Edward G. Gauthier

Chapter 3                                                                                             word count - 4900

 

January 10, 2032:

 

Dr. Jennifer Liniski studied her twenty-six year old eyes and face in the bathroom mirror. She splashed water across her face and dried it with a towel. She stretched her neck and spine, reached down and touched her toes four times, and took a really deep breath. Yeah, her face felt warmer, and she was coming fully awake. The clock on her chest of drawers showed 4:45 a.m. She knew this day would challenge her, possibly more than anything she’d ever faced before. As she combed her long blond hair and tied it in a ponytail, the clicking of toenails across the hardwood floor got her attention. It was Dice, her ninety-five pound black Labrador. She smiled as her big black dog sauntered up, sat, and gave out his usual morning greeting.

“Ruhh.” It always came out as mostly exhale with just a bit of bark.

         She and Dice had met in August of 2024 as they both survived the seven hour gravitational wave storm brought on by the four-foot diameter Dragon’s Eye Black Hole passing not far from Earth.1   The emotional, psychological effects of the intense gravitational waves had caused her and this dog to both undergo an out of body experience. With her consciousness separated from her physical body and the same thing happening to the dog, they had met in some strange energized telepathic realm. That meeting had formed a relationship between her and Dice that was unbreakable. He had not left her side since then. Dice had gone to college with her, insisting on accompanying her to classes as she worked on her physics degree at LSU. Luckily, all her professors liked the dog, him usually curled up by her desk or waited patiently in the hall. A few times, his simple loveable presence had even gotten her through emotionally rough times.

        She glanced at her LSU Physics PhD diploma hanging above her chest of drawers. Just looking at it brought memories of a lot of late night study sessions and physics problems requiring really deep concentration. The seven years of science courses, physics theories, advanced math studies, and the double minor in psychology and philosophy had been particularly challenging, but her mind was strong. Her patience and determination had met the task.

        The real stress had come from keeping the government’s secret concerning the highly classified space-time transference project. She was able to tell no one at her university about the project or her position there. She was always watching her back, refused many young men’s advances, drove a random circuitous route before driving to the gray building, and always checked she wasn’t being followed. She installed a CIA-grade antivirus program on every digital device she owned which would warn her of any conceivable hack attempt. Her university advisor, Dr. Marie Bristol, who, upon Jenny’s graduation, had arranged potential job interviews with industrial manufacturers, software developers, NASA, and other powerful corporations, was totally baffled when Jenny accepted none of those offers.

After graduation, Jenny had quietly changed apartments and began gently paring back some of her relationships at LSU campus, relieving herself of that stress.

 

1 The Dragon’s Eye Black Hole (science fiction novel) by Edward G. Gauthier, copyright 2024, Edward G. Gauthier

 

        “And good morning to you, sir.” She scratched Dice’s neck, ears, and kissed the top of his head. “You ready for work?”

         The dog’s tail beat the floor a few times. Yeah, he was ready.

         “Okay, should I get back to taking care of my womanly looks?”

          “Ruhh.”

          “Good answer.”

           She applied a slight bit of blush to her cheeks, added lip gloss, jumped into her jeans, and finished dressing by consulting her programmable digital mirror. It rated her looks at 94%. She nodded,  grabbed her security badge, made sure to check Dice’s security badge, an RFID chip embedded in his right shoulder, and at 5:04 a.m., they were quickly into the self-driving car. It was a foggy, chilly morning and the traffic through Baton Rouge was lighter than usual. The car, as programmed, took a new random route toward the middle of Baton Rouge, made its way down Government Street, turned onto 190 North, and drove past the dingy capitol building.

It always irked her that Louisiana government happily allowed oil refineries right across the Mississippi river so that their soot and air pollution would drift with the prevailing easterly winds and coat their tall capitol building with grimy soot. She was sure it was the dingiest capitol building of all fifty states. Why couldn’t they at least wash the thing?

The car proceeded up north 3rd street. After four blocks, the car announced, ‘approaching target address.’ The building was huge, big enough to cover a football field. As the car turned in, she wondered what the average citizen thought about this place. It had no windows, one small front door that stayed firmly locked, and the small writing above that door said, ‘Crowley Pestilence Investigation Center. No one here was named Crowley, and no one was dealing with pestilence. Visitors weren’t allowed, packages weren’t delivered, and the place had more security than any military base or missile silo.  Driving to the back of the building, the car stopped. She rolled down her window so she could greet Charlie, the early morning garage guard, then drove into the underground high-security garage and parked. Both entrance guards quickly cleared her and her dog.

        She and Dice made their way briskly down the long first floor hallway. Walking past the glass wall of the jump room, she noticed two humanoid robotic nurses inside readying a jump bed with heart rate, blood pressure, respiration monitors, Separation of Consciousness tracking screen, a jump transference belt, automated external defibrillator, and other vital sign monitoring devices. The sight drew her to a stop as she gazed through the window. She knew the bed was for her later that morning. She would be taking on both a space-time transference jump and a Sep-Con jump less than an hour from now.

        The training of the last nine months had readied her for this. Her first space-time transference jump to New Orleans ten years into the future had woken her up to the mind blowing reality that her government was beginning to succeed at its first attempts at space-time transference: time travel. Like ice water in the face, she had realized the overbearing intelligence of all the secret keeping.

        Time travel. This advancement was catapulting the United States ahead of every country on the planet. And no one outside this building knew that. Other countries would literally kill or torture knowledgeable scientists to steal such a secret or to keep the U.S. from having it. By maintaining secrecy, not only had she been keeping the project and workers here safe but had day by day been saving her own life.

        As she stared at the bed she would leave from, an impression of the last five months of training stood up the hair on the back of her neck. The mind-boggling task of learning and dealing with separation of consciousness, now designated Sep-Con, had repeatedly taken her back to the out of body event she had gone through with Dice in surviving the gravity wave attack. It still amazed her that she’d now grown accustomed to the process.  

          Consciousness? Would she ever be able to put her finger on exactly what that was? She thought about her PhD diploma. Even with a double minor degree in psychology and philosophy, she was no closer to describing the essence of consciousness. Which, considering the number of times she’d been either pilot or host of Sep-Con jumps, should have given her some deeper insight into the constituent make up of consciousness. Even though the two newly hired neuroscientists on the project could describe the various parts of the brain that controlled certain brain functions, they too were unable to determine if consciousness is connected to or derived from any of those brain functions. No one was able to concisely define it.

         She began down the hall again, Dice heeling right along. Entering the lounge, there stood Dr. Von Gialanto and Dr. Julia Paris, sipping their coffee and discussing something. Seated next to them was Anthony Hiltman, NASA’s director of the Planetary Defense Department. Von was the first person to ever host another person’s consciousness, even though it had occurred by accident.2  That event had occurred nearly nine years ago. Von had studied hard at college, earned his PhD in engineering, and was now the director of the Sep-Con project and its development. Julia having done likewise, had earned her degrees in psychology, and was now the team psychoanalysts that tracks everyone’s mental health. Jenny wasn’t sure why Anthony Hiltman was attending this meeting. But Hiltman was the project’s connection to NASA.

          She recalled her second encounter with Von, a surprise late night meeting at Jenny’s apartment. Answering the door in her robe, she had recognized Dr. Von Gialanto and Dr. James Howlynd, two scientists she’d met briefly in Washington D.C. They had asked the FBI to investigate her background and evaluate her progress through the physics program. Of all things, she had been vetted and that very night those two scientists had drafted her into the government’s most highly classified space-time transference program.

            Jenny smiled as both Von and Julia greeted her with a hug. Both scratched Dice’s head. Mr. Hiltman stood and said hello.

           “Well, ready?” Von asked as everyone sat around a table.

           Jenny nodded. “Yes. As ready as I’ll ever be. I reviewed the entire procedure last night. I doubt I could get more prepared. However, I do have a couple of side questions.”

           “Let’s have it,” Von responded.

            Jenny raised a palm up. “I was never informed as to the . . . well . . . I know there’s a political aspect to this jump. And there usually isn’t. What’s up?”

          Von nodded and smiled. “True.” He took a deep breath. “About six weeks ago, Dr. James Howlynd did a space-time jump sixteen years into the future landing in St. Louis, Missouri. That jump put him there two weeks after a major national election. The results of that election were violently disputed. There was rioting in almost every city. Dr. Howlynd remained in St. Louis for two days, during which one

 

2 Director Guy (Psychological Mystery fiction novel) by Edward G. Gauthier, copyright 2017, Edward G. Gauthier

 

of the major news media reported on an airline flight that had crashed two months before that

election. The plane had actually been shot down by a shoulder mounted rocket. Investigators were desperately trying to determine why. One line of investigation found that a Randall Butler was a passenger flying first class on that flight. He was a high-ranking officer of a radical opposition political party named ‘First Cause’. When investigators spoke to his wife and examined his home network server, they learned that he knew of a First Cause plan to hack the national voting system in order to steal the election. James Howlynd was able to speak to one of the investigators at the time, who reported that they were certain of their findings, wanted to arrest the leaders of First Cause, but lacked certain verifiable proof to get arrest warrants. The evidence they were able to gather wasn’t quite airtight. Their theory was that the flight was shot down because Butler was going to expose the plot to steal the election. So, with this Randal Butler dead, First Cause was able to successfully hack the election leading to confusing results and huge disruptions.”

         Von went on.

         “Once James time jumped back here, he contacted our President, Leigh Bensley, and explained what he’d learned about these events sixteen years in the future. The president consulted with Earl Rickles, her Chief of Staff. They want this whole thing kept secret. But our president has requested that if we can possibly do anything to alter that situation, well, she wants us to try to save the flight.”

         Jenny stood. She turned and walked to the coffee machine and poured herself a half cup.

         “So, are your telling me that we’re going to attempt to alter events in the future?”

         Von smiled. “Yep.”

         Hiltman nodded in agreement but said nothing.

         “Well not just that,” Julia added. “Don’t forget, we’re testing the accuracy of our aiming algorithm. You might get called back right away if the aim fails.”

         “Right. Yeah, I’ve studied that part of the jump. But it’s up to me to convince . . .”

         “Totally,” Von jumped in. “If you can’t convince the pilot, you jump back here. Keep in mind that you’ll have approximately eighteen minutes to persuade him. Don’t play the timing of that too closely.”

         She toasted him with her coffee. “Right. One more question. How did you guys get all the schedules and routes of those future flights?”

         Julia chuckled. “While James was in the future St. Louis, he figured out we might need those schedules and brough that data back with him.”

         Jenny nodded and sipped her coffee. “Okay, I have another question. Why do I have to jump to the jet? Why not just straight to the pilot?”

         "Well, that’s due to our current stage of development. Presently, we’re able to extend the space-time physical jump but not the Sep-Con jump. So, you’ll use both to accomplish this mission. When we did the moon base jump, we gave most of the power to the Sep-Con jump. You barely moved in space-time. But you projected into Samuel Faul’s head on the moon almost immediately. This time is different. Most of the power sends you through space-time, the jump to the jet. Then you do a very short Sep-Con jump to the pilot of the jet. We’re working on extending our reach of both the space-time jump and the Sep-Con jump, but we’re not there yet. So for now, we have to use them in combination.”

         Jenny nodded that she understood. She looked at Hiltman.

         “And why are you here?”

         Hiltman smiled. “When NASA got word of your jump to the moon base, we got very interested in the development of this project. This is amazing stuff you guys are developing. It’s going to affect a whole lot of what NASA does. So, I’m here to observe and report back. Please, just pretend I’m not here.”

         Jenny nodded. After checking that they were ready, Von then led them back down the hallway.

         “Good morning Mrs. McGillicuddy,” Jenny said entering the infirmary.

         “Good morning dear,” Nurse McGillicuddy answered. She began strapping a blood pressure cuff to Jenny’s arm. “We’ll take good care of you, as usual.”

         The two assistant android nurses stood at the ready focusing their attention on Jenny. The first, labeled Nurse Assist 1 moved toward her.

         “Dr. Liniski, please raise your arms above your shoulders.”

         Jenny smiled and did as requested. Nurse Assist 2 approached and slowly wrapped the transference belt around Jenny’s hips, fastened the velcro tightly around her waist, and covered the belt with her hip-length LSU sweatshirt. They then helped Jenny onto the extra wide hospital bed. Nurse Assist 1 then approached a nearby monitoring station. She began checking that the transference belt was monitoring all Jenny’s vital signs and sending its readings to the infirmary network. Should Jenny pass out or become injured, with the press of a button, the jump could be abandoned returning her immediately back to that bed.

         Jenny slid a bit to one side. “He’ll get nervous if I don’t let him up,” she said point at Dice.

         “Of course,” McGillicuddy answered. “Call him up on that side. We’re used to each other.”  

         Jenny patted the bed. “Come on Dice. Come on.”

         “Ruhh.” Dice sniffed at the bed, went around to the other side, and jumped onto the bed with Jenny.

         “Okay. Lay down.”

         Dice laid right next to her side, settling his chin on her left arm.

         Dr. James Howlynd came walking up smiling.

         “Good luck with this one, Jenny. It’s an important one.”

         “Yes, sir.”

         Nurse Assist 1 spoke from the computer station.

         “Transference belt is fully charged, coordinates are programmed in, eigenvalue is standard. Ready to jump.”

         Dr. Howlynd smiled down at her. “ Don’t play this one too close. You’ll only have eighteen minutes, right? Come back safe.”

         She nodded, found the “go” slider on the belt and pressed it from left to right. She kept her breathing even. The weight of Dice’s head on her left arm went away first, then the sight of him. Von, Julia, James Howlynd, Anthony Hiltman, the nurse assistants, everyone in the room faded. Then, there was nothing but total darkness, as though she were inside a black cloud. She thought she sensed a kind of lifting or stirring, but she wasn’t sure. She had always anticipated some kind of physical sensation but there had never been anything definite. She waited within the nothingness. It took about a dozen breaths. Then something pushed her very lightly from behind. She slowly opened her eyes and found she was seated. It was a very padded seat and there was an empty seat to her right and an older woman in the aisle seat. A whooshing sound filled the air, and she recognized the rush of jet engines. Through the window to her left she saw clouds below her.

         Opening her eyes all the way, she took in the interior of the very modern jet liner. The woman in the aisle seat was watching a movie on the screen in front of her. Jenny remembered that such screens also gave flight information. She touched the monitor in front of her. It lit up showing their route toward Washington, D.C. They seemed to be halfway there. The date in the corner of the screen showed September 12, 2048, at 7:31 p.m. It would be night time in D.C. It was Orion flight OR-7749, and her seat number was 28-A. It hit her that the first part of the experiment had completely succeeded. The space-time transference crew had accurately placed her in a designated seat on a moving flight sixteen years in the future. James Howlynd would love that and the crew on the project would celebrate.

         “Oh, my goodness,” came from Jenny’s right. The aisle seat woman was staring hard at her. “How long have you been sitting there?”

         Jenny stretched and yawned. “Oh yeah. Sorry. I guess I fell asleep.”

         “But I was certain that both these seats were empty.”

         “I think I knocked out before we even took off, ma’am.”

         The aisle woman frowned and shook her head. “ I could have sworn. Tsk-tsk. I must be . . . But no . . .no.” The woman glared at her again.

Jenny could tell that the woman wasn’t completely convinced that she had been there since the flight began. Jenny watched the woman turn and begin looking up and down the aisle for a stewardess. The woman saw one and waved her hand.

          The robotic stewardess arrived in a perfectly pressed uniform, matching cap and a collar badge that showed the name Vickie. Vickie bend down and the aisle woman whispered to her. The well-dressed android looked at Jenny as they spoke but then stood straight with a jerk. Her gaze turned serious, then suspicious.

         Vickie leaned in pointing. “That seat was vacant after we boarded. Who are you ma’am? I’ll need to see your ticket, please.”

         Jenny knew the names of only two people on the plane, Randal Butler and the pilot.

         “My husband, Randal Butler is on this flight too. We decided to sit separately,” Jenny strained to make herself sound convincing, knowing the android would be recording their meeting.  

         Vickie looked toward the front of the plane and back. “Randal Butler? I just waited on him in first class.” She stood straight, her facial expression now very neutral. “Mr. Butler is a much older person than you. He flirted with me. I find it doubtful you are his wife. Get up! Get up! Step to the aisle, now.”

         Jenny slowly stood. She didn’t want to cause a stir or attract too much attention. The android would obviously be much stronger than her. She stepped past the aisle woman and faced Vickie.

         Vickie’s deadpan expression told Jenny the android stewardess was checking flight data. “How did you get aboard? I will need to know your real name. Airport security is being alerted and will escort you off this flight.”

         Jenny shook her head and gave Vickie her most convincing smile. “My husband is Randal,” She faked an embarrassing grimace. “Look, he likes ‘em young. And I like him. But it embarrasses him if we ride together. He has this reputation to protect, you see. The press is always following him. It’s . . .it’s hard to explain.”

         Jenny watched Vickie take in her words. The stewardess cocked her head just a bit further to the right. Was she buying that? There was no time to lose so Jenny quickly squeezed her knees together.

         “Look, I’ll answer anything you want, but girl, I really have to pee. I gotta go.” Jenny wheeled away and strode down the aisle to the rear of the coach section. She walked quickly, didn’t dare look back, found the bathroom, got in, and locked the door.

         Damnit. No one had considered this scenario. Three minutes had already elapsed. She had to act fast. It would be tricky, but she’d have to accomplish the Sep-Con jump from the toilet seat. It would have been so much easier from the comfortable passenger seat while strapped in. Now, she had no choice.

         She raised her LSU sweat shirt checking the charge on the transference belt. Everything looked good. She sat on the toilet, leaned back, braced her feet wide on the floor, and pressed the Sep-Con slider to the right. Within seconds, the room faded away. For long seconds she again hung in the blackest of black. The sound of a woman’s voice slowly increased until, “. . . he asked me to go duck hunting with him.”

         Jenny opened her eyes and found she was looking at a woman co-pilot seated in the right cockpit seat surrounded by various instruments, gauges, and switches. The woman copilot spoke into her aviation headset mic while watching the sky ahead. Jenny was hearing her through the pilot’s headset, and it hit her that she had arrived in the pilot’s head, and was seeing the copilot through his eyes.

         “My Dad was military,” the copilot went on, “so I had handled guns. But I had never done any kind of hunting. Flying transport for the military hadn’t taught me any hunting either. But I decided I would date him. I almost froze my feet off in that duck blind. But he kissed me for the first time. I forgot the cold, learned how to handle a shotgun, and hunted ducks. Three weeks later we were married.”

         It hit Jenny that it had worked. Sep-Con had jumped her consciousness inside Captain Jeremy Tusserville, twenty-two year veteran pilot for Orion Airlines. The lock was good. She was seeing through his eyes, hearing through his ears, and could feel that he was relaxing with his arms crossed while letting the co-pilot oversee the flight as they carried on their conversation.

         “Wow,” she heard her host, Tusserville, answer. “That’s pretty cool. I doubt if my wife would go hunting. But she and I both love to dance and that’s about all it took.” Jenny felt his body jiggle with his easy laugh.

         “How far out are we from D.C.?” Tusserville asked.

         The automated digital pilot answered him through the cabin speakers. “Constant radar monitoring at Washington, D.C. air traffic control tower shows us at thirty-nine point six miles from Dulles International airport, at thirty thousand five hundred feet, speed is four hundred twenty knots. Digital auto-pilot engaged. Request air traffic report at thirty miles out?”

         “Yes, at thirty miles out,” Tusserville answered.

         Jenny spotted the flight clock and realized how much the aisle lady and the stewardess had cost her in precious minutes . There was only five minutes before the missile would hit.

         “Jeremy. This will probably surprise you, but you must . . .”

         Stunned and shaken, Tusserville yanked forward against his safety belt and attempted to stand.

         “What the fuck!” he hollered, his arms flailing out away from his body. His hands came up to either side of his head.

         Jenny could feel his pulse race and his panic interrupt his breathing. Through Tusserville’s peripheral vision, Jenny saw the woman copilot give a surprised look.

         “What? What is it, Captain?” she called.

         Jenny softened her voice and tried again. “Captain, try not to panic. I know this is strange.”

         “What! STRANGE? What the hell!” Tusserville unbelted, stood and stepped away from his seat, both hands still at his head. He stood in the open area behind the pilot’s seats leaning his head against the rear cabin wall.

         “Captain, what’s up? We got a problem?” his co-pilot demanded.

         Captain Tusserville faced his copilot.

         Jenny could feel his hesitation. He was embarrassed and very confused.

         “You are Captain Jeremy Tusserville and this is no accident. I’ve been sent to warn you.”

         “It’s fucking in my head!” Tusserville called out. He began to crouch down.

         “Captain, what’s happening? What . . . what’s in your head? You okay? Are you sick?” the copilot yelled.

         The flight clock gave Jenny four minutes ten seconds to turn the plane, and the seconds seemed to be flying by.

         “Take a deep breath. Don’t speak out loud. Direct your thoughts to me. I am here to save your life.”

         “What? Direct my thoughts?” he called out. “Who are you?” But then, “How the hell are you in me?” Tusserville thought silently.

         “Captain?” the copilot persisted.

         “The captain has left his seat. Is the captain’s mental state compromised? Should a report be filed with traffic control?” the automated pilot asked.

         “No! Belay that.” The woman co-pilot hollered. “Captain. What’s happening?”

         “Very good Captain. Just think your thoughts to me. Don’t answer the copilot right now. That’ll only cause panic. Catch your breath. Try to relax.”

         “Relax! I have a damned voice in my skull. What relax! Look, I don’t know how the hell you’re pulling this off . . . oh, for god’s sakes, am I having a mental break here?”

          “NO! No. You’re mentally stable. The reaction you’re having is normal for a first time experience. No one is used to this. You’re not having a mental break of any kind. You’re fine. Take a deep breath. I can explain.”

“What? How the hell are you gonna explain this! You’ve climbed into my head, for Christ’s sakes. This is scary as shit. I control my thoughts. Then this is happening?”

The flight clock gave Jenny three and a half minutes before the missile strike.

“Who are you? Who are you? You gotta explain. And why? Why would you jump into my head? I’m flying a plane damnit. I’ve got hundreds of passengers aboard. Is this some new emergency air traffic controller gadget or something?”

         A new air traffic control gadget? It struck Jenny that she couldn’t tell him the truth. No. He needed a story he could accept. Immediately, it occurred to her. And the flight clock was down to two minutes and twenty seconds.

         Captain. I’m an FBI agent. My name is Jenny Liniski. I’m using a super-secret method unknown to the public to contact you. Captain, the reason I’m exposing our secret contact method is because you have about two minutes before a laser-guided rocket hits this plane. You have to make a hard left turn right now. Don’t stay on your planned flight path.”

         “Captain, should I call in an emergency? I can get clearance and land at another airport. Captain?”

Tusserville glanced at his copilot and raised a stop sign hand. “Wait.” He turned and grabbed the back of his flight seat.

“Wait. In the United States? I mean, why would anyone take a shot at a commercial aircraft?”

Jenny took a deep breath. She had his attention, but the clock was down to one minute forty five and her body was back there in the locked toilet. If the plane took a hit, she was dead. Was there time? Should she leave now? Julia said not to play this too close.

“You have a passenger named Randall Butler in first class on this flight. He carries information that will get a lot of people convicted of federal crimes and they want him dead. Make the left turn now.”

Jenny felt the captain’s panic subside, his emotions balancing. His hands came off the back of his seat.

“But I can’t just go disobeying our flight plan. If you know anything about piloting, you’d know that. There’ll be investigations. I could be grounded.”

        “Yeah. I know. But how many people are on the passenger list? How many will die?”

         “We have two hundred and . . . wait . . . the passenger list. That’s it. What’s his name?”

         “Randal Butler.”

         “Jackson, where’s our passenger list? I need it right now.”

          The copilot gave her captain an odd look but then reached down and to the right of her seat. She came up with a manilla envelope, the quizzical expression still on her face. Tusserville ripped open the envelope and began going down the list. Suddenly he stopped.

         “Oh, shit. There IS a Randal Bu . . . DISENGAGE AUTO-PILOT! TURN HARD LEFT, NOW!”

         “Disengagement of the auto-pilot is against regulations and should be reconsidered.” the digital auto-pilot warned.

          The copilot looked hard at the captain. “Sir? Are you sure?”

          “DO IT! NOW!”

          The copilot nodded, then flipped two switches. “Disengaging auto-pilot. Should we request course change from the tower?”

          “NO TIME. TURN!”

          As the right wing began to raise, Jenny noted that the flight clock showed twenty-two seconds.

          “I am going to get fried for this. And I suppose the FBI will deny making any contact, right?”

          “I don’t know the ramifications sir, but what’s important, Captain, is that you, your crew, and your passengers are safe. Have a nice life, sir.”

         Jenny began to move the slider back to the left. As she did, the captain, copilot and cabin disappeared. There were a few moments of blackness. Suddenly, she felt the tilt of the plane which sent her off the toilet seat and onto the floor. She shook her head trying to get her bearings. The bathroom surroundings were around her again. The plane was banking hard, and she could hear a few passengers and stewardesses calling out their shocked reactions for they had gotten no announcements from the pilots.

         It struck Jenny that this was her chance to get back to her seat. She managed to stand, unlock the bathroom door and struggle against the steep angle of the aisle all the way back to her row. The woman in the aisle seat gave her a frightful look as Jenny bumped her way across the lady’s knees and tumbled into her seat. The plane was slowly coming back to level flight.

         “What’s going on?” the aisle lady asked.

         Jenny just smiled. “Oh, just a last-minute change of course. I think you’ll probably have a very nice day, ma’am.”

         With that, she belted in, leaned back, and slid the space-time slider back to the left. The lady and jetliner faded away. The familiar blackness came again but in a few seconds, she could feel something wet sliding across her left cheek.

         “Ruhh.”

​

END OF CHAPTER