Good Morning Ted and Jody:
I guess yesterday’s trip into town wore me out. I went to bed shortly after 7 last night; and, while up a couple of times to check the water and do my blood work, I slept in until after 6 this morning. Then too, I am seriously thinking about a morning nap as I suspect we will be resuming our daily lunch outings now that Nancy has successfully gotten in and out of the car without pain or incident. Then too there is all the shopping she thinks must be done (and just when I was beginning to get rid of the stuff from 2011 still in the freezer we are about to bury it again).
I caught a segment of the national news yesterday in which the pestilence elect said he was going to tell us soon (he keeps pushing back the time) why he knows more about hacking that the intelligence services do. Then I read where WikiLeaks founder, still in the Ecuadorian Embassy in London evading being sent home for sex charges guarantees 100% the Russians didn’t do the hack on the Democrats. Well, that surely must be the pestilence elect’s source of information. Who, may I ask, would ever question such an impeccable source about hacking? If you are familiar with the old Chinese curse, “may you live in interesting times.” Well, it is going to be an interesting four years (pray it is no longer).
The episode of the Amanda Sage I am attaching today, got lost. That is to say, I wrote it and started the next one and then could not find it. So I rewrote it., I hope it didn’t lose anything in the process, but then, time travel is so tricky.
Warmest regards, Ed
028 Edith Gunderson has Hot Chocolate with Marshmallows
Fiction in 1521 words by T. Edward Westen, 2017
Edith Gunderson got out of her car in the parking lot behind the Hall of Justice. She noticed that Special Agent Fleishman was talking to the attendant in the attendant’s kiosk. As she walked toward the kiosk Special Agent Fleishman saw her and waved. He then leaned into the kiosk and shook hands with the uniformed attendant, said something to the man, smiled and headed toward her.
When he got within conversational range he said “Good Morning Ms. Gunderson. Would you happen to have time for coffee and a chat? I’m buying.” He stopped in front of her.
Edith Gunderson looked at her wrist watch. “Perhaps in an hour. I have to brief an Assistant District Atorney on a child neglect case he is handling this morning.”
“You know what, I can guarantee to have you back to this very spot in 5 seconds from now.” Said Special Agent Fleishman. He hesitated and then winked at her, “Or earlier if you think that wouldn’t give you time to get to your appointment on time.”
Edith Gunderson, put her hand to her mouth. “What does it feel like?”
Special Agent Fleishman leaned in close and said, “You tell me, what did it feel like?”
“How am I supposed to . . .”Edith Gunderson stopped mid-sentence as she looked around. She was still in the parking lot behind the Hall of Justice, but she wasn’t standing in the slush, and the sun was very bright and the people on the street were dressed in shorts, short sleeved shirts and sandals. “Know?” Her jaw dropped again. “How in the hell, you didn’t touch me like you did Detective Philipson yesterday afternoon.”
“Let’s get coffee and I’ll try to answer your questions.” Said Special Agent Fleishman. “And perhaps you can answer some of mine.”
Edith Gunderson almost anticipated they would move from where they were, still she did not detect any sound, motion, smell, or, . . . wait, the smell, they were in the foyer of her favorite coffee shop.
“The place is empty! I have never seen it empty. We will not have to wait for a table.” With that she moved toward a table nearest the counter opening that the wait staff used to service tables. “When is this?”
Special Agent Fleishman looked at the wall clock and said, “It is 2:33 in the afternoon. This morning I met you in the parking lot and suggested coffee.”
Edith Gunderson said “That seems like such a long time ago, but it was only a few minutes. Right?”
“Right, time is, after all relative.” Replied Special Agent Fleishman.
As soon as they sat down a waiter came to their table. “Good Afternoon Ms. Gunderson. The usual?” The waiter held up three fingers and shrugged his shoulders and heads as if asking a question.
“Yes, thank you Pat.” Edith Gunderson held up two fingers and shook her head no. “And for my friend” she said pointing to Special Agent Fleishman. ”He will also have hot coco with marshmallows.” Edith had a broad grin on her face. “Trust me, it is to die for here.”
The waiter left and Edith Gunderson turned her full attention to Special Agent Fleishman. “Ok so I did not see you move, twitch or the like. You did not touch me like you did Detective Philipson, so how do you do it?”
“I’m a layman. I don’t know the physics. But then it would be like you telling me how you manage to stop your car without going through a building, barrier, or another car. How does your brain know exactly how much pressure to put on the break peddle?” Asked Special Agent Fleishman.
“You may be surprised. I know how internal combustion engines, diesel and gasoline work. I understand hydraulics, transmissions, differentials, and a whole bunch more. You see, my grandfather was a working mechanic up to the day he died and he taught me a lot.” Edith Gunderson looked smug. “But, I will admit I do not know how the brain knows what pressure to tell the leg muscles, nor which muscles, to put on the break peddle to get the car to stop on a dime. You have me on that one.” Said, Edith Gunderson.
“Sorry, I do owe . . .” Started Special Agent Fleishman.
The waiter brought their hot coco with marshmallows. He waited until each took a sip and then departed with a broad smile when Special Agent Fleishman said “My God that is good.”
Edith Gunderson said, “Told you.”
Special Agent Fleishman nodded and said “As I was trying to say, I do owe you some explanation. I don’t need to twitch or do anything, for I am hardwired. It turns out time travel is a matter of forming an eleven-dimensional film around what you want to move in time-space, a bubble if you will. Then it is a matter of pivoting that eleven-dimensional bubble to the spot you want to get to. The bubble is determined by what you want to move. Mine is limited to at most three or so people, depending upon their size and proximity to me. But, much like the helmets that pilots in modern jet planes use that allow the piolet to partially control the airplane just by thinking what they want done; this is similar, I might add, to your brain telling your leg muscles and foot how much pressure to apply to the brake pedal.”
Edith Gunderson had a quizzical look on her face. “Tell me, does this eleven-dimensional bubble just pop up when you want it to?”
Special Agent Fleishman replied “Yes, but there are a set of mental controls, so to speak, that I have to go through to activate the transporter unit.”
“Where is the transporter unit?” Asked Edith Gunderson.
Special Agent Fleishman tapped his forehead. “In here. I carry it with me. That way questions of power are never an issue and I can come and go, more or less as I find necessary.”
“What about the big transporters filled with hot lava you told us about yesterday?” Asked Edith Gunderson.
“I guess you could say the fellow you call Judge Belemany taught us a valuable lesson. If we were to maintain large transporters what would prevent some maniac from importing say a T-Rex into our world, or even worse? So, the authorities decided was to go for miniaturization to cut the size of a threat that could be brought in by a transporter.”
“You could be a maniac.” Stated Edith Gunderson.
“Believe me, they keep a tight rein on me. They check me very regularly for mental stability.” Special Agent Fleishman explained.
“I suspect this coffee meeting was not for you to explain how your transporter works. You had, some questions for me.” With that Edith picked up her cup of coco and took a sip. She then held up her hand and beckoned the waiter over. When the waiter arrived, she said. “Pat, my friend and I have let our coco get cold. Would you mind popping them in the microwave for about 30 seconds please.”
The waiter replied, “Certainly Mam.” And he took the cups away.
Special Agent Fleishman said, “That was still good warm.”
“Trust me. I know my coco. Besides he will add more marshmallow.” Smiled Edith Gunderson. “Now what do you want to know?”
“My guess is that there is something in one or more cases that both you and the fellow you call the Judge worked on that caused him to think it necessary to try to kill you. Have you given this any thought?”
“Yes, Detective Batan asked me for a list of cases that the Judge was a primary informant on. Jeremy Eastman had asked me to do the same a couple of days before. I made the list and took it to the detectives when you decided to play shadow puppets in the interrogation room.” Said Edith Gunderson.
Special Agent Fleishman looked puzzled “Shadow puppet, what is that?”
The waiter approached with reheated cups. “I can get fresh if you would prefer?
Edith Gunderson took a ship and said, “These are just fine, Pat. Thank you.” Then turning back to Special Agent Fleishman said “The shapes you were making with your hands on the mirror with the light behind you is called making shadow puppets.” She paused and took a sip of her coco. “We were about to go over my list when you, shall we say, popped in.”
“Did you, by any chance keep . . . “ Special Agent Fleishman started to say.
Edith Gunderson held up her hand and said, “Yes, I have a hard copy and the original on a computer file.”
Special Agent Fleishman started to rise and said, “Let’s go look at it.”
Edith Gunderson said, “Why don’t we finish this delightful coco with marshmallows first. Time, after all is relative and we have lots of time.” She was smiling ear to ear.
Special Agent Fleishman asked. “The case that Jeremy Eastman was talking about yesterday, the White case, is it on the list?”
Edith Gunderson replied. “Yes, it was the first case on my list.”