John Schettler - Touchstone

“No!” Robert’s tone was even more adamant. “Until we decide what to do? Listen to yourself, Paul. How long might that take? We can’t keep the Arch running forever—and I damn well won’t be a prisoner here because of a glitch in your time theory.”

“It’s more than a glitch, Robert—it’s Paradox. Christ, we’ve one member of the team down already. Now what if you vanish in a haze the instant we set foot outside this lab?”

“I won’t,” said Nordhausen. “I’m a Free Radical—you said it yourself—and more than that: I’m a Prime Mover. My head is a living process. It’s a mini-Nexus all on its own. Time wouldn’t dare lay her greedy little hands on me. I was the one who deciphered the Palma clues that led us to Minifir. I’m an original Founding Father. You hear me?” He shouted that last bit at the ceiling, not at Paul, as if he were hurling a challenge at Mother Time herself, daring her to interfere.

“No,” he said again. “Kelly’s down, and I’m responsible—responsible for it all —for every living being outside that door: all the misery, the suffering, for everything that’s going amiss now, or ever will go wrong because of my foolish meddling. It all depends on me. I’m the one that caused it, and if time wants me, then by God, let her have me. But I’ve got to see about Kelly, one way or another, no matter what happens.”

His expression was almost pleading now, tormented by everything he had concluded. Paul knew that there would be no stopping him, so he stepped quickly to Nordhausen’s side, putting his arm on his shoulder.

“Then we’ll go together,” he said with finality. “I’ll second your motion. If time wants to pick a fight with you, then I’ve got your back, Robert. She’ll have to take on the two of us. Let’s go.”

They started for the door. In spite of his resolve, Nordhausen could not help the thumping of his heart as they pushed it open and stepped into the foyer. His mouth was dry and a sheen of sweat misted his brow. The cooler air of the outer foyer played upon his forehead, giving him a momentary start when he felt the chill.

He hesitated, a shiver taking him as he stood there. What if Paul was right? Then he felt his friend’s reassuring touch at his elbow, and his strength returned.

“I’m a bloody damn Prime!” he bellowed, his voice echoing in the foyer. “You want me? Here I bloody well am!”

Paul could not help smiling, in spite of his own anxiety. As they pressed ahead, he cast furtive glances this way and that, as if he expected to see a pack of ravenous hounds fall upon them the instant they set foot outside the door. There was a bluster of wind outside, a low growl that preyed upon his emotions.

But nothing happened to them. They pressed on, Nordhausen boldly pushing at the outer door until it gave way and they were out in the twilight of the early evening as it settled on the parking lot.

“Well, that’s done it,” Paul breathed. “We’re outside the Nexus for sure now. How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” said Nordhausen. “I told you, Paul. You said it yourself. We’re all Prime Movers now—possibly more. We’re imperative to the whole notion of time travel. You don’t fuck with an imperative, my friend. I’m fine—you’re fine— “

“Then what’s happened to Kelly?” said Paul, and a bit of the bravado eclipsed in Nordhausen’s eyes. “I wouldn’t be so smug until we figure that out, Robert. But the fact that I was proven wrong just now leads me to believe that the Nexus is deeper than we thought. It’s not just the physical Nexus about the Arch now… it’s something more. Time is waiting. She isn’t certain what to do. I’m not exactly certain either, but whatever the answer is, you and I have something to do with the outcome.”

The two men had much on their minds as they drove to University Hospital. When they got there, they rushed to Kelly’s room, and met a worried Maeve Lindford, pacing the hallway in front of his door. She was wearing a casual khaki colored suit over a loose white silk blouse. She had evidently been called away from her classroom, since she was carrying her pigskin book bag slung over her shoulder and had a brace of dry-erase markers in her breast pocket.

As soon as she noticed the two men, she hurried down the hall toward them, and said, “The doctors don’t know what’s wrong with him, none of the medicine seems to have any effect on him… he’s disoriented… in and out of consciousness, and…” She gave them both a searching look. “I think it might be temporal… some kind of after effect from the first project drop. God only knows. I thought you said you two had this figured out!” She wheeled in anger. “So what are you going to do now?”

Dorland held up his hands in front of him warding off the emotional onslaught. “Maeve, we don’t know what’s going on just yet. Let’s not jump to conclusions. Calm down—”

She cut in. “Don’t give me that. You know exactly what is going on here. One of your time shenanigans is expressing itself! Some consequence from whatever you two have been up to since you started that machine up again.”

“Maeve…” Nordhausen tried to intercede.

“And you! You are in this hand and glove! Are you satisfied? Kelly’s life signs are so faint they can barely read him at times. Damn it! Fix this—now!”

“Please, Maeve, we can’t talk about the project here,” said Paul. “There are too many variables.” He looked around him, noting the passing of nurses and orderlies in the halls, and the open doorways leading to other rooms.

Lindford pulled herself together, and brushed back a loose strand of red hair that had gotten in her face. “Yes, I understand but…” She broke down, her voice choked with emotion.

Paul and Robert instinctively went to comfort her. “Come,” said Robert. “Let’s get out of the hall.”

It was a semi-private room, and Kelly’s bed was screened off by an opaque blue curtain. Paul peeked behind it, thankful that there was no other patient occupying the other bed. His eyes were immediately drawn to his good friend Kelly, who lay on an adjustable bed, as though paralyzed. He was hooked up to heart monitor, a glucose drip, and an EKG record brain wave response. The lines were moving, tracing a thin milky phosphoresce on the monitor screens, but there was little life to them.

Kelly’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused. His head lolled in their direction, as if he was aware of their presence. Paul leaned in, talking to Kelly as he knelt by the bed.

“Hello, mister. It’s me. Can you hear me, Kelly? How did this happen to you?”

“Just came on…” Kelly’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Has this ever happened to you before?”

Kelly seemed to gain a bit of strength. “I’ve had random fits where I felt… precarious. You know… Like that night on the project. I felt like I was slipping… Like I might just vanish into nothing.” His breathing was labored as he spoke.

“Stop it, Paul!” Maeve hissed. “See how he is? It’s temporal variance—I’m certain of it. If we had a lab machine hooked up to him you’d probably say his pattern signature was fading or something. Can’t you see it? I thought putting that DVD in the memorial was supposed to fix all this! Why is this happening?”

Paul gave her a serious look, deep in thought. “Kelly,” he said again, with more urgency. “Please, I have to know if this came on suddenly, or if this is an effect that has been accumulating over time.”

“What?” Kelly closed his eyes.

“Kelly. Kelly Ramer! Listen to me! When did this happen? Can you remember that?”

“When?”

“Oh, leave him alone, Paul,” Maeve protested again. “I can tell you exactly when it happened. Come outside. Robert, you stay here with Kelly.”