“I know a few airports that could learn a lot from your baggage handlers,” Jim joked, his quip bringing only a mechanical smile to the face of his escort. Mina gave him a perfunctory tour of his new home: one bedroom, a living room and a well-equipped kitchenette. A small office off his bedroom held a computer she assured him connected to their mainframe LAN, along with a desk and a single filing cabinet; so he could work at any time he chose, she explained.
“I doubt that you will have much need for the cafeteria,” said Mina, “but it is open 24-hours a day and I think you will be pleasantly surprised by the menu range.” Leading Jim back into the living room, Belkov continued, “You will find a list of all the facility’s extensions next to the phone, over there. If you need anything, please feel free to dial zero; that will get you through to reception, and they will be able to help you locate anybody or anything you need. You should also have received an itinerary in the package given to you by your driver.” The last sentence was a statement rather than a question.
Jim nodded as she continued, “There will be a formal meeting tonight at six-thirty where you will meet Dr. Lorentz and the rest of the team.”
“How many other…” Jim’s eyes focused to the right as he searched for the right word, “guests are there?” he asked.
“Besides the original group members? There are two new people, including you of course.”
“Of course,” he said with a smile.
Belkov began to walk to the door. Over her shoulder she said, “Is there anything else I might help you with, Doctor Baston?”
“No… thank you.”
“See you at six-thirty then.” And with that, she was gone and he was once more alone.
Jim quickly settled into his new accommodation. He took a nap, followed by a shower before changing into a pair of fresh slacks, button-down shirt, and jacket. It always amazed him how a shower and change of clothes could rejuvenate an exhausted body.
By the time Mina Belkov knocked on the door just before six-thirty, he was sitting comfortably—if a little nervously—on the sofa.
“All set?” she asked.
Jim gave a nod and joined her in the corridor.
Twenty-Two
An estimated thirty-seven thousand people turned out today to hear the self-proclaimed leader of the Church of Second Redemption, Father Edward Pike, preach at Gunn Avenue Park, Whittier.
While no arrests were made, Police chief John O’Donnell said that the sheer number of devotee’s who turned up to hear Father Pike’s sermon caused traffic problems for the small residential area of Whittier.
Father Pike could not be reached for comment.
Three people stood chatting quietly in a group, as Mina Belkov led Jim into the meeting room. A highly polished cedar conference table occupied the center of the floor with seating for fifteen. At the furthest end of the table from the door, a projector pointed at a blank white screen on the wall. A recording device—Jim presumed—sat on top of the table.
A tall man broke away from the group talking in the corner and moved toward Jim and Mina, his hand extended.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said, grasping Jim’s proffered hand in his own. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Jim.”
“Doctor James Baston, this is Doctor Mitchell Lorentz,” said Mina, by way of introduction.
Lorentz was not what Jim had expected. He was tall with long, pure gray hair which was matched by an equally gray mustache and goatee beard, framing lively blue eyes and a mouth that was quick to smile.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Doctor,” said Jim.
“Let me introduce you to the rest of the team.” Lorentz took Jim by the elbow leading him over to the group who had stopped chatting and now turned to face the two men.
Horatio Mabry insisted Jim call him Harry. Horatio’s name was exceeded in exuberance only by the man’s sheer size—Jim estimated Mabry weighed in at a minimum of two-fifty, probably closer to three-hundred. The man was an absolute bear.
“It’s all relaxed muscle,” Mabry maintained with mock sincerity as he patted his overflowing paunch, a guilty smile lighting up the rubicund face of the man Lorentz described as the team’s resident electrical engineer.
“I keep telling Harry we have a perfectly good gym that he’s free to take advantage of at any time,” said Lorentz with a knowing smile.
“True. True,” the big man retorted. “Unfortunately you also have a wonderful cafeteria. Besides, the one thing we have all learned from the Slip is what our future holds if we continue down the same paths we originally took, and I for one like to know exactly where I am heading.”
“And here,” said Lorentz, turning his attention to the young woman standing quietly next to Mabry, “is another new acquisition to our team. James Baston, I would like you to meet Rebecca Lacey.”
Rebecca was a striking young woman. In her late twenties, with chestnut brown hair falling to her shoulders, highlighting a face that, while not classically beautiful, held an attraction on a level Jim could not immediately grasp. But there was something else about this woman; an intimation of pain that moved across her features like a mist across a morning field, hinting at a hidden hurt that ran deep.
“Rebecca is new to the installation, just as you are, Jim,” continued Lorentz, “and we are hoping she will become a permanent asset to our team.”
If Rebecca had noticed Jim staring she did not let on, instead she smiled politely—a smile that reflected in her emerald green eyes. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Doctor Baston,” said Rebecca, in a voice full of melody.
Jim managed to answer, even though his tongue felt immobile in his head, “A pleasure,” he said. A pleasure? What was he thinking? It made him sound like a Victorian villain from a bad vid-flick.
“Ah!” exclaimed Lorentz, breaking the spell as he peered over Jim’s right shoulder towards the doorway. “I see the final member of our team has joined us. Come in Professor Drake and meet our newest arrivals.”
Jim turned to greet the new arrival.
A child—no more than six years old—walked into the conference room. Her wispy blonde hair was cut in a bob that outlined a face that would make an angel weep at its sweetness. Sparkling blue eyes assessed Jim Baston with a cool intelligence.
“Hello,” said the girl in a voice little more than a squeak, as she offered Jim her extended hand. “I’m Professor Adrianna Drake.”
Jim realized his mouth was hanging open. The little girl standing in front of him had a querulous, almost disdainful look on her face. It was a look that said she was more than aware of the effect her childlike appearance had on adults but was well and truly bone-tired of it. Yes, yes, she seemed to say. Just get the gawking over with.
Here was as fine an illustration of the many oddities this new version of an old world had created. For the majority of humanity, the millions of resurrected dead who had suddenly and inexplicably found themselves alive once more had been the hardest aspect of this new-past world to accept. They had collectively been labelled with the politically correct nomenclature of the revivified.
But for Jim, he had the most trouble accepting the other extreme of the scale: the children, who had, until the day of the Slip, been living normal adult lives in the future. After the Slip, anyone in their late-twenties to mid-thirties had found themselves suddenly back in their childhood body, the event having wiped decades from their lives. Now, they were all little again, but their consciousness was still that of their future self. They retained all the intelligence and memories of their adult lives.