Eric Flint - Time spike

"What's this all about, Richard?" he asked softly. He pushed aside his plate, having finished the steak and baked potato. "And please spare me the bullshit." Margo wondered how Richard was going to finesse the question. Then, seeing the expression on his face, she realized hewasn't going to finesse it. She started to place a restraining hand on his sleeve. Then, realizing how pointless that would be, almost snatched the hand back. Then, to her discomfort, saw that Nick Brisebois hadn't missed that either. "Speaking of secretive," he added. Morgan-Ash gave him a thin smile. "Would you settle for 'need-to-know'?" "Not likely, buddy. Seeing as how I could just as easily turn the question around. Why are a mathematician and"-he poked a thumb in Margo's direction-"a specialist in whichever arcane branch of physics she works in, the name of which I don't remember and it didn't mean squat to me anyway, rooting around in southern Illinois and expressing a burning interest in whatever happened to a state prison?" He leaned back in the booth seat, his hands planted firmly on the table. "No. Please. Don't tell me you think this wasn't a natural disaster and the authorities are actually covering up flying saucers."

Morgan-Ash's smile widened. "You mean thisisn't Roswell? But I would have sworn the sign specified Route 51." Brisebois chuckled. "It's Area 51, dimwit. And don't tell me a light infantry officer who could make his way through the Falklands doesn't know the difference between Illinois and New Mexico. Area 51's in Nevada, anyway." Richard was the only one of the three still working at his meal. He ate the same way he did his professional work. Slowly and meticulously. "Well, no. In fact, both Margo and I are quite sure that a natural disaster is involved. Not a flying saucer anywhere in sight. What we also believe, however, is that the authorities are maintaining a veil over exactly what sort of natural disaster it is." Brisebois stared at him for a moment. Then he shifted the stare to Margo for a longer moment, before bringing his eyes back to Richard. Suddenly he grinned from ear to ear. "My God. Richard Morgan-butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth-Ash. A genu-ine Grantville Freak. Who woulda thunk it?" He clapped his hands and started rubbing them together. "Join the club, you Johnnie-come-latelies. You should've told me right at the beginning, though. My buddy Tim in the state police is a charter member. That would havereally gotten his interest sparked." Richard was almost gaping at him. Margo suddenly realized shewas gaping at him. Hastily she shut her mouth. Brisebois flashed her that same, slightly sardonic grin. "What, Ms. Glenn-Lewis? Did you honestly think the two of you were the only skeptics in the country regarding the Of-fi-cial explanation of the Grantville Disaster? For Pete's sake, my garbage collector thinks it's garbage-and he knows garbage when he sees it."

Not knowing quite what to say, she slipped into being defensive.

"Well, there are actually more than just the two of us. We…

Well." Now a little flustered, she asked the first question she could think of. "How didyou get interested in the matter?" "My ex-wife.

Laura got her Ph. D. in European history not long before we split up.

The one more-or-less solid fact that slipped out from under the government's quarantine was that the material transposed with Grantville was of German origin. Probably from the first half of the seventeenth century." "Yes, that's right." "But they claim they found no remains, except those of a small number of people. No villages, towns, nothing. Just a few bodies, right?" Margo and Richard nodded together. Nick shrugged. "Well, Laura told me that had to be nonsense.

Because, according to her, any time after the middle ages you couldn't have foundany part of Germany six miles in diameter that didn't have at least one village in it. It wasn't exactly the Wild West." He looked through the window at the darkness outside. His expression seemed a little sad, although Margo wasn't sure because of the dim lighting in that corner of the diner. "Laura's got a more… Well, let's just say that my view of the world is harsher than hers. She assumed that what was involved was simply error on the part of the investigators. Me, I figured we could just as easily be looking at a cover-up. Because-what if the information is true?" His eyes came back to them. "Huh? What then?" He jerked his head toward the window. "Who do they have, somewhere out there, in some sort of witness protection program? Or, more likely, locked up somewhere and they're trying to figure out how to lose the key?" Margo had… never thought about it, she realized. So far as she knew, neither had any of the scientists in The Project. Their approach to the mystery of the Grantville Disaster had been entirely driven by interest in the physical phenomena involved, and what they implied about the universe.

Their frustration with the authorities and their tendency to be secretive about their work was simply a matter of finagling the needed funds to do the research. It wasn't as if they'd everreally thought there was a conspiracy involved on the highest levels. Not, at least, a conspiracy that went beyond the rather humdrum tendency of most establishments to keep a lid on truths simply because they might prove somehow awkward. More a matter of bureaucratic reflex than conscious thought. Much less… With some annoyance, she realized that a corner of her brain-obviously located somewhere in the primeval stem-was distracting her with its muted chortling. So. There's one question answered. No, he is not married. Richard pulled out his BlackBerry and punched in a number. After a pause, he spoke into the receiver. "Leo? Richard here. I think you'd best come down here yourself. Bring Malcolm also. And Karen, if she can get away. And call my wife and tell her I won't be back for a bit." There was another pause, as he listened. "No, that won't be necessary. It's not that urgent, and that's an extra expense for no purpose. We have a rental vehicle already. We'll pick you up at the St. Louis airport once you let us know your flight and estimated time of arrival." He disconnected. "This will all prove quite interesting, I believe."

Chapter 10 Anyone not on duty was crowded into the administrative building's second floor briefing room. Over two hundred men and women stood shoulder-to-shoulder to hear what had happened to them, and what they could do about it. Forty-two from the night shift, and over a hundred and thirty from afternoons. Forty guards had not been able to make it. They were the temporary crew standing watch so the others could attend the meeting. Kathleen had made arrangements to tape the proceedings, so that once their shift ended they could hear and see what had taken place. The Quiver-that's what those who had talked to Edelman were calling it-had taken place fifty-eight hours back. Since then a dozen guards had left, looking for home and family members-and all of them had returned within a few hours, some of them downright terrified. They'd returned with stories of strange animals, stranger insects, and no roads and no homes. The prisoners had also heard the stories. They knew what had happened. But so far their reaction had been subdued. There had been no confrontations. Even the inmate fistfights that normally erupted almost hourly had disappeared. The prisoners seemed to be holding their collective breath, waiting to see what was going to happen next. As one guard put it, they probably felt safer behind their bars than they would outside them. Most of the guards and all of the department heads knew this situation would change soon. There were over twenty-five hundred prisoners inside the walls and just a little under two hundred guards watching them, divided into two twelve hour shifts. That was a very dangerous ratio.

Andy stood to the left of Joe Schuler. Rod Hulbert stood at his right.