The Edison Enigma
Thomas White
196 pp.
Scifi/Mystery
Edison, a Chicago physicist, manages to successfully transport an object through time. Almost immediately following this success Dr. Edison is shut out of the facility and told by benefactor Raphael Barrington, to take a vacation. He is contacted by Don Rivendell, a grizzled old man with a secret. Rivendell explains to Tom that he is not the first person to discover time travel. Someone else went back and changed history by saving a young girl from dying in an internal combustion engine explosion.
Dr. Edison is tasked with going back and fixing history. He travels back to 1904 to find the younger version of Rivendell and stop him from saving the girl.
You can purchase your copy of The Edison Enigma at Amazon at https://t.ly/_NOoo.
First Chapter:
The sun reflected off Lake Michigan, projecting a silvery shadow on the buildings along the shoreline as a serene Spring breeze drifted in from the lake. Southbound Lakeshore Drive was as it always was at 8:15 AM: bumper to bumper and moving along at a torrid three miles per hour. Dr. Tom Edison checked the dashboard clock, banged his palm against the steering wheel, and hit the phone button under his left thumb.
“Call the lab.” He barked at the car computer. The number dialed, not fast enough for him, and he heard the chimes through his car speaker.
Off to the side of the road, about five cars ahead, he saw a dark gray sedan with the hood popped and smoke billowing out. Clearly, this was one of the reasons for the traffic jam, but he could hardly blame this everyday occurrence on that poor vehicle. The fire department was approaching on the Northbound side, lights flashing.
“Barrington Scientific Research Center. How may I direct your call?” The male operator asked with professional precision.
“Dr. Bruce Reeves, please.”
“I’m sorry. Dr. Reeves is unavailable. Can I take a message?”
Tom took a deep breath and reminded himself that this fellow was just doing his job.
“This is Dr. Edison. I need to speak with Dr. Reeves.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t recognize your voice. One minute, Dr. Edison.”
The big fire engine stopped opposite the concrete barrier separating North and South bound traffic. Eager firefighters jumped out and began to set up their gear on that side of the highway. Tom could see that this action would completely stop the flow of traffic. He could only hope to move past the car fire before the fire department shut down the drive in both directions.
The on-hold sound was the local radio station WBBM-Chicago. Lizzo was finishing “It’s About Damn Time,” and the station shifted to a news report.
“The EPA reported today that air pollution from auto emissions has continued to rise. Despite legislation, it has been estimated that each of the one billion automobiles on the road today emits 12gm of pollution per mile. In the greater Chicago area alone, that amounts to nearly 5 million tons of pollution daily. The EPA also reports that petroleum by-products continue to clog up our landfills by resisting the natural bio-degradable break-down process. Citizens are urged to use less plastic whenever possible and are encouraged, as always, to recycle. Meanwhile, on a more upbeat note, a twelve-year-old Evanston boy won the National Spelling Bee yesterday. He correctly spelled “annihilation” to capture first place and the ten-thousand-dollar prize.”
The phone buzzed, and Dr. Bruce Reeves was on the line.
“Tom. Where are you?” The harried scientist said.
“I’m on Lakeshore and there’s a car fire. Spewing smoke everywhere. It’s sinful.”
“What the hell are you doing on Lakeshore?”
“Good question. Maybe I had an aneurysm. I should have just hit the 90. I’m coming up on Jackson. I’ll jump off here and take the 290. Look, I should be about another thirty minutes. Get the advance work prepped and I’ll be as quick as I can. It was stupid. I should have just stayed there.”
“No. You needed the break. You can only go so many days without quiet and a shower, particularly the shower. You aren’t in here alone, you know.”
Tom chuckled. “Yeah, it did feel good. Okay, just finish the prep, and I’ll see you soon. I have to check some data in my office, and then I’ll be with you in the lab. It’s a big day, Bruce! All the marbles are on the table.”
“Yeah, so is the watermelon. See you soon.”
The phone went dead just as Tom rolled past the burning car. In the rearview, he saw firefighters leap the center divider and begin closing down the road. He let out a grateful sigh as he rolled past the obstacle on his way to making history.
Twenty-two minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot at the BSRC. The BSRC was on 47th St. between Central and Hyman in Cicero. The building was a refurbished refrigeration factory, built in 1948 and acquired by the Barrington Corporation a decade earlier. Tom made his way to the front of the building and pulled into the third parking spot from the front door. The concrete bumper had a large chunk chipped out of the left corner, and the name, Dr. Tom Edison, that had been painted on it ten years earlier was now faded and worn.
Dr. Tom Edison was thirty-nine years old, stood a hair under six feet, and, while not having an athletic body, had been able to maintain a slim waist. He had been the recipient of the Barrington Scientific Research grant a decade ago and was on the precipice of taking his theories to fruition. The funding provided by The Barrington Research Facility allowed him to develop a technique that could easily change the world as we knew it. Today was the day he would find out if his theories worked.
Tom entered through the electronic door, slid his ID card into the turnstile reader, and crossed to the elevators. Once inside, he placed his palm against the glass pane mounted on the wall and leaned in for his retinal scan. He saw his reflection in the glass scanner and noticed that, mixed with his black mane, a few grey hairs had popped out. A nano-second passed while the AI operating system, known as the Quint, verified his identity. “Welcome, Dr. Tom Edison. You may push the button for your desired floor.” Tom reached out and hit the LB button on the bottom of the panel.
The elevator door opened and Tom moved confidently down the long, white corridor. The fluorescent lights, apparently mandatory in any industrial facility, adequately illuminated the hallway, even if the irritating glow made him wish he had his sunglasses.
Tom’s office was down the hall to the left. It had a spacious reception area where his secretary held court. His name was Jerzy Bartley. He was astoundingly proficient with scientific jargon and held a unique understanding of quantum physics, not to mention being the most organized individual he had ever met. Jerzy held a master’s in physics and was, without a doubt, overqualified for this job. His deep loyalty to Dr. Edison, his dedication, and his fascination with the good doctor’s work kept him attached to Tom. He had refused three different promotions, and Tom had been so very grateful each time he did. In his early thirties, Jerzy was an African American male who stood six feet nine inches tall with a shaved head and a short, trimmed beard. He dwarfed everyone in the facility. However, his affable smile never failed to start Tom’s day on a good note. Tom entered the office.
Jerzy looked up from his computer.
“Hey, boss. Glad you were able to make it.”
“Very funny. It was stupid to go home last night. I should have stayed. Anything new happen in the last couple hours?
Jerzy shook his head as Tom moved past him.
“Nope, I got in about an hour ago and everyone was just sitting on pins and needles waiting. How’s it looking?”
Tom zoomed into his office, yelling over his shoulder, “I’ll know in a few minutes.”
Tom sprang into his chair and opened his computer. He saw his reflection in the dark screen. His black hair needed a cut, but who had time? His hazel eyes were a tad bloodshot from over-work, but the dark circles that resided under them were less pronounced thanks to a shower and five hours of sleep in his own bed.
There were several last-minute equations to confirm. Precision was everything if this project was to succeed. Tom immediately became engrossed in his work, and the rest of the world slipped into his rearview mirror.
Absorbed as he was, Tom failed to see or hear the subtle noises coming from the ventilation shaft that sat at floor level behind him. Had he turned around, he would have seen a beam of light periodically flashing across the back of the vent. As Tom worked, the light grew closer and closer.
Inside the vent, she moved as stealthily as she could. It was cramped, but she was comparatively slight, so she moved with little resistance. In her hand was a small uplink device called The Quince. It was a remote device connected to The Quint. The Quint ran everything in the facility, and she was using The Quince to bypass the security within the ventilation system. The BSRC was a full-security building with redundant security protocols. These shafts were part of the original design when the building was constructed in 1948. Large metal tunnels that webbed throughout the facility carried cool or heated air to every part of the building. In each room, an ornate bronze vent cover sat at floor level. When the BSRC retrofitted the building, the decision was made to install electronic barriers along the shafts rather than replace the entire ventilation system. Because they were electronic barriers, she could use the Quince to override each one as needed. The fact that she had managed to get this far was no small feat. The journey had started one flight down and on the east side of the building. She had to climb up one flight and maneuver to the west side to get here.
A holographic image floated above the handheld, detailing her route and giving her data on her position and distance to her destination. She approached the next gate, read the number from the top of the frame, and entered it into her handheld Quince. The gate swung open. She continued her crawl forward.
Three gates later, she peered through the vent that would open into Dr. Tom Edison’s office. She could see the light from the computer casting a silhouette around Tom’s head as he fixated on his screen. She read the number at the top of the vent cover and entered it into the Quince. The vent silently swung open. Now was her most significant moment of danger. As she entered the room, she would have to be completely silent; the tiniest scrape or bump could alert this man, and her jig would be up. Inch by inch, she slithered forward, remaining completely quiet. She managed to get out of the vent without alerting the subject and lay on the floor directly behind the clueless scientist. Placing the Quince on the carpet next to her, she slowly moved her legs under her and stood up, careful not to sway into his peripheral vision. She stood straight up and took two cautious steps forward. Raising her arms over her head, she placed both hands over his eyes and yelled, “Guess who!!!”
Startled, Tom jumped from his seat. He spun around, preparing to defend himself from whoever had just broken in. As he leapt, his fist raised, and just before he swung, he had that moment of recognition.
“Oh, for Chrissake, Lori! What the hell?”
Dr. Lori Pellitier was the scientific officer on this project and one of the country’s sharpest computer/mechanical minds. She was in her mid-thirties, had a slight build, thin but curvy, with dark black hair pulled back into a ponytail. At five foot three inches tall, with blue eyes and an olive-brown complexion, she perfectly complimented her multi-racial background. She had a quirky sense of humor, and this stunt was well within her wheelhouse. She wore baggy, gray overalls that she acquired for her trip through the ducts. There were dirt stains on her elbows and knees, and was overall, just plain dusty from the crawl through the vents.
“Just checking out the security protocol in the ventilation systems while we all wait for you. This one needs work, obviously.” She unzipped her overalls and let them drop to the floor. Underneath, she wore a blue silk shirt, black designer jeans, and red, bedazzled tennis shoes. Knowing her destination, she had prepared accordingly, and her subtle yet effective makeup had been undisturbed. She attempted to brush off the dirt with her palms, creating a small cloud of dust that swirled around her. She pulled the scrunchie out of the ponytail she needed for the crawl and shook her head. Her black hair cascaded around her glowing face.
Tom didn’t notice. “Yeah, sorry about that. For some reason, I thought I had enough time to go home. Stupid.”
Lori folded the overalls, picked up the Quince, and wandered around to the front of his desk. She walked a bit slower than usual, accentuating her hip movement.
“I told you Montrose Beach was too far. So, how’s it coming?”
Tom smirked at her reference to his home location, unwilling to address this topic again, and said, “I just need to input one more piece of data, and I’m there.” Tom continued typing while he talked. “So, you can override all those vent protocols remotely? Seems odd; why would they want that to happen if the intent was to keep people from crawling through?” He looked up at her as she slightly tilted her head and smiled.
“Well, it could be a way in, which no one wants, but it could also be a way out in the case of emergency and they wanted to be able to control who’s coming and going.”
Sitting in the chair, she put her feet up on the edge of his desk. She opened the Quince and was searching through a variety of sites. Holographic images began popping up. Some were schematics, and others were pictures and graphics.
A picture of a couple on the beach making out popped onto her screen. She looked at Tom to see if he noticed. He hadn’t.
She decided to be a bit more obvious.
“This Quince can access the vents, the elevator shafts, and the hallways. I can see the entire security video feed through this little baby, and it comes with some interesting attachments.”
A video popped up, and the audio caught Tom’s attention. He raised his head and saw a couple falling onto a bed as they began to make love. He chuckled and turned back to the screen.
Frustrated again, Lori turned the video off and said, “So, this thing gonna work? Or are we all just prepping for a picnic lunch?”
“Well, if it doesn’t, we can use your skills to become industrial spies. I hear there’s money in that.” He leaned in quickly toward the screen.
“There it is,” cried Tom. “I’ll send this down to Bruce and we are good to go. Are you all set?”
“Darlin’, I haven’t been awake for thirty-six hours for nothing. Let’s do it.”
Tom and Lori both stood and looked at each other. Tom took a deep breath as a moment of clarity struck him. He started to sweat slightly and leaned on the desk as though he was about to pass out.
“Whoa, you okay there, cowboy?” Lori came around to steady him.
He leaned against his desk, hands clenching the edges, overwhelmed. “We’re not messing with Mother Nature, right?”
Lori took his hand and held it tight. Her nails were surprisingly short but well-manicured. Tom squeezed her hand, and its sheer warmth calmed him. It felt good to have someone who understood. He noticed her nails and was gratefully distracted. Looking at the hot pink, he said, “It always seemed incongruous that your nails are so short. For whatever reason, I’ve always expected long, dangerous, and bejeweled.”
She chuckled, “With as much time as I spend on a keyboard, I don’t have a choice. But if I did, I can’t tell you the wonders you would see on the ends of my fingers!”
They both laughed. A moment passed between them. He looked into her blue eyes, felt better, and then anxiety smacked him across the face.
Tom said, “We can accomplish so much good if this works. I just want to be sure we’re not mixing the pasta and the antipasta.”
“Kinda late to be asking that question, and it’s antipasto, but okay, no, we are not messing with Mother Nature. If we can accomplish this, then we have to see it through.”
Tom squeezed her hand again, now doubting every decision he’s made. “Is it really best to send a watermelon through first? I mean, is that the best choice?”
Lori chuckled. “Hell yeah! What could be better? Whatever we send has to be organic. We don’t want to use an animal, too messy with the activist groups. Using an orange would be cliché’. Watermelons have size and weight. I’d say it’s perfect, and if we succeed, we can throw a picnic and eat it afterward.” Lori indicates her stomach and traces a line down to her crotch, “Or we could play connect the dots with the seeds?”
The computer beeped behind them. Tom turned and looked at the screen. “Bruce has everything ready. Time to go.” Tom raced out into the outer office. Lori took an exasperated deep breath and followed. Jerzy turned to them as soon as the door opened.
Tom smiled at him and said, “Want to see history in the making?”
Jerzy laughed, “You know I do!” He began to gather up his notepad and phone.
“Then let’s get moving. History waits for no man!”
They all headed to the lab to attempt to send a watermelon through time.
Thomas White began his career as an actor. Several years later he found himself as an Artistic Director for a theatre in Los Angeles and the winner of several Drama-Logue and Critics awards for directing. As Tom’s career grew, he directed and co-produced the world tour of “The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Coming Out Of Their Shells”. The show toured for over two years, was translated into seven different languages and seen by close to a million children. Tom served as President and Creative Director for Maiden Lane Entertainment for 24 years and worked on many large-scale corporate event productions that included Harley Davidson, Microsoft, Medtronic Diabetes, and dozens of others. The Edison Enigma is Tom’s third novel following up Justice Rules which was nominated as a finalist in the Pacific Northwest Writers Association 2010 Literary contest, and The Siren’s Scream.
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