The aurora city
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| Chapter 2
It was an ugly accident that should never have occurred. Pieces of the smashed truck were everywhere. Sitting across from her father in the Amtrak Silver Meteor roomette, Cassiopia held one hand over her mouth as she stared at the wreckage scattered outside her window. By pressing her head against the glass, she could make out even more carnage farther up the track. There was the mangled bed of the truck protruding from a nearby culvert, and an axle and wheels twisted alongside it. Someone had tried to beat the train. One torn off wheel had rolled away down the street, coming to rest on the centerline. The front half of the vehicle was nowhere in sight. It was somewhere on the other side of the tracks. Cassiopia shuddered to think what condition it might be in. The sound of fire engines and ambulances had long since passed. None of them
was visible from this side. Perhaps that was for the best. She glanced at her father. The aftermath of such violence did not seem to bother him. He was having trouble staying awake. His head kept tipping forward. He noticed her staring, sat up and rubbed one hand on his trousers, his dark Einstein-eyes coming to focus. His brown cotton sweater was still buttoned incorrectly, and the badly folded collar of his white dress shirt stuck out on one side. The cuffs on his plain brown dress pants would one day come into style again, but not for a very long time. His worn brown leather shoes were well-creased and needed polishing. His unkempt gray-white hair had no intentional style to it. He wrinkled his brow and stroked his short beard. “What can you see?” he asked.
“They’re using a winch to drag the back end of the truck up onto a trailer. There’s no telling what’s happening on the other side.” “How much longer do you think it might be?” “It’s anyone’s guess.” Her father began to nod off again. “Father, is something troubling you?”
The Professor returned his gaze. “That’s a particularly attractive blue outfit daughter, but I fear they accidentally left part of it on the seamstress’s table.” Cassiopia laughed. “It’s a one- shoulder, ruched jumpsuit, Father. It’s supposed to look this way. They did not forget and leave a shoulder out. But, thank you for the compliment. Do you think Scott would like it?”
The Professor had drifted off again. “Ah-hmm.” The Professor's eyes fluttered back open.
“Father, you did not answer my question. You seem distracted today. Is something bothering you?” He hesitated, looked out the window, and then back at her. “Have you noticed they are on the train with us?” Cassiopia paused. Suddenly she shared his concern. “Yes. I did notice.” The Professor stroked his beard once more. “This has been going on since the airplane accident. They do not seem to be going away. I had hoped it was some kind of police business, something going on in our neighborhood, but obviously this has something to do with us.”
“What do you think they’re up to?” “I can think of only two reasons undercover policemen would be watching us. One would be the robot, the other, my secret laboratory.” “The SCIP door in your lab? You think they might have learned about it?”
“An inter-dimensional doorway would be of great use to many different groups, both good and bad. We have worked hard to keep it a secret, but recently it became necessary to reveal its existence to your friend Ann Rogers. Now suddenly we have men in black watching our home and watching us everywhere we go. The odds of that being a coincidence are not good.” “Ann would never say anything. She gave her solemn promise. Trust me. It’s not Ann.”
Professor Cassell eyed his daughter with sympathy. “You may be right, but there may have been monitoring of some kind on Ms. Rogers during her police duties, monitoring that none of us was aware of. That would account for the unlikely coincidence.” “It could still be the robot, as well. No one owns a TEL 200D machine. Most were destroyed in the explosion and fire, and it has been seen by quite a few people. It was even stolen once, already.” “Either or both, daughter. But, the Tel has evolved considerably under your guidance. Capturing it would not be such a easy thing anymore, I think. Using it would be even more difficult. It is the SCIP door that worries me the most. It could affect the world as we
know it.” “Are you thinking of destroying it?” “No longer a viable option. I would need to destroy myself, as well. If it is the door they are after, taking me would do almost as well. I have also recently become alarmed at the science it proffers.” “How can you be alarmed by your own creation?” “The Higg’s boson.” “The God particle? How can you be troubled by that? It’s a wonderful affirmation of a very orderly universe.” “Or one of many universes in a multiverse cosmos, my dear, and what’s more, a universe that contains many hidden dimensions.” “So?”
“So, I had convinced myself that our so-called inter-dimensional doorway was a device that allowed someone to view the existing world from a purely mental perspective, a dimension within our dimension. The Higgs boson’s apparent confirmation of string theory has forced me to consider that my vision of the inter-dimensional doorway has been too short-sighted. When I expand the math associated with it, I keep coming up with the idea that if I alter the frequency spectrums used to open the door, I can access many more dimensions, not just the one we have visited.” “Other worlds? You could access other unexplored worlds?” “Not just worlds, Cassiopia, other universes.” “But the theory of multiverse can never be proven. We could never
detect light from a companion universe.” “Yes, and I have been unable to complete the formulas that would allow me to alter the inter-dimensional door that way. But I already know in my heart it can be done, and do you remember the strange individual we once met when I had been lost in the dimension on the other side of the door?” “You mean the extraterrestrial?” “Yes. Do you recall what he told you about the big bang?” “Oh! Yes, wait… He said the big bang was the firing of a single neuron in the mind of God.” “And that fits the theory of multiverse perfectly, doesn’t it.” “What does it all mean?” “It means we are on the verge of
discoveries here that surpass even relativity, and it could mean the men in black are waiting for the right moment to take possession of my work and possibly me, and even you.” “It’s clear what we must do, then.” The Professor looked up with interest. “What is it your conniving little mind has come up with now? I am almost afraid to ask.” “The process you have been teaching me all my life. If an answer is not obvious, more data needs to be collected. We need to know more about them. I will begin surveillance on those doing the surveillance.” “Oh heaven’s. I’ve set you off. What dastardly things do you have in mind for our poor, unsuspecting adversaries?” “As you’ve taught me, Father. The
first step in any investigation is observation. I will observe them.” “Daughter, I should fear that you will be placing yourself in harm’s way, but for some reason I have more fear for them than you.” “It’s alright, Father. I promise not to hurt them.” The Professor chuckled to himself. “Perhaps while we’re stuck here, this would be a good time to visit the dining car. Would you like me to bring you something?” she asked. “Hot tea, if they have it, and perhaps a bottle of water. I plan to visit the rest room at some point in the near future. I fear it will be a memorable experience.” “You know there is one right here in this little room, right?” “My dear, the main lavatory in the
lounge car is quite small enough, thank you.”
Cassiopia rose and braced herself against the low ceiling. She slid the compartment’s glass and metal door open, smiled back at her father and pulled herself into the narrow corridor. The shiny metallic hallway was deserted. Body weight was required to close the door. She made her way toward the front by bracing against both walls as she went. At the end of the roomette car, she crossed into the next.
It was a coach car with blue seats covered in an Indian-style textile. Soft green overhead racks were partially loaded with baggage. The car was only half full. Cassiopia pulled her way along the seats. Though the car interior looked newly refurbished there was a
musty smell about it. There were no men in black in this car. The next car was the one. As she slid the aluminum door closed behind her, she spotted a man-in-black three- fourths of the way down. Only the back of his shoulders and dark black hair were visible, but there was no mistake. She made her way forward and passed by him being careful to feign disinterest. He was reading a folded up newspaper. Without looking back, she entered the next car. It was the dining car. Red cushioned seats bordered tables on each side. White tablecloths, with plates and silverware neatly set on each beside napkins folded inside drinking glasses. The isle floor was covered by non-slip black rubber. Subdued lighting overhead concealed
by dark stained wood provided soft illumination. At the far end of the double car, one couple was dining. No one else was present. Halfway down the car she found dividers enclosing vending machines. One offered coffee and hot tea. She purchased a bottle of spring water from one as her tea was being dispensed in another. She paused before leaving to prepare her surveillance strategy. Entering the next car, the man in black was still there, still seeming to read his rolled up newspaper. As she approached, she dropped her bottle of water. She bent over quickly and recovered it, then stood very slowly, pretending to struggle with the paper cup of hot tea. Once again, she showed no interest in the man in black, and pushed on past him.
Back in the roomette, her father looked up and eyed the paper cup of tea with anticipation. “Oh my! You’ve done it!” “Be careful. It’s very hot. I could hardly hold it.” “Oh the wonderful smell of cinnamon. A successful excursion I would say.” “In more ways than one.” “What do you mean?” “He has black leather shoes with laces and no seams. There are no creases in his shoes. His black slacks and socks also appear seamless and show no signs of a weave. He wears a simple black leather belt that buckles into a punched hole, but there is only a single hole as though it had to have been tailored to fit. His black tie is slightly too narrow. It may not be fabric
at all. I have never seen one of that style. Behind the tie, his white dress shirt has no buttons. Very odd. You can’t see that unless you get close enough and lucky enough to see behind it. His black jacket, like the other items, appears to have no seam in the shoulders or arms, and no weave. The lapel is not cut straight. It has a bow to it, starting near the bottom and arcing to the top. I have never seen that, either. The man does not look like he shaves. He has no beard shadow even though it is late afternoon. The skin on his face is too perfect. His sideburns are cut identically. The back of his hair is also cut with extreme precision. His eyebrows match perfectly. Too perfectly. His fingernails have perfectly matching cuticles and the lines in his fingers and hands are equally
complimentary. No rings or jewelry of any kind except for a strange-looking gold watch on the left wrist. He has no hair on his arms above the wrist, as much as I could see. His eyes are a dull blue and they were not dilated as they should have been for the existing light level or for reading, which he was only pretending to do. His ears do not comprise a normal auditory canal. They are more slotted than elliptic. His nose is similar. The nostrils are more rectangular than oval. There is an obvious conclusion.” “Heavens, daughter. Did you get a blood sample?” “I’m serious, Father.” “You observed all of that? What did you do, frisk the man?” “I pretended to drop your bottle of water.”
“Heaven forbid. None of us are safe. That sponge-like mind of yours recorded all that in the time it took you to retrieve a bottle of water? This photographic memory of yours has always caused me anxiety. It leads me to suspect you have a record of every misspoken word or errant action I have ever been at fault for.” “Father…” “Well, what is it, then? What is your obvious conclusion now that your personal supercomputer has had a few minutes out of eternity to process the data.” “The man is either an alien, or an android.” Professor Cassell placed one hand on his forehead and shook his head. He looked down and began mumbling to himself. “It’s her fault not mine. I said
our paring might produce a child we could neither control nor keep up with, but she insisted. If only I hadn’t accepted the wine. She was the one who wanted wine. Then what does she do? Withdraws in retreat and leaves the child care up to me, of all people…” “Father…” “I’m sorry. You were saying.” “There are no other viable explanations. There are so many points of supporting fact the odds of coincidence no longer apply. How many times have you used that quote that, when all other possibilities are eliminated what remains, no matter how unlikely, must be the solution?” “My dear, Sherlock never suggested someone was a robot.” “DaVinci would have considered it.”
“Daughter, the man could just be someone with unusually perfect skin tone and a compulsive grooming disorder.” “And a tailor who has discovered clothing without seams or weave for a client who happens to have rectangular nostrils and ear canals?” “Expensive custom tailoring and a slight aberrant growth variation.” “The odds are far against you, Father. Not even calculable.” “I fear to ask, what will you do next, Ms. Holmes?” “Test them.” “Oh no.”
“There is a stop in Sarasota. I will disembark and appear to not have reboarded. We’ll see what they do then.”
“Perhaps not such a bad plan. Perhaps they will ignore you completely and both our minds will be put at rest.” “Do you really think that?” “What do you think will happen?” “My hypothesis is that when I get off, one of them will follow. Once he loses track of me he will somehow call the other and both will begin searching as inconspicuously as they can.” “Well, I will hope both of us are mistaken, though I do not see how that can be. Their visits have been too frequent for too long. This has become a worrisome distraction.” A conductor in black suddenly appeared outside the door. He smiled and waved, then slid the door open just enough to speak. “Sorry about the delay folks. It will be another 45 minutes or so. Is there anything you need?”
“Was anyone hurt?” asked Cassiopia. “It must’ve been a bunch of kids or something. The sport truck was stolen. The engineer says they bailed out before getting hit. Police haven’t found them yet.” “Well, at least no one’s been hurt then?” “No. The only injury is to everyone’s schedule.” The Professor asked, “Is there a lavatory nearby I might use, or must I journey to the lounge to avoid this imitation one here?” The conductor laughed. “There’s one at the entrance to the next car behind us, Professor. It’s marked employees-only but it is unlocked and you’re very welcome to use it. It’s quite a bit more comfortable.”
“Ah, a wonderful happenstance. Thank you.” “Thanks for your patience, folks.” The conductor tipped his hat, pulled the door closed, and went looking for the next passengers. “Forty-five minutes. Well, we’ll still be in Knoxville in plenty of time,” said Cassiopia. “I shall employ the hidden lavatory before the shaking and rattling resumes,” said the Professor, and he stood and struggled with the sliding door before escaping to the corridor. Cassiopia sat back and considered the mischievous ruse she had planned for the men in black. They did not seem violent at this point. Was she tempting fate by testing them? She watched out the window as crews wandered around searching and collecting the remaining
wreckage along the tracks. After a half hour of soul searching, she realized her father was taking an inordinate amount of time in the restroom. Perhaps he had changed his mind and visited the forward lounge. No, she would have seen him pass by. She stood and decided she’d better check on him, but as she reached for the door he suddenly appeared. He slid the door open just as the train jerked forward. “We’re moving, at last,” she declared as he entered. “That’s good,” he replied. He latched the door and sat. “You were gone so long. Was everything alright?” “Yes. Everything is alright.” The train jerked forward once more and this time kept going. It began a slow crawl but gained speed quickly.
“We won’t even be late to check in,” said Cassiopia. “Yes. I think I need a nap,” replied her father. He tilted his head against the window and was gone in an instant. Cassiopia turned her attention to the world passing by outside the window. The blur of near objects would occasionally break to reveal passing images of city or farmland. It was a fast forward video of the Florida landscape, jumping between old broken buildings, modern steel skyscrapers, and everything in between. The shuddering and shaking of the train car made her feel almost as if she were traveling through time, as though this were a train of souls connecting to their next ethereal experience. At railroad crossings, instantaneous flashes of faces waiting in cars added eerie
impressions to the travel. They seemed apart from her altered dimension of time. This kind of travel seemed to summon a reflection of life as a whole, back dropped by a collage of picture window art portraying motifs of the real world. Science was so easy to contemplate compared to existence itself. Bell tones from an overhead speaker finally signaled they were approaching Sarasota. The Professor remained asleep. A dull screeching sound came from somewhere behind. Cassiopia pulled up her travel bag and wrested a gray silk blouse and dark slacks from it. She found the yellow plastic bag she had brought from the Bath and Body Works shop, emptied it and packed the clothing in, along with a gray crochet-style cloche hat and
sunglasses. With determination she stuffed the yellow bag under her clothing, patted it down, and belted it. Outside her window, station buildings began to appear as the train slowed further. The loading ramp came up into view shadowed by a protective canopy. Her father continued in sleep, his head still resting against the side of the window. She waited for the train to stop completely, tucked her ticket in a pocket, and headed for the coach car. The man in black was still sitting, pretending to read the same newspaper. Again, they ignored each other. She passed by and went to the car exit. A conductor guarding the door smiled and nodded as she stepped down the grated metal stairs. On the platform, the setting sun cast shadows everywhere. People with
luggage were hurrying about in colorful travel dress. It was still late afternoon hot with a touch of oil and diesel smell in the air. She made her way into the lobby and paused among the rows of dark mahogany seats covered by time- weary yellow cushions. There were no men in black around. The main lady’s restroom was in the far left corner. She hurried there, checked once more before entering, then disappeared inside.
Changing clothes in a stall was quick and easy. Her blue jumpsuit went back into the yellow bag. She pinned her ivory blond hair up and pulled the cloche hat down over it. Carrying the yellow plastic bag she emerged into the concourse and looked around. There were telephones along one wall nearby. An elderly gentleman in a brown suit
had just replaced the receiver on one and was tucking papers back into his suit jacket. Cassiopia waited for someone to pass and walked over to the gentleman. “Excuse me, kind Sir. Have you used the train before?” The man turned and eyed her suspiciously but quickly relaxed and smiled. “Why yes, quite often. Can I help you?” “Would you mind if I boarded with you? It’s the first time I’ve traveled this way.”
“That’s the best offer I’ve had from such an attractive young woman in a very long time. I would be delighted to escort you.” Cassiopia returned a beaming smile, hooked one arm under his, and straightened up. The man reached for
an expensive brown wooden cane against the wall, hung it over his free arm as though he were Fred Astaire, and the two wove their way through the crowd to the boarding platform. As they approached the train, Cassiopia spotted one of them. Standing near the entrance to the lobby, the man in black was searching the area with a bit of apprehension. She paused at the stairs and helped her elderly escort up. As she stepped up behind him, the man in black turned and hurried inside the station.
Cassiopia returned to her roomette, surprised to find her father still sleeping. She took her seat and stared intently out the window. Now there were two men in black on the platform speaking to each other and continuing to search. One returned
again into the building. The other continued to scan the area around the platform. The train was getting ready to depart. The platform was clearing. Horns and whistles were sounding. The second man in black emerged from the station building and rejoined his partner. The two spoke in low tones as they continued to search the platform. Conductors were trotting past the train windows. The train jerked forward and began to roll. The men in black held their position and turned in place still searching. As the train picked up speed, one of them spotted Cassiopia looking out the window. She watched them stare as the train sped away, leaving them behind. She watched as long as possible. They became tiny figures in the distance and finally
disappeared behind tangled forest. They were gone. Having seen her, would they be angry now? Would they do something unpleasant next time? Perhaps her impulsive trick had not been wise. Leaving them behind was not something she had expected. Maybe there were more of them on board. Cassiopia stood and braced herself against the sliding glass door. She opened it, stepped out and looked in both directions. No sign of anyone. She headed forward. A slow search of the coach cars, the lounge, and the dining car produced no men in black. She started back and looked through the curtainless door windows of all the roomettes as she passed by. Once again, there were no signs of any men in black. Clearly there had been only
two and now she had tricked them into missing the train. Back at her own roomette, her father had awakened. He was still seated looking out the window. She took her seat across and drummed her fingers without speaking. She glanced at the world passing by outside, then back at her father. “It’s actually quite a beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said. “Father, I may have done something indiscreet.” “My wonderful darling little girl? It’s not possible.” “Wow! Did you drink wine or something?” “I have had nothing to drink.” “Whoever they are, I may have offended them.” “Offended who? How could you
possibly offend anyone?” “Father, what have we been talking about for the past hour. The men in black. I may have inadvertently upset them.” “I don’t understand.” “They got off the train just as I predicted, but my ploy was a little too good. They remained on the platform too long looking for me. They missed the train and then they saw me looking out the window as we left. ” Her father stared blankly. “It’s clear now they are following us. It’s also clear they are not infallible. They can be tricked and they can make mistakes. Whoever they are, they do not have super powers. We can now extrapolate that they anticipate and reason in a fashion similar to us. I also saw them communicating verbally, so
whatever technology they use, they still rely on basic communication. I only hope I have not angered them in some way so that they become more aggressive toward us. What do you think, Father?” “What do I think? No one could be angry with you.” “Oh boy, you did have wine, didn’t you. That’s why you were gone so long to the restroom, isn’t it? What are you doing drinking wine at this time of day? Is this all bothering you that much?” “I believe I could use a nap.” “You just had a nap.” Her father tipped his head against the window pane and was gone. Cassiopia scoffed and pulled her laptop out from beneath the seat. She logged on and began searching for everything she could find on the men in black.
There was a ton of listings. So much of it was preposterous. One item was placed by a man claiming to be one of the men in black seeking a female companion. His ad was an unfortunate example of someone betrayed by their own printed word. ‘Seeking female
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