Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Philadelphia, March 1998

"Yo, Frank, have you seen the disk with my charge pump design on it? It seems to be missing."

"Neon yellow, three and a half inches square, usually hanging half ejected from your floppy drive? The one I keep telling you to make a back-up of? Nope."

"Damn. I just had an idea for cleaning up the gain ringing, I need to find that disk."

"Well, before you go tearing our office apart, could you come in here and give me a hand? It'll just take a minute."

"Okay." Paul Mauser came the rest of the way into Frank Tranh's "Lab", an oddly-shaped storage room that he had managed to requisition from the university six months earlier. It was convenient in many ways, first, it was on the same basement level as the cubbyhole they shared as an office, and it happened to be right where the main power for all four linked science buildings came in. The Doctorate program thought that Frank was merely building a model of his proposed device. They had no idea that his proposal was for a working model.

Paul himself was in awe of Frank's intellect. If he could pull this off, if he really could generate a continuous focused stream of Tau Anti-Nutrinos, at will, instead of merely praying for one or two in a super-collider, he'd probably get a Nobel and his doctorate and set the quantum physics world on its ear all in one shot. And if he failed, well, blacking out half the campus would still be a hell of a prank. Paul's work, on the other hand, was fairly pedestrian by comparison - a high efficiency MASER, a microwave laser. Once he got his degree, Paul merely expected to be gobbled up in a government weapons design program, not that he minded. After Reagan's push for SDI, "Star Wars", his work was actually something with some real world application.

That was all he really wanted, a chance to do some practical research, and actually make something rather than just publish papers (at least he'd no longer be grading them). A stable job, in a pleasant environment like Southern California, with good money, and a chance to get in on some of the wild stuff he'd heard about going on in LA and the bay area. Speaking of which....

"You know, I saw them again today. I was walking down to Fat Jack's to pick up my comics, and they were both standing there on the Walnut Street Bridge."

"Who?"

"Those two chicks I was telling you about last week."

Frank paused as he was pulling the shredded newspaper packing material from one of his boxes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Paul put his hand up to his forehead and massaged his temples, feeling a little disoriented. "We had a long conversation about it, and you don't remember?"

"Nope. Can you help me lift this?"

"Sure." Paul reached into the box and grabbed the flange at one end of what seemed like a massive steam pipe fitting, if steam pipes were machined down to ten-thousandth-inch tolerances and made from polished stainless steel. "Whoah, that's heavy."

"Up here, on the bench. Gently."

"That's gotta be fifty pounds of steel at least. I don't think we could dent it setting it down."

"I didn't want to damage the workbench."

Paul smirked. The workbench was one of the first things they scrounged when they took over the space. It was destined for the trash heap and they often joked about how they shouldn't have interfered with destiny. Frank pulled off a few bits of shredded paper that were still clinging to the assembly. Paul let out a low whistle. "That's quite a piece of work. It must have cost a fortune."

"Not really. My uncle has a machine shop in Newark."

"Must be nice. I can barely afford regular components."

"If you didn't spend so much money on comics...."

"Hey, when it's time to pay off my loans, spending a buck and a half on an extra copy of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles number one is going to seem like a shrewd investment. Hell, it's already worth ten bucks."

"Whatever. I don't have time for that kind of stuff." He fished around in the bottom of the box for the bolts. "Ah. Okay, so tell me about these chicks, and this conversation we supposedly had."

"Right. So last week I was walking across the bridge, and I see these two women standing there, and they're dressed in these skin tight black leather catsuits."

"Like the kind motorcycle racers wear?"

"No, I mean, really smooth, like it was painted on, like if the Black Widow stepped out of a Marvel Comic."

"You sure you weren't reading a comic? You have been under a lot of stress with the progress review coming up."

"That's what you said last time. You also asked me if they weren't costumers from one of my conventions. But PhilCon was last November, and all the way up on City Line Avenue."

Frank looked a little surprised. "That was what I was going to suggest next. Now I'm curious. But this had better not turn out to be one of your Fetish things. I don't want to hear about that stuff."

Sheesh, one kinky magazine left in the desk drawer, and he brings it up more often than I do, like fifty to none, Paul thought. "No. I'd say it was more of a secret agent thing, like Emma Peel from the Avengers, and yes, I know you've never seen it."

Frank put down the tube of liquid gasket compound that he had been spreading on the fitting where the new pipe would attach. "This is getting weird."

"What, we went through this last week. Maybe you're the one getting stressed."

"I'm getting there. Go on."

"So they're both standing there looking at some kind of device the size of a WalkMan, and they've got these sub machine guns hanging from slings on their shoulders, as casual as if they were purses. Then a cop was driving by, and I tried to wave him down and I pointed at the guns, and he took one look at them and floored it. I think they noticed because they gave me a dirty look, but then their thing beeped at them and they went back to it. So I just got the heck out of there. I took Chestnut Street on the way back, but when I looked over, they were gone."

"And you say we discussed them last week? I'm sure I would have remembered this."

"I'm surprised you don't. Well, anyway they were there again this week. But I was on the other side of the bridge, so I don't think they noticed me. They had more equipment too. I have no idea what they were doing, but nobody else seemed to notice them."

"That's just crazy. And you know what really doesn't make any sense? If they're secret agents...."

"... why are they dressed so conspicuously?"

"Paul, stop that. You're really creeping me out."

"Sorry Frank, it's just, it's like this conversation is a re-run."

"Well let's talk about something else. Actually, I think I'm ready to bolt this on."

That meant Paul was in for some more heavy lifting, while his skinny Vietnamese office-mate did all the bolting. Frank was a genius, but not the most hardy physical specimen. Paul on the other hand took advantage of the fact that students in the Doctorate program had free access to the athletic facilities and could join in on any of the classes going on. He wasn't a top athlete by any means, but he was fit, and he enjoyed the variety. Swimming laps helped him think, and last semester's fencing class had just been fun. Paul smiled while he waited for Frank to tighten the bolts. One day the dividing wall in the room they used for fencing had been stuck, and the teacher improvised, throwing the formal saber rules out and dividing the class into teams trying to fight their way through the narrow gap to reach the opposite side. That had been a hoot.

Beyond a slightly better than average level of fitness, Paul was much like any other grad student/geek. His long brown hair was tied in a pony tail, and his beard was full. He liked his Comics and his Science Fiction. There was a group downtown that met once a month to watch what they called "Japanimation" that he joined from time to time, although the quality of the copied and re-copied VHS tapes and the lack of subtitles gave him headaches.

Sharing an office with Frank had been luck of the draw. They were actually in separate programs - Frank in Physics, and Paul in Electrical Engineering - but that turned out to be an advantage, as they could help each other in the areas where their disciplines differed. But they didn't share any actual classes.

Unfortunately, he shared a lot of classes with Frank's fiancee, and speak of the devil, almost literally, she came in just as Paul was lifting a heavy columnating magnet assembly into place.

"Frank!" she squealed in a deafening high pitched voice.

"Hey sweetie!" called back Frank, who dropped his wrench on the table and went over to the diminutive Chinese harpy. "How's my family to be doing?"

Oh yes, it should be mentioned that Frank had requisitioned another oddly-shaped room for another of his projects, a human-hellspawn hybrid. This project was also about six months along.

The two cuddled and made disgustingly sweet noises at each other, and nattered on about nothing important, while the muscles in Paul's arms began to quiver. He was stuck. With only two bolts partially installed, he had to keep supporting the assembly or else it would rip the bolts out and strip the holes in the very expensive waveguide system it was being attached to. Finally, he could wait no more, even though he knew it would cost him.... "Frank!" he shouted, "I'm dyin' over here. Get these bolts in before I drop it!"

"Oh, Shit! Sorry Paul. I got it." And in short order, Frank installed the bolts to hold the electromagnet in place, all the while the pregnant demoness in the doorway stared daggers at Paul for daring to interrupt them.

Paul rubbed his sore forearms. "Okay Frank, I'll see you later. I've gotta find that disk." He made an exaggerated bow as he squeezed through the remaining space in the doorway, "Nice to see you again, Esther."

She exploded at him. "You are never to use that exploitative colonialist name for me ever again! It's Yi Min Woo, or Madame Woo to you!" Mauser walked quickly down the hallway as she yelled after him. She had gotten worse ever since taking that Ethnic/Women's Studies minor, and always had a ready litany of tirades to direct at any "White Male Oppressor", which all too frequently meant him, but also included anyone unfortunate enough to offend her, which was pretty much everyone. How Frank escaped her constant wrath was beyond him. How Frank managed to not notice what a venomous beast she was was also beyond him. Although Paul did remember a conversation once from before she had gone completely over the edge where she ranted about Dysgenics and the doom of the human race, and how it was up to the most intelligent to produce a master race. He tuned her out about the time she started suggesting that he should get a vasectomy to benefit future generations. The project in her abdomen was probably more her idea than Frank's. She was also a raving communist, at least up to the point where she wanted to be a Party Leader ordering people to death camps.

Truth be told, she wasn't a true creature from hell, but she was a remarkable simulation in human form. Paul had had the misfortune of spending the latter part of his academic career moving in similar circles with her. In spite of her intolerable social and political ideology, she was a brilliant engineer. And she was probably destined to be sucked up into SDI research too. She had some really amazing ideas about satellite based laser weapons that could build up truly enormous charges while orbiting though the earth's magnetic field and radiation belts. Paul dreaded the possibility that they'd end up working together at Sandia or Lawrence Livermore.

When he got back to the broom closet he called an office, he noticed the bright yellow floppy sitting blatantly obviously on top of the papers on his desk. His eyes narrowed. He knew it couldn't possibly have been there when he left to ask Frank, and the only person who had come down there had been... her.

Before going to confront her though, first he popped the disk into his computer and fired it up. The floppy drive grumbled and chugged, but finally he was able to check the data on the disk, and miracle of miracles, she apparently had not sabotaged him. Then it occurred to him that now, with the program already open, would be as good a time as any to plug in his fixes.

Four cans of Coke and a run to the food trucks later, he was finished. And he took the time to copy the disk, laboriously popping out one disk and inserting another as the machine gave its all to duplicate the data. Just as the computer spat out the disk for the last time, Frank popped his head in the office.

"Paul, check this out. I think it's ready."

"What? No way. Besides, you can't tap the grid now."

"Why not, it's four in the morning."

"Fuck, no wonder I'm tired. Crap, I've got an 8 AM lecture too."

"Well, it's too late to do anything about that. Come on."

Paul staggered after Frank down the hall to the lab. Inside, "Esther" was sitting in the lone chair, half asleep, but still aware enough to glare contemptuously at him. The mass of pipes and hoses and wires and mysterious black boxes would have caused Escher to cock his head, but somehow, it did feel complete. Frank had unscrewed the cover to one of the 4400 volt transformer breakers. Donning a pair of welder's gloves, he approached the terminals with a pair of jumper cables.

"Frank! Stop! Remember what I told you. One. At.  A. Time."

"Oh, right." Frank then connected one cable at a time, avoiding the chance of arcing across his chest by touching both terminals. Paul shook his head. Frank was brilliant, but he could get so deeply into what he was trying to do that he didn't think enough about safety. He understood quantum mechanics intimately, but good old electricity was beneath his concern.

Frank moved back to the table and pulled off the gloves. He started flipping switches on the control console, and then turned dramatically to the two of them.

"Prepare yourselves, I'm about to change the world." And with that, he threw the big switch.

The lights did not dim, lightning did not fly, and the building did not go dark. But a hum did start to come from the machine, and the particle counter began to tick, louder and harder, until it was more of a hiss. There was an oppressive feel in the air, like a dog whistle at 130 decibels. Mauser's scalp began to itch. The machine began to creak ominously. Frank stood before his creation, transfixed as it began to glow blue.

Cerenkov radiation. It shouldn’t be possible in air. "That can't be good. Frank, shut it down."

Frank looked back at him. "It's alright, I just need to adjust the resonance and it'll stabilize." The ethereal pressure only became more intense.

"Shit, Frank, your nose is bleeding! Turn it off!"

Frank's attention was back on his machine, he started fighting with the knobs. Paul felt a trickle coming out of his own nose. He looked at Esther, who seemed to be slumping in her chair. He decided to take action, but before he could move, an unearthly light burst forth through a crack in one of the waveguides.

"Oh crap, a vacuum leak!" shouted Frank, and he reached up to seal his hand over the crack.

Then everything went white.

Then everything went black.

---

Paul Mauser awoke in a disused storage room in the basement of the physics building. How he got there, or why he was sitting in a half empty carton of paper towels was beyond him. He tasted blood in his mouth, and he felt sunburned. As he dragged his aching body out of the cardboard box, he saw his lab partner Esther laying on the floor, and she didn't seem much better off than he was. He went over to her and patted her cheek.

"Esther, are you okay?"

She opened her eyes and then swatted his hand away. "Don't touch me, you freak! I don't know how you got me in here, but you are NOT having your way with me."

"Okay, you're normal. But what the hell happened?"

"Don't act all innocent, you fucking sicko yellow fever pervert. I bet you drugged me."

"Lady, I wouldn't touch you with someone else's dick."

"Whatever, I'm getting out of here." Esther stood up and brushed herself off, then screamed. "Noooo! How could this happen! I'm Pregnant?"

Paul stared at her. This seemed new to him as well. He felt a sharp pain in his forehead, visions of two sets of memories collided and beat against each other. He wanted to make two different smart ass responses, one about not being able to imagine how it was possible either, and the other a fairy story about how when two physicists really like each other... but all he could do was croak out a name. "Frank."

"Frank? Who's Frank?"

"I'm not sure." He shook his head, which was a bad mistake. "Ow."

"Don't strain your inferior intellect thinking about it." She started to stagger off.

"Oh come off it. Something happened to us. Don't you feel like you've been microwaved or something?"

"I have absolutely nothing in common with you. Now leave me alone." She reached the door, and left.

Paul tried to gather his thoughts, and then decided to go back to his office. He settled into his chair, grateful for the private space he had... except that it felt wrong somehow. Something, no, someone was missing. It was like all evidence had been erased from existence. Then it hit him. He started digging through the other desk, and at the bottom of the bottom drawer, an old memo dated six months ago. He was getting a new office mate, Frank Tranh. He felt like he knew the guy, but also like he'd never met him before. He'd never showed up, that's why he had the office all to himself.

In the following months, Paul tried to look up this Frank Tranh, but he couldn't find anything more recent than that memo from six months before that strange day. It was like he'd ceased to exist at that point in time, and nobody else remembered him, and Esther, she refused to even talk to him.

Eventually, the headaches went away, and the odd sensations of divergent memories became less frequent, but he never forgot what happened that day. The sudden loss of his hair was a constant reminder.