Transmat World: Chapter 2, Episode 1
Tujunga, CA; Monday, October 7, 2137 A.D.
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Vince topped the hill on his bike, and the house came into view. A van parked a hundred yards from the house pulled away as he neared. It looked like one seen on several occasions when leaving school.
“Mom, did we get deliveries today?” inquired Vince as he walked into the kitchen.
“No. Why?”
“Just wondering. There was a van leaving as I got close to the house. They must have been looking for an address.”
Vince thought little of it until leaving school the next day. He saw Bert Millsap scooting away in his Voltari, basically a souped-up, closed-in golf cart. Nearby, the van he saw at the house sat in front of the school. Vince decided to find out who it was.
Probably friends with the family van playing pranks.
When he changed directions from the bike rack and headed toward it, the van took off.
Real funny. Next they’ll be TP’ing the yard. Vince started for home.
An evening like most around the Miller household, Hank emerged slightly dazed from the basement, Vince from his bedroom and homework chores, and Nancy from the kitchen. They meet in the living room to watch a compendium of the day’s most important news blogs. Greystoke curled up next to the projector.
“Shocking news this evening from Los Angeles. A Jet Propulsion Laboratory worker, his wife, and three children are found murdered in their Altadena home. The woman, two girls, and a boy were shot in the back of the head with a small caliber weapon. It appears the man had been tortured. Names are being withheld pending notification of next of kin. Western Central Enforcement agents and local authorities are investigating.”
The audio voiced over 3D videos from a drone showing emergency and police vehicles parked around a comfortable looking, typically eclectic, Post-Hit home. Glowing bands of holographic-generated emergency boundaries defined a large area around the house beyond which neighbors, gawkers, and news bloggers with 3D recorders milled about scrounging for information.
“That house looks familiar,” said Hank.
He reached for his omni as it announced a call.
“Hello…Hello, Lori, I was just watching … Oh, Lord … What can I do … I’m so sorry … Yes, I know … Talk to you later.” Hank stared blankly while closing the device with a faint plastic clack. “Bruce Foster and his family were murdered.” As they sat there, wide-eyed, letting that news soak in, Vince remembered the van.
“I don’t know if it means anything, but I think someone’s been watching the house and me at school,” said Vince.
“Why didn’t you say something?” asked Nancy.
“Remember the van I told you about, Mom? Saw it at school today with people in it. I walked toward ’em and they left. I thought friends were playing a joke.”
All of their omnis went off at the same time.
They said “Hello” in harmony. Everyone had the same holographic projection hanging in front of them.
“This is Frederick Beasener. You may be in danger. Agents are on the way, but I suggest leaving the house right now.” Click, bzzzz.
A melodious and normally uplifting saxophone and clarinet door announcement may as well have been a funeral dirge for the effect it had on them. The holo showed three men in trench coats and the subtitle changed from “visitor” to “intruder” as a tremendous thud struck the door and alarms went off. Cast from steel and kevlar reinforced neocrete, the door was the newest part of the house. Hank didn’t find a salvaged door sturdy enough so he made one. The steel frame bolted to the concrete foundation. Hundred-year-old concrete was the weak link but sticking around to find out how long it would last did not sound smart. Going through the wall would be faster than the door, but the intruders did not know that.
“The basement! Quick!” said Hank, herding Vince and Nancy in front of him down the stairs to the basement. This door was tougher than the front door and also locked. Hank’s palm on a bright green rectangle opened the door, and he shoved Nancy and Vince inside, pulling the door shut and locking it again. Once inside, Nancy and Vince could only gawk. A mad scientist’s laboratory, one wall held nothing but computer servers. Vince recognized one as a state-of-the-art 4th generation quantum computer. Banks of hand-wired circuit boards stretched to the ceiling, cooled by industrial blowers mounted on Unistrut stands. All it lacked was a giant Van der Graaf generator spitting miniature lightning bolts. An anomalous cage of rabbits sat in one corner.
Hank heard footsteps on the stairs as he turned and got busy. Moving to a bank of panel-mounted switches, the distressed inventor flipped several in succession. A rectangular hologram frame lit up one corner of the basement as the smell of freshly minted negative ions permeated the room. An assaulted basement door broadcast booms in rapid succession. A sound between booms kept getting louder and higher in frequency. When it reached a pitch beyond human hearing, Hank told them to go to the lit frame and get inside.
“Keep all your fingers and toes inside the frame and leave it as soon as you get there,” instructed Hank.
Once huddled inside the frame, Hank pushed a button. Nancy and Vince disappeared. He repeated the process on himself using a remote he snatched from the workbench. The basement door gave up and flew open. A burst of noise, flame and smoke erupted from the circuitry. Hank pushed the button and the prototype teleportation booth transmitted over-pressure, smoke, and Hank.
Everything expelled from the receiver booth like a chain smoker’s cough, knocking Nancy and Vince to the floor of the basement; a different basement. It was small and bare with unfinished cinder blocks walls.
“That was close,” Hank said from his sprawled position on the basement floor, at which point Nancy lost her composure and yelled at him.
“You had a bomb in our basement?!”
