M-A-R-C: Martian Armed Resistance Corps

By D.R. Spires

The year is 2214, and disheartened with the knowledge that after a hundred years of peace, war may again be declared, Senator Jonathan Q. Tash of New Mexico, Namericorp, travels incognito to Mars, hoping to quell the unrest. But there’s not a whole lot one man can do. He joins up with the MARC, the Martian Armed Resistance Corps, and is given a small team of the youngest roughnecks he had ever seen, where he becomes a hunter-gatherer of federal information, also known as a spy.

Jon is injured during an escape when he fell down a concrete stairwell and is rushed to his ship, the Hyperion Way, by a rather remarkable, very futuristic entity known as Hype, who can do almost anything. Laid up with a concussion, he has no idea what is going on with the war, but with a few thousand troops against the combined multimillion-soldier might of the planet Earth, it ain’t good.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781984527905

D.R. Spires

D. R. Spires grew up living in Central Ohio. A picturesque setting that honed his power of imagination where it blossomed unhindered. The highlight of his childhood was a camping trip to Cape Canaveral to watch the launch of Apollo 11. He entered the army and did a long tour of duty at the Panama Canal, where he found his remarkable Anita B. Bright. His 14 years of military service included seven years of Infantry working up to squad leader and seven years of Signal as shift supervisor and section chief, where his interest in information technology was truly sparked.

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Copyright © 2019 by D.R. Spires.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2018906299

ISBN:            Hardcover                978-1-9845-2792-9

                      Softcover                  978-1-9845-2791-2

                      eBook                       978-1-9845-2790-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 01/15/2019

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CONTENTS

Just A Matter Of Time

A Distant Call To Arms

Mars

Truman Schultz

The Trudy Test

Iris Shafer

In Plain Sight

Mars Base Alpha

The Last Summit

Rudger Hess

Fallback

Jerry Aimes

Hyperion

Sanctuary

JUST A MATTER OF TIME

F AR AWAY, IN a place where the sun never sets, and the broiling blaze of the solar winds lashes out at more than 400 kilometers per second, where, unshielded, the UV glare alone could obliterate all known life from existence, a lone sentry watched, ever vigilant to the task at hand. Nearby was his one companion, silent Gaia 10, the current crewless universe cartography satellite. Having held this lonely post, an irrelevant point in space called EA-L3, Earth Lagrange Point-3, for the past decade of his 92 years of existence, Hyperion had even assisted Gaia in her attempts at latching onto the slight libration point, where he continued to endlessly observe and report, observe and report.

The eleven-year solar cycle had dropped to minimum activity, yet still did the unexpected occur. Hyperion marveled at the odd development appearing on the surface of the sun. He focused on a triple-set cluster of sunspots, one of which held a noted longitudinal penumbral extension that exceeded 23 degrees, granting it easy note as an F-class sunspot, an extremely rare find, particularly at this point in the cycle.

It was in the southern hemisphere, centered at latitude 23°23’54 south, where the oddity had been monitored and tracked directly through the dense, gaseous body of the star. It was just coming into real view over the stellar horizon at longitude 110°4’33 east. Hyperion was somewhat puzzled that none of the other observatories had already cataloged the event but shrugged it off to a factor in his personal equation of humanity. The reason for missing such a blatant occurrence could be as simple as the utilization step-downs that generally accompanied the low-activity ebb in the solar cycle, or an unprecedented malfunction with the other monitoring posts, a software/firmware error, or simple human error, where it may have been assumed to be already cataloged. As it was, Hyperion was quick to claim the group, measuring the temperatures of the cluster and surrounding area, calculating the magnetic flux, and transmitting the data to SOHO-6 on the other side of the sun at EA-L1. Inner orbital EA-L1 was, by ancient federal decree, a region of space reserved for solar research, often referred to as Lagrange SOHO, so named for the initial SOlar and Heliospheric Observatory that had been launched toward the end of the previous millennium more than 200 years earlier. At SOHO-6, the data would be compiled, cataloged, and relayed to the primary stellar fusion laboratories located at UCLA, Namericorp, and Oxford, Eurocorp.

As a side article, he also reported a distant, fairly small B-type flare emission but in no way could this minor spit of magnetic plasma be compared against the new sunspot cluster. Even the visual makeup of the cluster, with the flashing glare of its hovering prominence, demanded exception. This one was a glorious find indeed. Hyperion, however, remained unsatisfied, as there were other pressing tasks calling for immediate attention.

¤ ¤ ¤

Jon. The radio message barely crackled in its satellite relay race through the solar gales and around the sun.

The lone man sitting in the corporate penthouse at 1 Enterprise Circle, White Sands, New Mexico, Namericorp, high atop the offices of Tash Enterprises, touched the audio implant behind his right ear, thus accepting the call. He slipped the gold pocket watch into the fob pocket of his waistcoat and glanced down to the thin band of the transceiver ring on his finger, where a tiny cluster of molecules glowed a soft green light. Settling back in his chair, he awaited the message.

Your concerns regarding the STCP are unfounded, the deep, resonating voice calmly assured. Utilizing values, you yourself have supplied, I have run several temporal scenarios, attributing the required reality data, and have found no anomalies that would result in your conjectured enigma.

There was a short pause in the transmission, almost as though the speaker might be thinking. The man, New Mexico senator Jonathan Quinard Tash VII, knew this not to be the case, by now well acquainted with Hyperion’s flair for the dramatic. Hyperion almost never had to think; generally, Hyperion simply already knew.

I detect the STCP to still be at the White Sands facility and have isolated its location to be within the sanctum of your office. Jon, I do require its safe return. I do also require a response to this transmission.

Short and to the point. Smiling, the senator raised the ring to his lips. It was only borrowed, Hype, he assured his caller. There’s no need to be so apprehensive. I shall be returning the STCP to your loving care within the next few days. Patience, my friend. I plan to run a series of tests of my own, that’s all. I want to know how easy it would be to build another. Don’t fret so much . . . you’ll get an ulcer.

He chuckled at that, knowing full well the impossibility of Hyperion ever developing an ulcer, or contracting any other physical malady, and dropped his hand to the desktop. With Hyperion’s current position at Earth’s L3, fixed at the far side of the sun and familiar with the relay stations to some detail, he knew any reply would not come before 22 minutes after his transmission. He got to his feet, still smiling, and headed to his executive meeting.

¤ ¤ ¤

Following the paper-rustling, coffee-pouring preliminaries, the meeting in conference room 186005 was begun. Senator Tash introduced his speaker, Dr. Joyer Troose, and took his own seat. After nearly 30 minutes of lecture and comment, Tash could clearly see the orator becoming frustrated by the looks and questions he had been receiving. The natives were becoming restless, but in all truth, the subject matter of the meeting did leave a lot to be desired.

Well, no . . . Troose cleared his throat, his eyes darting from executive to executive. CEO presentations had never been this man’s forte. With a quick spin, he was returned to the tranquil display of his comforting chart. No, there are easily three examples of straight-line theory. He continued, tapping his remote control and flitting through the displays. We have a line determined by slope, line parallel to axis, and — here we are — line determined by two points. He turned back to the curious faces that circled the huge oblong table. The more complex examples include perpendicular and para- . . .

We covered this in high school, didn’t we? asked Victor Apodaca, sounding a bit annoyed.

Senator Jonathan Quinard Tash VII, corporate chief executive officer for Tash Industries, chairman of the Tash Foundation, and president of the trans-orbital corporation of Tash Enterprises, faced the interruption, smiling to the image of his old friend. Victor was the Namericorp representative for JQT V and district VP for the Tash subsidiaries at Lunar Farside’s radio telescope, which was rigidly stretched across the expansive 437-kilometer basin of the Korolyov impact crater on the moon’s far side equator. Telecasting to the White Sands meeting, and with physics remaining physics, there was a full four-second delay in the full-duplex Earth-lunar relay broadcast, which included surface microwave line-of-sight stations from the moon’s far side to the Tycho Brahe Earth-shot transmitter station at the southern community of Tycho, making abrupt conversation interruptions from the lunar community a fairly common occurrence.

Yes, Victor, Tash replied, humorously casting a searching eye across the faces before him, I hope we all did. A little recap, though, never hurts. He turned back to the speaker. However, Dr. Troose . . . He was slowly shaking his head. Whether time is a simple entity of physics or a straight temporal line is not the chief concern here. We understand the needs for design and stress to be properly quantified against the demands of physics. Physics is unrelenting. I know this. Everyone at this meeting knows this. What has been will always be. What will be, shall be, and time, while elusive to the physicist, to the mathematician, remains relative to the individual.

Troose nodded his acceptance of this. Yes, sir . . . but the idea of actually circumventing these laws and moving an object — a subject, if you will — either to the past or to the future is not new. The newness is derived from the thought that time per se . . . does not even exist. Not that the idea itself is new but that the theory has come to a wider acceptance among the scientific communities, the fringe, even among laypersons. Time itself is a fairly good, sound theory, but it is still just a theory.

Tash nodded to this. Go ahead, Doctor.

Troose regarded his somewhat unsettled gathering. Well, it’s just that we are all living in the here and now — the eternal instant of now — and that the past is nothing more than a recollection of what has occurred, while the future is represented by that which is planned to occur, or projected to occur via past occurrences, or simply will occur because it simply must . . . by what some might consider chance. Now bearing these notions in mind, we end up with a hypothetical time line . . . he shook his head, . . . but no line. The very concept of . . .

June Michaels, one of the four research VPs on hand, was shaking her head. No line? she repeated.

"No, ma’am. In this preliminary presentation, where all we have is now, time becomes a figment of the imagination, while we remain faced with the problems of real physics. . . . And worse, the proposed straight line cannot not exist so long as we employ such references as time point A, that being here and now, and time point B, that being here and then . . . whenever then may be, or may have been. Other than some rather ubiquitous bit of activity, or a lack thereof, what has changed? What is there that is different? There was some form of atomic decay, granted. He shook his head. But even this remains unreliable. Atomic decay is not a true time reference. This is merely the act of material decay . . . of molecules breaking down and migrating as components, base elements, and the further breakdown of atomic elements — even loose electrons, protons, um, strings, quarks, pseudo-matter, and such — all in a set format, a set timetable, scurrying away in fairly predictable manners to wherever neutrinos end up. Matter breaks down, as it always has, as it always will. He blinked out to the many puzzled faces. Not much in the way of a timepiece, really. . . . And I think that’s about all I have on the subject."

Tash remained quiet for a moment, allowing the good doctor’s words to filter through the panel of muttering corporate officers. Smiling, he stood and stepped to the podium beside the doctor’s display screen.

Thank you, Joy, he said. That was a fine presentation. Stick around.

Yes, sir.

Tash faced his panel of experts. Ladies, gentlemen, there you have it, our progress thus far in the Darel Huckle Plan. Eric? Is there anything you would like to add?

Eric Parish, VP for Tash R&D at the sprawling White Sands facility, leaned back in his chair and drew a breath. I had spoken with Dr. Troose just yesterday about all this, Jon. If we do go ahead with it, it looks to me that the next phase will have to be the development of an entirely new science. New mathematics, new correlations, new physical laws and constants . . .

Tash nodded his own agreement to this presumption. As we supposed from the start. In the previous century, Huckle himself had advised that this would require a new form of mathematics, and I’m sure he had private thoughts regarding the true immensity of such a simple statement. As it now stands, it appears our theories toward fourth through eleventh dimensional geometry could all be dumped. Geometry, he seemed to feel, was not the answer. Of course, the same was thought when Euclidean geometry was used to try and explain the shape and dimensions of a sphere. Euclidean or geodesic, it did remain geometry.

Right, as with the differential, hyperbolic, ultra-form, and super-static geometries, Parish said, nodding. But then base geometry may still be out. Possibly. As we know it, time may not be following the typical dyed-in-the-wool dimensional limits we all know and love but rather passing through and using several planes, several power sources at once. If so, we’ll need to concentrate on the development of something very radical. Now Foster’s team has been working with the theory that time may be sort of super-statically curved, a kind of non-Euclidian form, but with the expected interdimensional twist, a kind of wave equation that goes fully tubular. There, though, I think we’ll hit the same walls we did when we presumed that space was curved. Folded, yes, rippled, maybe — crumpled even — but then the universe turned out to be a big place, and the initial curve was simply our own limited perception of a local slope, a very minor bit of trajectory. The idea that time formally curls and twists the same way that space actually does is now being looked at.

Very good, but see if we can get a pod of his team into the nonlinearity of time. The thought of rippled or crumpled, particularly curved and folded time still implies a continuous, or repeating, linear curve with occasional creases and backtracking . . . but would it mesh with our nonlinear concepts . . . and if it is shaped this way, how does it relate to the trans-fabric multi-mess of space itself? What about quantum jumps in the multi-universal inflation fields? Rippled time also implies various histories and futures, supposedly colliding in the nodal regions, all up and down the line. Doesn’t sound particularly stable.

Could explain ghostly images, phantasms . . . he heard Dr. June Michaels of R&D’s nonlinear mechanics department murmur.

He nodded his own acceptance. Yes, all those things that want to go bump in the night. Very possibly, June. But to the point, as Dr. Troose has just pointed out here, must a time line even exist? He looked around the room at the faces surrounding him. I think that’s about it. Do we have any other questions?

June smiled to her boss. I have one, Jon, she said. Now I’ve only been with the company a little over a year, but I’ve already seen things happen here that completely blow me away. She gave him a frowning, thoughtful smile. But a new form of mathematics? Where are we supposed to dig this up?

Technically, that’s two questions. The senator chuckled. I don’t know, June. If I did, it wouldn’t be new and I wouldn’t be talking about it with R&D. We need to concentrate on the unqualified areas, things that cannot be physically touched, the ether regions, defining all the things time is not. He looked up at the glowing ceiling and waved a hand to nothing in particular. Something as complicatedly simple as a beam of light, perhaps the radiation groups . . . perhaps the entire EM spectrum. We can start there. We have devices that can physically measure radiations . . . that can measure the physical force of light, weighted gauges to measure gravities. What about time? We have clocks, both simple and complex, but these are merely counting devices. What do they actually, physically measure?

Well, they don’t really measure anything, she murmured. They count . . . clicks . . . vibrant waves . . . She shook her head. Oh, this is definitely not going to be an easy one.

. . . And that’s why we get the big bucks, June. Dark matter . . . dark energy. I believe we’ll find our answers out there, perhaps beyond the borders of the Milky Way, but look around. He gazed around the table. Anything else? He nodded to the silence. Then let’s go. You might say . . . time is of the essence.

Oh, I heard that one coming, Parish whispered to Michaels, rising from his chair.

Dr. Troose? Tash said. If you’ve got some . . . time . . . how about a trip to my office? I’d like to hear a little more.

The man returned a good-natured smile. Of course, sir.

Good. Tash checked his pocket watch, causing in Troose the need for a surreptitious check of the digital display from his imbedded thumbnail cutichron. Looks like we’ll take this through lunch. I’ll have Carl whip something together for us. The double doors to the boardroom opened at his approach. Janet, he said, passing the reception desk. "Get me Corsair down in security, would you? We’ve been thinking about an expansion over in Las Cruces and I have some questions for him. I also have some about Sky-One. I’ll need legal on that one though. Let’s say, security at one . . . legal will be about 1:30, 1:45."

Yes, sir. Senator MacDonnell touched base. Said she was not completely up on the Three Meadows Project but would get back with you ASAP. I think later this afternoon.

Good, good. We’ll be taking lunch in my office. Tell Carl we’ll be two.

She tapped the intercom. Right away, sir.

Tash led the way through the wide corridors across the 86th floor of the research high-rise to his private quarters and offices. After you, Joy, he murmured, holding the crystal door open.

Thank you, sir.

You’re working with Dr. Travers, aren’t you? he asked, following the doctor in.

Yes. He’s in charge of abnormal anomalies.

Mm, bad title, Tash muttered. Maybe we can come up with a better one.

Well, he created the position and says the title suits him.

Mm-hm. Sit, please. My father worked closely with Travers on a few projects back in the ’20s. A little before my time, but he told me that if I ever needed the untrappable trapped, or the untappable tapped, Travers was my man.

No doubt, sir. He is good.

Tash settled into his chair behind the huge oak desk, shaking his head at Troose. No, Joy. Not good. The man’s certifiable. Look up genius and you’ll find two pictures there — Leonardo da Vinci and Isaac Travers, a renaissance man to the core.

Well, I can’t argue that.

I wanted to speak with you about him though. It’s pretty well confirmed that he’ll be moving over to the VP slot in virtual mechanics. We’ll be looking to you to replace him.

Well, thank you, sir.

Oh, you have no idea what we’re throwing you into. You’ll find out. The move will be within the year. That’s about as close as I can call it now. What I need you to do, though, is to work closely with him up to that move. I need you to sponge as much of what he knows as you can. He chuckled good-naturedly with the doctor. I’ll speak with him about letting you inside that labyrinthine brain of his. He then waved a hand toward the door. Now all that bull from the meeting was just that, dead ends, all of them. Time travel can work. I already know this beyond a shadow of a doubt. What I now need to know is . . . what is the cheapest form of time travel? I need to know if it would be cost effective for, say, a corporation, a small company, an individual even, to finance a project to traverse and control the 37 known dimensions of space and time. I’m looking at cost, not safety. I don’t care if you think success could, in some way, destroy the planet or the entire universe. Forget about whether it can be done. Just do it.

But, sir, if we . . .

Joy, listen. What you said in the meeting about time not existing . . . how can that be possible? A little while ago we were walking through the exec corridor and now we’re sitting in my office. How could this be without time?

Troose couldn’t help the smile. . . . And that, Senator, is the rub. Time was merely invented to explain away the rhythmic periods of light and dark . . . day and night. These were further broken down into increments called hours, minutes, and seconds. You see, we’re trying to deal with the situation in a space/time sense where the only binding attribute is space. We managed to travel from the corridor to your office simply by walking a precise measure of distance while navigating an exacting path through the dimensions of . . . space. He shook his head. Time was never an issue . . . and Earth simply continued to rotate its day/night scenario beneath us.

Tash was shaking his head at this. Time remains an essential attribute, Doctor, he argued. My grandfather has been dead many years and his grandfather far more. This is an issue of time, not space.

True but only in the concept that a quantity of imagined moments have passed since the occurrence of some happening, perhaps, as you say, the death of a family member. This is relative to the aging of space, which is not a temporal effect. What we’re then dealing with is erosion on the subatomic level. Electron migration, photon emission, even ion regeneration — all these refer, in theory, to the circadian phenomenon we call time.

Tash took a deep breath. Physics, Joy. I’m not great with it, but I do understand far more than most . . . and I do see where it is you’re coming from. Now let’s take it a step further. You just mentioned something called ion regeneration. What exactly is that?

Well, an alternative to big bang. It’s an old steady-state idea that the universe is constantly replenishing itself with new material while at the same time depleting its used, actually destroyed, resources. The problem with this theory is that there is no known way to garner solid evidence one way or the other. It was estimated that one ion would be created, in lieu of a better term, once every 10,000 years for every cubic parsec of space, while one photon would be destroyed every 10,000 years for every cubic parsec of space. Since we’re dealing with subatomic particles in a monstrously huge arena over many eons, there is no real way to say whether this is true or not.

I see. He leaned toward the doctor. . . . And what if we do happen to find one?

A suddenly created or destroyed particle? Tash smiled and nodded, but Troose just shrugged the possibility away. It would be heeded as certification of the theory, certainly, but still would neither verify, nor refute its validity.

Only slightly deflated, the chief executive officer settled back in his chair. Rather akin to the assumption that gravity is actually a force of attraction rather than that of Einstein’s theory that it’s your own force of acceleration acting upon your being as you traverse the space/time continuum. You exist, ergo you accelerate, ergo you respond to gravity. Is a ship accelerating at a steady one-G affecting you any differently than the gravity of a relatively motionless Earth? We can only assume that it’s the same. No matter how many tests you run, both would claim you are under the influence of one gravity. . . .But is there more? He slowly shook his head. Unknown.

That’s a pretty good analogy, sir. Not everyone can grasp a concept like that one.

Like founding a new system of mathematics, or science?

Oh, yes. He chuckled. But there is also the problem of the speed of time. It appears that time, or rather subatomic decay, occurs at different rates in different areas of the solar system. Now granted, the further you are from the influence of a large gravity well, like our own proximity to the sun, the slower time appears to flow, but there are also areas of temporal flux that seem to have no reason, like the Lagrangian points. We’re not certain what it is that creates these regions of temporal flux, but they do seem to be related to gravity and definitely do exist, minute though they are. It is also believed that the matter of the universe exists merely to keep time going, which, in turn, allows the matter of the universe to exist.

Ouch.

Joy smiled at his reaction. The catch-22 ribbon that ties the theory of trans-general relativity into a nice, tight, mobius package. My personal beliefs were not employed in my presentation, Senator, merely my arguments. As it is, I believe very strongly that time does exist. Travel through time, while extremely controversial to the mainstream sciences, is a limited possibility as we know that quarks do appear to shift in time, though only within the range of a few hundred nanoseconds.

Nanoseconds, Tash muttered and then sighed. Nature’s limitations. Throw a small twig into a flowing stream, and it follows the stream. Throw my Elektra III into the Mississippi, and I’ll run it upstream, downstream, across stream. It’s the characteristic of man to face the challenges of nature, and it is in this challenge that he finds methods better than those nature can readily supply. My cruiser would defy the descending currents of the mighty Mississippi River with ease, just as we shall one day learn to defy the nanosecond rule imposed by the quark.

I believe you’re right, sir, Troose remarked.

Oh?

As it is, I presume that my own belief for the existence of time could even rival that of your own.

. . . And your belief is derived from research.

Yes, while yours is largely based upon faith.

Tash opened the lower drawer to his desk, hiding his smile from the man as he bowed to lift out a small silver device, approximately 10 centimeters cubed. When we’re finished here, I would like you to take this down to the lab, Joy. Don’t worry about it. I want you and Travers to treat it like a toy. . . . And if you should lose it, don’t panic. It always comes back.

Joy regarded the device with a very questioning look. It does? Well . . . what is it?

A . . . timepiece of sorts I suppose. In a few days, I’ll be asking you what you think it is.

He looked to his CEO. A timepiece?

Let’s just say that it has something to do with my current push. I’ll see if I can answer your questions on the matter but not now. I want to know what you and Travers think of it.

Glazed thylinium? Troose noted, regarding the toy. An expensive little bauble. Troose picked up the contraption and turned it over in his hand. It’s light, one of the older Tash Industries logos, he murmured, stroking a thumb across the decal. We’ll give it top-drawer attention.

There was a light rapping at the door, and a hover cart was floated into the office. Lunch is served, Senator, announced Carl Lambert, the company’s executive chef. "Today is crème de champignon and pain à l’ail," he said, guiding the cart to the side of Tash’s desk.

Oh, you are in luck, Joy, the executive assured, accepting the offered napkin. Carl’s cream of mushroom surpasses any I’ve ever had. I think I know the secret . . . he smiled to his chef, ". . . but that’s my secret."

¤ ¤ ¤

Good afternoon, Jon. As was stated, I do understand your concerns for the STCP, as well as the human fears and desires you are exhibiting. It is for this reason alone I must request the safe, prompt return of the device. I know the general location of the STC projector, but it has been moved several times, with no immediately apparent pattern. As it is, with my present location being EA-L3, I am prevented from personally intervening on behalf of the STCP’s recovery . . . without untoward means. Please secure the device for me. I require that you contact me, verifying the STCP’s location for Hyperion retrieval. Please reply.

¤ ¤ ¤

Joyer Troose, PhD, MA, MS, and a doctor of astrophysics, as well as Chief Anomalies Research Assistant at Tash Enterprises, White Sands, New Mexico, Namericorp, sat at his lab desk, staring across the room in utter despair at the little silver cube resting on the workbench. Slightly winded through his own excitement, he nervously rubbed his mouth, rose slowly from his chair and, with a hesitant step, once again approached the device.

As he had before, he reached out to the object, but this time paused, his trembling hand hovering mere centimeters above it. The air in the immediate vicinity of the device felt cold and even seemed to fold around it, as though the atmosphere of the room was somehow thicker there, even giving a slightly skewed quality to the characteristics of the fairly solid articles in the cube’s immediate background.

It’s insane! he hissed.

With an unexpected wobble he turned back to his desk, quickly scribbling down another half page of notations. Tash had told him to play with it, see what it could and could not do. He was to treat it like a toy.

He stepped toward the cube again. This, he