I was in the lab early the next morning, feeling unusually anxious. Stresses of one type or another became second nature when my whole “tripping worlds” adventure began. Not to pat myself on the back, but I’d long since learned to roll with the punches. I’m introverted at my core, which isn’t practical when your mission in life is to undermine plans for world domination implemented by a creature from another plane of reality. One becomes good at being someone else when required. I think of it as playing a role and believe I can be anyone I need to be.
The problem with my trip to Alison Springs University was that I could only be myself. I had a past with Piper, and since Piper was part of ASU, there was too much of a chance someone I knew from our time together would overlap and blow my cover. I had laid enough of a false trail to keep the FBI chasing inconsequential leads in other parts of the world. If I could wrap up my work in Maryland quickly enough, I could stay ahead of the manhunt.
The law had nothing to do with my stress levels shortly before eight o’clock that Monday. It was the fast one I was about to pull by ambushing Piper for a second time in two days. I was pulling a fresh pair of replacement wires through the tangle of intricate sensor leads under the table when I heard multiple voices coming down the hall. A group of people appeared to be talking simultaneously.
“The team has arrived,” Esker said through my earpiece.
“Everyone?” I asked, keeping my voice low so my face remained obscured below the surface of the high-tech medical table. I knew Esker was using the facility’s surveillance system to track the team as they finished reviewing the two storage rooms allocated for the project. They were headed to the medical suite specifically designed for the experiment, located down the hall from the storage rooms on the rarely-used basement level of the recently opened Experimental Sciences building.
“Affirmative. The entire team is present,” Esker paused for dramatic effect. “Including Piper.” He was an artificial intelligence, but if I didn’t know better, there were times I would bet money that the dramas of my life amused him.
“Very funny, but you know I’m more concerned with Omar.”
“Insisting on that won’t make it a reality,” the AI’s dry voice insisted.
I rolled my eyes.
“And last but not least,” a new voice boomed as a group bustled into the room. “Welcome to our state-of-the-art laboratory.” The man had a sonorous baritone, and I recognized it as the tweed-toting Doctor Kramer Fulbright. He was the head of the project and the man I had seen in the news clipping, shaking hands with the financier from the front company representing Kilmer Breslin’s interests.
I kept my head down and waited. My cover was that of a technician, and any good cover requires commitment, so I plunged ahead with my work. I pulled the cable through the grommet, separated the central instrument cluster from the port assembly, and started stripping the ends of the delicate wires. It would take only a few seconds to solder them into the housing. Still, I was putting that off until after the uncomfortable introductions, misdirections, and possible recriminations that needed to come first. I might be playing a part, but I hated to do anything more than once, even if it was part of a project I ultimately needed to sabotage.
“Our team is still one short,” I heard a husky feminine voice say from the far side of the room. “You said we would meet everyone first thing.” This was from Piper. It was a voice I would recognize in my sleep…and yes, I frequently did hear it in my sleep. Our time apart was not without its personal challenges for me.
I was surprised by how frustrated her tone was.
“Yes, everyone is meeting as I promised,” Doctor Fulbright muttered. His tone was placating, suggesting this had been a recurring theme and a subject he would be happy to remove from their agenda. “I believe the last team member is already working hard on our primary device. Grady, could you come out to meet the team?”
I sighed and pushed a set of screwdrivers and a soldering iron aside on the floor. I hoped to listen longer before being drawn into the conversation. Perhaps entering the room quietly and arriving late would have been a better approach. Since it was too late, I used the edge of the bed for leverage and hoisted myself up from the floor.
Before I forget, let me explain the bed. Doctor Fulbright’s project focused on using sleep patterns and brain chemistry to cross the dimensional brane barrier. If you think that’s similar to what happens when I shuffle off to dreamland and wake up on the other side, you’re right. His theory and associated experiment being so similar to my experiences seemed unlikely. At least until you consider the baker’s dozen of different approaches I have already sabotaged since Breslin began searching for a way to bring his people to Our-World, it seems it was only a matter of time before he found an approach similar to my own experience.
I still couldn’t figure out how Piper ended up on the one project that closely mirrored my history. There is a coincidence, and there was whatever the hell this was, right?
Maybe that’s why the surprise I saw in Piper’s expression wasn’t what I expected. It was the kind of bewilderment you see on a person’s face when you unexpectedly find yourself in the same elevator with someone you’re tracking. It was not shock that I intruded on her scientific project without prior warning or explanation.
“Team,” Doctor Fulbright said, “this is Grady Ledger. He’s the data scientist and technical lead for the project.” Fulbright waved a hand toward the group gathered at his side. “Grady, this is Sara Pemberton, Oman Quadri, Piper Hudson, and Timo Butcher.”
I stepped forward and shook hands all around. The looks I received from the group varied greatly. I noticed expressions of concern from Oman, amusement from Timo, and what seemed like confusion from Sara. There was also a hint of frost in the glare I received from Piper.
I had anticipated an unfriendly reception from Piper, though her glower was running a wider gamut than I predicted and was more like a runaway train. Esker had performed background checks on the entire team, so I was particularly interested in the reception I received from Oman. He was already looking for an opportunity to head for the hall and was fidgeting with his smartphone in anticipation of a moment of free time.
Sara’s reaction to my handshake was the most unexpected. She looked at me more closely and her gaze narrowed on my eyes. “Grady Ledger?” Looking back at Piper, she said, “Didn’t you have an ex by that name?”
Piper wasn’t the type to share personal information, so the fact that she told Sara about me was a surprise. Not knowing how Piper would react, I kept my expression neutral—or at least I thought I did. Looking back, I might have looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.
While still looking at Piper, Sara tipped her head at me and, with the biggest grin I could imagine on the girl’s face, said, “Is this the guy who ghosted you?”
Piper chewed the corner of her lip and remained silent; she simply shrugged.
Sara nodded and then looked me up and down as if I were a mannequin on a sales floor. “Buckle in, folks. This is going to be interesting.”
Oman was about to run for the door. “Now,” I whispered to Esker.
The power in the room went out. The overhead fluorescent lights went dark, and heavy clicks and thuds could be heard around the room’s perimeter. The room, I should explain, was a sterile, utilitarian space. It was designed to look very clinical, but it was a high-security lab in the basement of a state-of-the-art building that had recently opened on the north end of campus. It had high ceilings and poured concrete walls. The doors were on sliding steel tracks, and the security had been excessively hardened. They were fireproof and could become air-tight under a pressurized rubber seal that inflated around the periphery of the door when required.
In the case of a power outage, the lab went into lockdown, steel bolts secured the doors, and the airtight seals engaged. This was excessive for a project like the one Doctor Fulbright was working on in the basement. Still, since funding had been provided by one of the institute’s most significant benefactors, no expenses were spared. The overkill was playing to my benefit in this situation because now Oman Quadri couldn’t leave the room to make his crucial phone call.
Emergency lighting activated, and the half-dozen wall-mounted fixtures hummed to life. Everyone looked concerned—everyone except Piper, who glared at me from beneath arched brows.
“It’s just a power outage,” Doctor Fulbright said reassuringly.
Before the words were out of his mouth, everyone in the room had cell phones in hand and was tapping at the screens. That’s when tension started to fill the air. No one had a signal. Of course, they didn’t; I had a jammer in my backpack about ten feet from where I was standing.
Fulbright poked at his phone almost as long as anyone else but then grumbled something inaudible and shoved the device into his tweed sport coat pocket. “Not to worry, everyone. It’s just a matter of time before power is restored, and we’re out of here. The building is brand new. They have had glitches like this for the last couple of weeks. Think of it as a test of our security. We can see how safe the apparatus is when we lock it down at night.”
We were stuck in the room for hours. It was unfortunate, but there was no way to rush the approach I needed to make, both with Oman and the rest of the team. Oman was my primary concern. ATG security had alerted him to be wary of anyone approaching the project, especially if they matched my description. I’ve been destroying Breslin’s experiments for some time, and needless to say, his corporate security had gotten wise to my methods—at least some of them. ATG was competent enough to alert the associated teams on each and ensure they were on the lookout. For a quiet project like this, it only made sense that someone on the team would be watching for me. I just needed to stay a step ahead and be ready for whatever Breslin’s people had told Oman to keep him loyal.
Everyone was tired and hot during our fifth hour. The lab resembled a massive warehouse-like workspace, divided into separate areas by furniture arrangement. Since none of it had been used before tonight, no one felt at home at the start of the day. But fast forward a few hours, and that changed. Fulbright and Butcher sat on a pair of sofas arranged around a large-screen television with no cable service. This was placed in the northwest corner of what everyone was already calling the lab. A small kitchenette was set up in the northeast corner. It included a full refrigerator, a table that could seat six, and an eight-foot-long counter with cabinets and a sink.
The entire south wall of the lab was configured like a proper research facility. Computer terminals were on wheeled carts, and there were equipment shelves and tanks of industrial-sized gases. The centerpiece was their main instrument, referred to simply as “the table,” although there was nothing simple about it. Essentially, it was a bed layered with space-age memory foam that could be precisely temperature-controlled. Similar to how the temperature was carefully monitored, the table’s head, foot, and middle could be adjusted subtly to make the sleeping subject as comfortable as possible. But the actual technology was the glass lens that arched over whoever was on the table for the experiment. The lens curved from one side to the other, entirely transparent and nearly an inch thick. It looked like glass but was almost five hundred layers of state-of-the-art silicon image transistors. The microscopic technology built into the glass-like matrix could scan and display information simultaneously across the surface of the lattice array. It was cutting-edge technology that was more precise than even the most revolutionary MRI and could image a subject in real-time.
“I still think you could have given me a heads up,” Piper said as I continued working on the table. She held a flashlight for me and leaned against the diagnostic panel. We had this part of the lab to ourselves, but we still kept our conversation to hushed tones.
“It was on the agenda when I saw you last night,” I admitted.
“So,” she said, frustration evident in that single word.
I shrugged and took too long to answer. “Seeing you… I guess this,” I waved a hand around the room, “didn’t seem like the most important thing to say.” Or not to say, I didn’t add.
She was quiet after that and just watched me try unsuccessfully to splice a wire into the control box panel. It was a simple task, and I failed repeatedly to make the connections correctly. I could claim the lighting was poor, but that wasn’t the problem. She knew it as well as I did. My focus wasn’t on it. This wasn’t what I wanted to be doing. I was inches away from her for the first time in far too long, and she was distracting in a way that people wait their entire lives to experience.
I didn’t know if she still felt as she once had.
“So, you told Sara about us?” It was all I could think to add.
Piper shrugged. “I have friends here. Does that surprise you?”
She had always been a very private person. We had that in common.
“I’m a bartender in a very popular bar,” she said. “Guys hit on me all the time. After a while, my friends wondered why I wasn’t interested. Apparently, I needed a reason not to give anyone the time of day. If you don’t have one, people think there’s something wrong with you.”
“And I became your reason?”
She shrugged again. “At first. It worked for three or four months. Those were the first three or four months after I realized you weren’t returning. But as time passed, I had to ask myself why I wasn’t making myself available.”
The silence stretched again, so I asked, “And that was?”
She turned off the light and looked away. “Ask me again sometime,” she said in a quiet voice. “Right now, you’ve got work to do.” She wasn’t referring to the wires I was fighting with. “Just deal with Oman so we can get out of here. I’m tired, and I’m hot. I want to take a shower.”
I moved to Oman Quadri. He was sitting with Sara Pemberton at the table in the kitchen area, and the two were speaking quietly. Fulbright and Butcher were passed out on couches in the other corner, so there wasn’t much chance of being overheard. Still, keeping Oman from raising his voice was vital to pulling off my con.
Piper slid into a chair next to Sara, and I dropped into a seat kitty corner from Oman. The young man instantly became alert, his stress indicators increasing noticeably. His face was already covered in a sheen of perspiration, but my proximity seemed to bring fresh droplets to his skin. Like everyone on the project, except for the team lead, Doctor Fulbright, Oman was young—meaning he was roughly my age. According to his file, he was a few weeks shy of his twenty-fifth birthday. I knew he was a registered Democrat, a pro-life advocate, had a boyfriend named Al, and the couple shared two cats. The problem for me in terms of cover on this project was that Arlington Technologies Global had given Oman a very detailed description of me and instructed him to be on the lookout.
Oman was about five feet eight inches tall and weighed approximately one hundred ninety pounds. He wore chinos and a blue button-down shirt buttoned to the collar. His concession to the less formal conditions seemed to be the lack of a tie, and he appeared uncomfortable without it. Every ten minutes or so, he would fiddle with the collar of his shirt as if checking for the knot of his tie out of habit, only to find it wasn’t there. He also wore undersized wire-rimmed glasses that seemed more of a fashion statement than corrective eyewear, as they were likely more of a detriment to his sightline than a benefit.
“This is crazy,” Sara said. “How can no one know we’re down here? We checked in at the front desk. Someone should be looking for us by now.”
I pointed to a service door in the back corner of the lab area. “That’s supposed to be the emergency exit. When the rest of the facility locks down, that door leads to a tunnel that provides emergency access to the basement of Smithson Hall. I guess all the infrastructure is so new that no one has tested the emergency systems yet.”
Oman glared suspiciously at my detailed explanation. He seemed ready to speak but then thought better of it.
Piper said, “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. At least we have ventilation, so at least something is working right.”
I glanced at the tangle of industrial-grade vents suspended from the concrete slab ceiling overhead. “The lab has its own backup cooling and oxygen filtration systems. The door has an airtight seal, so the idea is to prevent any containment breach from leaking to outside labs. At the same time, there are three others on this level. Engineers ensured the experiments inside each lab wouldn’t lose integrity if they suffered a breach.”
“How does the new guy know more about the lab than anyone else?” Oman finally grumbled, speaking for the first time since I sat down.
I am responsible for all the technical systems, including everything from the available power facilities to the life support capabilities. I have also researched the inventory of spare parts and medical supplies. I strive to know as much as possible about every project I undertake.
Oman arched a brow. “So if I asked you how many roles of duck tape we have on hand, you’re saying you know it off the top of your head?”
“Can’t have too much duct tape,” I agreed. Esker’s voice sounded in my ear, relaying the relevant details. “6 rolls in compartment 36B, two more stashed on a shelf behind 62G, and I have a partial roll on the wheeled cart because I used it before the power went out. There are also two locations with gaffers tape. It’s not quite as handy as duct tape, but it has its unique uses.”
For a moment, I thought Oman would confirm the information I had provided. His eyes scanned the room, and I watched as he reviewed the marked locations on the storage cabinets and shelves. When his shoulders slumped, I knew he was resigned to taking me at my word. This was significant because, though not important in and of itself, it represented capitulation. It was the groundwork for my larger fabrication.
The human mind is an interesting tool. If you tell someone something they don’t want to believe or are not ready to hear, it’s easy for them to reject the information outright. However, if one first builds rapport, establishes a history of reliability, and then attempts to convince them of something they don’t want to hear, the chances of rejection diminish.
Or so I’ve read.
I’ve used this approach before and it has generally worked in my favor. However, in my experience, people can be unpredictable. It’s often impossible to anticipate some people’s reactions. But when you can’t just punch someone to get what you want, this is the most reliable approach.
I eyed Piper and gave her a wink. I had explained the need for some alone time with Oman before she joined me at the table. Considering my recent intrusion into her life, I had not clarified the deception I would use on Oman.
Piper tapped Sara on the arm and said softly, “Can I talk to you alone for a second?”
Sara’s face clouded with concern, and then she looked at me suspiciously, as if I were somehow to blame for whatever was bothering Piper. It made me wonder exactly what, or how much of our past, Piper had shared with Sara. The young woman seemed to be reading too much into my appearance and Piper’s response to it.
Sara nodded, and the two slipped away from the table. Oman also tried to leave, but I placed a hand on his arm before he could. “I need a minute of your time,” I said in as non-threatening a tone as possible.
“I need to check in with Doctor Fulbright,” Oman sputtered.
I didn’t let go of Oman’s arm, so he promptly relented by sinking back into his seat.
“I know ATG security told you to be on the lookout for someone matching my description and to report back if I made contact,” I said without further preamble.
Oman looked like someone had just set a sparkler off in front of his face. His eyes blinked quickly, and his mouth dropped agape. Long seconds passed before he spoke. “BG—wait, what?”
“It’s alright; drink water and take a deep breath.” I pushed his bottled water closer to his chest and tried not to laugh as he examined it as if seeing it for the first time. He removed the lid and sipped slowly. It was an effort to buy time, and I allowed him to take as much as he needed.
“They would have given you my real name but suggested I would approach you or someone on the project using a pseudonym, maybe even a disguise. Does that sound about right?”
Oman stared at me, clearly not sure how to respond.
“It’s okay,” I said calmly. “Just take your time, and everything will start to make sense. I promise.
“ATG was right when they said I have been watching several of their projects. Clearly, there’s something special about this one, because here I am. However, they weren’t being honest when they told you about who I was or why I’m here.” I slipped a leather wallet from my back pocket and pushed it across the table. “Take a look,” I said. “Just make sure no one else sees it. Lives are at stake.”
Oman was slow to react, but he took my cred pack and pulled it close to his chest. His gaze moved surreptitiously around the room, likely ensuring that no one was looking. He slowly flipped it open as if afraid of what it might reveal. Then his brows furrowed. “Defense Intelligence Agency? What’s that?”
“Military intelligence,” I said in a hushed tone. “ATG is selling secrets to countries hostile to our own, and I’m here as part of that investigation.”
Oman closed the wallet and quickly pushed it back to me. “They said you were here to sabotage our project.”
I pocketed the creds. “I’m here to support the project,” I said without breaking eye contact. “It’s vital to our national interests in ways you’re unaware of. However, ATG is more interested in brokering the sale of the next generation of this technology to any country with deep enough pockets.”
Oman wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath. “I don’t see how there’s money to be made here. This is basically just a glorified sleep study.”
“If that’s true,” I pressed, “then why is ATG pressuring you to spy for them?”
He looked newly uncomfortable with the accusation.
“You think it’s just about the technology the team is engineering into the table,” I said. “But that’s only the tip of the iceberg. If this project succeeds, the team will break the Brane barrier and touch another plane of reality—another existence. Modern science is about breaking through to new frontiers. This is that principle in its truest form. But there’s danger in that. We don’t know what to expect when we reach this new reality. Who or what might we find there?
“Do we want a ruthless group like ATG calling the shots with the science when we get there?”
“So the federal government wants to take over the project,” Oman said. “Does that seem fair if ATG provided the funds needed to conduct the experiment?”
“ATG is a front company for the Department of Defense,” I said simply. “Their CEO, Kilmer Breslin, founded the company with DOD financing. This is a government project; it’s just financed through a paper trail that makes it all look presentable to allies and enemies of our nation alike. ATG is trying to back out of the deal they used to launch the company, and this isn’t the first project they have tried to launch under the radar this way.”
This was all fiction, of course. But it was more believable than the idea of a man-creature from another Brane of reality coming to Our-World in search of a way to bring the rest of his people here and turn it into a living hell. I mean, when the truth is that messed up, you have to give people something they can wrap their minds around, or else you’re just not going to make any progress.
“You’re saying they did this before?”
“A couple of weeks ago, there was an underground facility in Kansas. ATG claims it was attacked, and its intellectual property was stolen on the eve of its pilot run. The head of the project and two of her lead scientists went missing the same night.”
Oman rubbed his eyes. “You’re talking about Woodlawn Research and Miranda Norton. I’ve heard rumors that she has been missing for weeks.”
I wasn’t surprised that Oman Quadri knew about Woodlawn or Miranda Norton. The community was small when it came to research conducted at this level. To sell the lie, I needed to blend enough of what happened in reality to make things believable. Since Miranda was hiding with my contacts, I could reach out to her to vouch for me, even if I needed her to tell a story so outrageous that she would struggle to back me up while keeping a straight face.
“Look, Oman, this is a lot to ask, but I need you to keep quiet about my being here. I’m gathering evidence against ATG. I need more time. This project will likely be the linchpin in the federal case against Kilmer Breslin.”
Oman took a few seconds to gather his thoughts, then fixed a surprising, penetrating glare on me. “You ask a lot, but you don’t offer much in return,” he said. “Apart from a badge representing a branch of law enforcement I’ve never heard of, you provide no credible evidence.”
Esker’s voice sounded in my ear. “This one’s not the pushover you’re accustomed to dealing with.”
He was right. By cementing Oman’s loyalty now, I could confidently continue my work. If he aligned with my thinking in this moment, there would be a reduced risk of second thoughts or doubts bothering him during quiet hours.
So, I was prepared for this contingency.
“If I connect you with Miranda Norton, would that ease your mind? She has already been where you are now. She didn’t act fast enough, and she is in hiding because of it.”
Perking at this, Oman said, “You can reach Miranda?”
I nodded. “Not easily. Letting you speak with her represents a risk, so it’s not something I prefer. You’re a danger to her, and if ATG ever finds out you were in contact after everything that’s happened, it would undoubtedly put you in the crosshairs. I understand your need to verify my information. I respect it. But there’s a quantifiable risk here for all of us: you, her, and me. Just make sure you’re willing to take responsibility if I connect you with her.”
Oman nodded.
I couldn’t restore power immediately after my heart-to-heart with Oman Quadri. That would have seemed too convenient, and I would have lost face. So, I let the inconvenience linger for another hour and a half. During that time, I enjoyed some quality moments with Doctor Fulbright and Timo Butcher. Both were sharp guys. Fulbright had no discernible sense of humor at all, while Butcher’s brand of humor was a bit twisted.
I never got a sense of what Sara knew about my relationship with Piper; other than that, she seemed to be in the know. Throughout the ordeal, she eyed me. Sometimes, her stare was amusing; at others, it was judgment or maybe even hostility.
Regardless of my perspective, this team would be challenging. They had different goals than I did, but only I understood how truly dangerous their benefactor was.
It might have been half an hour later, maybe a little more, but I ended up sitting alone at the same table with Piper. She was simply watching me, the thoughts behind her blue eyes inscrutable for once. She allowed the silence to stretch, and I sensed she was dissecting me. It felt like she was analyzing everything that had happened to me during our time apart just by studying the contours of my face, neck, and shoulders. At that point, Fulbright and Butcher had retreated to the sofas, presumably to pass the time until power was restored. Oman had his feet kicked up and was reclining in an armchair, dozing not far from the two men. Sara Pemberton had seized the opportunity to arrange a recently delivered batch of pharmaceuticals by the light of a flashlight in the medical area. All of this gave Piper and me a degree of privacy as long as we kept our voices down.
“How long until the power is restored?” Piper finally broke the protracted stretch of silence. The staring session wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as one might expect. In the many months since I last saw her, I’d spent countless hours thinking about her and wondering what I would say or do if our paths ever crossed again. I still didn’t know what to say or do now that they had. That didn’t mean I wasn’t happy just to look at her and enjoy the chance to waste some time.
Looking at the overhead lights, I shrugged with my best expression of innocent confusion. She smirked and stifled a laugh behind her upraised hand. That’s when I realized she hadn’t believed this was a genuine power outage, even for a second. I was here to insinuate myself into her team, using this as a tool to expedite that effort. It was as simple as that. She’d been onto me from the moment the room went into lockdown.
She’d played along without missing a beat.
“At least another hour and a half. I have to sell it,” I admitted. “Sorry for messing up your day.”
She shrugged. “Sounds like I’ll catch my shift at The Borderline, so we’re good. Besides, it’s interesting. I’ve never had a chance to see you work.”
I didn’t want to correct her, but I’d been working when we met on a dock in South Carolina. She just didn’t know it. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure if we ever discussed that operation. I met her, got sidetracked, and never looked back. Meeting a gorgeous girl turned into a boat trip and a summer that changed my life.
And now we were here. Together again.
Unsure about what would happen between us next, I felt like my heart was in my throat as I waited to find out. I could jump out of an airplane in a thunderstorm without so much as a flutter in my heart rate, but sitting at a table in the murky gloom with Piper after so much time separated, I felt like my body was about to rattle apart at the seams.
“You’re still crossing over?” Piper said, her voice even more of a whisper than it had been.
“Wild-Side?” I said. We had coined the name together. I started crossing shortly before we met, so she had been a significant part of my coming to terms with what was happening. I had her here in Our-World to help me understand it while Doc Cormac worked on the same from Wild-Side. With the three of us putting our heads together, we didn’t know why this was happening to me, but we could fine-tune it enough to control the phenomenon somewhat.
I slowly looked around the room before nodding. “If anything, it’s even more frequent than when you were there. It’s not every night, but more often than not.” I leaned forward. “Let me ask you something. Why you? Why here? Why this experiment?”
She glared at me. The seconds of silence that followed hinted this expression would be her only answer. Finally, she spoke. “For you, dummy. Fulbright had a theory and was shopping it around for funding. I read about it and tracked the project. I didn’t think he would ever get anyone to finance the experiment, but if he did, I wanted to ensure someone was paying attention to it.”
“So you positioned yourself for a place on the project team?”
“From day one.”
I didn’t know what to say. My mouth was suddenly dry. I just blinked and stared.
“It’s a sleep experiment designed to put the subject into a stasis-like condition with the goal of crossing over to another plane of existence.” She spoke slowly and quietly through clenched teeth. “You fall asleep in our bed and travel to another layer of reality. That seems a bit too close to the mark if you ask me. Not when I know there’s someone from Wild-Side looking for a way to break down the barrier and bring his people here for better feeding grounds.” Those last two words carried an emphasis that spoke volumes.
Better feeding grounds wasn’t entirely accurate, but this wasn’t the time or place for discussion. My understanding of Breslin’s ultimate goal had evolved during my absence. I wouldn’t describe it as more nuanced by any means; it simply wasn’t what we had initially believed. Regardless, his plans for Our-World were no less catastrophic for the current population.
Piper looked at me and must have sensed something in my expression. “Something has changed.” It was a statement, not a question.
I shrugged and glanced briefly around the room. “A lot has.”
She just looked at me with that same unreadable expression.
