Chapter 22

Wednesday, May 19, 3109, 11:06 a.m. Preoccupied with thoughts of Arma’s wedding 2 weeks hence, Rebecca entered The Hall of The Gate, intent upon searching out a deserted beach along the California coast where the honeymooners could spend a stress-free two weeks away from mom and Arma’s future in-laws. Max was a wonderful young man—she couldn’t pick a better husband-to-be for her daughter, Gudrun claimed—and while Rebecca was inclined to agree with this affirmation, she suffered the anxiety of mothers everywhere: she was 2 weeks shy of losing her daughter. (You’re gaining a son! Arma insisted.) What Rebecca stood to gain, she hoped, was a grandchild.

Glancing at the gate, she swung her eyes toward the dais and stumbled to a halt. My God, she thought in horror—why is that door open?

“Siri!” she cried, backing away in panic. “The door! A door is open in the gate hall!” Stumbling, she continued to back into the passageway, fear like a fist gripping her heart.

Siri responded: “The door opened as you entered. Did you mentally command it to open?”

“Fuck no!” Rebecca cried, 10’ into the passageway and continuing to retreat. “Why would I do that?”

She’d always assumed that locked doors remained locked for her protection. Siri assured her that everything secured behind the doors in the hall had to do with powering and operating the gate. The only external component was the control panel atop the dais. She’d never requested access, having no interest in the portal’s inner workings, not after learning how lethal the components were to human life.

“Why is it open?” she demanded. Was she already lethally irradiated? Where were Arma, Frieda, Gudrun, and the other palace inhabitants? “Do I need to evacuate the palace, Siri?”

Siri adopted a soothing tone. “Procurement detects nothing dangerous in the exposed compartment. It is a storage area. The door appears to have opened upon your approach; Procurement believes it was auto-activated.

“The room contains a single, sealed container with unknown elements inside. Procurement has no record of the container, its origin, or purpose. Plans indicate the room contains critical operating equipment, lethal to human life. Procurement completed a scan of the adjacent spaces, and all contain operating equipment and controls. Those compartments will remain securely locked in your presence. It is safe to approach and inspect the room and container inside if you wish.”

Fuck that, Rebecca thought hotly. 20 years battened down, and 2 weeks before I show up here the first time, it decides to open?

“Close the fucking door!” she ordered angrily and stormed away down the passageway.

-------//-------

The next morning, curious despite her anxiety and fear, Rebecca entered the hall and eyed the door location from just inside the passageway. “You swear nothing’s inside that room that could hurt me or my daughter?” she demanded.

Siri responded: “Procurement scanned the interior again and discovered nothing changed from yesterday morning. The room contains only the single object. Nothing would indicate that anything inside the container is a danger to you.”

“What is inside the container?” she asked.

“Procurement postulates it’s the missing temporal transducer module, and possibly instructions how to install it.”

Rebecca stared across the hall at the door and breathed through her open mouth.

“How did it get there?”

“It appears to have been secreted in the compartment since February 12, 2912. Who placed it there is unknown.”

“Fuck,” Rebecca croaked.

Just before fleeing 3109, she’d observed Leda at the console, surrounded by parts of the disassembled control panel. She remembered that date, although how she did so after all those years left her puzzled: Wednesday, May 26th, 3109, at 3:10 p.m. She had assumed it was maintenance of some sort that Leda had undertaken on the console; she never imagined it could be restoration of the temporal transducer module.

“Siri--where exactly does the temporal transducer module install?”

“Beneath the console, approximately 2’ deep inside the dais.”

“Fuck,” she muttered, taking a step toward the dais. “Not inside one of the sealed compartments behind the locked doors?”

“The module is extremely sensitive to EM emission. It can only be installed in a protective enclosure, away from disruptive EM sources.”

I only had to ask, she thought angrily. “Is the transducer something I can install myself?”

“Theoretically, but Procurement can’t know for sure as instructions concerning removal and installation were—”

“Deleted from memory, yeah. I get it.”

Circling the dais, she approached the closed door and spoke the command aloud: “Open, unless any danger exists to me or to other humans.” The door smoothly dilated to reveal a single container at the back. The small size took her by surprise. The case measured 18” square by 12” deep and was constructed of a softly reflective silver material.

“Siri, how big is the transducer module?”

“Approximately 3” by 5” by 9” long. It can only be inserted and removed via a device called the TTM Extractor. It would presumably be in the same container.”

“Presumably,” she muttered.

Anxious, she approached the box, which looked distinctly 20th Century Modern. The lid had matching silver hinges and twin snap down locks. A slender steel key rested atop the box. The case looked exactly like her sister Maudie’s, for the storage and transport of her ice skates. “You can’t be serious,” she muttered.