Everything appeared calm. Nonchalantly, he made his way toward them.

The people in the lobby did not even glance in his direction. No one stopped him at the front door of the building. He escaped without interruption or apparent observation. The escape came easier than if he’d planned it for days, almost too easy.

Outside, five skyscrapers stood, consisting of giant, 40x80 foot, modular blocks, attached together like legos. Five of the blocks near the top of the building he just exited had severe damage and broken windows, but the blocks near them were unharmed, solid white, windowless blocks. “Building One,” or so it said over the door, opened to a white tile courtyard.

A large, solid black statue rose from the center of the courtyard. Its base read “Founders of the Coalition of Allied Nations,” standing back to back to back and facing each of the five buildings. The city enclosed no streets, so the edge of the courtyard gave way immediately to open land a hundred feet ahead.

Seth didn’t have time to sightsee, he thought. They’d be after him soon. Seth pulled out and extended the land skis, attaching the boots, setting them to Pavement. He quickly crossed the courtyard tile to the terrain. He did not have to change the setting on the hard earth, and made his escape into the countryside.

He heard the splash of water, and glanced to see a sandy beach where a couple of those huge legos sat by themselves. He had no clue which way to go, except away. Far, far away—as far as he could get. Seth traveled past the groomed countryside to more rugged, natural ground, and he set the land skis to cross country mode. He could hear the slight air gush when the tires inflated

In about hundred feet, from the top of a cliff, he saw a river basin below. Mountain ranges emphasized the right and the left horizons, with the range on the left side of the river obviously taller. Directly away from the beach, mostly flat land appeared to follow the river below and his cliff above. So, that seemed as good a direction to go as any.

He had to admit this was pretty good ski country, only small holes and rocks for the tires to manage and without any major obstacles, with only a few trees nearby. He used the ski pole to reset the trip odometer.

As Seth land skied, a calmness eeked in. In about ten minutes, he was two miles away. No one was even close behind him. No one even seemed to be following at all. The land was beautiful. His cliff leveled, sloping gently toward the river. Near the river, the flat, grassy plains begged for farming, and away from the stream, foothills stood before the mountains, similar to the hills near the Appalachians and home. These mountains appeared to be taller than the Appalachians.

He stopped at one of the few trees near the river and searched through his bag for the granola bar his mom always hid for him. “I don’t need to take food,” he’d always say. “Then, don’t.” She would slip the bar into one of the interior pockets when he wasn’t looking. His bottle of water was there, too, filled with tap water. “I don’t care how long they’ve been bottling water for sale. It’s silly and a waste of money,” she’d say.

Where was she, he wondered. Did she die almost two hundred years ago? Did you? Tears welled—He needed to ski. If they weren’t following, he might as well have some fun down some of these hills.

The land gave way to gently flowing hills, perfect for land skiing. While he felt some exhilaration in sport, but his sadness wasn’t going away. Despite his skill and the relatively easy terrain, he failed to pay attention and took a tumble while making an easy curve. Seth rolled about thirty feet, far from the worse fall he’d ever taken, a shake-it-off fall. Still, he remained on his stomach, not really wanting to get up.

An entirely new bewilderment settled in. This was 2188. His mom was gone, and his sister, and his friends.

“No,” he screamed at the dirt and the trees.

He had to get up, he thought. He had to get away.

Where?

He felt useless.

Powerless.

Alone.

He had never done anything bad enough to deserve this. It wasn’t fair.

He pounded on the earth, as tears kept welling in him.

Don’t cry, he said to himself. “I’ll find a way to get back.”

Seth rolled over and rubbed his scratches. He got up and gathered his skis.  Land skiing was a difficult sport, without the cushion of a skier’s snow and without the consistency of a boarder’s payment.  The land ski’s tires forgave small twigs and rocks, and gopher holes, but good land skiing required skill of the rider.  While a skateboarder would rather be caught dead than in protective gear, except in competition, a land skier wore pads and helmet with some pride, as the armor showed him a cut above the safer enterprises.  From his backpack, he padded up like a knight for a longer trek, elbows, knees and head protected, though a bit late for the bruises already made.

His hill led down toward the river. The bank on his side of the river was steeper now, and on the opposite side of the river, a creek forked away, into a small woods.  So, he crossed on a branch bridge, carrying the skis.  Except for the fall, not gauged on the odometer, he had traveled less than four miles.  He was more tired than that amount of skiing usually took out of him.  By his watch, it was 4:23, but he had no idea of the real time.  He only knew it had been over four hours since Rachel had called him by name, and he was, at the very least, over four hours hungrier.

He recognized oaks and some firs at the forking waterways, but many of the trees looked unlike any he had ever seen.  Most appeared young, not gnarled by the growth of years.  Limbs and rocks numbered few, and the firm soil made for good skiing despite the roots.  Ahead he saw a leveling past the woods.  There, the terrain opened into another meadow.  Something moved in the meadow.

He wondered if they had set an ambush, but how would they know where he was going—he didn’t. He studied the bush carefully and quietly. He saw some sort of animal the size of a dog. A moment passed for him to figure out it was a kangaroo. A kangaroo? They stared each other down a few minutes until the animal decided more interesting diversions lay behind another bush. Seth shook his head. He thought about his friends in the Outback. Maybe, he’d gone crazy and was seeing imaginary things. Maybe, this whole thing was some sort of dream.

He quickened his pace. About hundred feet ahead in the meadow, a fence stood. He skied toward it.

It was a stone fence, three feet tall and easy to cross, but he stayed on his side because a twenty feet beyond the fence the hill rose to a steeper incline, about a 35 degree grade, Seth estimated, nearly perfect for speed skiing.  He noticed an interesting clump of brush near a group of boulders mid-way up. It appeared to be hiding a cave like one he found at Paris Mountain. He thought about crossing the fence to investigate, but decided he had more urgent needs, namely his escape from this place.

He began skiing on the level land parallel to the fence.  Although level, he knew he was slowly going uphill, and soon he was on the top of that hill.  To his left and his side of the fence, he saw a valley develop and in its basin the creek winded below.  Beyond the fence, the opposing hill gave a sharp decline to another valley.  On this day of such extreme surprises, Seth saw another that ranked almost as astonishing.

It was a small town.  It must have been over a mile away, so he could not observe details, but from what he could tell it looked very normal, without lego buildings and without the absence of streets.  It was a town, not unlike a hundred little towns in upstate South Carolina.

About to jump the fence and ski to it, he saw a gap in the fence twenty feet ahead.  He skied down his hill toward the opening.  A dirt road passed through the fence opening. He saw a sign.  He skied more quickly.  At the opening, he read “US Complex.”  He heard a sound like whistling.  He could taste the aroma of fried chicken.

Chapter Three—It takes a licking but keeps on ticking.

Just inside the fence on the dirt road, a roan horse stood hitched to a black buggy that could have come from an old western movie. For an instant, it felt as though all the air in him had escaped—What now?

“Hello, friend,” a voice said.  “The difference in being lost and being found, sometimes, is the matter of inches.  And, young one, you look to be more than a few inches away from being found.”

Seth followed the voice to a park bench off the road.  An elderly man in his late sixties spoke, with thick, white, wavy hair and a heavy mustache that traveled from beneath his straight but longish nose down the sides of his chin. Something about him seemed familiar. He wore a very old-fashioned brown tweed suit.  Next to him on the bench sat a picnic basket.

“Maggie fries a mean bird—care to join me?” the man asked pleasantly. “I’ve been stood up by a friend of mine. He may join me later, but there is plenty of chicken. I have cornbread and a few cookies, too, I expect.”

Seth removed his skis and approached him, cautiously.  He sat on the bench, with the basket between them.  He reached in and took a drumstick.  “Thank you.”

“Politeness—refreshing.  You are most welcome fine, sir.  And your name?”  The man handed him a Coca Cola in a very old looking bottle from a metal chest to his side.

  “Seth.”

  “Mine is Sam.”  He nodded.  “Have some cornbread, too.  One thing they can’t seem to get right here is the art of bakery, especially cornbread. Then again, the North never got cornbread right, either. That is, perhaps, the highest travesty of the Civil War.”

  Until he tasted the chicken, Seth didn’t realize how hungry he was.  The drumstick was gone almost instantly, and he forgot to ask before taking a wing and a wedge of cornbread.  He forgot his confusion for only a minute, but soon it returned.  This man didn’t even belong to 2015, much less 2188, if that is where they were.

  “Where am I?” Seth asked.

  “An amazing question, not so much the not knowing, but the asking.  Do you mean this exact spot?” The man watched him eye-to-eye, yet in a disarming way. He seemed a peaceful man who was smiling even when it didn’t show on his lips.

  “That’ll do,” Seth said. The wing was gone now, too and he glanced for a place to put the bones. Sam offered the napkin holding his own chicken bones.

  “We’re on the outskirts of the town of D.C., at least that’s what we call it.  It’s a nice little hamlet of about 1400.  Quite a few of the citizens have moved to the Towers, assimilating.”

  “’Assimilating’? I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything, Sam.”

  The man leaned back.  He withdrew a cigar from an inside pocket of his jacket, and lit it.  Quietly, he watched the smoke for a while.  “You are a few feet from being found, I dare say. Let me have my hand at explaining, then. Do you know about Antiquity?”

“Someone told me that’s the name, but nothing else about it.”

“You must be very unique,” Sam observed. “I’ll assume, as you suggest, that you know nothing. Antiquity is a scientific colony. Before I go on, please forgive me on some generalization concerning their technical mumbo-jumbo.  I am 72 years-old.  When I was 53, they brought me here along with 999 others.  We were of various historic periods, from various occupations, and in various years of our Lord.  They took me in 1888. Some were taken before the Revolution, and some taken late in the 20th century. But, all of us had one thing in common.  We were all Americans.  Most were average people with no claim to fame.  Some were quite famous. I live very near Patrick Henry. You may have heard of him. Nice fellow. I disagree with him politically, but he keeps a nice lawn.”

  Seth understood the words, but the ideas both amazed and disturbed him. “They brought you here? To 2188?” Seth asked.

“That is the year now, June 26, 2188. They actually brought me to 2269, since it was 19 years ago.”

“They kidnapped you?”

“Not exactly, instead they stole from us like horse thieves in the night. They have a way of scrutinizing the thing we are, including our memories and our selves, storing it in some little tool. Then, they bring that tool back here, and put the stolen spirit in what they call ‘artificial people.’” He looked around. “Mumbo-jumbo, science and all.  The artificial people become us. They call us ‘Replicas.’ By birth, I suppose, I was an artificial person—whatever that really means—but by heart, I am an old man named Sam.”

“Artificial person?”

“Yes, they are in some way different from us although I could not tell you the exact reason. This process, replicating—I think, of the Antiquity folk replaces the truth of us into the truth of them, our cells into their bodies.”

  Half to himself, Seth said, “That’s how that guy became me.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you about ‘that guy.’ I suppose that’s your story, and I so look forward in hearing it, to be certain. But, to answer your question to me, about where you are, I

refer to Antiquity and their master plan. They meant to create a mini-American society, that they could study and converse and interact with.”

  “So that’s what the US Complex means,” Seth concluded.

  “Exactly.  They did as much with the ancient Romans and the ancient Greeks, the Mesopotamians and the Mayans and the Egyptians, about a dozen societies in all.  This road,” he motioned outside the gate, “leads to Renaissance Europe ten miles away on the other side of Lake Ware in the mountains. It is my pleasure to play chess occasionally with Martin Luther.” Sam pulled two cookies from the picnic basket, gave one to Seth and bit into the other. “Mini-civilizations of 1000 people, replicas that is,” Sam added sarcastically. 

 “So, you’re a replica?” Seth knew the man had already said so, but the definition was setting in.

“That’s their story. To me, I am me, an aging man with blood in my veins and arthritis in my bones. That is, I feel as though I am, well, me.”

Seth thought about his own replica living in 2015 with every belief that he was Seth and never knowing otherwise, just as this Sam felt he was Sam and not a replica. That Seth was proceeding to live a life in the exact way he would have lived it, if he was an exact replica. If they somehow changed places again, that Seth would be sitting here, eating chicken with this man and having the same questions answered. That Seth would feel just as victimized and alone. He had no immediately pressing question, but instead wanted to digest the answers he had already gained. He rather liked Sam and did not want to stop talking with him. “So, they sort of built a huge zoo full of people?” Seth observed.

“From the mouths of babes…I stand corrected…From the mouths of teens. How old are you Seth?”

“14.” Seth collapsed his skis and loaded them and their gear into the backpack

“Yes, we live here in rather a menagerie. I fancy myself a chimpanzee.” He laughed loudly. “And you? Are you a lion or a lamb?”

Seth thought for a second and chuckled to himself. “I guess I’m probably a lost little puppy.”

“Nice analogy, boy.” Sam laughed and reached into the basket for another cookie. “I was telling you about Antiquity’s zoo, wasn’t I? It was the Romans they took first, I’m told, but the Romans gave them such heartache.” He smiled. “They demanded not to be held in captivity. This world’s government, by some mad fit of sanity, recognized the basic thievery in this menagerie, and they felt indebted to give the Romans what they desired, or at least seem to give it. The Romans live alone now, free, and mostly untouched by Antiquity on an island formerly named Chatham. The ancient Greeks were a bit more cooperative with Antiquity than the Romans and have a nice little hamlet, New Athens, not unlike our D.C. But, the Greeks are a bit

less prone to assimilating than Americans and stay to themselves. I hear their Complex thrives at 2300, or so. Then, 19 years ago, Antiquity brought us here, the Americans. We are so close to the same as our zookeepers that it’s scary. Renaissance Europe is much like us, as is the British Empire. The Soviets—you have heard of them, I suppose, as they came after my time—assimilated so utterly, they hardly even have a settlement, having moved into the world-at-large. Most of the other civilizations are rather private, though, but more accommodating than the Romans.”

“You don’t like it here, much,” Seth said.

Sam thought for a moment, watching the ember of his cigar as if it brightened his thinking. “Antiquity’s not that bad, I suppose. Their goal was to revere us—their historical ancestors. They simply don’t understand that we are the same as they are, more or less. As for making it into a zoo, man has a habit of placing himself in zoos, or at least they have a knack at preserving the status quo. I cannot blame Antiquity much for that, as we as guilty as they.”

“Pardon my saying, but it seems to me like they’re users. These Antiquity people, that is. They turned you into Sam. That means to me they stole you, like you weren’t even a person—like you were a slave. I’m not sure how that honors you.”

“I cannot deny that and shan’t try. All I can offer in their defense is motive. In my day, I witnessed the travesty of slavery, when humankind allowed a privileged class to oversee a working class in abject terms. That motive was insidious. This privileged class at Antiquity wanted to learn, not to prosper. True, they commit a crime, giving us apologies and rights afterwards, and they never truly accept a consequence for their felony; however, it is not slavery. They are rather more like hungry beggars stealing apples from a vendor. In their hearts, these people are good people. That friend who I was meeting here is part of Antiquity, and a good friend and neighbor—a good man.” Sam pulled out a gold watch from his pocket, then he rose and went toward the buggy. He walked spryly for a man his age.

“May I ask you something?” Seth asked.

“That sounds ominous,” he said from the road. “Can it wait a moment, or are you leaving right away?”

“I have nowhere to go.” Seth laughed, finding the idea somehow funny.

Sam went to the buggy and lifted two fishing poles. “The catfish are about to start biting in a few minutes—three hours before dusk they begin. They love it at the river’s mouth. Please join me, if you have nothing better to do, and you can ask me that ominous question and can share your tale if you’re ready.”

Seth followed, placed his backpack next to the fishing poles, and got into the buggy with Sam. He called the horse “Barney,” and urged him down the road past the fence.

“The question,” Seth began. “When you woke up here, what happened? I mean, how did you feel? Were you shocked? Mad? Confused?”

“It’s strange you ask that. You see, I do not recollect the moment, exactly. Later, they told me they used no drugs, but I woke up slowly, as if I’d been sick for some time. By the time I was fully conscious, it seemed normal being here. In time, perhaps, they will explain that better to you. They never explained it to me.”

Barney stopped without prompting, as if he knew exactly the spot Sam wanted to be. They each took a fishing pole, and Sam carried a Folgers can of worms. The two hiked down a short path on the bank to the river, and sat on the ground to begin fishing.

“Have you ever heard of a man named Lyndale?” Seth asked. As he said the name, an awareness filled him that it was that man he should really blame, rather than the whole of Antiquity. This Lyndale did not steal an apple, but instead took the entire cart and replaced it with his own cart.

“Why yes. Horrible story his.” Sam gently whipped the fishing line into the water. “When Antiquity started the U.S. Complex, Lyndale along with Doctors Hammond and Cook were in charge. Lyndale felt, however, Antiquity was not serving their overall mission to understand history. By not allowing rather infamous characters to be replicated, only the average and the famous, he thought learning the society was ill-achieved. That is, they could learn more about the Renaissance, let’s say, by including the likes of Ivan the Terrible instead of my friend Martin. Lyndale’s was a lonely opinion, without support. When the whole hub-bub was over, Lyndale left Antiquity in a rather testy way. I heard he was conducting research now.”

“I’m not surprised criminals interest him,” Seth understated. “He is not a good man.”

“You may know him better than I do. Most of my dealings have been with Cook, but mostly Hammond.”

Seth watched his fishing line in the water and enjoyed the scent of fresh water and air. No one had ever taken him fishing before. As he thought about Lyndale, he grew tense. He visualized the old man popping out of the portal and being so selfish for whatever reason that he had to push Seth through. His mom would not even know it wasn’t him. She would lean on that replica for support, would hug his neck when he was upset, would kiss his forehead when he had a fever. The anxiety deepened. He found it hard to speak or to withhold tears. How could a man like that exist? How could anyone think they were good enough or important enough to treat another human being that way?

Sam must have perceived the anguish. “You’re thinking about your story—the events that brought you here?” Sam withdrew his line and re-cast. “Whatever happened did you great harm, I take it. I must admit your apprehension has grossly magnified my curiosity, but you do not need to tell me now. If you prefer, it may be best to simply enjoy this moment.”

“I want to tell you. That Lyndale man sent me here. I don’t know why. Then, he stole my life.”

“Stole your life—a fascinating saying,” Sam said. “So, tell me about that life, and how he robbed you.”

“I am not a replica of me—I am me. Lyndale replaced me with the replica. Now, that replica is living my life.” Seth told Sam a bit about his life with his mom and sister, and his friends and land skiing. Sam listened with interest, as Seth went on about his escape from the five towers. Sam told a story about his youth and running away from home after his father died of pneumonia, and how stress caused strange reactions within him. They talked about Seth being unable to return home, and about Sam loving his new life with Maggie just as much as the original life, although a large part still missed his other wife, Olivia.

As the afternoon passed, Sam told him more details about the place. Antiquity was located on the two islands formerly known as New Zealand. An asteroid the size of a large building crashed in the South Pacific. From the impact, tsunamis gushed forth, and peaceful volcanoes were reborn, creating ash and fallout. It made the area uninhabitable for years. Now, reforested, the islands became colonies of the Coalition of Allied Nations, and New Zealand became Antiquity.

“The people in New Zealand all died?” Seth asked.

“Most were transferred to other places. The Coalition gave them a new place in a space colony while their world was repaired, and they decided to stay. The Coalition took New Zealand and other islands. Now, CAN uses the islands as colonies.”

“’CAN’?”

“The Coalition of Allied Nations—C-A-N—the new government.”

Seth recalled the letters CANAF on the green coveralls. The “AF” referred to “Armed Forces,” Sam told him. They, evidently, were summoned due to Lyndale’s intrusion. The green coveralls were their regular uniforms, and the blue signified Antiquity staff.

They fished for an hour, catching five, including a ten pounder. For a while, neither had to talk, but rather relaxed and watched the tips of their poles. Seth fell asleep twice. The first time, when he woke up, Sam said that there was no embarrassment about sleeping and fishing at the same time and that few occupations so graciously allowed both pastimes simultaneously. The second time Seth dozed, motion on the bank behind them awakened him.

“Hope you haven’t caught them all, Sam.”

“My friend,” Sam said to Seth, turning around toward the bank. “I had almost given up on you Colonel. So much ignored, I’ve found myself another friend.”

“Hi, Seth,” the Colonel said at the Folgers can to bait the fishing pole he’d brought from the buggy.

“So, you know one another?” Sam surmised.

Seth felt a bit betrayed, as if Sam might have set him up

“Yes, Sam. Seth, here, is the reason I missed our meeting. Off and on, most of the afternoon, my dad and I have observed him with nanocams. I stopped watching when the two of you started to fish.” The Colonel cast his line into the river and sat next to Seth. “Before nightfall, we have to make some decisions.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“As a precaution, we had to. We have very small cameras like the ones in the past that we used to watch your abduction.”

An hour or so passed, and the Colonel said little about the situation. Then, the three anglers climbed to the road. It had been a productive day, at least for fishing, and they had nine fish in 2 ½ hours. Seth felt more peaceful, but mostly drained. He wanted to curl up in his bed. Here, he had no where to go, no bed to curl up in. “Where are you going to keep me?” he asked.

“At least for tonight, Seth,” the Colonel said. “I’d like you to stay with my wife and me. I live here in D.C., and I want you to meet Amelia.” He took a small object about the size of a cigarette lighter from his pocket. A wavy window, like Seth had seen in the Food Lion parking lot, appeared.

“Come on,” the Colonel said as if Seth would willingly walk into that wave.

“I’m not going in there,” Seth said adamantly.

“Seth, this is a linear portal. There’s nothing dangerous about it. It’s how we get about nowadays.”

“Not me.” Seth stood behind Sam to protect him.

“But it’s safe,” said the Colonel. “Perfectly safe, trust me.”

Seth was resolute about not going near that window.

“Colonel,” Sam said. “May my friend Barney and I be of assistance as chauffeurs?”

A couple of hundred feet inside the US Complex, the dirt road became blacktop and a new dirt road forked to the left and ran parallel. As they rode on the dirt pathway, the Colonel tried explaining linear travel and something about strings, but Seth had learned too much today and his brain was tired. He heard some of the words but understood little. Sam let Barney do the

guiding and barely touched the reign. They passed a few farms that could have been of any time, straight rows and barns and silos and with small, boxy houses. In a pasture, Seth saw a small herd of sheep, and in another a herd of cows. He must have asked the distance, because Sam answered, “a mile.”

Ahead lay the town limit sign: “D. C.—1398 population.” D. C. appeared to be a very small town, but with a bit of everything. They passed by a store simply named “D. C. General” and next to it even more simply named building, “Blacksmith.” The parallel blacktop and dirt roads became a theme for the streets in D.C., like streets and sidewalks. On the blacktop side, set a gas station—convenience store, “Joe C. Thompson’s.” Some of the shops seemed straight from an old-west movies while others were housed in mirror glass facades and neon signs. The McDonald’s looked like almost every McDonald’s Seth had ever seen. The D. C. Library looked a little like Seth’s old grammar school.

Now, a dozen or so cars motored on the blacktop, mostly classics from the forties and fifties, with a couple ’66 Mustangs and an ultra-modern sports car model Seth had never seen before. On the parallel dirt road, a couple of buggy’s like Sam’s and a few horseback riders traveled.

“Busy,” Sam observed despite there not being more than two dozen vehicles in sight. “I do not know if I will ever become used to those machines. It is lucky times have made them obsolete.”

“Why?” asked Seth.

“I have ridden in automobiles on occasion in the past, and the jolts to these old bones have been considerable. I must admit, however, at times these bones have been returned to the location of their origin after such a ride. One should journey in an automobile once a week, I think, simply to place one’s torso back into position.” He laughed. “Perhaps, I should learn to drive.”

The Colonel smiled. “If you mean that Sam, I think I could talk Amelia into teaching you.”

“Better her than Maggie. Do not get me wrong—my wife is a wonderful driver, but I do not think our marriage could survive the instruction.”

Barney turned right at Hannibal Street next to “Palace Saloon.” The buildings on Hannibal were residential, simple houses for the most part but of various styles. Sam pointed out 125 Hannibal as his house, but rode on for a few more houses on to number 133.

“This is my place, Seth,” the Colonel said of the American Craftsman styled house. “Thank you, Sam. I’ll see you for pot roast on Friday.”

“As always, I look forward to Amelia’s creations. Do feel her out on this idea of automobile lessons.” They shook hands. “Remember, dear Colonel, what I’ve told you for years—It’s not a home until…”

“I know Sam. I’ve already talked to Amelia about that, but I’ll mention driving lessons to her.”

Sam turned to Seth and shook his hand. “And Mr. Williams, sir, it is truly a good day when you make a friend, so for both of us it has been a very good day indeed. To you both, since I am in the mood for catfish for tomorrow, I shall keep our catch. If you want your own, we shall have to make another sojourn soon.” Seth took his backpack from the buggy, then Sam led Barney in the U-turn home and waved as he passed.

The two started for the door when Seth realized Sam had never given his last name. “Who is he, Colonel, his last name?”

“Clemens.”

They took a few steps before his new friend’s identity became clear to Seth. “You mean that was Mark Twain?”

The Colonel laughed. “Yes. Come on. Amelia is waiting. You have something in common with my wife and you are the only two people in the world who share it.”

“Is she famous? Is she a replica?”

“You may have heard of her, Amelia Earhart.” The Colonel’s hand pressed Seth shoulder to get him moving. The front open before they reached it, but no due to some futuristic sensor. Rather, a woman opened it for them. She was pleasant looking of the Colonel’s age, with short hair and wide set eyes. She smiled broadly.

“Well, hello Seth. Welcome.” She hugged him. “I’ve heard your story. You must be so tired. I want to show you the place, but you might prefer have me just show me your room and let you get some rest. If you’re hungry, let me know. Food is an instant away.” She paused briefly. “Oh, Talon, your dad wants to talk to you.”

“I imagine. Seth, make yourself at home.” The Colonel walked ahead and went into a room.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Seth said politely. “If it’s all the same, I think I’m more tired than hungry. I’d like to get some sleep.”

Amelia took him upstairs, to a room empty except for a large bed and a small table next to it. “I know it’s sort of spare of furniture now. Ha, a spare bedroom.” She smiled at her pun, and spoke quickly. “But, I don’t know what’s going to happen, so I left it simple for you. I

don’t want to get ahead of myself. Now, relax, sleep. Let me know if you’d like anything, to eat, to read, whatever.” She was either a hyper woman or excited about something.

“We’ll see tomorrow. I just want some sleep.” He sat on the bed and removed his Timex watch. It read 11:28 p.m. “What time is it here?” he asked.

Amelia checked her watch. “It’s 8:32.”

Seth set his watch and placed it on the table. It takes a licking and keeps on ticking.

Chapter Four— It’s a bad thing when you don’t believe your own words.

The next morning, it took a while to orient himself and to convince himself it was not an elaborate dream, but seeing the empty bedroom added punctuation to the sentence of his life now. Sam had said Antiquity wasn’t so bad and their goal was admirable, or at least understandable. Seth had been brought to this place due to no direct desire of Antiquity officials, but for reasons he did not know by a man named Lyndale. How did the jerk think he had a right to do it, Seth thought. How did Antiquity think they had a right either? He told himself not to go there, but the dislike tainted every thought and every act, never far from him. “No, not now,” he actually said aloud. “It could be worse, I guess…maybe.”

He looked from the window at the peaceful town of D. C., what little he could see of it. It bothered him a little that they had watched him throughout his escape with those little cameras. He wondered if some camera was watching him now. The Colonel and Amelia seemed sweet, holding nothing back that they didn’t have to, people just like all people doing their best. Fishing with Mark Twain was sort of cool. His old English teacher Moesha Barnes would have given her eyeteeth for the opportunity. Dr. Hammond was a tougher nut to crack. He did seem honest, but something more was there.

Seth realized he had slept in his clothes. While that didn’t bother him all that much, he figured it would bother those around him as the day progressed, especially since they still smelled a little of the lake. He went to the door he thought was a closet. Instead, it led to a bathroom, and door within that room opened to a closet. Amelia had hung a half dozen sets of clothes in his size. How did she know his size, but more importantly where did she get the clothes? He took a shower and dressed in a red striped shirt and jeans.

He left his room and went downstairs. The living room appeared average for the most part, a sofa and chair that could as easily have been in his own home, pictures on the walls, a piano at a corner, bookshelves. On a shelf rested one of the few items that seemed to belong to some future time, a helmet similar to his biker’s helmet but with a full face shield. The other main article in the room that spoke of a distant time was a globe like he’d seen in the lab, but this globe was much larger, about three foot diameter, lingering above a small table in the middle of the living room.

Amelia sat on the sofa, apparently not hearing his entry. She watched a 3D version of the movie Airport in the globe. He watched for a few moments from the stairs. Dean Martin lied to his wife about the flight attendant. When Amelia realized Seth’s presence, she said, “I’m a sucker for these old movies.” Then, she stopped the depiction, adding, “I bet you’re starved. Come to the kitchen.”

“You can watch your movie,” Seth said.

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen it. How does an omelet sound? I can make one from scratch or manipulate it, your choice. Frankly, I can’t tell much difference. Making it from scratch will take longer, though.”

“Whatever’s easiest.” He pointed at the helmet. “What’s that?”

“It’s a holo-helmet, sort of a 3D device have puts you into a situation. Let’s say you wanted to experience hitting a homerun in a baseball game. You can program it and have the experience. It’s kind of like a dream but more real.”

“They had virtual glasses in 2015. I never used any.”

“I couldn’t say,” Amelia admitted. “I’ve never seen virtual glasses. The helmet can be used in a lot of ways. I’ll show you when we have time.”

In the kitchen, she touched the lid of a pan, placed the pan on a stove for a minute and asked if he wanted milk or juice. He chose milk. She touched the lid of a glass. White milk appeared in the glass. Lifting the lid to the pan, she revealed an omelet, which she dumped onto a plate. She, then, set both on a table for him.

“How did you do that?” asked Seth in amazement.

“What?”

“Is it magic?”

“Oh cooking,” she said. “No, it’s not magic. They’ve discovered this thing they call ‘the nil’ and among other things, it can manipulate molecules. It can take H2O, CO2 and other trace molecules in the atmosphere, and then manipulate them into the more complex molecules of eggs and milk.”

“Is it safe to eat?”

“Of course, I don’t want to poison you, silly.” She laughed.

He picked at it with his fork. “Aren’t you eating?”

“I’ve eaten,” she said. “It’s about 9:00 o’clock now. I’ll have to give you that grand tour of the house I promised later. They’re expecting us at the Tower as soon as we can get there, but take your time. I don’t mean to rush you. That’s just what they want.” She used a cup and manipulated coffee in it.

Seth tasted the omelet. Very good, he thought, unable to tell anything strange about it. As he ate, Seth said, “You’re Amelia Earhart. Weren’t you lost at sea or something?”

“Yes, I was something of a pilot and I crashed. Talon came for my scan to replicate me here…that was a long time ago.” She rinsed the pan in the sink, but the scraps did not go down the drain. Instead, they seemed to vaporize.

Seth said, “Sam mentioned what they do here, at Antiquity. They’ve taken a lot of people from history to make a society.”

“I had crashed on an island with Fred Noonan.” She paused and sat at the table with her coffee. “He seemed like a nice man, but he died in the crash. I was there on the island a few weeks, lived in a cave, ate bananas, drank from a little waterfall. Like I said, Talon came to take a DNA sample and brain scan while I was asleep so they could replicate me, but I woke up while he was still there. I didn’t let on, but I could tell someone was there. After he came back through the portal, I saw that—I don’t know—haze. I followed him through it. God, that surprised everyone here. They figured that since no one in my time ever found me, my entry didn’t change their historic timeline. So, I’m the real person, not a replica, kind of like you. We’re the only two non-replicas from the past. After me, Antiquity added safeguards to avoid accidents like me.”

“Sam told me they replicate into artificial people. Who are they?” Seth finished his last bite.

“That’s really complicated. The artificials are clones who have only a basic human DNA pattern, not changed by years and years of evolution. Their DNA can be altered by samples by donors. So, the Antiquity people alter the DNA pattern into the replica’s, and program the brain scan. Sam’s an exact replica of Samuel Clemens. They went back and took samples, and turned an artificial into Sam.” She placed a small lid on her almost empty coffee cup. When she removed the lid, the cup was full. She didn’t seem rushed about the people who wanted him to go to the Tower.

“Aren’t the artificial people alive?”

“Yes they are, but they volunteer to be hosts.”

It all seemed bad to Seth, like Antiquity officials thought they could do whatever they wanted and control everything. He didn’t want to press a point with Amelia.

“Since I’m explaining things, Talon asked me to clarify something to you. Nowadays, people mostly travel using what they call ‘linear strings.’ Don’t worry, I’m not going to bore you with a lot of details. But it is safe. Time travel uses strings, too, and it’s safe, but you got caught up in a mess. You see, those same nils that can manipulate molecules are like imaginary points in geometry. The string connects the points, so you can travel from place to place along the string. Talon said you were cautious when he was going to string you home. I do understand. That’s why I don’t plan to string us to the Towers.”

He studied Amelia’s face. It held an eagerness and a kindness that he felt she kept hidden most of the time. “Can I say something and you not get mad?”

“Of course, Seth, say whatever you like.”

“You seem really nervous about something. Am I being told the truth…not just you by everybody?”

Her eyes filled, as if she was about to cry. “Yes, Seth. This thing that happened to you was an accident, and no one at Antiquity wishes you ill.” She sniffed to control herself. “I wasn’t going to tell you this. When I was young, I learned to fly. I loved it so, and I was so good at it. Flying was new, and very few women knew how. I made it a personal mission. I wasn’t going to let anyone or anything stop me from flying.” Seth thought about land skiing. “I was good. I won prizes. I broke records. And, I knew that the only person who could stop me would be me. It was tough to keep myself at the top. My twenties went by and my thirties went by. I married a man—his name was George—and I married him because I didn’t love him. We got along, and he helped my career. If I loved him, I’m afraid everything would have been different. I crashed three weeks before my fortieth birthday. Until I was on that island, I’d never thought about all the little but important things I had given up to follow that career.” She stopped speaking to halt was she was about to say. She took a deep sigh. “You see, Seth, I’ve never been good around kids. If I seem nervous, it’s because I really don’t know how to deal with you. It’s sort of like you not knowing how to deal with all of us.”

Seth felt he needed to change the subject. “You said you weren’t going to make me do that linear thing.”

“And I won’t.” She nodded in confirmation, glad he had brought up something different. “But not like that. I can’t take you like that. It would embarrass us both.” She smiled and looked at him. Amelia took a toy from her pocket. She held it in her right hand, and a black leather jacket appeared on the back of his chair. He saw the back of the jacket said “Seth” in fancy letters and pair of land skis pictured below it. “Make sure it fits. Talon told me about your land skis. Is it a good resemblance?”

“It’s great. That is too cool,” Seth said, putting the jacket on. “How did you do it?”

“It’s like the pan lid, but I’ll tell you that in a minute. Get it on, and let’s get a move on.” They went out the back door, and Seth saw a garage and a much larger building behind it. In the garage sat a beautiful, ancient, yellow car.

“What’s that?” Seth asked.

“That’s Yellow Peril, my Kissel.”

“Are we driving to the Towers?”

“We could—I do love that car, but I had something else in mind.” She led him to the large building and pulled open the massive door. Inside, Seth saw a very old-fashioned red plane. “This is my Lockheed Vega—my pride and joy.”

They moved to the plane, and she helped him in and harnessed him into the co-pilot seat. She started the loud engine. “Hold on.” She drove out of the hangar onto a path in their huge

backyard. Taxiing didn’t have the slick feel of planes he had been in. It was bumpy and ragged, but soon they lifted over the neighbor’s house. “The McMahons love when I do that.” She grinned, taking him into the sky. “I’ll show you part of the island.” Like a geek, she described the plane’s engine. It was almost identical to her old plane, except for the fuel tank, which manipulated the fuel and recycled exhaust into new fuel, creating a cycle. “They used the “Recycle Turbine” to give the feel of the old days. Most of the energy on Earth nowadays comes from Photosynthetic Cells, a genetic battery device using cloned animal and plant microbes that generate energy through photosynthesis.”

Seth heard the words, but most of them did not register. He became immediately enthralled with flying.

On one side, the mountains were much lower, like the Appalachians. Seth looked around and saw the large lake he had seen with Sam. Beyond the lake, the mountains were much higher and with white caps, like the Rockies. He had been in a plane only twice, and both times felt little different than being on a bus, but this flying pulled the air out of him, not in a discomforting way but rather exhilarating. Next to land skiing, Seth had never felt so thrilled.

“How high are we?”

“700 feet.” She pointed to the altimeter “How do you feel?” She talked loudly over the roar of the engine.

“This is fantastic.”

Amelia turned away from the taller mountains. Seth could see the ocean at a distance. As the slow turn continued, she headed down, leveling no more than 50 feet above the water. Seth saw a school of dolphins. He held on as she circled toward the five white towers and leveled out.

“Not so quick,” he said.

“I’m only going 80…is that too fast?”

“No, I mean don’t go there so soon. This is great.”

She laughed and took a much sharper curve, rising over the peaks. “Hold on,” she said.

Amelia spun through a roll, all the way upside down then leveling again. Seth’s stomach sank. “Excellent,” he said. They flew for a while.

While they flew, she explained a little more about the technology. She said that a “controller” was like the pan lid. The little device read commands directly through the nervous system via neuron signals in the hand. Their main function of a controller was to be a manipulator of molecules or to open string portals.

To use the lid, she thought the command: COMMAND… cook…ham and cheese omelet, with any adaptation to the recipe, like extra salt. The lid worked like a computer and translated the command into a program to manipulate molecules. For the jacket, she used the controller: COMMAND…create…leather jacket, with details of type and size and artwork. It appeared where she thought it to

She told him that for more complicated items, like the plane, the parts would need to be created and the item built by mechanics, for it to work properly, or else they would need a more complex controller called a Master Manipulator that had huge databases. The only mechanical part of the jacket was the zipper, and it was simple enough for a normal manipulator. Most regular things were.

The Coalition set some conditions over the use of Master Manipulators to stop misuse. Institutions like Antiquity had them, but few private parties did. Small controllers offered quite a bit of power, themselves.

“They’re expecting us, you know,” she said.

“I guess.”

She curved back toward the Towers.

In a few minutes, she made her approach at the Towers. With no runway, she landed on the meadow just beyond the courtyard. “I agree,” she said. “That beats stringing.” They unstrapped and exited the plane.

“Thank you,” Seth said as he hugged her. She messed his auburn hair as they walked to the courtyard and “Building One.”

“If you enjoyed flying, I can teach you how. Talon wants me to teach Sam how to drive. I need some jobs like that I think. Anyway, I have bad news,” Amelia said as they walked toward the building. “Everyone strings nowadays. They don’t have elevators, so we have to climb fifteen flights of stairs to Dr. Hammond’s office.”

Seth pondered a moment. “In my day, people paid to work out on stair exercise equipment.”

“In your day,” she repeated. “What are you 80?” She laughed.

#

Upstairs, in the office, Dr. Hammond and the Colonel were looking into a globe. The Colonel approached and gently hugged Amelia, while resting a consoling hand on Seth’s shoulder. The doctor looked at him and said, “Welcome.” He went to his desk and asked everyone to have a seat.

“It took you long enough,” the Colonel whispered.

“We took the scenic route,” Amelia answered.

When everyone was sitting, the doctor began. “By now, Seth, you have a decent idea of what’s going on, so I’m not going to waste much time clarifying for you. Dr. Titus Lyndale was an original founder of Antiquity, who had a dispute with a part of our mission, and he left the organization. At the time, CANAF intelligence tracked him to New Brisbane, Australia and continued monitoring him for the past eighteen years. He has been conducting extensive experimentation on neural scanning throughout the time, publishing regularly. Or, at least we thought this was true. Evidently, he had obtained a homo facticius before he left Antiquity.”

“Homo facticius?” Seth repeated.

“That’s the scientific name for artificial humans,” the Colonel whispered to Seth.

“He must have replicated himself and sent that replica to New Brisbane as a decoy. He found a location, yet undetermined, and insulated it from nanocams. It is not that difficult to block nanocams, Seth. We do not know what he did at that location.” For the first time, doctor showed an emotion with an innocent smile to the boy. “We have the technology to replicate homo sapiens’ DNA onto the basic DNA of the homo facticius, the artificial human. He must have perfected a means to replicate it onto previously coded DNA, himself in this case. We do not know what else he has been researching.”

“I have a question,” Seth said. “I don’t really understand all this, so this might be a stupid question.”

“Not at all, Seth, go ahead. I know this is hard for you.”

“Do you think the real Lyndale sent me here, or did he send another replica like the one in New Brisbane?”

“All artificials are accounted for and none have been kidnapped,” he said, then thought for a moment. “But he has had time to clone new homo facticius to maturity.” The doctor sat back in his chair and an amazed expression covered his face. His mind started to churn quickly. His fingers folded together in front of his face. “Seth, that is most definitely not a stupid question. We’ve been assuming the real Dr. Lyndale abducted you to escape into your century. Using a replica could explain a great deal, except motive. It would be much easier to erase subject coding onto a replicated homo facticius and re-code to a different subject’s scan, than to re-code a homo sapiens. Talon, do me a favor and go to research cube 1712. Brainstorm with them about the idea that he used a replica while I continue this briefing.”

The Colonel agreed and smiled broadly, with a sense of pride, about Seth as he left.

“Very perceptive, Seth,” the doctor said. “Background…yesterday morning, at about 7:00 am, Lyndale, or a replica of Lyndale, arrived at Antiquity harbor in a small ship. Security

did not intercept him since the ship appeared to be Greek. He made access into Building One. Portal Room One security denied his access and contacted CANAF, but Lyndale gained entry before we could stop him. A small Antiquity staff was present on nanocam deployment. The scientists there could not stop him from programming the portal and sending himself to 2015. You have first hand information of what happened next, but you do not know what happened in 2015 after you were sent to us. This will take a few minutes.”

He rose and went to the globe desk, asking Seth and Amelia to watch. His palm rested on a control panel, and a camera view appeared:

Seth, toting a handbag that should have been two sizes smaller so it could be concealed beneath a shirt, left his mom’s Buick Century, and defeated, slowly returned to the Food Lion. He meekishly watched Rachel from the corner of his eye as he entered. Seconds seemed like minutes that seemed like hours, as he looked down aisles for his mom. Finally, he found her in the produce section at the ten pound bags of potatoes. Seth unloaded the burden onto the cart.

“Thank you, Seth,” she said.

“Mom, can I land ski up to Paris Mountain for the day?”

“It’s supposed to rain late this afternoon. Will you be home by six?”

“Sure.”

“The guys will be home in a few weeks. Your summer will get better.”

“I know.”

In case she had noticed him with the purse, Seth ignored Rachel on his way out of the store. The Apex construction men were chasing some tall guy who ran behind the Food Lion. Seth pulled out a land ski to skateboard with and started to the site.

Dr. Hammond paused the globe. “I want you to see this before we go on.” He touched a second circle on the console, which rose into its own globe. The view was much closer to the construction site. “This occurred while you were in the store. Amelia, pay attention to this man. You may recognize him.”

A tall bald man of an odd olive complexion and in a white uniform of some type appeared from nowhere at the site. He was in the process of bending toward the drainage inlet. He lay on his stomach, and stuck his arm in the drain. A few seconds later, a pick up truck stopped and the construction workers exited.

“Who are you,” one yelled.

“That’s a restricted area,” said another.

They ran toward the area. One tried to hold the tall man, but he broke free quickly and began running toward the Food Lion. Seth recognized this was a different view of the same scene on the other globe, but followed the man. He ran about twenty feet behind the store and pressed something on his uniform. Then, he vanished completely.

“Did you recognize him Amelia?”

“God,” she sighed. “That was Harold Blackstone.”

“That’s an 89% probability; however, the DNA is actually of one Richard Collier. The DNA is 89% the same as Blackstone’s, not exact. I am still researching Collier.”

“Who’s Blackstone?” Seth asked. “And how did he just appear there?”

“Blackstone of the most notorious figures of the 21st century,” the doctor answered. “He killed millions in Chicago in the year 2019. We will tell you about him later. To your other question, I cannot explain his appearance or disappearance yet, beyond the fact he is not using technology we understand. Now, let’s watch what happened to you, that is, your replica.”

As Seth turned back to the globe, he thought about Blackstone. How could one man kill millions, and why? Seth would be 18 in 2019, starting college. He could have known the man without realizing. He could have seen him on the street.

Seth boarded on a land ski toward the construction site. The two construction workers who did not pursue the intruder knelt near the drainage inlet. One said that he saw some black thing, and tried reaching for it.

“What’s up,” Seth said.

“None of your business, kid,” the man standing said. “This is a work area, so get lost.”

“Wait,” said the other worker. “He might fit in. Kid, want to make a dollar? Look in here.”

Seth knelt at the inlet and saw a small, black ball. He tried to reach it, but it was a foot away from his fingertip. Seth jostled and squirmed into the opening, and inch by inch got closer. He finally grabbed it, egg-shaped and smaller than his palm. “Almost there,” he said. Seth stuck it in his shirt. “Shit,” he called out, “I knocked down the sewer. I can’t even see it now. Would you help me out?”

The construction workers pulled Seth out. One of them looked in the inlet and confirmed the thing was out of site.

“Where’s my dollar?”

“Bug off, you didn’t get it,” he said. “Now, this is a restricted area. You’d best get lost before someone sees you’re in a danger zone.”

Seth ski-boarded away, watchfully moving the egg into a pocket, while cursing them for not paying him.

Dr. Hammond said, “Initial scans show that ball-shaped item is only a carved lump of coal.”

“Coal?” Amelia repeated. “What would Blackstone be worried about a lump of coal for?”

“I don’t know that,” the doctor said.

“There’s something else strange,” Seth added. “I don’t curse, so I wouldn’t have said the ‘S’ word. My mother really gets onto me for it. About the only time I even get close to cursing is when she’s around. It’s kind of to irritate her, you know? I wouldn’t have said that. At least, I don’t think I would have.”

“Interesting, especially with what you will soon see,” the doctor observed. “From this point, Seth simply goes to his recreation site, Paris Mountain Park. Later, please watch the entire trip for abnormalities, but the trip takes close to an hour, and there’s something else I want you to see.” He touched both of the raised globes, which shrank very small, and touched another circle that rose into a new globe. “At this point in time, you have just—what is it?—land skied down a steep incline and stopped near a cave.”

“Yeah, I found that cave a few weeks ago.”

Seth took a small tumble near the bottom of the hill. While he did not fall, he stopped short where he might have continued. He found the cave entrance and speluncked about fifty feet in, to a spot where the cavity became quite small. He scooped down a few inches and placed the black egg in the hole and packed dirt over it. He withdrew a bottle of water and the contraption he had attacked the real Seth with from his backpack. Near the egg’s burial spot, he touched it to his neck. An expression of discomfort overtook him. In some pain, he placed the bar with the egg in the hole, dowsing them water and packing the hole tighter. As if about to faint, he laid down on the cave floor. Within a moment, he sat up. Something had changed in his expression. He stared at the wet spot oddly. Then, he crawled a few feet from the spot and uncovered a gold locket in a plastic bag from under a rock. He looked at it for few moments. Seth returned the locket to its spot and left the cave.

Seth looked very embarrassed. “OK, I stole it. It’s for my mom’s birthday. I was figuring out how to give it to her when I couldn’t afford it.”

Amelia said, “That’s all right Seth. We understand.”

“Yes, Seth,” Dr. Hammond agreed. “I’m not showing you this to prove some petty crime. Did you see what happened?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “First, I now anticipate your hypothesis is correct, and Lyndale secured or created an artificial in whom he replicated his own DNA and neural signature. In the parking lot, he acquired your signatures before sending you through the portal. In the car, he replaced his DNA with yours, but did not complete the replication, retaining his own neural pathways. He must have studied you, knew you made contact with that polished coal and had a potentially long-term hiding spot. Without changing the historic timeline, he followed your actions that day, while stowing the coal in the cave for future extraction. Once that was complete, he finished the replication process, replacing his neural signature with yours. Finally, the replica thinks he is the original and lives out your life without interruption.

“Wouldn’t he be confused waking up in the cave?” Amelia asked.

“He probably recorded the original trip that Seth took that day and added it to his memory. The only curiosity I noted was when the replica noticed the wet spot, inconsistent with the historic timeline.

“I bet that thing still be in the cave,” Seth said. “Now, the real Lyndale is going to walk in and get it.”

“My thought, as well, Seth, but it is much better hidden. On December 20, 2015, the cave collapsed, destroying the cave’s aperture. Lyndale must have known it would be secure for the two centuries. Before your hypothesis, I had imagined Lyndale had an accomplice to retrieve it now. I was bothered by the severity of Lyndale’s ambition in taking on an entire life for those few moments. Assuming he sent an artificial, the real Lyndale is very likely planning to retrieve it.”

Dr. Hammond returned to his desk. Through his controller, he contacted Lieutenant Axton and told him to assemble a party of eight, and to report to his office in thirty minutes. “I am sending CANAF to excavate the area later today.”

“I want to go,” Seth said.

“That would not be wise.”

“You’ve got all these cameras, but I know that cave and the whole place. I want to see my home if I can.”

On his controller, he contacted the Colonel to return to his office. “I want Talon to go with you then. I am going to prepare the team. It is now about 2:00 pm. You will leave at midnight, which will be about dawn at the site in the US.”

“Thank you, Phil,” Amelia said. “I know you wanted Seth to meet with Dr. Brockman. We will do that tomorrow.”

Seth stood from the seat, with his mind digesting a wad of new stuff, about Lyndale’s purpose, about Blackstone killing all of those people, about returning to Paris Mountain. It settled for a moment in a strange connection. “Doctor, I have another question that might be stupid.”

“I doubt that,” he answered.

“OK. A couple of things bother me. First—I’m not putting myself down or anything—but I’m just a kid. Why would Lyndale go to so much trouble to find out about me? I mean he had to have been cued into that Blackstone character and the egg. Then, he picked me out of the line-up.”

“That’s logical,” the doctor said. “Lyndale must have learned about Blackstone’s brief appearance. We have many thousand historians in the Towers studying minute details of history through nanocams. Lyndale must have discovered that appearance.”

“But, Lyndale’s not a historian, is he? I thought he was a scientist. From what you said, he may have grown his own artificial people. He has to be doing that for a reason. He’s not spending his time on watching a camera, except when it suits him. Besides that, we just saw it and we don’t have a clue why the egg is important. Doesn’t he have to have a source for that info?”

“I do follow you,” the doctor agreed. “What is your thought?”

“Bear with me. We have a guy able to grow artificial people for some reason we don’t know, to turn them into other people, to be fascinated by the dark side, and to know more about this egg thing. Could he have had access to a time machine?”

“Considering his other accomplishments, he may have been able to build a master portal, but that’s highly restricted architecture.”

“Then, why couldn’t he do the same things you guys do? I mean, recreate Blackstone here and learn about the egg first-hand?”

A stunned look enveloped Dr. Hammond’s face. “God,” he gasped. His brain seemed to be searching for an answer. “We have strict controls over some of the technology for time travel. Besides, he had to use our time portal to go to your time. So, it is reasonable to assume that he doesn’t have one of his own.” He didn’t seem satisfied with his own answer. It’s a bad thing when one doesn’t believe one’s own words.

Seth and Amelia left the office and found the Colonel in the hall. “We’re going home,” said Amelia. “Your dad will explain, Talon.”