Chapter 1

Dr. John Crichton gathered his briefcase and sucked down the last pulpy bits of a glass of orange juice. He had considered taking the day off from classes, but with finals being next week he decided against it ; his students would need his guidance even more now. Rubbing bleary eyes, he locked the door to his rented cottage, and stepped out into the cool morning mist of south Florida. All traces of the previous evening's meteor shower were hidden in the soft dawn light. Climbing into his Volvo, he adjusted the mirrors, and belted the seat. The sounds of NPR filled the car, and Crichton surveyed the traffic before pulling out onto the road. He had a full day ahead of him with classes, advising sessions, not to mention his new proposal to IASA regarding the mysterious wormhole that swallowed his daughter's ship. Since that terrible afternoon, television pundits had exhausted every physicist and astronomer in the Northern hemisphere for opinions as to what caused the disappearance of Kate Crichton, but her father knew what it was, as did her grandfather, and the chances of Kate still being alive were--well, there just wasn't a chance. Crichton shook his head to clear his mind of the awful picture of his daughter's final moments. Prior to her loss, he had been troubled by scenes of Caroline's last moments. Though he couldn't say that he loved Caroline, he did feel an affection for her that he had never experienced before.

Crichton pulled into the parking lot and within moments was in his office on the third floor of Kepler hall. The stack of messages that pooled this time of year had considerably shrank, but as the anniversary approached, news programs would inevitably contact him for a comment, or his opinion, or his thoughts 1 year later, then 2 then 3. This year, he had declined to comment, the pain still too real to feel it on global television. Millions of people shaking their collective heads, but not even coming close to understanding his pain.

Amy Richards, his teaching assistant came in with a foamy cappuccino and set it down beside him. He knew that she had more than a passing interest in him, but he couldn't bring himself to get beyond the first date with anyone. That didn't, however, stop Amy.
I thought you'd like a danish. I know you haven't eaten anything.
I'm not hungry. What time's the meeting with Randall?
10, but I can run interference if you need me to. She sat down across from his desk and removed a stack of papers that he had given her to grade on Friday.
You know, you missed a really good time Friday night.
How do you know? He looked at her directly with a look that conveyed his desire to be left alone.
It won't always be like this, someday it won't hurt as much. Someday you'll-
I'll what? Wake up and forget that my daughter is missing, probably dead, like her mother, and my mother, and every woman that I've ever cared for? Excuse me, I have a class.


The first ten minutes of class were the worst. He looked to the seat where Kate had spent three semesters, taking every class he taught. Dean Whittier had thought it a bad idea that Kate take her father's classes, but when he saw that she excelled regardless of who taught her, the rules were relaxed. Crichton always lectured directly to the student who occupied her seat, and word soon got round that maybe the room was haunted; it was Crichton himself with ghosts.

The day passed slowly, and by 1:00, Crichton was holed up in his office, smoking a much needed, but much despised cigarette. He had taken up the habit in the Stockton Memorial Hospital's emergency entrance. A wispy man, awaiting the results of his wife's MRI offered him a Marlboro, and Crichton, needing human contact, took it. Mrs. Wispy would make it. Mrs. Crichton would not. The phone rang, and the jangle threw him off so that he dropped the burning cigarette into his lap. After batting at the fabric that had nearly caught, he stamped the ember and grabbed the handset.


Dr. Crichton, there is a man to see you in Dean Whittier's office.
Tell him I'm busy. Papers to grade or something.
I'm sorry Dr. Crichton, he says it's urgent.
Thanks Marie, I'll be there in a minute. Crichton smoothed his graying hair, and pulled his tie up. He debated wearing his jacket, but decided against it, wiping sweat from his brow. Being summoned to Dean Whittier's office was never a pleasant experience, but from Marie's tone, Crichton could tell that this would not be a social call. He bit his lip and locked his office as he passed the offices of his colleagues. Former teachers of Kate. People who never knew Caroline.