The Progenitors

By Scott Jacobsen

British librarian Ken Harper must face being torn suddenly from his great love Betty Gibson after they finally acknowledge and consummate a years-long love. Ken awakens on a beautiful world with two moons which is occupied by another woman, crass American bicycle tour guide Nancy Perry. This world of great mystery holds the answer to man's survival of human extinction under the impending celestial hammer of a huge asteroid.

Ken tries for months to find a way back to Earth and his Betty, while Nancy wants nothing more than to have him for herself. Ken's love for Betty is strong and so is his resolve to resist the wiles of an increasingly alluring Nancy—a Nancy who is changing to a new form of human—a change orchestrated by an ancient Artificial Intelligence who has a plan of rescue for the human race.

This ancient AI, Saldana, has contacted Jim and Angela Manning, the two people closest to Nancy Perry's departure point, as they, like Ken and Nancy, have been infused with advanced nanotechnology to fulfill the terrestrial side of Saldana's human survival plan. They must gather 300 of earth's best and brightest while their genius children infiltrate NASA's ranks to build Exodus Ships in secret to bring them to Mars, Despite selection safeguards, an insane recruit is bent on the destruction of the Exodus members for leaving behind the people of Earth.

Saldana can see across the threads of possibility she sets in motion by her interference with the natural course of human events, and many false starts range from man becoming extinct resulting from interplanetary nuclear exchange or die-out from simple apathy. Saldana discovers a key individual whose invention frees man from the confines of the Solar System, but there are many parallel histories in which her plan fails. Will she discover the right timeline to ensure long-term survival?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350927634

Scott Jacobsen

Scott Jacobsen is a seasoned broadcast engineer and proud alumnus of the University of Oklahoma, where he honed his storytelling skills studying journalism. In his free time, he enjoys the thrill of the open road, frequently embarking on exhilarating bicycle tours. In 1975, he not only participated in a prestigious cross-country bicycle tour, but also captured his adventure on the big screen, starring in the feature film, "The Great American Bike Tour." A romantic at heart, Scott fondly recalls chasing his future wife, Peggy, up Gates Pass on their first date—a testament to his love for both cycling and his life partner.

Book preview

BK90082327.jpg

The Progenitors

©2023 Scott Jacobsen.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN: 979-8-35092-762-7 paperback

ISBN: 979-8-35092-763-4 ebook

Contents

Years Past

Misty Trail

Serenity

Beach

Theory

Coastal Anomaly

Edinburgh

Reconnoiter

Hillside Paradise

Scotland Muse

Lighthouse

Closure

Children

Connection

Inland

Half-life

Plans

Secret World

Launch

Mistria

Arrival

Maelstrom

Frenzy

Saldana

Blink of an Eye

Branches of History

1

Years Past

Ken Harper stood at the counter before the old catalogue rolodex. Bloody computers couldn’t hold a candle to this type of filing system. You came to the counter, pulled the card file before you, and you looked up your number or title in the sequence of cards.

Simple, fast, reliable—and there was none of the waiting for the computer to boot up, worrying whether the silly thing was going to function at all, what with the rest of the employees looking up stuff on the internet and downloading Trojans and worms that could muck up any system with alacrity. And then there was the necessary computer support staff, computer maintenance staff, data entry flunkies, and on and on…what a pile of rubbish!

Bubbly Mary over there, always glued to her machine, had said repeatedly, What ever would we do without computers?

We got along just fine, thank you very much. People these days seemed to have it in their minds that if a task could be accomplished with a computer, then that’s the way it should be done, no matter how much more complex or laborious than the old method. Oh, Lord, for the simpler times!

His fingers rolled over the edges of the file, bringing the tactile feedback he loved, like the running of the thumb over the edge of the pages of a book to arrive at a favorite chapter or verse. But more than that, there was the feel and smell of old book paper and ink that gave it substance instead of the sterility of the computer monitor or e-reader.

He sighed and looked up at the clock mounted above the shelves of reference books the students hardly touched anymore. In fact, the library occupancy had fallen off rapidly in the advent of widespread wireless internet access. Still, though, there were those few who preferred the quiet environment of the library over the distracting dormitory, café or coffee shop.

Five ‘til six, almost the end of shift; time to gather up things and head for home…with a stop at Bartleby’s on the way. A mug of Guinness and a hot meal always set one straight for the evening.

As Ken exited the library, he deployed his brolly against drizzle that had started up. It was a good sign that the fog which had settled in for much of the day was breaking up and, indeed, he could see further down the street than he had at noon, even in the evening’s dusky light. And yet, he enjoyed the foggy, drizzly surround as it had the effect of silencing the small, annoying sounds, leaving a hushed version of the normal street noises to strike his eardrums—which made for a more civilized transition from the library to Bartleby’s.

As a student, Bartleby’s Pub had captured his conservative tastes. Its relaxed, unobtrusive nature had appealed to him from the start and, in fact, it was Bartleby’s that had led to his library employment, for it was also a favorite of Library Director Betty Gibson. Now there was a woman of classic nature and refined taste, truly civilized. None among his peers possessed such elegant unpresuming intelligence and dry wit. If he hadn’t been ten years her junior he would have pursued her eagerly. In the beginning, when they’d first met at Bartleby’s, he was enthralled with her, enjoying many lively conversations as they turned out to have many common interests.

One evening, he had discovered that Betty was not only a widow, but the Oxford library director as well. He practically fell in love with her on the spot and would have asked her out on a formal date right there—but then she offered him a position on the library staff. It’s not much, she had said jovially, but it might defray some of the expenses a student like you might incur. He would forever remember the smile she flashed him then, and it broke his heart every time he recalled it.

Of course as Betty’s subordinate, such a relationship would not be proper and their age difference meant that she would be ready to settle down and he, as a student, was just starting out in a life filled with possibilities. And then his heart was broken once more when Betty took the position as Director of Edinburgh University Library and moved away to leave him feeling at once alone and betrayed, feelings to which he had no just claim.

He remembered a particularly quiet evening at Bartleby’s before her departure when Betty had seemed to sense his sadness, and she had weakly offered reasons of prestige of the new position and proximity to family in Scotland. It was as though she was as sad to leave him as he was to see her go. Oh, how he’d wished at times that he had followed through with his impulse to offer his services at her new venue. But this would have been trite and presuming. He was a student enrolled at Oxford after all, and he did not want to appear the clinging boy that worshipped the ground she walked on.

Finishing the eight-block walk to Bartleby’s, he hesitated, examining the heavy, red-with-gold-trim doors framing the old leaded windows with a new perspective his musings had reawakened. Old England still survived in the pub here amidst the more modern structures which sprouted like mushrooms in the dampness. Most people said change was a good thing, because it assured the progress of humanity toward bigger and better things. The trouble was that much of the change nowadays was rife with the business of noise and hurry of an increasingly crowded world. Most people were anxious to get here or there and they did not react well to anyone who blocked their way, even if only for a moment.

Nearby wailing of police sirens propelled him into his favorite haunt. The familiar warmth and atmosphere of Bartleby’s surrounded him and the regulars at the bar gave him nods and murmurs of quiet greeting, which he returned. He was surprised to see that his friend Sam had moved one stool down from his usual spot, and the man was grinning from ear to ear. Curious, Ken approached to ask him why when he leaned over and patted the seat of his usual stool.

Set your arse down there, lad. Sam looked as though he was about to burst with some secret, but when Ken opened his mouth to ask, he said, Don’t give us any grief, man. Do as you’re told, that’s a good lad. He slapped Ken’s seat again to leave no doubt. Ken sighed and took the seat gingerly, expecting some sort of prank, which Sam had pulled on occasion. Tonight was different, however. There was a certain gleam in Sam’s rheumy eyes that indicated his mood was sincere. Ah, there we go, Sam commended when Ken had seated himself. Stubbins, get this lad a Guinness, and make it snappy, will you? Stubbins, the large, burly bartender, nodded curtly with a conspiring smirk, ran Kens draught and slid it expertly before him, not spilling so much as a drop with its speedy delivery.

Sam leaned toward him over his reserved stool. Special guest for you tonight, lad, he whispered with a wink. The brandy on his breath stank, but Ken hardly noticed such was his apprehension. That was it! He was being set up. Sam had been giving him grief about his living alone with his books and his sorry library job. One day, he had said, I’m going to set you up with the lady of your dreams.

Sam slapped the bar. Stubbins! Where’s the lady’s drink? So, there it was, out of the bag. Ken risked a glimpse of the regulars lining the bar and they all bore the same knowing smiles on their smug faces. Right now he wanted to disappear. Either this special guest was totally unaware of the ruse, or it was one of the regulars made up as a frumpy prude, was his guess. But all of the regulars were accounted for. Well, this should prove interesting, indeed.

Ken was absolutely floored when Stubbins set daintily down on the napkin with the Bartleby’s logo a Sister Mary Lightfeather. It was a drink specially made here to the specification of Betty Gibson! The look on his face must have been priceless, for Sam and Stubbins started cackling like old cronies after winning a hand of poker.

Sam slapped his knee. We got him with that one, Stubbins! His laughter blared and Stubbins joined him with vigor.

Ken spat, Oh, for the love of… but he was interrupted by the loveliest sound he’d heard in years.

I know you men can be cruel, but you’ve outdone yourselves this time. It was really Betty Gibson! He spun about on his stool and practically fell off of it in the process. Her radiance left him speechless. Betty actually looked ten years younger than when he last saw her. She wore a flowing, white, knee-length dress with navy polka dots, cinched with a sash at the waist to accentuate her figure. Betty had also let her auburn hair grow to shoulder length from its former feathered business cut, and it framed her features in such a way as to make her gray eyes appear large and luminous. But most of all it was her lips that caught his eye; the curve at their corners that made it appear as if she was always on the edge of a suggestive smile had filled his imagination for countless daydreaming hours—hours of regret that he had let her go without at least letting her know how he felt about her.

Now, though, all that had changed in a heartbeat. The woman of his fantasies stood before him, waiting. She raised her brows. Is this seat taken, sir?

His mouth moved, but he could not seem to connect his brain to his vocal cords. He felt like a fool, suddenly at a loss after imagining so many times what he’d say if they should ever meet again. All he could do was stand and motion to the stool Sam had reserved for her. Betty took his hand and slid it around her waist as she sat with fluid grace. Her floral perfume wasn’t strong, but in Ken’s state it threw his head into a spin and he nearly fell over when he awkwardly slid back onto his barstool. Betty kept a surprisingly strong grip on the hand of his surrounding arm to steady him…and as he sat, she pulled his arm further around her until his palm rested on her stomach.

Ken practically fainted when she pressed closer to him and purred, I don’t wish to sound too presuming, but there’s a position that’s come open at Edinburgh Library that would suit you quite nicely, Mr. Harper.

I…I…

Go on, then, lad, Sam chided like a teasing bully, tell the lady what you think about her.

Yeah, Stubbins added, "you’ve told us enough times to fill one of those books of yours!" He and Sam bellowed another round of their laughter, and some of the regulars began to chuckle along with them. How utterly embarrassing.

Dear God, he muttered, I didn’t want it to be like this.

Like what, Ken? Betty said smoothly. Her smile was sincere, and her voice contained no pity.

"Like this!" he said with disgust as he gestured expansively to his favorite place which had suddenly turned to one of mockery.

With that, Betty turned to Sam. Sam, she said politely, I know that Ken regards you as a friend, and so do I. We’ve spent so many lovely evenings in each others’ company…but your breath stinks, and I would appreciate a little more space while Ken and I get reacquainted. She held her steady regard of him as his eyes slowly grew as large as saucers. His chatty friend had at last been rendered speechless. Sam scooted his chair away from Betty and in his haste he almost fell off it.

That done, Betty snapped her head round to the gaping Stubbins, whose lips were puckered with evident shock. She smiled sweetly at him. I’ve got my drink now, Stubbins, thank you. She flicked her eyes momentarily to the length of the bar. I’m sure a few of our friends would appreciate an end to your neglect of their needs.

Poor Stubbins snapped to like an army private and practically dropped the glass he held ready in his big hands. Yes, missus, he blubbered as if he were a schoolboy about to be spanked for misdeeds. Right away. He moved quickly to the other end of the bar.

Ken was impressed. He turned to Betty. "That was brilliant, Betty. You had me cringing. It’s not an easy thing to scare Stubbins like that."

Her lips curved in the way he absolutely worshipped. Comes with the territory, she said easily. "You see, the former director at Edinburgh was a man. At Ken’s blank look, she elaborated. You know how the Scots are about their gender in some positions. In fact, Ken had heard this from some of his Scottish friends, and so he nodded. Yes, well, I almost left because of it, you know. She sipped from her Lightfeather. But after several nights of tossing about I gained a certain resolve, you see? I marched in there the next morning and gave those snide little managers a piece of my mind they haven’t forgotten to this day."

After what I’ve seen this evening, Ken said sincerely, I can quite imagine.

Yes, she grinned coyly. I’ve made it quite intolerable for the nastiest of them and he left just two days ago.

"Oh, he has, eh?"

Indeed. She turned to face him fully, and took both of his hands in hers. He felt her subtle trembling. Was she nervous? Her bright gray eyes captured his and the world around them became invisible. Maybe the trembling he felt was his own. Which is why I’m here. she appeared briefly uncomfortable. I hope you don’t mind, Ken…

What?

I’ve given your resume to the college president and recommended you for the position of Manager of Archives at the library.

Ken was dumbfounded. But I didn’t…

Yes, I know. But you see, the resumes on file were simply dreadful and I needed a quick replacement. So, I drew up your resume on my computer and filled in the blanks from my memory of your accomplishments at Oxford.

My accomplishments?

"Well, I may have fluffed things up a bit, but I know you’ll be a good performer. She winked and nudged him with her bare shoulder, and then she cleared her throat and sobered a bit. I put on your resume that you can start on Monday."

Monday? Why, that gives me only…

Three days, I know. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve done all this. She winced, waiting no doubt to be turned down. After all, he wasn’t qualified for such a job, and the accomplishments for which she had given him credit he could only imagine.

Are you kidding? he said, heart racing. I not only don’t mind, I’m ecstatic!

She launched herself into his arms. Wonderful! She held the embrace only briefly and pulled away looking very serious.

What’s wrong?

Well… she said slowly, a grin spreading, We should get out of here and get cracking. You still have that flat on Petersham?

No, I’m over on Stratford now.

Alright, let’s go and start organizing your things for the move.

What about my super at the library? I’ve got to give notice.

I’ve taken care of that.

You have?

Yes. Yates said he wasn’t surprised you were leaving, what with the way you’d been moping around of late. Ken shook his head, smiling. What is it?

What if I’d said no?

She pouted. Then everything I know about judging character would have been thrown asunder, right along with my mood. I would have been devastated. It was the first time she had indicated that her feelings might have been the same as his all these years. His expression betrayed him again. "You didn’t know?"

That was the confirmation, and his heart leapt with joy. He shook his head. No, I didn’t. He looked deeply into her eyes. Did you?

"Not as assuredly as I would have liked. But I suppose that’s what endears me to you so. For you are quite the mysterious man, Ken Harper."

He grinned, feeling on top of the world. Well, then, Director, shall we adjourn and begin packing?

Betty smiled brightly and took his hand. That would be simply brilliant, Mr. Harper, Manager of Archives at University Edinburgh!

2

Misty Trail

Nancy Perry rode shotgun in the sag van, enjoying the sunny day. She got to ride her bike yesterday and she was itching to get out on such a nice day, but as NORAM’s head honcho for their Oregon Coast Tour, she did have some responsibility.

They’d started out from Astoria two days ago, picking the least traveled roads along the coast, avoiding the busy Coastal Highway as much as possible. The secondary byways were great for the typical adventurous bicyclist who enjoyed taking the low road even if it meant extra hill climbing. There were many country roads that split off the highway and rejoined it later. In fact a significant portion of today’s ride ran on such a low-traffic route right along the coast into Newport from Tillamook—which only served to raise Nancy’s pique that she had to ride in the van today. At least she’d get to relax on that fabulous beach tonight and watch the sun go down after everything was set to go for tomorrow’s ride.

Her driver, Jim Manning, had been unusually quiet today. If it’d been foggy or rainy, Nancy would have understood, but a nice day like this typically got him all chatty and it was hard to shut him up.

Something bothering you? she asked.

He threw her a glance. No, not really. I was just thinking that I need to get some work that pays a little more, that’s all.

The comment surprised her. I thought you really got into traveling and riding. Especially on a great day like this.

Easy for you to say. You make the big bucks.

Oh, come on, Jim, she laughed. We both know you like it better than that. You wouldn’t have been with NORAM for seven years if you didn’t.

Yeah, well… he nodded ahead. Sag’s coming up. You want me to stop? He seemed relieved by the interruption, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Jen and Randy were already servicing several riders with water, fruit and munchies under their portable easy-up, which meant they’d better make tracks to the designated sag stop at the rest area they’d already picked out. Their duty today was the lunch sag and their setup would be considerably more elaborate than Jen and Randy’s.

Sure, let’s check up on them, Nancy granted. Only a little while though. I think the wind’s picked up a little and it’ll blow them along pretty good.

Yeah, I hear that. They’ll be pretty pissed if we aren’t ready for them. Jim pulled up along the curb just after Jen and Randy’s sag setup and they got out. Nancy stretched languidly and took in a deep breath of the fresh air that was warming nicely under the full sun. The ocean breeze caressed the right side of her face as she gazed out over the turquoise water. It was just a little after 9am and the wind was picking up pretty good already. No doubt it would be lifting the finer grains of sand later on in the afternoon—a great tail wind for their southbound cyclists.

The day before, Nancy had taken special note of which riders had first arrived at the third sag. It was her method of determining the urgency of the support schedule on the road. The riders taking refreshment had been in the lead group at her station just outside of Tillamook, so most of the tour group was yet to arrive. Good. No need to hurry along. Their lunch sag was another thirty miles, so even if she and Jim spent a few minutes here they’d have plenty of setup time before the first arrivals. Besides, riders tended to dawdle a little when the weather was good.

She walked up to Jen. How’s it going here?

Fine so far, Jen replied without looking up as she busied herself with cutting up apples into bite-sized crescents on her plastic cutting board. These guys always amaze me with their appetites. She looked up and gestured with her knife at the guys taking turns topping off their water bottles at the two spouted water jugs. Only five of them and already I’ve got to start chopping again. Nancy smiled at Jen’s charming British accent. She did her share of bitching, but she was a dependable, hard worker with an easy, comfortable humor that invited company.

Randy appeared from rummaging in their van with a box of oatmeal raisin cookies, a cyclist favorite. He set it down after removing the cellophane wrapper. Hi, Nancy, what’s up? His spiky, sandy hair twiddled in the wind like stiff grass. His eyebrow stud glinted in the sun as he cocked it with his question, considering her with his eyes in a way she didn’t especially appreciate. Jen thought he was the bomb, but Nancy wondered if she had ever noticed his wandering eye.

The five hot shots finished with their watering and mounted their bikes to resume riding, chatting among themselves. One of them, a tall, bearded guy, had a strange elliptical front sprocket he referred to as his egg-wheel, which limited his gearing to only what he had in the rear. Nancy, an experienced cyclist, had wondered at first how he would cope in the steep coastal hills with such a limited gearing selection, but he certainly seemed comfortable enough with the lead riders.

More cyclists arrived and Randy joined Jen with more food preparation. Jim came to her side. Well, they’re off. I guess we’d better get moving.

Yeah, alright, Nancy sighed.

Jim snickered. Now I’m going to be the one to ask what the matter is.

Just a nice day, that’s all. It sucks to be cooped up in the van.

His eyes rolled. Tell me about it.

They arrived at the rest stop and commenced the setup of the easy-up over the concrete picnic table where they’d lay out the main lunch items. These types of meals weren’t sit-down affairs. Rather, cyclists made up their own sandwiches and salads to their liking on heavy paper plates. Despite their reputation for voracious-ravenous-itis, cyclists were picky about what went in to their capacious consumption, so here was a plate of ham slices, there some roast beef and Swiss cheese and tomato, some lettuce, a jar of mayo, some mustard, etc., like a self-serve sandwich bar.

Nancy turned to the van to grab the first of the cold cuts from the cooler and she saw a glint out over the water from the corner of her vision. With the bagged meat in her hands, she looked more closely at the watery horizon to the west. She squinted at its very bright, flickering blue-white light, right where the water met the sky. Was someone using a mirror to signal for help? Maybe it was just the sun hitting glass on a boat.

Jim, do you see that?

It stopped. See what?

She glanced at him, and he was looking in the direction where she pointed. It stopped, whatever it was.

What’d you see?

She shrugged. I don’t know, something flashing on the horizon. I thought maybe it was someone signaling for help.

An older woman appeared next to them. I saw it, she said. It was strange, like starlight twinkling right on the water.

Yeah, Nancy nodded. It couldn’t have been someone using a mirror to signal for help. It was the wrong color.

What color was it? Jim asked.

Like she said, Nancy indicated the woman. The color of star light, you know, kind of bluish-white, not yellow like the sun.

Yes, that’s exactly the color it was…blue-white, the woman said excitedly. It was very bright, too, even in this sunlight.

Nancy said relieved, Well, at least now I know I wasn’t imagining it. She saw others on the beach at water’s edge pointing seaward toward where the light had been. They’d seen it, too. She turned back to Jim, ready to continue their lunch sag setup, and when she did his eyes went wide.

Whoa! There it is! Nancy spun to see a solidly lit needle of blue-white light, about the size and shape of a sail sprit only about three hundred yards off-shore. It was so bright it hurt her eyes, even through her sunglasses. Man, that thing’s bright, whatever it is.

Nancy brought up a hand futilely to shade her eyes, and she saw through tears the needle of light widen until it became a rectangle the size of a small door. And then it flickered and disappeared. It all happened over a period of about five or six seconds. Strangely, the thing made no sound—she expected something as bright as that to have some kind of noise like thunder associated with it. Of course, it could have been a lot farther off-shore than she thought. Distances were very deceiving on the water. She waited for the sound to come, but it never did.

What do you suppose it was? the woman asked.

I don’t know, Jim replied, but I’m still seeing spots from it.

Yeah, Nancy agreed, It was way brighter than the sun.

People who had seen the spectacle from the road had pulled over in the rest area and it was getting really busy with cars and RV’s. The cyclists wouldn’t appreciate that very much, but under the circumstances, she couldn’t blame the people who wanted a better view of an anticipated repeat performance of the light display. If its last two appearances were any indication, it should appear on shore somewhere, maybe even quite a ways inland from where they were. People piled out of their vehicles and some walked down to the beach while others seemed content to remain behind the mortared stone wall of the rest area.

She opted to remain behind the waist-high wall. If that light appeared over the land, there was no telling what would go flying in response to its presence.

Some secret military operation, I’ll bet, someone said.

In the middle of the day? said another.

Probably just some punk playing around with a bright light.

Then where’s his boat, smartass?

Nancy giggled at that last comment. The banter was comforting. That light should have appeared again by now if it was going to at all. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and turned back to the van. Some of the impromptu spectators were picking at the lunch she and Jim had begun to set out for the cyclists. Jim trotted up to the table under the easy-up and shooed them away. He motioned to the hot shot riders who had already arrived to dig in to what they’d already set out, and said that he and Nancy would work to prepare the rest. She hurried to finish with the prep.

Thankfully, the fast guys understood about the delay and the reason for their dallying. The tall one with the elliptical sprocket was showing a photo on the display of his digital camera to the others. I got a great shot of it, he bragged. I was just back there on that rise and when the first flash happened I stopped and pulled out my camera. When the second one came I got this one, he pressed a button on the back of the camera. And when it got wide, I got this one.

His companions uttered their interest and that it was indeed a great view of the thing. Curious, Nancy moved over to him. Can I have a look? That thing really spooked me.

He smiled. Sure. He handed her the camera. Just push these two buttons and you can flip between them, he instructed. The first one’s all washed out because the iris didn’t have time to adjust, but the second one really came out.

He was right. The first picture looked like a fluorescent tube in a fog, but the second photo featured a very sharp rectangle floating what looked like just inches above the waves. The thing had been so bright that the rectangle of light and the waves it illuminated below it were all that were visible; the rest of it was too dark to see anything—in full sunlight!

Wow, Nancy said, that really must have been bright for things around it to have been so dark.

Yeah, he agreed, I still have an afterimage of it in my eyes, and that was with my sunglasses on.

Me, too, she said. She handed him his camera and turned back to her sag duties.

But then the spots in her vision began to multiply, and she felt little pinpricks all over her skin. Jim saw her strange expression. What’s the matter?

I don’t know, Nancy replied, I feel kind of funny. Funny didn’t begin to explain the way she felt, but she didn’t have any words for it. Disjointed was more like it. Aside from the tingly feeling, she felt like she’d suddenly been set apart from the real world, like someone had enclosed her in a glass closet, because the sounds around her were suddenly attenuated, as if she’d inserted earplugs.

But the sounds weren’t normal. They were more like the low throbbing of a yacht engine out at sea. When she moved her head to look around, it felt like it was embedded in thick molasses—and the people around her looked like they were frozen in mid-stride. Turning slowly to gaze at the water again, she happened to glance down to the beach and she could hardly believe what she saw.

It was as if she was viewing a gigantic painting. The sizeable waves that had been kicked up by the stiff breeze were frozen in place as if the ocean had suddenly turned to ice. And over there were two children tossing a beach ball between them—and it hung in the air, frozen in place! The pinpricks on her skin suddenly intensified until they were painful, and a blue-white fog descended on her and began to glow until it was too bright to keep her eyes open. Even with her eyes tightly shut, the light was so bright her eyes started to hurt.

The pain got so bad she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. It just got worse and worse…and then everything went suddenly dark and she knew no more.

3

Serenity

Ken roused dreamily at Betty’s gentle nudging. It was dark and warm under the covers with her and as she nuzzled close, he thought she wanted another round of the previous evening’s ribaldry. But he was sorely disappointed when she reminded him of why she woke him at 3:30am.

My business trip, remember, darling? she purred gently, no doubt trying to break the news easily. They’d been staying together here in her Edinburgh rental for barely a month and already she had to take off and leave him for a meeting in Paris. When he’d offered to accompany her, she’d scoffed, but in a nice sort of way.

You’ve only been in my employ for three weeks, so you can’t go gallivanting about with your boss so soon after starting work, she had said. Besides, who’ll keep an eye on those brats at the library? How could he argue with his boss? To console him, she’d put her more desirous interests in overdrive, making up, as she put it, for the business trip and all the years they’d regretted not being together. Betty was nearly ten years older than he, but she’d worn him out anyway. She explained her energy had to do with a better diet since she left Oxford and also regular exercise at the gymnasium. Such a turn of life habits probably had a lot to do with her younger appearance. In fact, Ken had taken to bicycling with her to the library each day. It was only a few kilometers and at first it was quite tiring and left him wanting only rest when they returned home. After only a week, however, those commuting rides had gotten a bit easier and he did have more energy throughout the day, just as Betty had promised.

He reached to pull her close but she evaded his grasp. I’ve got a schedule to keep, Mr. Harper. The airlines leave dawdlers behind, you know. And with that she pecked him on the nose and leapt out of bed to pop into the shower. He swung his legs over his side of the bed and leaned to pull aside the drapery of the nearest window. It looked like a particularly dreary early morning this late in August, even for Scotland. It was too early for morning light, and only the soft glow of the closer street lamps could be seen through the thick fog.

Bright, blue-white light flickered suddenly in the misty surround, foretelling an approaching storm that would dispel the fog, but judging by the intensity of that lightening, it would make the trip to the airport slow-going. Betty’s flight didn’t leave until seven, so even with some delay he should have no trouble driving her there in time for her flight, as her carry-on was her only baggage. Well, so much for the bike ride this morning. Riding in the rain was fine, but when lightning was about, he preferred the shell of a car around him.

He waited for the thunder from the nearby lightning bolt, but, strangely, it didn’t come. There was no sound at all except for the running water of Betty’s shower. He sat on the bed waiting for perhaps another minute, wondering about what other causes the flashing light could have been besides lightning. And then, he threw the drapery back into place when the light came back with such ferocious intensity that it lit up the entire bedroom as if it were midday, even with all the heavy draperies in place. The shock of it caused him to cry out, and Betty, finishing up with her shower, had evidently seen it, too.

What was that? she queried. Were you playing with your camera’s flash? She came naked out of the shower, wrapping her towel around her damp hair.

He shook his head, still rattled a bit. No, it came from outside.

"Outside?" She glanced around the bedroom. How could that be? All the curtains are drawn.

Yes, I know. I was quite startled by it, and I’ve been waiting for the ferocious thunder that should have come, but hasn’t. And did you see how long it lasted?

What do you mean?

That last light was more like someone’s searchlight directed on your house instead of some bolt of lightning. It must have lasted for at least three or four solid seconds.

Are you saying there were more than one?

"Yes. The first looked like lightning the way it flickered, but this last one…well, it was bloody bright."

Betty’s brow arched. Evidently. What do you suppose it was?

Damned if I know. Maybe that power plant south of town…

The electric’s fine, she indicated the light from the shower.

He shrugged. It was just a thought. Short of that, I’ve no idea what it was other than lightning. He frowned.

What is it?

There was no sound, either time.

Betty moved to a window and cracked the drapery for a peek. After a bit she turned to him. I don’t see anything but fog out there. She smirked. Well, I’d better get dressed or I’ll be tardy for my flight.

Right. Ken set to getting into the shower, but Betty stopped him.

Just think of the fun we’ll have when I get back tomorrow. She shot him a sideways grin to convey a very distinct message.

He chuckled. I think someone I know is going to need a good prodding.

She purred lasciviously. The sooner you get me to the airport, the sooner that will happen.

Aye, mum! he mocked with a military man’s salute. He turned to the shower and quickly cleaned up for the day.

After his shave, he stepped to the closet and grabbed a shirt and jacket and laid the jacket down on the bed, which Betty had not yet made up. She was in the kitchen cooking up a little breakfast for them, humming a tune he didn’t