Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 25

At the same time

"Does anyone have any idea of where we the hell we are?" Parker asked.

Rising from the bench, Dr. Nina Welles craned her head toward the thick plate glass window mounted in the side of the van. Squinting, she tried to see anything beyond the tint, but, unfortunately, she could make out very little.

"It looks like we're passing a large building, Frank," she finally announced, hoping that her scant details would provide him some relief. "It's dark outside, so it's very difficult to say for certain, but ... wait a minute ... yes, those are definitely lights, and they look to be attached to a very large building. Massive."

Leaning forward, Ebdon Finkle placed a hand on Parker's arm. "You're not getting nervous, are you?"

"Nervous?" Parker cocked his head at the old man. "I'm on my way to meeting some kind of alien lifeform with the ability to manipulate time from across the far side of the universe. I would imagine that – with the blink of one of his big eyes – he could probably eliminate me from this timeline, leaving you, Nina, and the others to solve this ... conundrum ... all by yourselves." He shrugged. "What do I have to be nervous about?"

"That's what I thought," Ebdon replied. He sat back on his bench in the rear of the transport van. "If we were at my diner, I'd fix you up something to eat. Something that would take your mind off of all of this business. Maybe my Southwestern Chowder. A good bowl of that along with some soup crackers, and you'd be singing a different tune."

Smiling, the chrononaut asked, "Can I get a beer with that?"

The old man raised his eyebrows. "Well, it's on the menu."

"Then, Ebdon, I hope I survive this long enough to sample your Southwestern Chowder."

Suddenly, the vehicle stopped. The three of them lurched a bit where they were. Reaching out, Parker wrapped an arm around the doctor's waist to keep her from crashing forward.

"Doc," he said, "something tells me we've arrived."

After a moment, the rear doors opened. The armed guards stepped back, and a short blonde man dressed in a dark navy suit wearing a red-and- white striped tie marched up to the opening. Smiling, he announced, "Mr. Parker! Since we heard of your arrival, we've been waiting for the chance to finally meet you!"

Rising with the help of his two fellow passengers, Parker said, "When you do what I do, it's always good to hear that you're welcome when you arrive."

"I can only imagine," the man enthusiastically replied. Extending his hand, he added, "My name is David Jennings. I'll be your escort to see Larnord."

"Hello, Dave," the chrononaut replied, struggling to step out of the cramped van. "You can call me Frank." With a thumb over his shoulder, he said, "I hope you've set the table for three, because I'm not allowed out unless I have an escort. This is Ebdon Finkle, and this is Dr. Nina Welles."

"It's wonderful to meet all of you," Jennings remarked. "If you'll follow me, then I'll take you inside."

"Where exactly are we?" Parker interrupted.

Smiling, the man explained, "You're at the Pentagon, Mr. Parker ... only the safest place on the planet could serve as the appropriate home to the most welcome of visitors. He'll be excited to know that you've arrived. He's heard so much about you. To be perfectly honest, he's quite possible your biggest fan!"

Glancing over his shoulder at Ebdon, Parker whispered, "Is this guy serious?"

They passed through several thick steel doors – each requiring a security clearance punched into a blinking keypad by Jennings – and stepped into a massive elevator. The armed escort stopped, with Jennings explanation that this point was as far as they were allowed to go, leaving Parker, Ebdon, Nina, and their immensely happy tour guide alone. The man touched the button for the lowest level – Sub 19 – and, doors closing, they all felt the elevator begin its descent.

"Sub 19?" Parker asked. "How far down is that, if you don't mind my asking?"

"It's the equivalent of thirty stories underground," Jennings replied. "It's approximately one-half mile beneath the surface of Washington, D.C."

"Really? Why so deep?"

Smiling, the man turned to the group. "You have to understand that Larnord is, arguably, the United States most prized possession."

"More important than the Liberty Bell?" Parker quipped.

"If the Liberty Bell had the ability to transcend time and space," he began, "then there is no possible way the government would allow it to remain on display in Philadelphia, Mr. Parker."

"The Liberty Bell is a national treasure," Ebdon interjected. "This – what did you call him? Larnord? He's not even from our world."

"Precisely the need for such heightened security," Jennings explained. "With his unique abilities, we couldn't risk having him fall into the hands of another nation or a terrorist group. Life, as we know it, would cease to exist."

"Life, as we know it, could cease to exist without the help of Larnord, Dave," Parker corrected. "All some terrorist group needs is to get their hands on the launch codes for some ICBM with a 50 megaton nuclear warhead, and you can kiss this great land goodbye. It has nothing to do with time and space. It has everything to do with defending our national interests." He glanced at the man. "Is Larnord prepared to serve our country in that capacity?"

"I'm sorry," the man offered, "but I'm not following you."

"My point, Dave, is that I should be out there with the BackStep team. In case you haven't heard, there's a terrorist loose in your city, and apparently he's none too happy with these United States right now. He's already killed one police detective. He's hurt a very good friend of mine. There's a very good chance that he could be behind an attack on the President's family. No doubt, if he has like any other textbook terrorist I've crossed paths with, he isn't finished. But where am I?" He shook his head. "I'm on an elevator traveling one-half mile underground for the sole purpose of shaking hands with a being from another world."

Parker felt Dr. Welles jab at his backside, encouraging him to be quiet.

"Mr. Parker," Jennings tried, "I give you my word, sir: you'll want to hear what Larnord has to say."

"Will I?"

Again, he felt the good doctor's hand at his ribs.

Leaning close, Jennings offered, "The fate of your current mission depends on it."

Sarcastically, Parker snapped, "If I had a nickel for every time I'd heard that before ..."

He didn't get to finish. Ebdon Finkle slapped him alongside of his containment helmet.

Finally, the elevator doors whisked open, revealing a long dark steel- girded hallway. They marched out of the elevator, walking past the two armed guards, and Parker found he had to keep a brisk pace in order to stay in stride with the overly enthusiastic Jennings. They passed several heavily shielded doorways until they reached the end of the hallway. There stood a massive red door with no markings on it. Fumbling in his coat pocket, Jennings produced a key card which he placed into the slot on the control pad beside the door. Immediately, an aluminum plate lifted away from the pad, revealing two rows of buttons – the top one with illuminated letters and the bottom with numbers. The man punched in a long series, and Parker heard the gasp of hydraulic locks releasing. A fine mist erupted from the door's lining, and, slowly, the metal plate slide upward, disappearing into the way.

Inside, a dozen technicians dressed in black laboratory coats flitted between several control consoles. They busily monitored all of the equipment, only giving their new guests a momentary glance.

"Welcome to Larnord's domain," Jennings announced.

Parker entered the room first. He glanced around at the men and women manning the work-stations, and he asked, "What's all of this?"

"Larnord desires a very specific environment for his living space."

"Desires?"

"Yes," answered Jennings.

"Don't you mean ... requires?"

After considering the question, the man shook his head. "No. The Mallathorn is an oxygen-breather, Mr. Parker. If necessary, he could survive on the land up above us. He chooses to live otherwise."

"How's that?"

"He prefers to keep his quarters at a very specific fifty degrees Fahrenheit," the man explained. "Also, he's asked for a very specific mix of oxygen and a gas not previously known to Earth. I believe he's called it Anthyllium." He waved a hand. "Don't worry. It's completely harmless to you and I. From what I understand, it simply aids in his digestion of Earth food."

"What's wrong with Earth food?" Ebdon asked.

Jennings smiled. "Oh, nothing at all! The Mallathorn loves most Earth food! He considers most anything a delicacy!" Softly, he added, "Apparently, his people have been raised to eat a rather generic tasting gelatinous compound – a nutrient paste, if you will – so his body uses the Anthyllium as a digestive aid."

Parker noticed a large glass port on the far wall. Next to it, he saw another thick red door with another keypad.

"I assume that's where I'm headed?"

"That's correct," Jennings replied. "The Mallathorn is waiting."

"The Mallathorn?" Parker asked. "What's that all about?"

"It's the name of his people," he said. "They are the Mallathorn. I guess that it's just become easier for us to call him by that name instead of Larnord. He uses it frequently in conversation, so it's ... well ... I guess you could say that it's just kind of stuck on us."

Slowly, Parker nodded.

"If you say so, Dave," he said. Gesturing, he added, "Okay, people, let's get this meeting of the intergalactic minds over with. I've got work to do."

"Mr. Parker?"

The chrononaut turned back to the tour guide.

"Yes, Dave?"

Nervously, the blonde man folded his hand in front of him. "I'm afraid ... I'm afraid that your colleagues will have to remain out here ... with the technical staff."

Turning, Parker nearly pressed his faceplate to the young man's forehead. "Why's that? Is the Mallathorn unwilling to take a few more callers, or does he simply not have enough chairs?"

Bobbing his head, Jennings made a confused expression. "The Mallathorn wishes to see you personally ... outside of the containment suit."

"But that'll kill him ... won't it?"

The man shook his head. "Your temporal condition – the fact of your contamination – poses no risk to Larnord whatsoever."

Raising an eyebrow, the chrononaut turned to glass at the large red door. "Is that so?"

"Yes, sir."

Facing his friends, Parker rolled his eyes. "All right, kids. We're here ... but I guess the attractions are closed."

Nina smiled. "Go on, Frank. Larnord wants to see you. We'll be fine out here. Just – if he asks – make sure you put in a good word for us."

"As far as I'm concerned," Ebdon offered, "I have enough problems relating to people of this world. If E.T. doesn't want to see me, then I don't want to see him."

The chrononaut nodded. "All right. Let me go pay my respects. The sooner I get this over with, then sooner we can get back to work."

"We'll be all right," Nina added. "Go and say hello to your fan."

Resigned, Parker turned and placed a hand on Jennings' shoulder. "All right, Dave," he announced. "Lead the way. And not so fast this time, okay? I'm wearing a ninety-pound suit, for God's sake!"

END of Chapter 25