“So who is this Professor?” asked Michael, as he followed Quinn, Colin, and Sam across the campus green. Colin looked back at him with a shrug.
“In about fifteen years, he’ll be teaching me physics,” Quinn said. “He’s a brilliant guy. Abrasive, but brilliant.”
Colin had never met Professor Arturo, either. He’d heard the odd story from the others, but he felt quite alienated when he came up in conversation. He wondered why they never used his first name, opting to call him by his title, or occasionally his surname. He wasn’t even sure if he’d ever been told the man’s given name at all, come to think of it.
Colin had to admit to himself that his head was elsewhere today. After the opportunity to rewrite his history had come up, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
If he agreed, where would that leave him? He would surely be a completely different person; would that new version of him be better off? And how would that affect Quinn? The thought of all those ripples caused by the decision put on his shoulders really shook him.
He supposed he had some time to think about it, now that his father was sticking around for a while. He’d watched Michael as he’d nervously let his timer elapse, just an hour after meeting them. It had been pretty brave; it showed how much he truly cared about them, which was something of a question mark up to now for Colin, who’d felt a little abandoned.
And now, he was going to help them with Maggie, who he’d only seen lying on the bed, occasionally moaning in pain.
But the elephant in the room still hadn’t been addressed: that of how his people won the war. And, if that method could be used here on Earth Prime, when it would inevitably be needed.
It still remained to be seen, too, whether they’d be able to return to their own time. If only Sam was in contact with Al and his team in the future, they might have a clue.
So many unanswered questions.
By the time Colin came out of his train of thought, he realised he’d followed the group all the way into a building without even noticing.
He nearly bumped into Quinn as he stopped at a door, and knocked.
The door creaked open, revealing a man with a broad face and a withering glare. The handset of a telephone was pressed to his face by his shoulder, with the curled cord extending back to the desk behind him.
He gestured for them all to come in, and turned, returning to his desk as he barked into the telephone.
“No, William, that girl is a blistering idiot, and frankly I do not care whether her house has a bloody tennis court, I don’t want you seeing her.” He slammed his hand on the desk. “I’m your father, and you’ll do as I say until such time as you move out of my house.”
A few seconds passed of bewildered silence. “William! So help me, I will ground you until your hair is grey.”
A tone came from the phone, as Arturo gave a frustrated sigh, and slammed the phone onto the cradle.
He composed himself, and looked up at the four who were squeezed tightly into this snug room.
“Was that your son?” Quinn asked.
Arturo narrowed his eyes, giving Quinn a pointed look of warning. Quinn shut his mouth, but Sam picked up where he left off.
“Do you always speak like that to your own child?” He said, matching Arturo’s glower. Arturo stood from his seat, but still found himself towered over by the men he faced.
“How I raise my boy is none of your damned business!”
“If you don’t want to lose him, maybe it is,” Quinn muttered quietly, avoiding eye contact.
Perhaps it was the height factor, or the fact that this Professor was younger than the grumpy older man that had been described to Colin in the past, or the fact that Quinn was speaking from his knowledge of the future, but he said no more on the issue.
“Gentlemen, I, uh… see you’ve multiplied,” he said, with a raised eyebrow and a look towards Michael and Colin.
Quinn gestured towards them. “This is my brother Colin and my father, Michael Mallory. But, not the one from this Earth.”
Arturo stood, looking confused, and extended a hand to Michael.
“Don’t think about it too hard,” Michael said to him, and shook his hand.
Arturo didn’t shake Colin’s hand.
“Will these two be of any use?” he asked, glancing at Quinn and Sam. Quinn gave a proud nod.
“You might be surprised.”
As the only one in the room with no formal education, Colin felt like the odd man out. But Quinn had always placed a great deal of faith in him, which gave his confidence a boost.
All the same, there were significant gaps in his knowledge that left him lagging behind at times. He sure wished there’d been universities like this one on ‘Amish World.’
“Very well,” Arturo said, “I suppose I’ll find out. I’ve secured us a lab between five AM and midday daily, and Lecture Theatre E between three and eight PM. I will need to be in and out based on my teaching schedule, but I’ll give you keys. I trust this will be sufficient?”
“It’ll have to be,” said Quinn, looking pensive.
Sam let out a sigh. “I’ll have to tell Rembrandt he’s gonna be a solo act from now on.”
* * *
The sound of melodic humming filled the hotel room, as Maggie roused from yet another uneasy sleep.
She felt some déjà vu as she opened her eyes to only Rembrandt again. He was looking in the mirror, combing his hair and humming a tune that sounded familiar, but she wasn’t sure.
Don’t try to recall, she reminded herself.
Since Sam’s advice, she had indeed been feeling better. Even now, she was able to open her eyes without the searing levels of pain she’d felt before, even without the help of the weed.
It wasn’t perfect, of course. Sometimes she couldn’t help her train of thought pushing the limits of her readily accessible memories, and she’d be rewarded with a fresh reminder of its agony.
It was a strange tightrope she was walking. As though, by actively trying to fish for memories from one part of herself, it was somehow hastening the process of one overtaking the other, and causing the other side to fight to remain. At least, that was her theory of what was happening.
So, she had to swim in the shallow end of her mind, where the two sides of her mingled without conflict. Uncle Sam seemed to be a safe person to think about. The early years of her life, too - they seemed quite similar to one another. The antipathy towards her father was a common thread.
She couldn’t pursue memories about any of the sliders further back than their first encounter with Sheriff Maggie, which made it hard to listen to their conversations.
Finally, she spoke up.
“What time is it?”
He looked away from the mirror at her. “Nearly four in the afternoon. The eggheads are all at the university, so I’m the sole breadwinner tonight.”
“I wish I could come watch. Put my mind off everything.”
He looked at her sadly, but gave her a half-hearted grin, seemingly in an attempt to put her at ease.
“Well, you keep improvin’ like this and maybe the Doc will see fit to give you a day pass.”
“I don’t think I’m really going to improve, so much as stave off the inevitable,” she replied bleakly. “The best I can do is not help it along.”
The sound of the phone ringing made Maggie jump, and subsequently clutch her newly pounding head.
Rembrandt picked up. “Uh, hello?”
As the spots in Maggie’s vision cleared, she saw Rembrandt’s look of surprise.
“Did you say Al?”
He snatched up a notepad and pen and scribbled a phone number.
“Uh, th-thanks,” he said, before hanging up, and looking at Maggie, shaken. He handed her the notepad.
“If Sam gets back before me, make sure he gets this, okay?”
She peered down at it, and was surprised at what she saw.
SAM - ??? AL ???
WANTS A CALL BACK
555-2329 EXT. 443