Sliptime Read online

  “Yea, who’d you think I was?”

  “Sorry, I thought you were a stranger watching my house. I . . . just wanted to scare you away.” Ben shivered as the snow melted down his ankle and into his slippers.

  “Yea, and you did. Probably didn’t recognize me in this rental. My wife has my car now, and the kids. I’m supposed to pick up my kids tonight, but I’m a little early. I’m not—”

  HONK!

  Ben turned and saw a pickup skidding to a stop behind him. Tire chains gouged the slick surface as chunks of ice flew through the air. He stepped back and turned to Mr. Panzinni. “I’m going to help push. We’ll need to rock the car back and forth to get you out.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Ben glanced at Mr. Panzinni’s house. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I hope your—”

  “Need some help here?” The driver from the pickup truck wore a black down coat and white baseball cap.

  “Yes, please,” Mr. Panzinni said.

  “Let’s get you outta there.” The truck driver eyed Ben’s slippers, but didn’t comment.

  Both Ben and the truck driver climbed onto the drift and pushed as the driver tried to rock the car. The right front tire had dug itself into a pothole. They made slow progress until all at once the front end of the car seemed to lift up and shot back away from the drift. It felt as if superman had pushed the car out. The truck driver looked at him surprised. Ben shrugged and then looked for his right slipper, which had come off in the drift. His bare foot prickled against the ice.

  Mr. Panzinni thanked them and drove away. As the truck driver left, his tire chains rattled over the icy surface. Ben found his snow-filled slipper in the drift. As he jogged back to the house, he saw odd tracks in the snow. The marks looked like a round heel and three large toes. Whatever did this was heavy enough to break the ice and scuff the pavement beneath. Ben’s eyebrows shot up when he realized the tracks led toward his house.

  As he walked back, Ben noticed a familiar face sitting in a parked car facing the other direction. The man met Ben’s eyes and then turned away. Could be a neighbor. Maybe. As Ben entered the house, he remembered where he’d seen him before—in GranPat’s cellar laboratory. FBI’s Agent Lovitsky.

  Ben returned to his room, locked the door, and pulled down the window shade. “Agent Lovitsky, if you’re listening, I want you to leave us alone. Go save somebody who needs and wants your help, otherwise, fuck off!”

  Pain shot through his right foot as the circulation returned. He leaned forward and peeked around the window shade. Agent Lovitsky had left. Ben returned to his homework, but wished he could lead a normal life without agents vying for GranPat’s tech. “Will they ever leave us alone?” he said to the empty room, arms raised.

  Vsshhhh-click. The barely audible sound emanated from somewhere in the room.

  Ben swallowed. He had excellent hearing and a vivid imagination. While pretending to read his book, he held his breath and listened, but the sound didn’t repeat. Creeping toward the closed closet door, he grabbed a wooden baseball bat along the way. He flung open the closet door, ready to swing at whomever, or what-the-fuck-ever, hid inside, but saw no bogeyman. Was something wrong with the furnace? No. I heard–something.

  Ben grabbed his books, marched into Jack’s old room, locked the door, and sat down at the desk. As he opened his Biology book, a creak sounded in the hall. He held his breath to listen more closely, but the sound didn’t repeat. Outside, the frigid wind beat the house until the wall moaned. Just the wind. Ben took a deep breath and began to study in earnest, or so he hoped.

  Chapter 2

  Ben finished a draft outline for his science project, and heard his parents return from the grocery store. The smell of rotisserie chicken wafted up the stairwell and drove him mad. Though trying to cut weight for wrestling, he knew the apple he’d eaten earlier wasn’t enough. He craved protein. Avoiding soda and other sweet drinks, he made sure he drank plenty of water. He hoped to drop his body fat, which had been okay for football, and concentrate on maintaining the lean muscle he needed for wrestling. In spite of all this, he dreamt of the secret stash of chocolate his parents hid in the freezer.

  Loping down the stairs two at a time, he dashed into the living room. His parents sat on the couch close to each other watching the news. “You guys are so busted!”

  Dad had a small plate of chocolate crème cookies and a glass of milk, while Mom crunched into a triple chocolate ice cream bar.

  Mom smiled and motioned toward the kitchen. “Hungry? Grab a plate.”

  Ben’s mouth watered. “Did you buy the clementines?”

  “Yep,” Dad said. “In the fridge. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks,” Ben said. “Oh, by the way, I saw Agent Lovitsky out front tonight.”

  Dad’s shoulders tensed. “Did you talk to him?”

  “No. But he took off after I made eye contact.”

  “John,” Mom said, “should we call the FBI and complain?”

  “I’m not sure if Agent Lovitsky still works for them. I’ll speak with your father first. He’ll know what’s going on.” John squirmed in the chair and made eye contact with Ben. “Son, they’re still watching us.” Dad tapped his finger against his lips and mouthed, “Be careful.”

  Ben nodded. “They should stop wasting their time.” Does Dad think the house is bugged? Either way, I can’t get caught using the medallion.

  Inside the kitchen, Ben found the Foodland garlic and herb rotisserie chicken on the countertop with a Styrofoam container of carrots and peas. He grabbed a tall glass of water, a small plate of chicken, vegetables, and three clementines. Kipper, the family dog, sniffed the air and tracked his every move. “Hi, girl. Behaving yourself?” He refilled her water bowl from his glass.

  Kipper, a collie-terrier cross, wheeled over and lapped the water vigorously. Her damaged back legs dangled from the leather harness, but she didn’t seem phased by her injury. Ben rubbed her soft reddish fur. Although physically damaged in the same vehicular accident that took Jack’s life, she was otherwise herself. Survivors adapt.

  Ben joined his parents in the living room and flopped down onto the recliner. He saved the citrus for last. The sharp tangy scent filled the air and lodged under his fingernails when he peeled the fruit. Mom finished her ice cream and smiled at him.

  “How are you feeling?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Good.” He swallowed the sweet juicy fruit.

  The television screen flashed to a table of experts. A CNN newswoman described an extraordinary breakthrough in the design and potential use of human implants for a wide variety of health concerns. Health and Human Service’s Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and Homeland Security’s Science and Technology (S&T) division had cosponsored studies based on recent federal research discoveries. The National Institutes of Health facilitated and tracked applied science research grants for pharmaceutical companies and medical institutions.

  “Are you still trying to lose weight?”

  “Yep, ten pounds to go.”

  “You don’t have to do that. We don’t want you to get sick or dehydrated. You’re still growing.”

  Dad held up his hand and motioned toward the television. “Listen.”

  The news anchor turned to their economic advisor. “The market’s down for the fifth straight week after losses in the energy sector related to oil futures. New applications of the recently discovered solar energy storage chip may turn the economy on its ear. Tech companies are scrambling to get access to the chip. This discovery, a product of a past President’s solar energy research agenda, may have us all in solar cars, buses, and trains within two years. Fossil fuels and gasoline engines may go the way of the horse drawn buggy.”

  “This could really impact our lives,” Dad said. “As a mechanic, I need to think about what this means for my business.”

  “After all we have been through, you saw this coming. Right, Dad?”

  “Yeah, but people have talked about this s
tuff for decades. The public doesn’t know the tech came from Terra. Not yet anyway. I guess I thought things would happen more slowly.”

  Ben shrugged. “Well, the clock is ticking on global warming. I’m glad they’re moving fast. We need to turn this thing around so your grandkids can still breathe the air.”

  “You’re right,” Mom said. “I saw how the planet Erde had poisoned their own atmosphere. Their world looked almost dead.”

  “It was awful.” Ben nodded and wondered what happened to Ben-Gen, his cyborg doppelganger on Erde.

  “Honey,” Mom said. “Let’s drive up to see Pops in Carmichael this weekend. He can tell us what’s going on and what to expect. We need a little peek into the future.”

  Ben popped another citrus wedge into his mouth. “Not me. I have practice on Saturday.”

  Dad frowned. “I have two cars scheduled for repair on Saturday. Maybe we can drive up on Sunday.”

  “Sunday sounds good,” Mom said.

  Ben’s cell phone wailed the song “Paradise” by Coldplay in his pocket. “Gotta go.” He grabbed the rest off his plate and ran toward the stairs.

  “Say hello to Trudy for us,” Mom grinned.

  Ben climbed the stairs. “Hey, Sparkles.” Trudy, a tall thin brunette, often wore glitter makeup around her eyes. He enjoyed spending time with her.

  “Hey, Bean,” Trudy said.

  Ben marveled at how the nickname had stuck. He liked it much better than Chuck Thompson’s who everyone knew as ‘Donut Hole.’

  When Ben reached his room he threw open the door, but it banged against something solid and knocked him sprawling back on his butt. He dropped his clementine on the hallway floor. “What the hell?”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Trudy over the phone.

  “Ah, sorry. Ran into the door.” Ben stood, and pushed the door slowly until it opened all the way. Nothing blocked the area. “Hold on.” No one else was in the room. The closet door was still open. Ben looked under the bed. No bogeyman, but something smelled like the synthetic oil in Dad’s garage. Weird.

  He went back into Jack’s room, locked the door, and stretched out on top of the bed. “Okay, I’m back. Everything’s ok.”

  “I wish you would run into me,” Trudy said.

  “Ahhh—”

  “I haven’t seen you outside school for a week. Miss you, little butt.”

  “Miss you too,” Ben said. “Between homework and practice, I’ve been busy.”

  “I know. Swim meets and practice keep me tied up too. Let’s go out Saturday night. Just you and me.”

  “I might have to go with my Dad to Carmichael.” On Sunday.

  “I’ll make it worth your while . . .”

  Ben swallowed. “Ah, okay. I’ll check with my Dad about the trip.”

  “You won’t regret it, Beanie. Remember what we talked about? The first time should be special.”

  “I do. Okay. Saturday night, see you at—”

  “See you at eight.”

  Ben sighed. Trudy wanted to have sex. They’d been dating for four months, but he’d never gone all the way with her. She wanted him to be her first and vice versa. A year older than him, she assumed they were both virgins.

  He could never, ever, tell her he’d had sex with her sister Ruth’s doppelganger on a world called Terra. Especially since Trudy didn’t know about Terra, teleportation, or that he’d fallen for, and slept with, someone who looked exactly like her sister. On Star Trek, Captain Kirk always slept with the blue alien girl and didn’t blink. What would Kirk advise him? Go boldly where no man has gone before?

  Why not? Because he didn’t want to get Earth’s Trudy pregnant, or be responsible for her baby in high school. Sure. He had the lesson on contraception in school, but nothing was 100% effective except abstinence. Jack had busted Ben’s ass about having sex with Ruth on Terra. Even though Ruth had a contraceptive implant, it wasn’t foolproof. Terra had implants for men, but they weren’t available for guys on Earth. Not yet anyway. He felt like he’d already dodged a mortar round on Terra, and though he liked Trudy, getting her preggers wasn’t part of his plan.

  Ben wanted to focus on his school, sports, and eventually earn a scholarship to either MIT or Carnegie Mellon. Trudy had similar dreams, and he didn’t want to muck them up. He liked her too much, but wasn’t sure he loved her. At least not yet. She was a smart girl and would understand, right? But how do I tell her?

  Ice-cold wind buffeted the house’s frame as it clicked and groaned under the barrage. Storms seemed to be getting worse lately. The hallway creaked. He rolled off Jack’s bed to see if Dad was upstairs and heading for bed. Maybe he could talk to him about Trudy.

  Vsshhhh-click.

  Ben yanked the door to the hall open, but saw no one there. What the hell was happening? A shiver ran through him. Who do I talk to about going crazy?

  Chapter 3

  Patrick McDugan stepped outside his back door onto the deck. The stars over Carmichael shone upon Earth like promises in the cold night air. He attacked the two-foot snowdrift with his shovel and cleared a path to the stairs. While taking a breather, the frigid air burned his throat and nostrils. The exercise felt good, but he knew better than to overload his heart at his age. He began a path toward his new, screened gazebo, erected in the same location as Albert’s gazebo on the mirror world, Terra. Albert, his doppelganger, project partner, and sometime rival, lived but a blink away.

  Once he cleared the path to the gazebo door, he walked inside. The wind blew fine snow through the plastic mesh, dusting the chairs and tables within. Patrick brushed off a chair, lifted a cushion, and searched for an absent note. He sighed, sat, and remembered a fine breakfast he’d once had with Miss Betsy on Terra. She was Albert’s wife and the living doppelganger of his deceased wife, Betty. Patrick and Betsy had become good friends during Albert’s incarceration by the CSD and FBI last summer. Now he only saw her in Albert’s presence and infrequently at that. It’s been 2 months.

  He’d made love to Betsy once. After he’d saved and returned Albert to her on Terra, he promised himself he would stay away from her and respect the fact she was married. He missed her, but not as much as he missed his wife, Betty, gone now almost seven years. Still, each night he checked under the cushion, a predetermined drop for messages between them last summer. He looked up at the empty bedroom window of his house, removed his gloves, and fished out his portal medallion. No. It’s wrong. A gust of wind slashed at the wire mesh as if to numb his fingers.

  God forgive me. He set the coordinates and crossed slide-ways to a similar gazebo on Terra. The stars were gone. A heavy snow fell from a dark and cloudy sky blanketing the yard. He glanced at the house and then back to her chair, her cushion. He looked underneath. Nothing.

  Patrick gazed at her bedroom window through the thick falling flakes. She stood by the dresser mirror and brushed her hair. He held his breath.

  She stroked her long gray hair with her back to the window. She must have seen him in the mirror, because she hesitated mid-stroke and turned to stare at the gazebo.

  Patrick gasped and fumbled at the medallion. Just before he disappeared, he glimpsed a shadow move through the dark living room window on the first floor. He slid back home. Shit, that was stupid. So much for not overloadin’ me heart.

  He went back inside his house and peered out toward the gazebo. Nothing moved outside, but the wind and the drifts. His property had once been an interplanetary war zone for an hour, now repaired, courtesy of the feds who restored his house, lawn, trees, and driveway. They even built a steel mesh fence topped with barbed wire around his property. At the bottom of the drive stood an electronic security gate and a guard post, though it was rarely staffed the last two months.

  Patrick hung up his winter gear, kicked off his boots, and climbed upstairs to grab a shower before bed. He downed his vitamins and a small aspirin for his heart. The hot water felt like needles on his back, hands, and feet, until his skin adjusted to the temperature. S
team filled the shower stall and eventually fogged the mirror. He shampooed his hair and lathered his face, but froze when he heard the bathroom door creak open.

  “Mind if I join you?” a woman called.

  His chest constricted. “Betsy! I, ah . . .” He blinked the water from his eyes. Albert would kill me if he found out.

  She removed her coat and nightgown. “Bump over, handsome.”

  “I was just—” Patrick covered up with his hands.

  “Peeping?” she laughed. “I know you still care for me. I hoped you’d show up sometime.”

  “What about Albert?”

  “Down in his basement lab as always,” Betsy said.

  “No, I mean, you still love him. Right?”

  “I love you both. Now, could you please wash my back?”

  He did as she asked and hoped the aspirin would help.

  The next morning, Patrick drove to Science and Technology’s Carmichael laboratory that Homeland made available to him and their research staff. Since the failed invasion attempt from Erde, Patrick had made several agreements with Dr. Phylo Caliban, Director of S&T. First, and foremost—discover if Erde had sent its own teleportation beacon to Earth.

  During the ‘One Hour War’ (OHW), S&T’s technicians had detected a portal open and close high over Carmichael, PA. Based on a fuzzy radar detection data, something may have come through the gap from Erde. Patrick needed to find, neutralize, and contain the bogey, as well as develop a security assessment for S&T. If Erde had planted a beacon on Earth, Erde could invade at will.

  Secondly, Patrick had agreed to conduct a classified study of the deactivated Erdian robotics and debris found within the warzone. The OHW took place on Patrick’s property, before he’d been able to shut down his prototype beacon and the invader’s portal. Erde’s robotic technology was far more advanced than anything found on Earth. Although many robots had been destroyed during the OHW, the bots disabled by US Special Force pulse rifles had survived relatively intact, except for their circuitry. All robots and robot parts had been moved to the S&T lab. Minus one.