Chapter 07
Six Days, Twenty Hours, Forty-Six Minutes
Ignoring the dull ache in the middle of his forehead, Parker slowly opened his eyes to the blinding glare. He felt his stomach churning, and he thought he was about to wretch. Instead, he heaved a fresh gulp of air into his lungs, coughing up and spitting out a mouthful of blood. To his surprise, the blood splattered against -
Glass?
Instinctively, he tried to sit up, only to smack his already protesting skull against the thick glass pane of an isolation tube.
"What the hell .?"
Lifting his hands, he brought them up to the glass and wiped the blood away. Beyond the glare, he made out the shadows of scurrying bodies - people running to and fro and back again. They were dark, faceless shapes with elliptical heads - no, he realized, not heads.
Helmets.
"What the hell is going on?"
Rolling his hands into fists, he pounded on the thick surface.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING?"
Suddenly, a helmeted figure stepped into his view. The shape quickly raised a hand and placed it on the outside of the glass plating.
"I'm going to have to ask you to calm down, Mr. Parker," the voice said - Parker recognized it immediately as female. However, she didn't speak clearly. Her tone was augmented. Somehow, she was speaking through a communications system - perhaps some kind of unique audio link between her suit and his sealed coffin. "Either calm down in there, or I'll have to sedate you."
Reflexively, he punched the glass with as much force as he could muster.
"You're going to have to sedate me anyway once I find a way out of here!" he threatened. "What the hell is this? What's going on? Who are all of you people?"
"Mr. Parker, you're going to have to settle down."
"I'll settle down when you start answering my questions!" he shot back.
He watched her fingers relax evenly over the glass. "We're on your side, Mr. Parker. We're with the NSA. We're part of an temporal response team."
"A temporal response team?" he asked, his head now throbbing. "What's that? What's that for?"
"We were sent here by Director Talmadge."
"Bradley?" Parker asked excitedly. "Is he here?"
"Director Talmadge is safe at the Backstep Facilities in Nevada, sir."
Angrily, Parker snapped, "I know more than a thing or two about the Backstep Facilities, thank you very much, but what I still don't know a damn thing about is who you people are and what you're doing here!"
"We're trying to contain this situation, Mr. Parker."
He watched as her fingers tensed on the glass.
"Contain what? What situation?"
"Your arrival here."
Lifting his head, Parker pressed his nose to the glass and squinted. He barely made out the restaurant - what was the man's name? Finkle? Finkle's Gas and Eat? Was that it? He saw blue-suited figures moving in and around the diner, rushing up the stairs, hurrying in and out of the doorways. Then, he thought he saw -
People.
Ordinary people.
The same people who - moments earlier, not long before his arrival - were doing no more harm to mankind by sitting inside Finkle's fine establishment enjoying a late lunch.
The patrons were being herded -
Like cattle.
"What's that?" Parker asked. "What are you doing with those people?"
He heard her knock on the glass plate.
"Mr. Parker, I'm going to have to ask you to lie back down."
"Not until I get an answer as to what you're doing with those people."
"They've been - exposed."
"Exposed?" he repeated, uncertain as to its meaning. "Exposed to what?"
"Mr. Parker, lie down."
Again, she rapped on the glass, and, argumentative, he smashed back at her.
"What have they been exposed to?"
Suddenly, he noticed her shape move. He watched as the blue rubber fluttered as she lowered herself onto one knee. Then, he saw her helmet, and, beyond the glass, her saw her face. She had wonderful blue eyes, high cheekbones, a thin nose, and an imminently kissable mouth - if it weren't for the separation he suffered. He met her eyes, and he saw her concern in them.
"They were exposed to you, Mr. Parker."
He winced. "What? What are you talking about? What does that mean? What did I do to them?"
She shook her head. "That's what we're working on finding out."
To his surprise, he grew angry in an instant. He wanted to reach out and grab her, to throw her out of the way, to march over to those innocent civilians, to speak with them, to assure them that nothing was wrong, to guarantee their safety, to let them know that - despite present circumstances - everything was going to be all right, everything was going to be perfect. But he couldn't. He was trapped under layers of steel and glass, and some fancy-suited good looker from the NSA was calling the shots.
His rage growing, he shouted, "Let me out of here!"
"I can't do that, Mr. Parker."
A small hissing noise filled the canister. He glanced toward his feet - the source of the hissing - and he noticed a waft of brown smoke climbing toward him.
"Let me out of here!"
"Mr. Parker, you'll be all right in a few minutes," she cautioned. "Breathe deeply. Let the gas do its work."
"LET ME OUT OF HERE THIS DAMN MINUTE!"
He raised his fists to pound on the glass again, but, slowly, he sensed a growing weakness. The pounding of his heart filled his ears, and Frank Parker twitched. He dropped his head back to the pillowed mat, and he blinked. His eyelids were suddenly very heavy, and he lost focus of the woman with the beautiful blue eyes and the high cheekbones, and he decided it was time to just relax and allow the gas to do its work on him, and he closed his eyes and thought about what Ebdon Finkle would say to him the next time the two of them met.
END of Chapter 07
Six Days, Twenty Hours, Forty-Six Minutes
Ignoring the dull ache in the middle of his forehead, Parker slowly opened his eyes to the blinding glare. He felt his stomach churning, and he thought he was about to wretch. Instead, he heaved a fresh gulp of air into his lungs, coughing up and spitting out a mouthful of blood. To his surprise, the blood splattered against -
Glass?
Instinctively, he tried to sit up, only to smack his already protesting skull against the thick glass pane of an isolation tube.
"What the hell .?"
Lifting his hands, he brought them up to the glass and wiped the blood away. Beyond the glare, he made out the shadows of scurrying bodies - people running to and fro and back again. They were dark, faceless shapes with elliptical heads - no, he realized, not heads.
Helmets.
"What the hell is going on?"
Rolling his hands into fists, he pounded on the thick surface.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING?"
Suddenly, a helmeted figure stepped into his view. The shape quickly raised a hand and placed it on the outside of the glass plating.
"I'm going to have to ask you to calm down, Mr. Parker," the voice said - Parker recognized it immediately as female. However, she didn't speak clearly. Her tone was augmented. Somehow, she was speaking through a communications system - perhaps some kind of unique audio link between her suit and his sealed coffin. "Either calm down in there, or I'll have to sedate you."
Reflexively, he punched the glass with as much force as he could muster.
"You're going to have to sedate me anyway once I find a way out of here!" he threatened. "What the hell is this? What's going on? Who are all of you people?"
"Mr. Parker, you're going to have to settle down."
"I'll settle down when you start answering my questions!" he shot back.
He watched her fingers relax evenly over the glass. "We're on your side, Mr. Parker. We're with the NSA. We're part of an temporal response team."
"A temporal response team?" he asked, his head now throbbing. "What's that? What's that for?"
"We were sent here by Director Talmadge."
"Bradley?" Parker asked excitedly. "Is he here?"
"Director Talmadge is safe at the Backstep Facilities in Nevada, sir."
Angrily, Parker snapped, "I know more than a thing or two about the Backstep Facilities, thank you very much, but what I still don't know a damn thing about is who you people are and what you're doing here!"
"We're trying to contain this situation, Mr. Parker."
He watched as her fingers tensed on the glass.
"Contain what? What situation?"
"Your arrival here."
Lifting his head, Parker pressed his nose to the glass and squinted. He barely made out the restaurant - what was the man's name? Finkle? Finkle's Gas and Eat? Was that it? He saw blue-suited figures moving in and around the diner, rushing up the stairs, hurrying in and out of the doorways. Then, he thought he saw -
People.
Ordinary people.
The same people who - moments earlier, not long before his arrival - were doing no more harm to mankind by sitting inside Finkle's fine establishment enjoying a late lunch.
The patrons were being herded -
Like cattle.
"What's that?" Parker asked. "What are you doing with those people?"
He heard her knock on the glass plate.
"Mr. Parker, I'm going to have to ask you to lie back down."
"Not until I get an answer as to what you're doing with those people."
"They've been - exposed."
"Exposed?" he repeated, uncertain as to its meaning. "Exposed to what?"
"Mr. Parker, lie down."
Again, she rapped on the glass, and, argumentative, he smashed back at her.
"What have they been exposed to?"
Suddenly, he noticed her shape move. He watched as the blue rubber fluttered as she lowered herself onto one knee. Then, he saw her helmet, and, beyond the glass, her saw her face. She had wonderful blue eyes, high cheekbones, a thin nose, and an imminently kissable mouth - if it weren't for the separation he suffered. He met her eyes, and he saw her concern in them.
"They were exposed to you, Mr. Parker."
He winced. "What? What are you talking about? What does that mean? What did I do to them?"
She shook her head. "That's what we're working on finding out."
To his surprise, he grew angry in an instant. He wanted to reach out and grab her, to throw her out of the way, to march over to those innocent civilians, to speak with them, to assure them that nothing was wrong, to guarantee their safety, to let them know that - despite present circumstances - everything was going to be all right, everything was going to be perfect. But he couldn't. He was trapped under layers of steel and glass, and some fancy-suited good looker from the NSA was calling the shots.
His rage growing, he shouted, "Let me out of here!"
"I can't do that, Mr. Parker."
A small hissing noise filled the canister. He glanced toward his feet - the source of the hissing - and he noticed a waft of brown smoke climbing toward him.
"Let me out of here!"
"Mr. Parker, you'll be all right in a few minutes," she cautioned. "Breathe deeply. Let the gas do its work."
"LET ME OUT OF HERE THIS DAMN MINUTE!"
He raised his fists to pound on the glass again, but, slowly, he sensed a growing weakness. The pounding of his heart filled his ears, and Frank Parker twitched. He dropped his head back to the pillowed mat, and he blinked. His eyelids were suddenly very heavy, and he lost focus of the woman with the beautiful blue eyes and the high cheekbones, and he decided it was time to just relax and allow the gas to do its work on him, and he closed his eyes and thought about what Ebdon Finkle would say to him the next time the two of them met.
END of Chapter 07