Authors: Melissa Dereberry
by Edwin G. Webb
Everything complicated begins with something simple, some boring thing that you do every day of your life—like waking up. In those few seconds between dreaming and reality, nothing really happens and anything is possible. You are at zero, the least complicated number, the one that will never—no matter how much you add, subtract, multiply, or divide—have a measurable effect on anything.
Thus, zero is a unique phenomenon in the universe. Because there is nothing, there is everything. At zero, all time is converged. It is here that we begin, exist, and end.
Zach added, “I think what he means is that all of our time exists at zero—like on a single plane. Past, present, and future.” He gazed at me longingly, as if somehow, whether or not I accepted this notion, right then and there, would determine its outcome.
I panicked a little bit for some reason and read that part again. Then again. I knew those words from somewhere. I’d heard them before. Then I remembered. They were in my head the day I woke up from the coma. How was that possible? My jaw dropped open and I just stared at Zach. “I know this,” I said. “Zero. The least complicated number. It was running through my head when I woke up from the coma.” I just shook my head. It was getting stranger by the minute. And I was so not in the mood.
“Look, let me explain—” He kissed me lightly and pulled up another document. “There’s more.”
Project Zero: Log 6-28-2008
Per Dr. Novak’s recommendations, we have taken great care to make secure all data and files associated with Project Zero. This serves as the official written document pertaining to this experiment. All subject files are located on the hard drive of my computer in the folder titled “Project Zero” and will be backed up to a disk. This disk, including all technical documents pertaining to this project, are contained in a disk that will be stored in lockbox #47500-2 at the Community Savings & Loan under the name Edwin G. Webb.
A summary of this project follows.
Objective:
Project Zero was initially created for the purpose of obtaining brain frequencies of coma patients. The resulting data from this project has prompted an expansion of the initial objective. We are now most eagerly interested in the implications that these brain frequencies have on our understanding of the time/space continuum, namely, time travel.
Method:
Diode sensors will be attached to patient at indicated pressure points. Brain frequencies will be patterned and classified. Using a sophisticated computer program that records and analyzes these frequencies, along with an integrated thermal imaging interface, data will be decoded by the Project Zero module. The module interprets the conscious and sub-conscious material within the brain. Curiously, the module does not distinguish between the two, which opens the door to a profound new branch of physics: the reality that time, itself, exists independent of all human life. All time, it seems, occurs at one given instant.
“Time travel, Zach? Really? You expect me to believe this?”
“No—I mean, yes. I think your skepticism is valid…. But I also think
this
is valid.” He smiled at me and I couldn’t disagree. “There’s more. Much more.” Zach clicked away on the keyboard again. “Take a look at this.”
Project Zero: Log 6-30-2008
Research took an unexpected turn recently, following an unusual series of electrical storms that occurred on May 11, 2008—disrupting power and computer systems in the area. We have noted a peculiar amount of brain activity following the power outage and subsequent power provided by facility generators. Brain activity was increased 100 percent. Suspecting some link to the electrical storms, Dr. Stewart and I consulted with Dr. Miles Miller, a former colleague and professor of earth science at MIT. An expert in atmospheric phenomenon, Dr. Miles Miller joined Project Zero by providing expertise on the weather component, and more specifically, lightning. After recruiting a willing volunteer, we have applied and studied these theories in the physical realm. The results have been, in a word, astounding.
We have discovered the presence of sprites in the atmosphere. Sprites are powerful electrical discharges that cannot be detected by the human eye. They produce lightning 100 times more powerful than normal lightning and result in intricate, unusual sky patterns that can be recorded using special cameras. These sprites, we believe, provide the catalyst for not only capturing the space/time continuum, but for creating a process akin to time travel, for which the subject’s brain is “super-charged” and accessible at all points in time. The subject, upon close contact with these super lightning storms, entered another time dimension. In a split second, a rift in the space/time continuum initiated by the electrical charges provided a portal through which reality was singular—both past, present and future. In other words, the subject can, conceivably, “re-experience” the past and “see” into the future, in an instant. There is a state of limbo we have named “Zero” where all time—and possible time—exists in a singular instant.
There is a Latin term that comes closest to describing what happens in the lightning.
Numen
is the presence of deity or spirit in inanimate objects and natural phenomena. Numen is the presence of the magical and inexplicable in everyday things—such as lightning. We believe, though we cannot explain, that it is this numen/force that infuses and miraculously changes our grasp of time and reality in a brief, nearly indistinguishable, moment.
To tell you the truth, I pretty much skimmed the thing because I understood only about ten percent of what it said. Science is pretty much boring stuff, if you ask me. I didn’t want Zach to think I wasn’t interested, though, so I smiled and nodded. “Wow,” was all I could manage to say. “So, your dad discovered time travel. For real.”
Zach nodded. “I don’t know. He discovered something… but not in the way we normally think of time travel, like in the movies where you can go hundreds of years into the past. I’m not saying my dad was able to go back to ancient Greece or anything like that. This was more about… individual consciousness. What happens in the experience and destiny of one person.”
“So what does all this mean, then?”
“He discovered that all time is happening at once—the past, the present, and the future, which means we can review things that have happened and see what will happen next. Immeasurably useful in scientific study alone, but the implications for life as we know it are incredible.”
“So you’re telling me I could go back to my 13
th
birthday party—back to the accident,” I gasped. “You’re saying I could go back and see Dani again.”
“I think so, yes.”
“I want to go,” I said without a second thought. “Send me.”
“Now hold on,” Zach wavered. “I don’t know about all this just yet. I’m still learning.”
“But it’s all here, right? In your father’s notes?”
“Yeah, but—”
“But nothing. I don’t want to just read what happened to me on a computer screen. I want to go back there. I want to see it,” I searched his eyes. “Zach, I
need
to.”
Something changed in Zach’s eyes then, some glimmer of recognition, like he’d just gotten all the answers to the test. “Just wait.” He got up and opened a drawer, pulling out a bunch of wires and gadgets.
“What’s that for?”
“I’ve figured out a way to artificially simulate Zero,” he explained. “In a controlled environment. It’s safer.”
“You’ve created fake lightning?” I snorted.
“Well, sort of, yes. I’ve harnessed electrical circuits that feed directly into the sensors.”
“No way, Zach. I’m not letting you do electro-shock therapy on my brain.”
“No, it’s perfectly safe,” Zach explained. “The circuits are such a low voltage, you won’t even know it’s happening. It works because you’ll be asleep at the time.”
“I can’t just fall asleep at will, Zach. Anyway, it sounds nuts. And besides, how will I know it’s real and not just a dream?”
“You trust me, right? Take this home. Do it this weekend, when you go to bed. I’ll show you how to hook it up.”
“And what if my parents decide to check in on me in the middle of the night? They’ll see these wires attached to my head.”
“What are the chances of that happening? Anyway, tell them it’s part of your rehab therapy. Homework… a science project,” he offered, unconvincingly.
“I don’t know—”
Zach put his hands on my cheeks, his eyes searching my face. “I do,” he said. “I know all of this is meant to be. And we can’t change what’s meant to be. And you have to trust me. This is one way to do that.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.
“I’ll protect you forever,” he said. “Believe me.”
And I did, of course.
Because indefinitely means forever, and always. And forever is sometimes scary, but it’s something you can count on just the same.
The Accident
It’s my 13
th
birthday, so my mom went all out, reminding me how this is the last official part of my childhood, plus it’s sort of like saying goodbye to everyone. We’re moving to California, which means I will be going to a new school, and believe me, I am not excited. New school, new friends. For someone basically invisible already, it’s a recipe for disaster. Talk about ruining a good birthday party.
Mom is so excited, you’d think it’s the event of the century. She got a pavilion at a local park, ordered a special green cake, my favorite color, and covered all the tables with confetti. She even rented some guy to run a karaoke machine under the pavilion, which is just about the lamest thing I’ve ever seen, mainly because my mom is the only one singing. Seeing her with that microphone, the dopey music, and that karaoke guy’s bald head and big mammoth machine is enough to put me over the edge. And there is my dad, sitting there, tapping his fingers on the picnic table, a big, goofy grin on his face as she sings a bunch of old 80s songs. It’s mortifying beyond belief.
Then, sitting there watching her, I start to get even more sad. I have to admit… you can’t watch her rushing around like mad, set on having the perfect party, singing her heart out, without feeling just a little bit sappy. Sort of a Kodak moment, or a bunch of them strung together rather loosely. But, as we all know, Kodak moments are a nice idea until they turn boring—and they
always do
. After a while, my Dad proves this fact with an enormous yawn, checking his watch every few minutes, getting up every now and then to look at the sky.
Right now, a big cloud is hovering above my 13th birthday party, threatening to unload on it. Typical. All the guests have gone off into cliques, in various directions, toward the basketball courts, the lake. Some are even leaving early. Everyone is pretty much bored—myself included—and starting to wander—even Dani, my best friend. Some birthday party.
It’s time to open my presents, because I hear Mom call everyone over. For most kids, this would be the most exciting part—all the new stuff. But it just makes me nervous, sitting in front of everyone like that. I feel like I’m on display. And what if I don’t really like something? I’m not very good at pretending. And anyway, I don’t really want anything, except maybe a life.
I’m surprised to open an envelope from my parents that promises me a new computer, on order, arriving in 10-14 days. It’s not that we’re poor; it’s just that my parents are lame when it comes to stuff. They’re pretty old-fashioned. When I wanted a CD player, they went on about cassette tapes and albums, and “what happened to things being good enough. Why change it?” I just yawned, picked up the phone and held it out, saying, “By the way, it’s the twenty-first century calling. They want you to join them for LIFE at eight o’clock.” (Something I’d heard on TV.) Obviously, I didn’t have a clue what I was talking about, because my mom’s mouth dropped open and she glared at me for like an hour, then pointed up, which meant I was to go to my room to think about it.
I thought about it for a long time, but I still didn’t know what it meant. Then I fell asleep.
You’re probably wondering what my parents are like. Well, they both work at the University, my dad in the math department and my mom in Alumni, which means they are both obsessed with numbers and that pretty much sums up what I know about their jobs. They are all about education, which, come to think of it, is probably why they decided to finally get me the computer. But then, it could be because Uncle Ben, Mom’s brother, had bragged at the family reunion about the computer program my cousin Pepper had supposedly written. Pepper was thirteen like me. I overheard them making a big deal about it in the kitchen one night. Being a math professor, my dad was all for it, but mom was convinced I’d get sucked into some parallel universe or something. They wouldn’t let me have a CD player, but a computer was suddenly, thanks to good old Uncle Ben, essential. I’m not complaining, believe me.
We found out we were moving soon after Dad got the call that he had gotten the job. We were sitting outside on our fold-up lawn chairs, watching the little girl next door jump on a trampoline. Every two seconds, she’d appear, over the top of the wood panel fence that divided our two yards, her little blond head bobbing up and down. Pretty soon, she caught on that we were watching her and started making goofy faces, a different one each jump. We all got tickled and started laughing like crazy. Then the phone rang and everyone forgot because Dad went inside and came back out with a line across his forehead, saying. “What do you guys think about a pool?” So mom and I stopped laughing because we knew. And because neither of us really wanted to move.