 
### Two Timed

### Clayton Spann

Copyright 2012 Clayton Spann

Smashwords Edition

Discover other titles by Clayton Spann at Smashwords.com:

Exchange Rate

The Line of Eyes

Lord Protector*

Restorer of the World*

Expelled*

Day Nine

Stoned

*Roger Ward Trilogy

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons (except for historical figures), living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For Sharon,

Rose of Texas

And death shall be no more;

Death, thou shalt die _._

John Donne

Chapter 1

**P** eter Keller believed in patience. So he did not change the channel. He told himself the picture frozen on the flat screen TV would shortly return to life.

More time passed in the dead silence of his living room. The picture on the screen, a live transmission of a volcano erupting in Japan, remained motionless.

Keller sighed. He was tired from a draining if productive day in the lab, and he didn't feel like rising to manually change the channel. The remote controller mocked him from its position beside the TV. He had placed the remote there as protest against the sloth its use induced.

Finally Keller roused and trod over immaculate green carpet to the TV. He pushed the channel button. The button would not depress. He pushed harder but the button stayed stuck and the picture did not change.

He pressed the power button. He muttered as repeated jabbing failed to turn off the set. More finger probing found every control on both the set and the remote control locked.

Keller groaned. He would have to take the set in for service. It didn't console him one iota the machine was under full warranty. He would have to expend his most valuable commodity: time.

He stepped back and folded his pipestem arms. This didn't make sense. He had bought the set just two months ago. What were things coming to if Sony products failed so quickly?

Well, there was nothing he could do about the situation this evening—except get the set ready for transport tomorrow. He would put it in the shipping box and position the box by the front door. In the morning he wanted to be able to grab the set and run.

He grasped the TV power cord. He pulled gently—to no avail. He pulled harder—to no avail. His underdeveloped biceps knotted as his right arm strained full strength at the plug, which remained in the wall socket.

Keller sat on the floor and took the cord in both hands. He planted his feet against the wall. He tugged, jerked, and yanked on the cord until he was breathing hard. The plug did not move a millimeter.

He let go and flopped on the carpet. He stared uncomprehendingly up at the television screen—still occupied by the frozen picture of a volcano spewing ash—and at the embedded plug.

Then it hit him.

Keller laughed. These machinations bore the signature of none other than Jason Henry. His post-doc was famous for both his practical jokes and his electronic wizardry. Combine the two talents and Keller had his culprit.

He stood. He would call Jason, and congratulate him on his ingenuity. (Keller often wondered why Jason hadn't taken his Ph.D. in electrical engineering rather than developmental biology.) After the congratulations he would strongly suggest Jason get over here and set the TV straight.

Keller reached for the phone and found the receiver glued in place.

His amusement faded. This was going too far. He appreciated Jason's zany sense of humor; it kept the lab loose and morale high. But these particular antics approached the point of lunacy.

Keller strode to the front door of his townhouse. Even before he touched the knob, he knew he wouldn't be able to open the door. He was right; the knob would not rotate.

He went to the living room windows, through which an orange-red sun hovered over the fringes of the Hill Country. None of the three windows would lift. On the other side of the room the sliding glass door to the patio failed to budge. Nor would any other windows on the first floor move.

Keller tried not to get angry. But jest or not, Jason's actions were irresponsible. What if fire broke out, or if Keller suffered a disabling fall? He would be trapped and unable to phone for help. He knew people considered him overly cautious, but anyone would agree a dangerous situation existed here.

Hoping to spot Jason, he again peered through the front windows. Surely his amber bearded post-doc lurked near. As the prank unfolded Jason would want a front row seat from which to enjoy his victim's discomfiture.

Keller couldn't detect anyone in the bushes lining the townhouse or among the half dozen cars parked further away. The wildflower covered field behind the parking lot was empty. If Jason were present, he would have to be observing with binoculars from the tangle of brush and stunted oaks beyond the field. But would even Jason spy from terrain infested with snakes, scorpions, and fire ants?

Again Keller attacked the first floor doors and windows. Nothing would move, or even rattle. Ditto for the windows upstairs, and the telephone in his bedroom. In the bathroom the water faucets wouldn't turn, nor would the flush handle on the toilet depress. Jason had somehow even prevented light switches from flipping.

He returned to the living room and stood helplessly. He was upset with Jason, but he also must credit the man with masterly thoroughness. (Would that Jason attended to such detail in his research work.) Jason had even frozen the pendulum in the baby grandfather clock on the mantle. Jason managed to lock it at the top of a swing.

Obviously a lot of labor had gone into this prank. Keller tried to account for Jason's whereabouts during the day. Keller had been in meetings most of the morning; his post-doc must have struck then. Or at least applied the finishing touches.

No problem for Jason to gain access to the townhouse; Keller had given him and Tim joint custody of his keys when he'd attended the Gordon Conference last summer. Keller also had the pair check on the place when he'd been away at another conference five weeks ago in March. Jason had probably started implementing his plan then.

Well, Jason had obviously brought it off. So kudos to him. But now was the time to show up and take a bow. Keller hoped the borderline lunatic wasn't planning to drag this out several more hours.

He glanced at his wristwatch. He would give Jason another ten minutes before—

Keller's eyes snapped back to the LCD window of the watch. The seconds were not advancing.

He snorted. Come on, how had Jason tinkered with his wristwatch? Keller wore it every moment of his waking hours. Could that nut have slipped into the townhouse while he was sleeping?

Then Keller remembered he did sometimes remove the watch while in the lab. He had yesterday when assisting Janice with her plasmid preparation. Jason could have switched the watch with one already doctored.

Jason wouldn't have any trouble getting a duplicate. The black encased watch was a common enough model, Casio's Telememo 50. Keller had thought the model a bargain, as it combined a calculator, stop watch, timer, data banks, an alarm, and two clocks.

He wondered what else on the watch Jason had sabotaged. The watch was in World Time mode, the display window showing the time in Chicago. His pinky pressed the Forward command on the data entry panel to see if the time zone would still shift one hour eastward.

Keller jumped as blaring sound assaulted. He whirled to face the TV. The thunderous noise erupting from the speakers made him realize how completely quiet had gripped the living room.

Motion again flickered on the TV screen. He watched the volcano resume belching thick gray smoke, then his eyes whipped to the grandfather clock. The pendulum was swinging.

On slightly unsteady feet he walked around the living room. At the telephone the receiver lifted easily and he heard a dial tone. At the front door the knob turned without resistance. He opened the door and thrust his head out in renewed search for Jason. Balmy air and a now tomato red sun greeted him.

"Jason," he called. "Jason, are you there?"

No one answered. A couple of kids cycling in the parking lot glanced his way.

He scanned the surroundings, then shut the door.

His hand drifted back to the wristwatch. Now he remembered. Just before the screen froze he had pressed the Reverse command to go westward from Central Daylight Time. CNN had posted local time beneath the live shot of the Japanese volcano; he wanted to check if the watch's Tokyo time setting matched.

Keller hesitated, then pushed the Reverse command. Instantly silence snuffed out TV commentary. A check of the telephone and front door found them again immovable. The pendulum in the baby grandfather clock had stopped on the other side of its swing.

He pushed the Forward command. Television audio abruptly returned, and the pendulum resumed movement.

His head shook in wonder. He didn't know that Jason's electronic expertise reached to this level. Jason had apparently installed servomechanisms controlling most items in his house, then tied their operation to a triggering device in this watch. Keller was flattered that Jason would expend this much effort—and probably fair expense—on his behalf. He did suppose it was a sign of warped affection.

But the time had come to end the game.

At the phone he punched Jason's number. Jason answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Jason, this is Peter." He didn't say anything more. He'd see how long his post-doc could keep a straight voice.

"Hey. What's up?"

Jason's normally hoarse voice remained normal.

"Well done, Dr. Henry. I am suitably impressed."

A pause. "You mean the _in situ_?"

Keller chuckled. Good try. Jason's _in situ_ hybridizations were indeed progressing well. "You rascal. You had me fooled. For a moment I thought I was in the Twilight Zone."

"Uh—what's going on?"

"Jason, I know you're behind this. The attention is appreciated. I would appreciate it more if you'd come over and undo your mischief."

Another pause. Then what sounded like a helpless laugh. "Peter, we're on different wavelengths. I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's amazing how you rigged everything to function through the watch."

"Rig what watch?"

"I'm hitting the Reverse command now The room froze. "See?" Keller said into the receiver, then held it toward the silent TV.

He pressed the Forward command and normalcy returned. "Bring over a bottle of that lousy wine you drink and you can tell me how you did it."

A long pause, then tenseness gripped Jason's voice. "Are you okay? Are you trying to signal me someone's there and you're in danger?"

Keller laughed. "Of course not. If I'm in any danger it's because of your chicanery. Really, what if the place had caught fire and I hadn't figured out how to unfreeze things? Now please come over here and return control of my home to me."

Another great pause. He bet Jason's whiskered face was twisting with mirth, even if his voice feigned innocence.

Jason finally answered. "Uh—okay. I'll be over in a few minutes."

Keller hung up and played some more with the watch. It was amazing what Jason had done—from a purely technical point of view, of course. Keller wasn't sure he should inform colleagues at the Health Science Center of this particular display of ingenuity. It might or might not enhance Jason's reputation.

Ten minutes later the doorbell chimed. Keller broke into a grin as he opened the door.

Before him stood Jason and Tim Case. Both wore expressions of concern and puzzlement.

Keller did a double take upon seeing Tim. His other post-doc didn't lack a sense of humor, but wild practical jokes were not his forte. But Jason could have talked Tim into helping. For a setup this extensive, Jason likely needed a second pair of hands.

Well, there they were. Still continuing to play the con.

"Welcome, gentlemen. Now please put right what you have wrought."

The two post-docs exchanged hard glances, then strode in.

Keller laughed. "I should be annoyed at your disruption, but I always applaud excellence...and this was excellently done."

Jason stepped toward Keller with a raised palm. It was quite strange to see him looking so grave, this man who always had a twinkle in his eye and cheer on his lips. "Peter, why don't we sit down? We can—"

Keller smiled as his pinky touched the Reverse command.

Jason timed it perfectly, stopping his forward motion in mid stride. Keller was impressed at how Jason held his rigidity as the seconds passed. He didn't quiver and he didn't blink. Tim also imitated a statue.

Keller hit the Forward command. Jason resumed his advance. Tim moved to the side.

He touched Reverse. Both men stopped.

Keller threw out his arms and put bite in his voice. "Enough of this. I mean it!" He wasn't angry but certainly exasperation was brewing.

Neither man even twitched. Keller took his bearded friend by the shoulders and shook gently. "Please, Jason. End this."

Jason stared at him and through him. Jason owned as slight a build as his own, but Keller had grabbed hold of granite.

He shook harder. Jason didn't budge. Two yards away raven haired Tim maintained a locked stance, with his right foot lifted several inches. From the tilt of his body Tim should be falling.

Keller refrained from pushing the Forward command. Several minutes passed and neither of the men shifted. As the eerie silence in the townhouse grew into a crescendo, a chill crawled over his skin. His breathing grew faster.

He pressed Forward, then Reverse. A brief snap of sound, a brief flicker of movement from the men.

Keller gasped and stepped back. Then there was movement in the room, and he realized it was the walls and floor dancing about him. Before his knees gave way he did manage to once more squeeze the Forward command.

Two pairs of arms caught him.

**N** ext thing he knew the men were helping him toward the door. He heard faraway voices saying they were taking him to the hospital.

He protested and tried to twist free, but their grips were strong, especially that of barrel-chested Tim. His post-doctoral fellows reminded him he was under a lot of stress; renewal of the aging grant was far from certain. They were sure this was nothing serious. But they were going to have him checked out at the emergency room.

They hustled Keller into the back seat of Jason's Nissan Sentra. Tim slid in beside him.

Keller's head still spun. Was he suffering some horrible delusion? What he just experienced with the watch, it could not be real.

"I don't understand," he said to Tim. Tim patted his shoulder and said it would be okay.

Jason wheeled out of the townhouse complex. The breeze streaming in from the front window revived Keller and his hand drifted to the black wristwatch. He pushed Reverse.

The car stopped. The vehicle ceased forward motion instantly, without squeal of tires, or passengers thrown forward. The speedometer read 35 miles per hour. On the opposite side of the road three other cars had also abruptly halted.

In the dead silent vehicle Keller saw the eyes of both frozen men fixed upon him. Tim cast sidelong eyes while Jason, hunched over the steering wheel, observed from the rear view mirror. Each man stared warily.

Keller grabbed the door handle. It wouldn't move. Neither could he roll down the door window.

A push on the Forward command, and the car resumed full speed. Keller wasn't jolted backwards. In the other lane cars swished past.

He slumped in the seat. His hand went to his head, to clamp his brow.

"You okay?" asked Tim.

"I don't know."

Was he losing his mind? This certainly bore the symptoms. What they said about the grant, yes, he had felt pressure. If it wasn't renewed he lost half his funding. But he hadn't treated renewal as a life or death situation...at least not consciously.

He had to snap out of this. He couldn't afford to spend any time under psychiatric observation. Either workwise or reputationwise.

Jason turned off Fredericksburg Road into the sprawling South Texas Medical Center. In the gathering twilight the spires of a half dozen hospitals loomed around them.

"Let's take him to Methodist," said Tim.

Keller gave silent approval. Methodist Hospital was the best at the Center. Not that the Bexar County hospital was all that bad, but its proximity to the Health Science Center meant he stood a greater chance of being recognized.

"I'll drop you two at Emergency, then park," said Jason.

"I'm feeling much better," Keller announced.

"We should still get you looked at," said Tim. Tim was poised for action, as if ready to prevent Keller from jumping from the car.

In the emergency room they were able to see him fairly quickly. They had him lie down, checked his blood pressure and temperature, drew blood, then later took him away to run an MRI and an EEG. A neurologist was brought in to examine the results. Through it all Keller did his best to act normally. That was one thing he had always been good at, keeping calm in trying circumstances while others let their tempers fray.

Eventually they returned him to the ER. The neurologist moved away to talk with Tim and Jason. He couldn't hear the conversation, though the tension in the post-docs' faces lessened as the doctor spoke.

Keller had to admit he felt perfectly fine now. But what the hell had been going on? He'd never hallucinated, never come close.

The only thing that remotely made sense was that he had been put under hypnosis. Pushing the Reverse or Forward commands might induce an illusion that everything around him was frozen.

Could a hypnotic suggestion be this powerful? He knew little about hypnosis, except that it supposedly couldn't make you act against your will.

Keller wasn't a hypnotist, but he was a scientist. A scientist could conjecture all he wanted yet in the end he must test. Keller had to determine where the reality of the situation lay: inside his head or out.

He withdrew a quarter from his pocket, then pushed the Reverse command.

The hubbub of the ER ceased immediately. A dozen statues postured about the harshly lit room. Gone also were hospital smells of ethyl alcohol and washed linens, and from somewhere, the faint odor of bedpan contents.

Keller rose from the cot and, with quarter in hand, walked over to Jason. He balanced the quarter on the shiny scalp of Jason's balding head. Keller returned to the cot.

A press of Forward brought the ER to life. He watched Jason nod at the doctor, then flinch as the quarter slid from his forehead and bounced with a ping on the floor. Jason, Tim and the doctor stared befuddled at the quarter as it rolled away.

Keller hit Reverse. Uneasiness again gripped him. Hallucination had not put that coin on Jason's head. Nor could Keller have placed it there while under the influence of a hypnotic trance. Jason, the others, would have stopped him.

Keller went to pick up the quarter. He found he couldn't lift the little disk, even when he knelt and pried with both hands. Neither did a hard kick dislodge the coin.

He stood statue-like himself. If this wasn't hypnosis, then either he was asleep or insane. If he was asleep, this dream exceeded any other during his thirty-five years for bizarreness. If he had gone mad—though he had always thought himself one of the most stable people around—then the madness had consumed him.

The alternative to insanity meant what he experienced was actually occurring. Time halted whenever he pressed the Reverse command on this watch. But that was impossible. Not unlikely, improbable, or technically difficult—just flat impossible.

So...what did he do now?

Step one was to get out of this hospital. Then get home, try to get some rest. Hopefully he would wake from this aberration. If he were really lucky he wouldn't even remember it.

The neurologist made noises about holding him for observation, but Keller continued to amiably insist he felt fine. He did promise to arrange soon for a complete physical. As Keller poured on the normalcy, Tim and John relaxed and the doctor agreed all Keller probably needed was a good night's sleep.

After the post-docs returned him to the townhouse just past midnight, Keller slid into bed. He closed his eyes tightly. He begged for sleep to deliver him from this lunacy.

Sleep would not intervene. Every nerve cell in his system hummed, and the energy building at neuromuscular junctions threatened to hurl him from the bed. He could usually command himself to relax. But tonight his body wasn't going to obey.

Keller got up, grabbed the watch and hustled to the kitchen. He filled a pot with water and put it on a burner. He dialed the burner to high.

While waiting for the water to boil, he tried to remember when he last used the World Time function. Prior to today, that was. Certainly while purchasing the watch in September, and definitely while showing it off to his parents when he visited during Christmas. Time hardly stood still either occasion.

The burner glowed orange. Vapor rose from the flat surface of the water. Keller brought his hand over the water and fierce heat forced the hand away.

He hit Reverse and was plunged into utter darkness. He yelped. For an instant he thought the watch had swept him into a black void. He fought off panic and searched for a rational explanation.

After a moment's reflection, he understood. The light from the florescent tubes overhead was not emitted at constant intensity, but rose and fell many times a second in the sine wave generated by alternating current. His press of the button must have precisely caught a wave at the point of zero illumination.

Keller pressed Forward, then Reverse. This time the overhead lights stayed on—though at three-quarters of normal strength.

He put a hand over the pot. No heat. His finger eased within an inch of the burner and again he felt no heat. His finger touched the burner. He forced the finger to remain on the glowing orange ring and the finger detected neither heat nor cold.

Keller grasped the pot handle and pulled up. No movement. The pot that weighed less than a pound adhered to the burner as if welded. But now that didn't surprise him. He been as helpless to pick up the quarter that fell from Jason's forehead.

He wondered, though, why had he been able to take the quarter from his pocket. He was in frozen time then too. No, wait, he had the quarter in his hand when he pressed the Reverse command.

After he returned to normal time he gripped the pot handle. He hit Reverse. Now the pot lifted easily and the water within sloshed and steamed. A quick touch told the pot was plenty hot.

Keller shook his head. He didn't understand this at all.

He settled at the kitchen table as fatigue finally hit. Thank God for that.

What an evening. If Jason hadn't been playing tricks on him, then his own mind had. Whether this trick was dream or delusion he couldn't say.

He would leave that discovery for the morrow. Time now for bed. Time for a healthy sleep from which he better wake to the real world.

# Chapter 2

**K** eller became aware of music. For the longest time he couldn't determine the source. Soft soothing music, "elevator music" as others derided it, filled the space about him. Keller floated among the gentle notes.

Then his eyes opened and he realized that the music emanated from his clock radio. With a start he further realized that too much light occupied the bedroom. The digits on the clock read eight forty-nine; the radio was set to start playing at seven-fifteen.

How had he slept through the music for over an hour? He always woke within seconds when the radio came on.

Keller scrambled from bed. He had a class to teach at nine. He'd never make it.

He reached for the telephone on the nightstand. He could get one of the departmental secretaries to tell the class to wait. Maybe he could cut his tardiness to five minutes if he skipped showering and breakfast.

Keller's hand paused above the phone. His eyes drifted toward his dresser, upon which lay a singular black wristwatch. All he had to do was press the Reverse command. That would get him all the extra time he needed.

He vehemently shook his head. Time to wake up fully. Time to acknowledge that the events of last evening had transpired only within the confines of his brain. Time to pledge that he would not again tempt delusion.

Beverly, office manager for the Physiology Department, said she would hold the students. The surrogate mother to the professors also made him promise to put safety before haste as he drove in.

Keller ran a Remington over his face, then jumped into clothes. Despite his hurry he still put on a tie and suit coat. While some of his colleagues might lecture in polo shirts, he believed it was important to present a professional image—especially to medical students. People just took you more seriously.

He bolted from the townhouse into crisp morning air. Another glorious day was in the making. Although five months of unrelenting heat would soon grip San Antonio, right now he lived in Paradise. April featured warm days, cool nights, mosaics of wildflowers, and enough rain to turn the usual dun land a lush green.

Keller drove off in his white Honda Civic. Beverly need not have worried; as usual he negotiated the hazards of the streets with the utmost care. In two decades of driving he'd never had an accident, never even gotten a traffic ticket. He had earned his insurance company's best rating.

But he winced as he remembered Carol Simms' comments on his driving. She was the last woman he had dated, four years ago. And that relationship, if he could call it that, had lasted only two months. His defensive driving thoroughly exasperated her.

He wondered what she would have thought of his episode last night. Probably said he was subconsciously trying to generate excitement in his life. She would laugh at any suggestion Peter Keller had a brush with insanity. Cautious, boring, bland. That had been her parting shot: you're too boringly bland.

Perhaps true, perhaps not. A more accurate diagnosis might be he suffered from tunnel vision. He had fixated on science so hard for so long that not much else outside that domain intrigued him.

He knew his physical appearance did as little for women as his personality. Brown hair, brown eyes, a weak chin and a small nose made his face almost invisible in a crowd. A stature of five feet seven inches and an ectomorph's build also led female eyes to skip past him.

In a way it was a relief he didn't date anymore. He'd always been able to be friends with women, but he totally lacked the romantic touch. God had not endowed him with whatever made women yearn men.

He hoped his avoidance of dating made no one think he was homosexual. He desired women very badly. Every day female students clad in shorts and secretaries clad in tight skirts tormented his libido. It was so frustrating to know he had no chance with them.

But fortunately there was the state of Nevada. Thank God one political entity in the country allowed legalized prostitution. Three times a year he went to Nevada. The women there didn't give a damn if he were bland, especially since he tipped well. He would drop two or three thousand dollars during a week's stay and not mind a penny of the expenditure.

Of course he wasn't proud of his behavior, but he couldn't see any other option available. He could forthrightly attest to the therapeutic effects each visit provided.

By luck Keller found a parking slot near the main entrance of the massive structure that housed the Health Science Center. He hurried along a sidewalk lined with rosebushes, then entered the beige colored brick building just past the fountain pools. He picked up speed as he returned outside to cross a courtyard, and broke into double time as he reached the doors of the lecture hall wing.

Breathing deeply, Keller entered Lecture Hall 3 at nine-sixteen. The couple hundred medical students in the windowless semicircular chamber cheered his appearance. Keller smiled sheepishly and made his way down to the podium.

His notes were in his office, but he knew the lecture well enough. He should after seven years. He apologized for being late, then launched into details of signal transmission in the human nervous system.

As they scribbled furiously cheer fled the young faces of the students who sat in the curving tiers above him. He knew he was rapidly imparting very complex information, as he had in the four previous lectures on physiology of the nervous system. And his lectures constituted but a fraction of the material these first year students must know for finals. Finals only two weeks away.

Keller sympathized with them...to a point

Like many of the other science professors, Keller held an ambivalent attitude toward medical students. Most of the students were good-natured, and all were bright and dedicated. But he could never banish his prejudice that these fine young men and women were in it for the money.

Keller believed himself a fair man, and he did acknowledge these people would earn their money. And greatly benefit mankind. They just weren't as "pure" as those who served science. Research scientists endured as arduous training, worked comparably long hours, and toiled for scandalously lower pay. Doctors saved lives, but scientists gave them the tools to do so.

Well, no matter. They were both on the same side.

The students continued to write frantically and rarely looked up. Keller used the opportunity to inspect a student who sat in the first row. The redhead with the lovely oval face always dressed provocatively. Today she wore a sleeveless blouse with no bra underneath. Keller could see cleavage as she leaned forward writing. He also had clear vision of her legs; those long shapely legs that tied him in knots whenever he viewed them.

The woman in the taut peach blouse and tighter tan shorts shifted in her seat and Keller almost swallowed his tongue. He sternly ordered himself to lift his eyes. He did and stumbled onto another young lovely. He sighed under his breath.

At the end of his lecture, he asked if there were any questions. Several hands shot up. He clarified various points, then told the students he had enjoyed presenting this series of lectures. He wished them luck on their final exams and hoped he'd see them around the Center this summer.

Many of the students would spend a month or two of their summer break in a research laboratory. Med students were usually more hindrance than help in the lab, but it was important they gain insight what went on in basic biological research. And occasionally the experience inspired a student to obtain a science doctorate in addition to the medical degree.

Keller could not resist plugging aging research. "Neurobiology is a fascinating field, certainly; many exciting discoveries are still ahead. But I think the genetics of senescence will prove even more rewarding. The field is starting to take off. I urge any of you who are interested in learning more to stop by my office in the next week or two. I'll be glad to discuss a rotation in my lab or I can direct you to others at the Center doing aging work."

The students had gathered their books in anticipation of dismissal, but Keller saw he had drawn many inquisitive eyes. No surprise there. Aging was the one topic with which he could hold the rapt attention of a non-scientist. Even pretty girls, or especially pretty girls, wanted the lowdown on how he and his colleagues were doing at outwitting Father Time.

"Significant progress will be made in the next fifty years," he said in response to one question. "I would bet on ten or fifteen years being added to the human life span."

That's all? asked the expression on many faces. Keller believed a doubling of the life span was possible, but he'd learned early in his career to always understate...because even understatement often exceeded experimental result.

A student asked about diet restriction, which increased life span up to fifty percent in rats. Did Keller think it would work on humans?

"Perhaps. Studies are underway in non-human primates. But some theorists think calorie restriction postpones aging only in mammals with a short reproductive life. Humans can of course reproduce over decades."

Chagrin clouded student faces. But that was okay. He didn't want any of them undertaking starvation diets because of some still unexplained phenomena in rodents.

"Progress in extending longevity will be made, but I'm afraid it will involve trade-offs. We actually have identified individual genes—in the fruit fly _Drosophila_ and the worm _C. elegans_ —controlling life span. In _C. elegans_ a mutation in one gene can increase longevity by 45%. The catch is this mutation causes an 80% decrease in reproductive capability." Keller smiled wanly. "How many here would take thirty extra years of life if it cost four-fifths of your sex drive?" In his case, that might be a blessing. He kept his gaze off the redhead as he spoke.

The students laughed nervously.

If any of the students wanted to consult about a lab rotation, he would go into life extension in more detail. The redhead would be especially welcome. He would feed her tantalizing tidbits of recent research: the compound Resveratrol extended life in fish by sixty percent; the drug rapamycin extended life in mice nearly forty percent; the drug MK-677 restored a fifth of lost muscle mass in elderly humans; walnuts added to the diet of aged mice improved their brain function and motor skills; reactivation of telomerase enzyme reversed premature aging in other mice; and calorie restriction did indeed benefit Rhesus monkeys—but only if the restriction started early in life.

After class he headed toward his lab through the maze of corridors some demented architect had inflicted on the Center. He felt for first time visitors to the Center; it had taken Keller a week to get around without aid.

Everyone was at his or her post when he walked into the lab. Tim and Jason turned from their work and greeted him as if he'd survived a car wreck. Bill and En Soo, his two lab technicians, and Janice, his graduate student, also chimed in with anxious queries as to his well being. He was grateful for their concern, but he really didn't want to discuss last night's episode.

He forced a bright smile and assured them he was A-1 okay. He added that the doctor said successful experiments would be the best medicine of all. They laughed. After a few more pleasantries, people returned to their bench work.

Keller stepped beside Tim, who was preparing to load samples on the thermal cycler.

"These are from day 19 flies," said Tim. In the ice bucket beside the cycler were a score of half milliliter tubes, each containing DNA from a single cell. The thermal cycler would multiply that DNA one million times.

"Can you get the sequencing done by next Wednesday? I told Rose I'd try to call him then."

The brow above Tim's bushy eyebrows knitted. "I think so, but I'll need Bill's help. He'll have to bag the screening you wanted."

Keller spread his hands on the black bench top. He leaned forward and sighed. They were already two weeks behind in screening the imaginal disk library. What was he saying about trade-offs?

"Go with the sequencing."

Tim nodded. Keller patted his back. Tim would have to hustle to complete it by Wednesday, but Tim would. Tim was one of the best. Keller would be sorry to lose him to Purdue in the fall, where Tim had won an assistant professorship and a lab of his own. Fortunately his premiere post-doc should have this study wrapped up by late June.

Keller let Tim continue with his preparations and he drifted to the windows lining the rear of the lab. He gazed absently at the view of another wing and several loading docks.

It looked like Tim's study would generate a couple of good papers. The papers would be a sure bet for _The Journal of Gerontology_ , but he'd sure like to get one in _Science_. _Science_ was publishing more reports on aging research these days.

He'd try. He did worry Science would consider the study too pedestrian. They liked elegant, groundbreaking experiments. His approach in this one was almost laughingly simple, and he would uncover nothing earth shattering.

He supposed a bright child could have designed this study. All the lab was doing was comparing the mitochrondrial DNA of young and old fruit flies. Along with others, Keller believed aging was primarily caused by the deterioration of mitochondria in an organism's stem cells. Keller wanted to see whether this damage accumulated uniformly, or whether the damage accelerated after some point.

The study would merely present useful information. Information that would aid in the planning of more ambitious studies, but undramatic information all the same.

That had always been the knock against his professional ability, from graduate school on. Don't look for anything innovative from Keller. A great plodder, a great data generator, but don't count on him for a breakthrough.

Keller caught himself. He was still in the game, wasn't he? Others who had belittled his creativity were not.

No, he wasn't fancy, but count on him to finish any project. He had made a career out of getting the pedestrian job done. Reports he submitted for publication were rarely returned for revision; journal referees praised the soundness of his methods and conclusions. Sound publications in turn earned him grant renewals. He had survived and thrived in an increasingly tight funding environment, while others supposedly more gifted were left with nothing but their tenure.

He did not overreach. In a discipline where fiendish pitfall awaited every deviation from tried and tested technique, he trod carefully. He inched forward, but always forward.

**K** eller noticed members of the lab stealing glances at him. He became aware he had been standing at the window some time. The clock over the lab entrance said 10:38. He smiled disarmingly, then announced he would be in his office.

He exited the lab and walked down the refrigerator and freezer lined corridor toward his office. He stopped to chat several minutes with Chen and Conner. Neither of his peers regarded him askance. He supposed word about last evening hadn't yet leaked.

When he reached the windowless cubbyhole of his office, he eyed with despair his paper stacked desk. He closed the door behind him. He needed no interruptions.

He settled at the desk. Where to begin? His to-do list had fourteen items, not the least of which was reviewing the thesis proposal of one of Conner's graduate students. Keller was supposed to finish the review by close of business tomorrow. And he was supposed to come up with two tough questions for the student's qualifying exam.

Keller scanned the rest of the list. Oh no, he had a search committee meeting at three-thirty. He bet the committee would have another twenty c.v.'s to screen. The meeting would probably drag well past five.

He muttered. He also had a half dozen letters to dictate. This was going to be another long day.

Keller looked at his watch. How nice, he thought, if the watch really worked like in his delusion yesterday. He could freeze time at 10:50 and leisurely finish his paperwork. He could even take a nap and be fully refreshed for 10:51 and thereafter.

Yes, if wishes were horses...

He got one letter finished before hunger pangs rumbled. Belatedly he remembered he'd missed breakfast. He was tempted to run to the cafeteria, but he better not. Usually he just ate a granola bar and apple for lunch because anything heavier put him in a stupor the rest of the afternoon.

He had gotten halfway into a second dictation when the alarm on his watch began beeping. Which it shouldn't have, since he had not set the alarm function. Unease stirred as he rotated his wrist to reveal the LCD window.

Current time was gone. The watch had shifted mode and letters scrolled across the window. At first his brain did not process them into words, but that didn't matter because the string of letters repeated.

The first word he recognized was PARTNER. ALAMO followed, then PLAZA, then NOON, then MEET. The alarm continued to sound as the words swept across at least a half dozen times. Then the beeping stopped and the current time returned. It read 11:00 AM.

Keller became aware his heart rate had accelerated. His hands were trembling and he was breathing deeply.

After a moment's hesitation Keller rose from his seat. He opened his office door and stepped into the corridor. The only people in the corridor were a trio walking; their backs were to him. Keller moved the watch to the World Time mode, then pressed the Reverse command.

The trio stopped. Two of the three balanced precariously on one foot. Even if he had been alone in the corridor, Keller would have known time had frozen. All background noise, mainly from the ventilation system, had ceased. Only his footfalls sounded on linoleum as he paced before his office.

Well, the watch still worked...if worked was the appropriate term. Still under his delusion might be better terminology.

Keller hit the Forward command. The trio continued its march and the other subtle noises of life returned. He retreated into his office.

At his desk he berated himself for not keeping out of World Time. He should have ignored the alarm. He could not evade a sinking feeling this watch was going to bring him ill if he continued to use it.

What he should do was toss the watch in a dumpster. Then walk away and never look back.

Keller put his head in his hands. He groaned, because he knew the watch was going to stay on his wrist. He could not abandon the timepiece. Not yet.

Curiosity killed the cat, but it was the lifeblood of a good scientist. Curiosity had made him what he was today, even more than caution. He could hardly turn his back now on the most inexplicable phenomena of his life.

Keller told himself to shake off apprehension. Think like a scientist, he ordered. Employ deductive reasoning. That was the only true path to knowledge.

Well, one thing he could properly deduce. That message, about meeting a partner at Alamo Plaza, no way it derived from an internal mental disorder. Alamo Plaza, or any part of downtown, had no connection with his life. He hadn't been downtown in years. Authorship of that message must originate outside his head.

He had been on the right track with his suspicions about hypnosis. If he weren't crazy—and he wasn't—then these illusions of stopped time were perpetrated by an outside party. Someone or some group was altering his perceptions, probably by hypnosis or hallucinogens, or both.

A team of psychologists was likely conducting an advanced experiment, with him as the test subject. It did not speak well that they had involved Keller without his consent. He supposed he should feel outraged.

But—he was more intrigued than mad. These mental manipulations were obviously on the cutting edge of research. Not being consulted might be a small price to pay if the investigators made him privy to their findings. Perhaps they had chosen him because he too was a scientist.

Keller checked the current time. It was 11:10. Plenty of time to get down to Alamo Plaza if he left now. He could drive to the parking garage by the Rivercenter Mall and walk right over.

Except—what about all his work?

Well, he'd meet the "partner", try to get an explanation, then return here no later than one. The only mandatory item was the search committee meeting at three-thirty. If necessary he could finish the rest in the wee hours of the night.

Keller drove from the Health Science Center onto Fredericksburg Road. When he crested a hill just before Louis Pasteur Drive, downtown San Antonio popped into view. The cluster of high-rises stood brilliantly illuminated beneath a vast royal blue sky. Though downtown was seven miles away, the extraordinary clarity of the day reduced the distance to a stone's throw. He could even see one of the elevators on the Tower of the Americas.

After he crossed under I35 and entered downtown proper traffic thickened markedly. At Dolorosa both sidewalks were thronged with people heading in the opposite direction. He saw a string of barricades across the street at Market Square. He heard strains from a mariachi band.

Then he remembered. This was Fiesta week in San Antonio. It had been going on since last Friday and would cap with two big parades this weekend. His first year in town he'd sampled some of the activities, but he wasn't the partying kind. He hadn't been back since.

Traffic crawled toward Rivercenter Mall and noontime. He was afraid he would miss his meeting. For an instant he considered employing the watch to freeze time. Except that he wouldn't stop time at all; that was a complete _illusion_. He would not save a second.

He would be late. No need to panic. He had to trust that the hypnotists were monitoring him and would instruct the "partner" to wait till he showed up.

Eventually he arrived at Alamo Plaza. He was chagrined to find the square before the Alamo packed. The crowd would make it hard to find the partner. Who hopefully would be on the lookout for Keller. But other than the watch, how would the partner identify him?

At the edge of the milling humanity Keller stood with hands on hips and wondered what to do. He guessed he could go from person to person and casually check if they wore the same watch. Tedious, but he didn't see any other way to locate the partner. He certainly couldn't climb one of the trees and shout: "I've got the watch that stops time."

Luck favored him, for he found an identical wristwatch after inspecting only thirty people. A big man, who could have played in the NFL, wore it. The watch looked tiny at the end of his huge left arm.

The man with the thick chevron mustache wore aviator type sunglasses and a baseball cap bearing the motto "Don't Mess with Texas". The man stood statue still. Keller approached cautiously.

Keller eased aside the man who stood a full head higher than himself. He held out his left arm.

"I see we've got the same watch."

The man's head slowly rotated. Keller couldn't see his eyes behind the reflective surface of the glasses. Keller hated sunglasses like these.

The man with ruddy complexion studied Keller. His lips remained taut. Finally the lips moved, curling into a snarl.

"What you want, pardner?"

He said partner! This man had to be the contact, despite his frosty demeanor. Maybe the man was also a test subject. The experience with this watch might well have unsettled him; Keller couldn't blame him for suspicion or hostility. He hoped the man didn't think him in league with those responsible for these illusions of frozen time.

"I'm here for the noon meeting," Keller said.

"Hoo-ray for you." The man looked away but did not move.

Keller held out the watch again. "Mine is in World Time mode. What about yours?"

As the man bared teeth Keller involuntarily backed away.

"What you up to, boy?" asked the behemoth.

"N-nothing. Uh, isn't your watch doing strange things?"

"You one of them gay boys? You trying to pick me up?"

Keller saw muscles tighten in the man's neck—a neck thicker in diameter than the head. Keller noted the man's hands had balled.

What was going on here? Maybe the trauma of the time transitions had unglued the man, brought out a latent paranoia. The man looked ready to break him in two.

"I'm not with them, I promise. I just want—"

"Get your smelly butt out of here. Now."

Keller faced the poised hulk of the man. His brain urgently wired full retreat but his feet wouldn't move. Without employing his watch he had become immobile.

Where were the hypnotists? Didn't they see this was about to get out of hand?

Well, he better move. Before he got tossed into the Alamo. Maybe he could reason with him later.

Keller turned away. A hand grabbed his right elbow. For an instant he thought the man had attacked, but the man remained stationary. Then utter silence reigned. The dead silence of frozen time.

The silence was split by a voice. One richly feminine, yet also authoritative.

"I believe you're looking for me," said the voice.

# Chapter 3

**E** ven before he turned Keller knew the woman was beautiful.

He whirled and found himself only inches away from large, liquid eyes whose irises were gray. He also faced lips that were incredibly sensuous.

Keller stepped back. The woman wore a wisp of an amused smile. She held out her hand, for him to shake.

"I'm Barbara Jackson." She spoke with a trace of Texas drawl.

Keller awkwardly accepted the hand as his eyes ran over her. She _was_ beautiful. She had a glowing porcelain complexion, and her flaxen hair flowed to the shoulders. She possessed a lovely nose and her cheekbones were exquisite.

She stood ramrod erect smartly dressed in a yellow silk blouse, cream pleated skirt, and high heels. The blouse and skirt met at a narrow waist. He could see her calves were quite shapely.

"I'm Peter Keller," he finally said. "You're the partner?"

He had to look up slightly to meet her eyes. That meant she was taller, even without her heels. He wore lifts in his own shoes.

She opened the palm of her right hand to expose a black watch. The Casio Telememo 50 model.

"This gives new meaning to the term multi-purpose watch, doesn't it?" she said with her melodious voice.

Keller just blinked. He realized he had been taken into the illusion of frozen time without using his own watch. Which unsettled him. At least before he thought that under his control.

"Yes, I'm the 'partner'," she said. "And I suppose you don't know what is going on either."

He admitted to her he didn't. But he wondered if the woman were part of the research group. That would make perfect sense; what better way to manipulate a test subject than to team him with one of their associates? Especially one so fabulously good looking.

Keller related his experiences of the past sixteen hours. She countered with a similar story of shock, fear for her sanity, and irresistible temptation to use the watch. She spoke convincingly and Keller leaned toward believing her.

Perhaps she was a test subject. It was fishy, though, that she picked him out of the two or three hundred people inside the Plaza. She should have had difficulty fingering him as the partner.

He queried her, but in a tone that suggested he was impressed with her ability at finding a needle in a haystack.

She nodded toward the don't mess with man, who still glowered at the space Keller had occupied.

"I thought it was that Bubba, too. He's been standing in the same spot fifteen minutes. I was reluctantly readying to approach when you beat me to it. Then I saw you show him the watch."

Her lovely unblinking eyes held his through every word. Keller shifted on his feet. Attractive women never failed to rattle him.

He couldn't place her age. She could be anywhere from early twenties to early thirties. He inclined toward the later. There was a maturity, a gravitas about her that spoke at least three decades of existence. But whatever her age, her skin and figure were flawless.

She glanced at her watch. "It's past noon. And the 'partners' have met in front of the Alamo. Let's see if there is another message." Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "But first let's leave this gentleman."

The woman started walking away. Immediately her heels beat like a drumbeat on the cobbled stones of the plaza. Keller scurried to step beside her.

As they exited the Plaza her manicured fingers pressed the watch buttons. Abruptly she stopped, then held out the watch.

Keller saw the words "TOWER OF THE AMERICAS" scrolling across the LCD window.

Her forefinger tapped his watch. "See what yours says."

Keller didn't care for her command tone. But she was so lovely...so lovely he'd probably do backflips if ordered. Anyway, he shouldn't have needed the prodding.

He dutifully changed to Telememo mode. The words "GET RULES NOW" rolled across the display screen.

"Let's go," she said. Again she was marching away.

He called for her to wait. "We have to talk."

"We can talk while walking there. Come on. It said _now_." She kept moving.

Keller stood still. Again he doubted the authenticity of the woman. She was stage managing things too much.

When she noticed he wasn't following she stopped. She was about twenty yards ahead, in front of the old Menger Hotel. Her hands were on hips and her beauty was marred by an ugly scowl. Keller knew the wrath pouring out those gray eyes was not feigned.

She walked back to him.

"What's your problem, Peter?"

His heart fluttered at her mention of his Christian name. He'd known her but moments, and here she was addressing him with an implied intimacy. He wouldn't have dreamed of calling her Barbara until she asked.

He forced a stern voice. "I won't cooperate further unless you tell me the truth. Are you with the research group? I'll go along with the study in the interest of science, but only if you level with me."

"Like I said, I know as much as you. The only way we'll learn more is at the Tower of the Americas. Comprende?"

Her scowl had only half faded.

Keller decided only someone not bogus could speak so sternly. A researcher would probably be kissing his feet to keep him in the study.

He motioned in the direction of the Tower of the Americas. "I'll play along, but for no more than an hour. I have to get back to work."

She gestured at the stillness around them. "We're not losing a second of true time. So what's the worry?"

"We're experiencing the illusion that time has stopped."

"What illusion? I don't know how it's done, but everything has stopped dead in its tracks."

"I believe each of us is under deep hypnosis."

She shook her head. Her gorgeous hair shifted side to side. "This is actually happening. I know it is."

"You remember the movie _Total Recall_?" asked Keller. "We are likely test subjects in a primitive forerunner. I suspect some lab, probably federally sponsored, is conducting this research." He drew a deep breath. "This study may be completely unauthorized. There's a real question whether we should continue to participate."

"I am."

"That's your prerogative."

Her hand reached to clasp his upper arm. The touch loosened his knees, even though she barely applied pressure.

"Look," she said softly, "let's go over to the Tower. See what these 'rules' are. You can make a decision after that."

Keller couldn't resist the gentleness that now pervaded her voice and face—whether feigned or not. He agreed to accompany her.

"Perhaps this is a variation of hypnosis," she said. "But I don't think so. These watches must be actually starting and stopping time."

"That's impossible. The laws of physics don't allow it."

"Oh, you're a physicist?"

"No. But I am a scientist. I know enough to know you can't halt or even slow time."

"Well, I'm no scientist but I've heard about relativity. Time can slow to nearly nothing."

"Only when you approach the speed of light."

"Maybe they've made a new discovery."

How did one argue with a non-scientist? People exposed only to the Hollywood—or _National Enquirer_ —version of science just didn't appreciate the ironclad restraints imposed on the workings of the universe.

"Take my word for it. It's impossible."

Keller considered that their situation was the opposite of what they would experience at relativistic speeds. For him and Barbara time was passing 'normally'. It was the people around them who experienced a dramatic reduction in the flow of time. That meant, if this situation were real, he and Barbara were aging at a far greater rate than anyone else in the vicinity.

But of course it wasn't real. He and Barbara were probably lying in some top secret lab having these images played into their brains.

They turned the corner onto Market Street. Below them the River Walk paralleled the street. Suddenly Barbara pulled off her heels, then she ran down steps to the Walk. She was already at water's edge before he started down the stairway.

"Watch," she called. "I'll show you something impossible." Those intense eyes drilled his, then she stepped off the sidewalk bank. In amazement he watched as she strode over the shaded green waters to the opposite bank.

No one among the scores of tourists in this section of the Walk turned to gape at the astonishing act. No one gasped or fell to their knees in awe of the person who had duplicated Christ's walk on water. Keller alone could marvel.

"Tell me that's illusion," she called with a smirk.

"But it is. It has to be." Only sensory manipulations could create these effects. Or else Einstein was standing on his head.

The lovely, curvy woman retraced her steps. She walked right up to him, invading his personal space. He fought hard not to step back.

"Peter, at first I too thought this was all in my head. Either I was going mad or somebody had drugged me. But every time I came back from stopped time nothing had changed, even when an hour must have passed."

Keller opened his mouth to demur but she waved him silent.

"Let me tell you a couple things. I called my home phone from the fitness club I manage and let it ring a couple times. Then I lifted a book and let it drop. I stopped time before the book could land. The book just hung in the air. I left the receiver on my desk, then went home. I restarted time, snatched up the phone and could hear the book hit the floor. It takes ten minutes to get to my house."

She slipped back into her heels and Keller used the opportunity to regain his personal space.

"I thought that was proof time had actually stopped. But I got to thinking, yes, hearing the book hit could still be part of a hallucination. I needed something I could be sure happened outside of my mind. So when I got back I called our bookkeeper into my office and started going over receivables. I waited until she was looking right at me. Then I stopped time."

Barbara had again closed the distance between them. Her creamy face was just six inches away. He didn't see a hint of a line on the flesh.

"I got up and went outside. I walked from the club to 281, that's three miles. There I started time for three seconds then stopped it. I walked back. The round trip took over an hour and a half.

"Susan—my bookkeeper—was exactly where I left her, except that she had leaned toward my empty chair and her mouth was open. She looked quite puzzled. I sat in my chair and restarted time. I said nothing.

"Susan did a double take, then shook her head. I asked what was the matter. She looked embarrassed, said she must have been imagining things. I made light of the matter and asked she tell me, I could use a laugh. She said she could have sworn I vanished from my chair a few seconds.

"I smiled and said 'maybe I did'. She laughed, I laughed and we continued with the accounts. But my heart was beating hard. I knew then the watch was real. It had to be. Susan made the response, not me. She noticed something had happened. And it happened during that three seconds of stopped time."

At last she took a step back, though merely to get room to gesture with upraised hands.

"So I don't see how hypnosis can be involved. I remember every step of the six miles I walked. And Susan said I was gone only a couple of seconds. I know dreams compress time, but not that much. Hypnosis won't either."

She stared at him, daring refutation.

Keller was impressed. She had responded to this mystifying—and traumatic—situation with a nearly scientific approach. He had to admit she devised more rigorous tests than he.

He could almost accept her assertions. Except the people running this study could apparently put whatever they wanted in the brains of test subjects, including Barbara's belief she sat in her office with her bookkeeper. Or that she walked on water. They could feed him and Barbara whatever fact or fiction necessary.

Yet it did seem so real.

Barbara spun and was off. Her shapely legs pulled Keller up the stairs to Market Street. Keller had to strain to keep in stride. Even in heels this woman could move fast.

They skirted the Convention Center complex and marched into Hemisphere Park, where before them loomed the Tower. Keller eyes ran up the stark concrete support pillar to the cylindrical observation deck on top. A basket balanced on a pole. He had always wondered about the engineering on this structure. They would never have built it in an earthquake zone, he was sure.

Barbara's pace didn't slacken. They hustled through freshly mowed grounds toward the Tower base. By now Keller had broken into a sweat. Barbara had not.

A line of frozen people wound around the Tower base. The line extended through open double doors into the lobby where it ended at a counter. Before the counter an elderly man was in the act of handing money to a woman at a register. Off to the left a couple of attendants guarded a recess where people were loading into an elevator.

Barbara made for the recess.

"Wait," called Keller. "We have to pay."

She turned and regarded him incredulously.

Keller smiled weakly. "We should."

"Are you nuts?"

"You go ahead. But I have to pay."

"That means getting in line. And a half hour wait."

He knew she must think him an utter ass. But dishonesty was dishonesty. The size and scope did not matter. His parents had drilled that into him, and he stayed true to that concept since childhood.

"For God's sake, Peter, it's only ten dollars. I'm sure this operation will survive."

"It's wrong not to pay." His vocal cords had tightened and the words came out hoarsely. But he planted his feet.

She stood hands on hips again, then broke a smile. "Diogenes can rest at last."

"I know it'll be a long wait. I apologize for that. I just—"

Barbara laughed as she reached in her purse. "Why don't we do this instead?"

Her hand withdrew a twenty dollar bill, which she plunked on the counter. Then she pulled him toward the elevator.

"We'll cheat just a little by getting right on."

They stepped onto the packed elevator and squeezed into a rear nook. Barbara took his hand then pushed the Forward command on her watch. The buzz of a thousand beehives rammed his ears and his hands shot up to cover them. People stared at him.

Barbara hadn't reacted to what he realized was just people talking in an enclosed space. She seemed prepared for everything. Again he wondered if she were part of the study group.

The doors closed and the elevator lifted. Abruptly sunlight streamed through the glass front. Keller could see the buildings of downtown drop away as the elevator rapidly climbed. About him people oohed and aahed.

A couple of men, however, were more interested in ogling Barbara than admiring the vista outside. She blithely ignored them. But an irrational surge of jealousy gripped Keller and he almost told the men to keep their eyes to themselves. Add stupid to irrational, for either man could have made paste of him.

The elevator stopped. He and Barbara exited onto the observation deck, enclosed 360 degrees by metal ribbed glass windows. The other people immediately headed for the windows or for steps to the outside level. Barbara tugged his coat arm and the two of them lingered in the center of the deck.

Almost immediately one of the attendants, a short Hispanic, came up to them. The man held out what looked like a camera bag.

"Jackson-Keller?" he asked.

"That's us," said Barbara.

"Some guy asked me to give you this." He handed the bag to Keller while keeping his eyes glued to Barbara.

"Can you describe him?

"He was big. With a mustache. And black hair." The Hispanic smiled broadly. "He said I should give the bag to the best looking blonde I'd ever seen. He was right."

Barbara ignored the compliment. "Did he wear a baseball cap with 'Don't Mess With Texas'?"

"Yeah. That was him."

She thanked the attendant then led Keller away.

"I thought that ape in the Plaza had something to do with this," she said. "Nobody just stands dead still twenty minutes in the hot sun."

Keller didn't remember it being hot. But that guy probably was part of the study group, a beacon to bring him and Barbara together.

"Well, aren't you curious what's inside?" Her finger tapped the bag.

Keller released the snap holding the top. The red lined interior contained a pair of headphones and a compact CD player. A Y adapter joined the headphone cords to allow dual listening.

Barbara glanced around and Keller followed her lead. No one appeared to pay them attention. But who knew, maybe the attendants were members of the research group. Or perhaps he and Barbara were under camera observation. Keller was sure the group had tab on them.

They put on the headphones and Keller pushed the play button. They stared at each other quizzically as the theme from "2001" issued through the phones. Then the music faded and a deeply drawled voice spoke their names. The voice belonged to the brute in the Plaza.

"Well, Barbara and Peter, I'm glad you proved you could find your asses from a hole in the ground. So on to the next step, finding the piece of ground that really counts. Oh, I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Ben Gomperz—uh, note that's a 'z' on the end of the name, not an 's'. I'm with a research firm testing the ability of people with above average smarts to find X marks the spot.

"Barb Doll and Pete Dull, I'd like you to go to the outside landing. Get yourselves a real good view of ol' San Anton. Looks like today you won't even need one of those telescopes to pick things out."

The voice momentarily stopped, and the theme music returned. Barbara immediately started for the nearest exit. Keller trailed sullenly behind, irked that Gomperz had called him "Pete Dull". That was most unprofessional. What kind of scientists would cast slurs? These people had about ten more seconds before he was out of here.

A stiff wind met them as they stepped onto the outside landing that circled the main deck. As they eased up to the chest high retaining wall, the voice started again.

"Pretty high up, no? Barb and Pete, you'd finish as strawberry preserves if you tumbled. So don't go climbing over the railing, hear?" The voice obscenely chuckled.

Keller dared a look down. The wall sloped slightly outward, and he swore he was on the verge of free fall. The press of the wall against his body did little to alleviate the sensation. Beside him Barbara stared down casually.

"Okay, you two, listen up. Here's the deal. On a clear day, like today, you can see a lot of the Outer Loop from the Tower. Your goal is to find a particular square meter inside the Loop—we'll call it the final square—and occupy it for a minimum of ten seconds of real time.

"Now folks, I know there's a lot of squares inside the Outer Loop. To help you smart people I am going to allow you, Barb, and you, Pete, each five inquiries concerning the location of the final square. You will enter your inquiry via the Telememo mode. Each will be answered yes or no. You can use geographical coordinates, streets, zip code boundaries, whatever to mark off the area under consideration."

Keller started to remark that there were millions of square meters inside Loop 1604, but Barbara put a finger to her lips.

The voice continued: "Another couple will also be looking for the final square. Sharp as you, if not sharper. The couple that finds the square first wins big time. Just so the losing couple doesn't go on hunting forever, they'll know the game is over because their watches won't work anymore.

"How big time do you win? Well, each member of the winning team gets to pick one person, any person on earth, who will ever after do what you say. Think about it. Most certainly a shit kicking grand prize. And this is all no shit, either.

"I haven't much more to say other than we here at the research offices are looking forward to the contest. We'll sit back and have a cold one while you fine people undertake this opportunity of a lifetime. Good luck and God bless. By the way Barb, you can sit on my face anytime. But not you, Pete, much as you'd like. Over and out."

Keller muttered a curse. That redneck neo-Nazi. How dare Gomperz intimate Keller was homosexual, especially in front of Barbara?

He became aware that Barbara's left hand gripped his arm. Then her right hand was on her watch and he abruptly found himself back in frozen time.

"What did you do that for?" he asked, more sharply than he meant. He sure hoped she didn't think him gay.

"It hit me the other couple might also be up here getting the rules. If we see anyone else with headphones and black bag, we'll know that's them. That will give us a competitive edge."

Keller couldn't believe the intensity blazing in her eyes. She had evidently swallowed Gomperz's pitch whole.

He softly shook his head. "Barbara, there's no competition. There's no contest. We're just dupes in some crazy scheme. What that...that Neanderthal said makes no sense from a scientific or any other standpoint. You must see how patently ludicrous his proposal is."

Barbara stepped to his face. Her bosom was only millimeters from his chest. He immediately had trouble breathing.

"What _you_ don't see," she said, "is that they have already proved they can deliver."

He looked at her blankly.

"Who cares how idiotic the contest?" she asked. "If they want us to track down a one meter square, we'll track it down. But the prize they're promising, there's nothing ludicrous about that. If they can make time stop, whether for real or just in our heads, they can also make someone else do our bidding. I don't doubt that for a minute."

Keller eased away from her. This was all insane. For a moment he just wanted to run.

She must have read his mind, for she stepped between him and the landing exit.

"Peter, please listen. Like that man said, we have the opportunity of a lifetime. I thought all along—once I got over the shock of the watch—something like that was involved."

"There's no sense to this."

"Of course there is. I'm sure our minds are still disoriented from what we're experiencing. Whose wouldn't be? But I'm going to stay in the contest. I hope, pray, you will."

Keller could have of course thrust her aside. He was, after all, a man and stronger even if she was in better physical condition. But—how could he truly walk away from this? The events of the past twenty-four hours were the strangest of his life, and certainly the most fascinating.

He cleared his throat. "If I stay in the 'contest', it will only be to find out how these effects are being created. I have a duty as a scientist to pursue that. I think you're setting yourself up for great disappointment if you think you'll get mind control over someone."

She smiled thinly. "I've been greatly disappointed before."

Keller turned, and looked out over the rolling land that stretched so far in every direction. The vastness of Texas had always overwhelmed him. Here the immensity of even a minute fraction of the state made him feel an insignificant speck.

"It is a big area to search," Barbara admitted.

Impossible with just ten "inquiries" to cut it down. He said nothing.

Barbara gestured to the side. "Let's go look for the other couple," she said. "If we can identify them, we can tail them. We can stop time whenever they make an inquiry, then walk up and read the reply right off their watch. In effect, we'll have twenty inquiries instead of ten."

Keller couldn't argue with her logic. A pretty good idea. He was impressed how quickly she'd thought of it.

He followed her about the landing. Perhaps three score people, among them numerous couples, gazed out over San Antonio. Keller didn't see anybody with headphones. Barbara carefully inspected each person; twice she quickly started and stopped time in order to search black bags. She found nothing.

They returned to the interior of the observation deck. Only six people besides the two attendants were inside. None had headphones or recorders.

"I suppose it figures," Barbara said. "One couple spotting the other would probably make winning too easy. They must have sent the other couple elsewhere."

Keller absently nodded. Hunger pangs rumbled like tank divisions in his stomach. Although his watch read 12:52 p.m., his body was reminding him that the bouts in frozen time with Barbara had added at least an additional hour to his biological clock. It was mid afternoon and he hadn't even had breakfast.

"Can we get something to eat?"

Barbara just stared at him, like he'd asked a totally off the wall question. But dammit, he was starving.

Then her face softened. "Yes. Why don't we? We'll go to my place."

"You don't have to do that. I mean, there's lots of places around here. I wouldn't mind one of the River Walk cafes." He also wouldn't mind the heads turning when they sat at a table together. Maybe someone he knew would see them.

"No, we'll go to my place. We need somewhere private to plan our strategy."

Keller had time for a quick bite, but not for much more.

"Barbara...I really have pressing matters this afternoon. Tomorrow I'll have more time to devote to this."

She pointed at her watch. "It's still lunchtime."

"Not really."

She swept her hand toward the windows. "The rest of San Antonio thinks so. Peter, you can put a week in on this and still get back to your office by one o'clock today."

But time wasn't stopping, even if she refused to recognize that. The clock ticked on no matter how deeply under hypnosis the research group had put them.

He sighed as the hunger pangs continued their assault.

"Okay. Let's go to your place."

She awarded a warm smile. "Good boy."

For a second—no, a nanosecond—he saw himself stepping forward and kissing her. He wondered at her response. A slap? More likely a laugh. He'd prefer the slap.

# Chapter 4

**K** eller followed Barbara's car, a BMW 535, up Route 281. They were still in frozen time. They had returned to normal time only to descend the Tower and to activate their cars. She insisted they remain in frozen time much as possible. That way they kept their opponents out of action.

He thought Barbara was driving too fast on the expressway as they headed toward the North Central Side. She never dropped below forty, even when taking the shoulder to get around knots of the stationary cars. He was relieved when they finally exited onto Bitters Road.

She turned off Bitters into a subdivision he'd never entered. The large stone edifice at the entrance proclaimed it Bluffview Estates. A sort of comical name, he thought. Except there was nothing comical about the quality of the homes that rose above a long stone wall. The houses here weren't grandiose as those in Olmos Park, but some were close.

Barbara pulled into a circular driveway. Large trees—large for San Antonio—spread their limbs over the driveway and a lush green lawn. Beyond the trees stood her house, a majestic two-story dwelling with flagstone and timber beam facade. Keller bet the interior contained four thousand square feet.

She led him up a white stone walkway to the front door. On the door was a shiny brass plate engraved with her name. She switched to normal time to deactivate a security system, then unlocked two deadbolts.

Did health club managers make this much money? Keller knew the house had to cost at least five hundred thousand, possibly much more. It looked like several acres of land went with the house, too. She better make a lot. Her mortgage payments had to be prohibitive.

As she returned to frozen time she gripped him, and had him grip the doorframe.

"Hopefully that will allow everything in the house to work," she explained. "We won't have to keep hopping in and out of real time to use things."

Keller's mouth dropped as they stepped in and his feet sank into pale blue carpet. Images of opulence bombarded his brain. Everywhere he looked he saw crystal, marble, leather, mahogany, and brass. It didn't look like a speck of dust marred anything, either.

"In here," she commanded. His eyes followed her hips as she moved through the living room, then into a less formal room that contained a well endowed entertainment center. She motioned him to a white L shaped modular couch.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll fix us something to eat."

Keller watched her rear end depart.

He sat back on the couch. Its cushions almost swallowed him. Despite his hunger he was asleep within ten seconds.

**W** hen Keller awoke he smelled bacon cooking. For a moment he thought he was at his parents' house, where his mother made bacon and scrambled eggs when he visited. She always made them despite his protestations they contained too much cholesterol and he always ate them.

He found himself lying face down on Barbara's couch. He struggled to a sitting position and wondered how long he'd been out. He saw through the window that outside early afternoon sun and deep blue sky still reigned.

Barbara swept into the room. She had changed into slacks and a sweatshirt emblazoned with the Rice University logo. Her luminous blond hair contrasted sharply with the dark blue of the sweatshirt. She was smiling.

"About time you woke up."

Keller stood. He became aware of heavy pressure in his bladder.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Four hours. I took a nap myself. I guess neither of us slept well last night." The smile was fading. "You better eat up. We've brainstorming to do."

"The bathroom..."

"Use the one upstairs on your left. Please clean up any mess you make. I won't be having my maid in until this is over."

He hurried toward the stairs, not replying he always cleaned up after himself.

Keller had never seen such an opulent bathroom. Mirrors and marble were everywhere. The shower was big enough to hold a dozen people, and the gleaming basin counter could have landed planes. In an alcove with a skylight beside the shower he found the toilet. The toilet was more like a throne, with cloth covered lid and seat, and flanked with potted plants. Barbara—or her guests—certainly pooped in style.

After he relieved himself he splashed his face with cold water. In the mirror he saw that his internal clock had definitely kept ticking. Beard stubble lined his jaw and lips. He looked pretty grubby. The shower beckoned, but he had no change of clothes. And Barbara was waiting.

In the spacious kitchen she sat at a large oak table. The round table stood next to a bay window that overlooked a superbly tended rose garden. On the table lay a china plate with his food and a steaming mug of coffee. Barbara had no plate. Instead before her were a calculator and a pad of paper. She now wore glasses.

"I've been number crunching," she said. "And the numbers aren't coming out good."

Keller took a seat and attacked the BLT sandwiches she had prepared.

Barbara drew a big circle on a clean piece of paper. "I've calculated in meters, since that's what the researchers are using. This circle is the Outer Loop. It's about forty kilometers across, which gives an area of thirteen hundred square kilometers. I nearly fell over when I converted that to meters. The area is over one _billion_ square meters."

Keller was only half listening to her. The other part of his mind advised that she looked even lovelier with those designer glasses. Softer, sweeter.

"My first impulse was to use our inquiries to narrow the area by halves," she said. "But after ten halvings, there's still 1.2 million square meters left." Her brow knitted. "We could go from one square to another, standing on each for ten seconds, and eventually we would occupy the final square. The only problem is ten seconds times 1.2 million equals 200,000 minutes...or thirty three hundred hours."

She pursed her lovely lips, then unfolded a map of the San Antonio area. Her finger traced over the wide sheet, searching for what he knew not.

His gaze drifted to her sweatshirt. The shirt proclaiming the Rice Owls fit loosely. The bagginess however did not obscure the swell of her breast. If Barbara's facial skin was so flawless how much more so must be that of her bosom.

His eyes raised to find Barbara's squarely on his. She had caught him appraising her red handed, no denying it. Heat grew on his face.

"Finished?"

"I–I apologize. I had no right."

"It would be best if you concentrated on the matter at hand."

"I apologize. It won't happen again."

She gave a derisive laugh. "It happens all the time. But I really would appreciate your full attention on this." She tapped the map.

"What are you looking for?"

"Just thinking. What you should be doing. I thought that's what scientists did best."

"I'm thinking thirty three hundred hours translates into about one year of square hopping—assuming we put in ten hours each day. There's no way anyone in their right mind would consider that."

He spoke the last sentence stridently, but she didn't bridle.

"Obviously. The people behind this know that. So there must be another way to find the square. The inquiries could be a decoy."

"This is all a decoy."

That did get a reaction. She straightened in her chair. He saw anger welling, and also the struggle to contain it. She knew she couldn't explode and expect him to remain a committed team player.

Of course, his only commitment might be to a nut house. Though now he felt less stressed than at any point since the watch began stopping time.

Barbara's eyes bored into his. They pushed through his lens and retinas up the optic nerves and into his brain. He felt her gaze probing his gray matter.

"Are you going to quit on me, Peter?" She spoke plaintively. Which surprised him considering how her eyes continued to pierce.

"I—I don't want to quit. This just seems futile."

"I can't win alone."

"This is a waste of your time as much as mine."

Her face clouded and he braced for invective...or tears. He could take invective better.

Instead she said, "I will give you twenty-five thousand dollars if you help me."

He gaped.

"I mean it," she said. "Twenty-five thousand in cash."

"Barbara..."

"I can have it for you in half an hour."

For a moment he thought how much lab equipment and supplies twenty-five thousand would buy.

"No. I'd be stealing your money." Well, not exactly, since any greenbacks he saw would last only as long as this hypnosis. But Barbara believed she would be giving up the money. Which testified how deeply she bought into this illusion.

"Barbara, we're being conned. You're falling for it. I'm not."

"Forty-six thousand dollars. That's all I have. It's in a safe deposit box which we can go to right now."

Good God, they really had her hooked.

"I—"

She stood up. "Let's go. I'll give you the money, you can stash it, then we can get started on this map."

Keller didn't stand. "I can't take your money. I wouldn't even if I believed their promises."

Her fingers drummed the table. Her silver painted fingernails clicked on the highly polished honey wood. Again she turned on the full force of her stare.

"I'm going to tell you something very personal. It's never to leave your lips. Do you promise?"

Keller could only nod before the fearful symmetry of her eyes. She sat back down.

"There is a man I want to marry. A wealthy and powerful man who lives in Austin. I won't lie and say I'm in love with him, but we do have rapport. I want him more than anything else in the world. Because he will take me to a level I'll never get to otherwise. I'll be thirty-six this July and I know my time is running out for landing him. My looks soon won't be able to complete."

Keller found it hard to believe age would ever dim her luster. But it would. He, the gerontology researcher, should know the absolute inevitability of the process better than anyone else. The incredible loveliness before him was doomed.

"I have been seeing this man since the Christmas holidays. Unfortunately I am not the only woman that has caught his eye. My chief rival is nine years younger, equal in physical appearance, and of better pedigree. She's just as determined to hook him. Being an honest man, Peter, whose chances do you rate the better?"

"He'd be crazy to not choose you."

A little smile. "Whose chances, Peter?"

This woman sucked the breath right out of his lungs. But he had seen a few other females her match, and men did prefer young women and old wine.

"Yes," she said, "that's a contest I won't win. So I better win this one. Whoever set this up knew my situation. Knew how much the chance to control Richard would motivate me." Her eyes probed again, now gently. "Peter, you must want to control someone. I don't think they would have picked you otherwise."

Keller hadn't been battling for anyone's favor lately. Except, well, National Institute on Aging grant committees. But control of any one person on a committee would mean little.

"I have designs on no one. I don't know why they picked me."

"I say it again, Peter. These people can deliver. There must be something you desperately want, which control of a specific person will get."

Well, yes. Keller would like control of God's mind, to make Him confess which genes controlled the aging process in humans.

"There's nothing."

"Come on! What about research money? Tell me you can't use more of that."

A gross understatement. Everyone could, with a fraction of grant requests getting funded.

"Things are tight," he admitted.

"You win, you can tell Jerry Jones to sell the Cowboys and award you the proceeds. I'll bet a billion and a half would do your research just fine."

"That would be no different than robbery."

"Spare me. You think Jerry's making better use of the money?"

Despite himself, Keller savored a momentary rush as he imagined a billion dollars at his disposal. But—

"I really couldn't take the man's money."

She looked at him like he was demented. Which maybe he was. They were talking about funds that might benefit the whole of mankind, for generations to come. Where was the greater wrong, robbing Jerry Jones or robbing humanity?

As long as he was thinking along those lines, he'd be even more demented to settle for one billion. There were men worth fifty billion. If he lowered himself to steal, he should do it big time.

Investment earnings on fifty billion would fund at least a thousand worthy grants. One or two thousand additional lines of research would join the battle to elucidate the biologies of development, aging and disease. They would make a vast difference.

Keller sighed. He could feel himself biting the hook.

"It would still be theft," he said with forced conviction.

"Just take the proposal under consideration."

"If such an ability did come into my hands, I would never use it for my benefit. No money would go to my own research."

"Of course not."

Was she mocking him? He did think the corners of her mouth notched upward. He wondered if he could really deny himself a cut. To never have to fight again for funding, that would bring such peace of mind.

"So you won't quit just yet?" she asked.

"I—look, you said yourself it will be tough to find this square. Maybe they can deliver on the grand prize, but first we need a reasonable chance to win it."

"That's why I suggested we momentarily forget the inquiries." Her finger returned to the map. "Who knows why they picked us, but I bet it was partly because something ties us two to a spot on this map. Perhaps during the past year we were at same event...like the Stockyard Show or the Greek Festival. The event location could contain the square."

That did make sense—of a sort.

Barbara pushed pad and pen toward him. "Why don't you put when and where you've been inside the Loop the past year? I know it's a lot to recall, but please be thorough."

Keller slowly took the pen. Again he couldn't shake the feeling he was being made the fool. Jump through this inane hoop, Peter, jump through that loonier one. Buffoonery had accompanied his every action since he first stopped time.

Barbara rose. "I'm going to get some groceries. You can work undisturbed."

"Uh—"

"What is it?" She regarded him warily.

"I'd like to go over to my place. To get some fresh clothes."

"I can do that. Give me your keys."

She held out her hand.

The stunning loveliness and utter assurance of the woman gave him no choice but to comply. He didn't want her in his condo, it was drably furnished compared to this place. Yet he yielded his address and requested she fetch his shaving gear, too.

He watched her shapely rear end depart through the open front door, then he set to work. Embarrassingly he finished in short order. He could list no more than his townhouse, the Health Science Center, the HEB at Babcock and Huebner, plus some lunchtime visits to restaurants. What would Barbara think of the absence of other activity? Easy, she'd think him King of the Nerds.

The funny thing, or sad thing, was that none of his seven years in San Antonio would come up much differently. Home, lab, grocery store, his holy trinity. She would find it easy to determine if they had been at the same place at the same time. And if so, how would he have not noticed her?

Keller rose from the breakfast table. He wandered around the first floor. At a bookcase in the study he spotted two Rice University yearbooks. He rapidly flipped pages in the first volume, finding her picture in the freshman section. She wasn't any more beautiful, but unadulterated joy lit her face. In the second volume that happy face had turned to stone. The same knife point eyes of the present thrust out from the photograph. The half dozen activities listed under the freshman picture were absent under the sophomore one.

If only he had the nerve to ask what had happened. Then maybe he didn't want to know the cause of such a radical transformation. Probably something very messy and unpleasant.

As he moved from room to luxuriously appointed room it dawned on him there were no photographs displayed. No shots of her, her parents or siblings, anyone. Very strange.

# Chapter 5

**A** fter what he guessed two hours Barbara returned. She immediately sent him upstairs to shower and change into fresh clothes. She had brought two suitcases of his belongings.

Two suitcases! He didn't say anything, but she was sadly mistaken if she thought he was making a full time job of this affair. At the most he would give her a couple hours a day.

She was frowning when he came back downstairs. She held his list of comings and goings, a mere page and a half.

But she spoke gently. "Peter...is this a complete account or an outline?"

"It's quite complete." Let her think what she wanted. How could she remotely conceive of a research scientist's life? Among the truly dedicated his restricted lifestyle wasn't all that uncommon.

She let out a breath. "I'm going to ask you to review this. It's vitally important you remember every place. Even one minute at a Stop N Buy. Please."

"Okay. But don't expect much addition."

"You've been downtown just once?"

"Yes."

She studied the papers again. "That's only area we overlap. And none of my times downtown were at the Alamodome."

Keller wouldn't have been there except for Jason dragging him to his first and only NBA game.

"I think the mutual event strategy is a dead end," he said.

"I'd still like you to review."

"I will. But maybe we're linked in some other way."

"Such as?"

"Maybe our birth dates are the same. You said you're thirty-five. I am too."

"How would our birth dates translate into a position inside the Loop?"

"I don't know. They could stand for geographical coordinates. Or a zip code."

But nothing was similar between their birth dates, not even the year.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't be. You're thinking."

"Where were you born?" he asked.

"Houston."

"There's a Houston Street in San Antonio. I was born in Newport News. Virginia."

"I know what state it's in. No Newport News Street here, I'm afraid."

"Another dead end."

"Something must link us," she said. "Why don't we do this? We'll have a quick bite, then retire to separate rooms. We'll go back year by year and list where we've been...and who've we known."

"You mean our whole life?"

"If we have to. But let's start with the last five years. We have to have something in common, either a place or a person. Something. Otherwise I agree we face a hopeless task."

After they ate she put him in the study for his writing. Which took only ninety minutes and six pages of paper. No way around it, he led a boring life. At least by this method of tabulation.

He went in search of Barbara and spotted her on the deck that overlooked her pool. She sat at a glass topped table that had a beach umbrella stuck through the middle. Her hand, the left one, wrote steadily. The lovely face was locked in concentration.

He didn't want Barbara to catch him eyeballing her again. He turned into the kitchen, where the map was still spread on the breakfast table. Again he despaired over the immensity of area that challenged them. Their odds of winning were similar to that confronting lottery participants. Which was why he had never bought a lottery ticket.

He bent over the map. It was too bad his birthplace wasn't Fredericksburg in Virginia. Fredericksburg Road intersected with Houston Street. Well, no, Fredericksburg stopped short of Houston. Most of the other streets intersecting with Houston were of Hispanic origin. None of them rang a bell for a place he'd visited.

He was about to pull up from the map when his eyes stumbled onto a road, a road whose existence he was vaguely aware of from an exit sign on 410. He also heard the road occasionally mentioned on local newscasts. A road with the name Jackson-Keller.

Forget coincidence, that must be the link. The researchers had selected them in part—or maybe even wholly—on the basis of their last names. Last names tied to a specific location inside the Loop. Victory was theirs.

He went out to tell Barbara.

The flaxen haired woman rewarded him with a smile of pure affection. His heart soared, then thudded to ground as he realized the first genuine warmth she offered was just thanks for getting her closer to marriage to a wealthy man.

"I guess that's it," he said a bit glumly. At least now they could get this thing over with.

She had already started toward the kitchen. When he entered she was bent over the map. Then her hand reached for the calculator, into which she entered a four digit number. She divided the number by 2 ten times.

"If the square is on a line down the middle of Jackson-Keller," she said, "ten halvings would narrow it to three meters."

"Then that's the solution."

"Maybe."

"It seems pretty obvious."

She kept her focus on the map. She entered more numbers in the calculator.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm expanding the area to include a block on either side of Jackson-Keller. Ten halvings leaves about a thousand square meters. That could be walked off in three hours."

Keller wondered how they would get permission to traipse through people's back yards. But he supposed any male owner would let Barbara traipse wherever she wanted.

He advanced his watch to the Telememo mode. "I'll make the first inquiry. What are the names of the surrounding streets?"

"Hold your horses, Peter." Barbara still scanned the map.

What was she looking for? There wasn't any street named Barbara-Peter.

She shook her head. "This is too easy."

"What is?"

"Doesn't it strike as too simple a solution? I'm not in any way belittling you, Jackson-Keller was an alert pickup. But how could we eventually not stumble onto it? That's our names, for God's sake. Would they design a contest with such an incredible prize that takes minimal skill to solve?"

"I have no idea about these people's ultimate purpose."

"Well, it's not to see if we can reason on the level of five year olds. You don't hand out power and wealth on the basis of that."

"Barbara...that power and wealth is probably a thousand dollar savings bond. They'll give each of us that for our time. But don't expect more."

Keller again faced knife point eyes.

"I'm not trying to upset you," he said. "But you do realize we're not dealing with the most ethical people. They involved us without our consent. I don't trust a word they say."

She paced the kitchen. Her arms locked over her chest. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

"Barbara, my graduate advisor—one of the finest men I've known—told me the first virtue for a scientist is skepticism. It's a virtue that never failed me."

"You don't know the beginning of skepticism."

There was hurt in her voice. He felt sorry for her, if she had really believed this contest would get her rich Richard.

"I think we should go ahead with the inquires," he said softly. "Let's put this adventure behind us."

She stared out the bay window for a moment, then she turned to him. She stood ramrod erect. "I want one week from you."

"What?"

"One week. If we don't turn up anything by then, you can quit."

"Why a week?"

"I'm thinking Jackson-Keller is only the first step. Somewhere on that street lies the next part of puzzle. Which probably points to another place, and maybe that to another. I believe the only way to find the final square will be through a combination of the inquiries and puzzle parts."

Keller shook his head.

"Yes, Peter. Tell me that's not a valid hypothesis or whatever you call it. Give me a week. I'll give you half the money if you do. You stay longer, you get it all."

"This is nuts."

"You're the nut if you turn down that much money."

"I could never take your money."

"Give me a week. Then decide."

If the money really existed, would he? Twenty-five thousand was more free cash than he'd ever see.

"I'll stay a week. But money is out of the question."

Keller surprised himself with the rapidity of his decision. This was something he should think over, preferably after he returned to the Health Science Center and attended to business he had postponed too long.

Yet—how much time had really passed since he left the Center? It couldn't be a day. It might not exceed one hour. If he were in the grip of a mix of hypnosis and drugs, those responsible could easily trick him concerning the passage of time. Just like in a movie, the story line could cover weeks or months even if the movie only ran a couple hours.

So he probably hadn't missed more than lunch hour. How much additional time would a "week" amount to? To tomorrow morning? If he continued to participate he would likely find he had only missed a committee meeting he didn't want to attend anyway.

He of course was not obligated to participate. He had not contracted with the people behind this. He owed them nothing, however fascinating their mental manipulations. He certainly would never accommodate the likes of a Ben Gomperz.

But he would stay. Keller might plead scientific duty, but the real reason stood less than a yard away. Barbara Jackson was a spectacular woman. For a "week" he would live in her house, eat her meals, enjoy her attention. Maybe at the end she would let him kiss her. He would carry the taste of her lips to the grave.

He thought she would kiss him right there, she looked so relieved. After she profusely thanked him, she insisted they motor to Jackson-Keller. For a quick reconnaissance. Tomorrow they could start in depth exploration.

They didn't get to motor very far. On Bitters they found the route solidly blocked by cars as they neared the 281 interchange. Even on the shoulders there was no room to maneuver her BMW. They backtracked on Bitters and turned onto West Avenue.

They advanced on West as far as Blanco, but a swarm of cars waited at the light. There, as at the other places, Barbara refused to reenter real time and allow cars to move. The ten or twenty seconds required would give too much time to their opposition, she said. She would reenter real time only when absolutely necessary.

She gave up trying to reach Jackson-Keller and drove to the racquet and swim club she managed. In the parking lot she found what she wanted, one of her employee's motorcycle. It should be able to maneuver though anything, she said. She admitted she'd never driven a motorcycle, but she didn't plan on going over thirty. Keller thought twenty a better limit.

Barbara needed only a couple seconds to unfreeze time to retrieve the owner's key, and a several more to start the machine. Without difficulty she kicked it into operation. She drove the rumbling black machine slowly around the parking lot for ten minutes, practicing turns, stops and minor accelerations.

Keller balked when she told him to hop on.

She smiled. "I promise I won't kill you."

"Don't you want me to drive your car back?"

"No. Get on, Peter."

He awkwardly mounted the throbbing machine. He sat erectly so his body wouldn't touch hers.

"Better put your arms around my waist. Unless you want to get dumped in the road."

He gingerly clasped her waist.

"Tighter."

His forearms pushed into her tummy and they started off. He forgot all about their touching torsos as she seemed to shoot out of the parking lot onto Thousand Oaks. The speedometer said only twenty-five, but he swore they were going much faster. The pavement whipped by too quickly.

She got him to Jackson-Keller in one piece. They traveled at jogging speed down the two-lane street, lined nondescriptly with one-story businesses and frame houses.

"Seedy, isn't it?" Barbara said.

He supposed the benignly average street bordered on that pejorative. But not everybody could live in a semi-mansion and drive a BMW.

They made two passes of the street. Nothing leapt out. Keller wasn't sure an "in depth exploration" would reveal more. He groaned inwardly at thought of a whole week spent here trying to uncover a clue that might not exist at all. But he had given his promise.

They returned to her house. She grilled some steaks by the pool and he allowed himself a beer while they waited. It was great to hear the steak sizzle and smell meat aroma. There was too little sensory stimulation in this land of frozen time...excepting Barbara, of course.

He gestured toward the rose garden that was back dropped by luxuriant crepe myrtle.

"My compliments to your gardener."

"Thank you. You're wondering how I afford all this."

"No..."

"Of course you are. The club pays me pretty well, but not this well."

"It's none of my business how—"

"I don't mind revealing. I landed this place in a divorce settlement."

"Oh." She must have had a good lawyer.

"What would you say if I told you I knew I would get this place _before_ I married?"

Keller didn't know what to say. He took a big sip of beer.

"In spite of a prenuptial agreement stating otherwise? The man I married couldn't help himself; he screwed everything in skirts. I knew that before I arranged our meeting. I can put on the charm and seduction pretty good when I want, and within two months I had him proposing. After the wedding I just waited. The investigators I hired got irrefutable evidence of adultery, and also of a cocaine habit I wasn't aware of. He agreed on this house pretty quick. I have it free and clear, mortgage paid off and ten years real estate taxes in escrow. Plus the forty-six thousand in the safe deposit box. Tell me, Peter, what you think of that."

Keller didn't doubt she spoke the truth. This woman oozed calculation. He should be thankful, not sorry, their ways would part when this ended.

"Appalled?"

"I—I don't have the right to judge."

"You're damned right you don't." Again her pale gray eyes drilled him.

"How did we get on this subject?"

The fire behind her eyes dimmed. "Yes, how?" She removed the steaks. "Let's eat."

Through dinner they didn't say much. Keller eagerly consumed his food while she nibbled at hers. She wouldn't look at him. Which was okay, he didn't have to face those malignant eyes. He was getting the idea she didn't like the male sex much. He wondered if she had once been raped.

After eating they walked through the streets of her subdivision. She kept the conversation strictly on the contest. She said they would have to go house by house, building by building along Jackson-Keller. It would be exhausting, but they must sift through the entire street as if a crime scene.

She planned to make extensive use of her camcorder. They would shoot everything. In the evenings they would review and try to detect anything missed on location. She hoped Keller would give one hundred percent day and evening. He must concentrate at peak level.

Again Keller suggested they first venture an inquiry.

Barbara didn't flare. She calmly but firmly stated they would use an inquiry only if the week's search turned up nothing.

Keller didn't argue. They walked along in silence. A couple of times she looked at him sharply, her mouth a thin line. Unease festered in his stomach. What was it with this woman? God, he'd never want to get on her wrong side.

"You don't mind if I turn right in?" she asked as they returned to the house. "I'm beat."

"Of course not."

"You can sleep in the sunroom. It has a pull out couch." He followed her into the room off the dining room. He unfolded the bed while she got him a blanket and pillow.

She left.

Keller sat on the edge of the bed. He was tired but not exhausted. He must have an hour or two more to go before his normal bedtime.

He stood and went to the window and looked through the latticed panes. The rose garden directly faced him. His eyes traveled up the center path to a white stone bench.

Tightness seized his chest. The worst moments of his life had been in a rose garden with a bench.

He couldn't will himself to turn away. He knew he should, and quickly. Remembrance of Jennifer summoned only torture.

How he had captured Jennifer's interest in the first place he could not objectively state. Though not in Barbara's league, Jennifer could turn male heads. Tumbling chestnut hair framed a pretty oval face, and always tasteful apparel enhanced a good figure. Women of her quality did not normally let their dealings with Peter Keller get beyond the acquaintance stage.

He supposed the relationship budded simply because he was in the right place at the right time. She had come to the adjacent lab while he was doing a post-doc at the University of North Carolina. She was also on the rebound from a romance in which her fiancé had bolted a week before the marriage.

Keller devoted many hours getting her research project off the ground. He supposed he would have done it for any fellow scientist, but helping her involved only delight. His delight transformed to joy as the soft sadness in her eyes faded through the weeks. She increasingly clove to him.

By Christmas they were lovers. In retrospect Keller knew why she had surrendered to him. He fit the bill as a nice guy who would never do her wrong. A safe guy, a comfortable guy. Blandness could be trusted.

Jennifer was a sensible, mature woman, but no one would describe her as bland. Joy de vie throbbed within her. She was the type of person who would never settle. Once she fully regained her bearings and her confidence, she would seek to mate with a soul as full of spirit and verve as hers.

Keller was aware he was in over his head, but he fell for her completely. With every foolish molecule of his body he revered her. He knew she wasn't in love with him, but he prayed and prayed that the fondness she did feel would blossom. He was entitled one miracle.

The miracle lasted until March. During that time, the only time in his life, everything was all right. He was truly happy. Would then that time had frozen.

In March, at a conference Jennifer attended in New Orleans, she met Mark. Keller knew even before she that the torch had passed. It took her a month to realize she had fallen in love with Mark. Subconsciously she must have been aware from the start, for afterward she never let Keller more than kiss her. She would claim fatigue or illness.

Jennifer didn't inform him it was over by letter, or telephone, or diligent avoidance. She ended their relationship with the same class she conducted all her behavior. She spent a full hour with him in that garden resplendent with red, white and pink roses.

Though he had known the severance was coming, and though he accepted the verdict with as good grace as rendered, his entrails had spilled on the soft green grass of that garden. He had been dumped before, but previously he suffered only the agony of pulled fingernails or loosened teeth. This jettison yanked out the stuffing.

Yet he survived. If one didn't commit suicide one went on. One eventually laughed again, enjoyed a whole day, slept a restful night. One thought of her less than once an hour, once a day, once a month. Finally she popped out only by accident, like now.

He was ready for bed. He prayed he would not dream of Jennifer. Tomorrow—or rather later today at one-ten—he would immerse himself in the foolish search Barbara insisted on. He would concentrate hard, and keep Jennifer locked in some remote cranny of his mind.

Keller yawned. He turned from the window, then cried out. Barbara stood at the sunroom entrance stark naked.

# Chapter 6

**K** eller awoke first. Barbara lay with her back to him. Her blond hair hung loosely across her neck, where the bed sheet covered the rest of her wonder. He could hear Barbara softly breathing.

Beyond her slumbering form daylight still poured through the latticed window of the sunroom. How long the afternoon had remained at one-ten he did not know...or care. Whether time ever moved again nothing the future brought could rival the glory of the past hours.

During his life he had entertained many sexual fantasies. His imagination had poorly conceived the electrifying excitement, the terror and thrill, the shameless passion and excruciating pleasure, which were thrust upon him in this room. After the initial shock—a wonder it alone hadn't killed him—he abandoned all restraint. With Jennifer he had not come close to letting go this completely.

Barbara seemingly matched him blow for blow; he didn't think she had faked her ardor. He was hardly expert on giving women pleasure but he swore she had experienced a resounding climax each of the four times they made love. Once she had passed out.

But with the dawn of day—or early afternoon—he clearly understood why she had appeared in the sunroom without her clothes. Even cursory analysis said that one week would not be enough to inspect Jackson-Keller in detail. A month was more like it. If Keller wouldn't take money, then what else would keep him bound?

Barbara stirred. She shifted, then the large eyes with the gray irises—which he now saw contained a touch of lavender—fastened on his. The corners of her divine lips curved upwards.

"Good morning," she purred.

Renewed awareness she lay naked only inches away brought prickly heat to his skin. Without thinking he reached for her. His boldness surprised him; he usually debated long and hard the act of even kissing a woman.

She laughed as she deftly intercepted his arm. "Time to get up, Peter. We have work."

Tingling memory of her firm curves and delicious warmth kept his arm poised.

Her eyes narrowed. "Peter..."

His arm dropped. She swiveled out of bed and kept her naked backside to him as she walked out the room. At the door she did flash him a smile over her shoulder.

Later at the breakfast table he profusely thanked her. He knew he sounded like a freshly initiated juvenile but the words tumbled out anyway. She endured his gratitude with a tolerant smile.

He went on. "I know whatever's between us will end when this contest is over. I know you're not in love with me and never will be, and I want you to know I'll make no emotional claim. I understand why what happened happened. I won't give you any trouble. But what did happen...it was so glorious. You gave me something I'm sure many men don't realize exists." He reached across the burnished table and brushed her hand.

She didn't remove the hand. "I enjoyed it, too."

"I hope I gave you some pleasure."

"In spades, Peter."

If he had done that...it would be a miracle. What was he to the handsome, skilled lovers she'd had available?

"I thank you again."

"I thank you."

God, she was lovely, even wrapped to the throat in a fluffy bathrobe and her magnificent hair pulled back in a ponytail.

He badly wanted to ask if they would bed again. Not to worry, she would answer...as long as you play ball. He better not forget that. Cooperation would be the key to continued intimacy.

Was he this shallow? Did he really rate the purely physical coupling in the sunroom as surpassing his soulful bonding with Jennifer? He had deeply loved Jennifer, while affection played no part in his desire for Barbara. He just lusted her enormously.

Barbara knew that. Like she said, it happened all the time. No doubt she had many times turned men's frantic desire to her advantage.

She must have been reading his mind, for she said: "I don't want you to think I'm a promiscuous woman."

"Of course not." She probably picked her spots carefully. Like with the man who had owned this house.

Her eyes flashed. "You were wondering, weren't you? You think I'd use my body at the drop of a hat. Well, I don't. I slept with you because I like you. Oh, yes, if it keeps you in the contest so much the better. But the wealth of Jerry Jones or whoever will give you much more incentive than my anatomy."

Keller would have debated that assertion. "I'm flattered you do like me. But you must admit under other circumstances you wouldn't look twice my way."

"Everything in life is circumstance."

He couldn't say he liked her. Stood in awe of, yes. Like, no. So he had yelled his lungs out four times in intimate embrace with a person for which he could not summon warmth. That did make him shallow.

"I guess we should get going," he said.

"I want to tell you something." Pleasantness had fled her creamy face. "If you want to think I'm a whore, you can. But men are whores in their hearts. Even you, Peter, who thinks he's so noble."

"Noble is the last thing I consider myself."

"Good. None of you are. It's too bad we women ever think so. From birth we should be warned of your whoredom."

Such venom in her voice. Someone must have broken her heart pretty bad. But he'd been hurt, too. He didn't hate all women.

"We should get going," he said.

"You're all alike. Even you, righteous professor."

"This conversation isn't doing either of us good."

"I loved my father very much. He wasn't around a lot, being a successful sales rep, but I held him dear. I detested my mother. I hated her because she made life so uncomfortable for Daddy when he did come home. She was weak, a whiner. She always tried to tear him down, told me he was rotten, a drinker, a wife beater, a wife cheater. I did see him drink, I did see him slap her. I once saw him kissing another woman. But that didn't matter; it was her fault anyway, she drove him to it. To me Daddy was the bravest, the finest, the most sterling of men.

"My father died in a plane crash when I was fourteen. I almost died of grief, you can't know the grief of a fourteen year old for her father. I wanted to die. And I hated my mother more. If she hadn't been so weak, such a pathetic mate, maybe my father would have gotten a management position to stay home with us. But he was gone and I knew I would never see him again...ever, all the while I lived."

Keller fidgeted while her contorted face replayed the agony of a fourteen year old. Her breaths drew shorter, as if she were on the verge of hyperventilation. He expected a torrent of tears. Then her breath slowed and her face hardened to steel.

"When I was nineteen I met Roger. I was a sophomore at Rice, he a senior. Roger had the same jaw line as my father. He was probably one of the handsomest men you'll ever find. I've never seen anyone so radiate confidence, either, and without seeming cocky. Just rock solid belief in himself. I melted like butter on a griddle. As did every woman I saw around him.

"I fell in love so fast, so hard. My enthrallment was insane, I know that now. But I was just nineteen and he was the shining knight. I adored him completely, trusted him completely. No, trust didn't even enter into my thinking, it was _faith_.

"He took me on a magical, moonlit night. It hurt like hell, I was a virgin, but what did a little pain matter when our bodies and souls were fusing? That night he was all mine. I could see only endless days ahead of bliss with my beloved."

She laughed and Keller never wanted to hear that laugh again.

"Eight days, Peter. Eight days he took me and by the ninth he had his fill. Onto the next conquest, onto the next tender young pussy. He didn't even call to say finis. I couldn't get past his roommate on the phone and I could never corner him on campus. Finally I did receive a note saying how sorry he was, too bad things hadn't worked out."

Barbara was sitting ramrod straight, her eyes looking through and past him.

"So again I lost someone I totally loved. Someone who all the planets and stars revolved around. This time I almost did myself in. I stood on the ledge of my dorm, four flights up. I wanted to jump so badly. Maybe I should have. What kept my feet on the ledge was knowing how little my death would bother Roger. Oh, he might feel down for a day, but if he worried whether every liaison would end like that he'd never be able to pull down his zipper.

"I didn't jump, as you can see. I did learn. At least I didn't hate my mother anymore. I at last could see my father made her into the woman I knew. His cheating and abuse transformed her from probably the same innocent, trusting person I had been.

"My mother raised me, loved me...loved me despite my sullenness and spite. She still loves me, even though now she's in the grip of Alzheimer's. Crazy thing was, she never stopped loving my father."

Keller shook his head softly. He wondered how any man, however gifted with women, could abandon a nineteen year old Barbara. He tried to imagine her without the calculating bitter streak. Well, he had glimpsed such a woman in the Rice yearbook. For Roger to have destroyed that radiant spirit...he hoped Roger had gotten his somewhere along the line.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"It was a long time ago."

Only yesterday, he thought. Like with him and Jennifer.

"I slept with you because I like you," she said. "You aren't the same as the rest of them."

"I did desire you."

"That's to be expected. But you appeal to me. Very few men do that."

His heart soared at her words, then he warned himself to watch out. He had to be careful of the web this woman was spinning. Outside the imperative of this contest he would not appeal to her. The moment it ended she would drop him and never look back.

As long as he kept that in mind, he would do fine.

"Did..." No, it was none of his business.

"What?"

"I—you can tell me to shut up if you want. I just wondered if Roger was the last time you—I mean, I got hit pretty hard breaking up eight years ago. It took a long time before I could even think of romance. I didn't want to feel that pain ever again."

She looked at him levelly. "Roger was my last affair of the heart."

In all that time, no one else? What a crime.

"He also robbed me of my college education. I quit school a couple months after that. What a dunce, I was on full scholarship. But I had my hands full trying to keep my sanity."

"You never went back?"

"No. I've taken a couple of night and correspondence courses, nothing else. After I left Rice I moved back home. My mother was really good to me then. I had terrible temper tantrums, I got drunk a lot, worked on and off as a waitress at places where the most expensive item on the menu was five dollars. Frankly, I didn't give a shit about anything at that time. At twenty, twenty-one I had nothing to look forward to. The Flood coming again wouldn't have bothered me a bit.

"Thankfully my mother never gave up on me. Though if I could have crawled back in her womb, I'd done it. But we both knew I would eventually have to make my way in the world. She encouraged me to take some business law courses at a community college. That had been my original ambition, law school. Which was a million miles away now.

"I did well in the courses and got a job with a ambulance chasing firm in Galveston...as a legal secretary. I worked hard, all the while fighting off advances from both the partners." Her eyes smoldered again. "I dressed more conservatively than a nun, but they never let it rest. I finally went to work for a female lawyer who left the firm to go out on her own.

"She was great to me. Got me started on training as a paralegal. Eventually I was doing the majority of her research and brief preparation. I sat by her side in court. I began to think again of getting a law degree—though that would mean five semesters undergrad work and three years in law school. But I was looking up at the stars again, so to speak."

Her jaw hardened. "I also had a social life then—so to speak. Men, from the time I was fourteen, have always buzzed about me. The five years I was with her were no exception. You'll think this absolutely horrid, but five times in those five years I was engaged. I picked the most egotistical of my suitors and led them on. None of the five ever slept with me, I protested that had to wait until the wedding night. On the wedding day I left them standing empty handed at the altar. Total humiliation for them, with all their friends and family waiting for the bride who never showed. I rejoiced in it."

Barbara's cheeks faintly glowed. She was watching intently for his reaction.

"Well?" she asked.

Keller swallowed. He wanted to say she needed counseling. Lots of it.

Finally he said: "I think you—anyone—ends up hurting themselves the most by hating. It's ultimately futile."

"Tell that to the gentleman who owned this house."

It was a very empty house.

He cleared his throat. "You said you were with the woman lawyer five years. What happened?"

"She received an offer to join a major law firm in Atlanta. As a partner. She wanted me to go with her, but my mother didn't want to leave Houston and I was ready for a new challenge. Maybe I should have gone. But then I wouldn't have the opportunity I do now with this contest. Anyway, she got me a job as a paralegal with a top firm in Houston. The job lasted exactly three months."

Again she laughed that chilling laugh. "Every day I was propositioned one way or another. All one hundred twenty partners and associates made their desires known. I did great work, but that really didn't matter. Everyday their eyes stripped me naked. Everyday I had to face their smirks and halfwit innuendo."

Keller sympathized with her, but he could imagine the impact Barbara's presence had on the men in the law firm. She was a true Number Ten. When Tens were near how could any man concentrate on anything else? In real life you came across such women maybe a couple times a decade.

"One of the senior partners—he was only forty-one, that's how good he was—wouldn't take no for an answer. Because he didn't lose in court or in the bedroom. With me he wanted to make his office the bedroom, where he tried to kiss and grope me. He was a powerful man and had me clamped tight. So I stopped resisting. He eased his grip, and I grabbed a paperweight. I hit him in the ear with the first blow and in the jaw with the second. I broke the jaw clean. The big, tough man flopped on the floor like a fish and howled."

Her eyes glittered and Keller again swallowed.

"That ended my legal days. Oh, I didn't get in any trouble. He agreed not to press charges if I wouldn't. But I didn't see any great future in law. And I'd had enough of Houston by then.

"My mother and I moved to San Antonio. Her sister lived here and took us in until we could get settled. I was looking for work, any kind of work, when she suggested I apply for a position at the club I now manage. They needed someone to work the front desk during evenings. I was hired...by a married man who immediately drooled over me.

"Well, you say, deja vu all over again. Except I had learned by now, don't fight them—use the bastards. I became a hit with all the men at the club, and didn't sleep with a one. You people are such easy marks, really. Caress your baby egos a little, and I'm your goddess.

"I moved up fast. First day shift at the front desk, then director of memberships—which I increased sixty percent in two months, then director of programs, then deputy manager. When good old Sam, the married man who wanted in my pants so bad, was transferred to a club in San Diego, I got the top spot. Not bad for someone with not a day of formal training."

Keller congratulated her.

She smiled wryly. "Oh, don't think I considered it an accomplishment. Getting this house, now that's praiseworthy. No, all the while at the club I was networking. Looking, hunting, for the connection that would land me among the elite.

"The man who owned this house, he was just a diversion, a quick in and out. He wanted to be among the elite, fancied for a while he was, but he ended up among the real estate developers who got hung out to dry during the recession. Too bad." Another mirthless smile.

"But Richard, my man in Austin, is cut of the right cloth. It took me many years, panning through much dross to find him, but he's the nugget. And God willing, he'll be mine. I certainly have paid my dues."

Keller fought not to shake his head. She had a warped interpretation of dues paying. This woman was obviously smart, but her neural circuits needed extensive rewiring.

They sat in silence awhile, then Barbara announced they should get going.

**T** hey packed a lunch then cycled to the eastern end of Jackson-Keller. This terminus was an inauspicious place to start their search, bordered on either side by a field of thigh high weeds. During real time Keller would have never ventured into the weeds without waders. At least in frozen time he could disregard the threat of snakes, ticks, scorpions, fire ants, et al.

The fields were debris littered. Numerous soda cans and whiskey bottles lay among the thick clumps of weeds; the high Texas litterbug fines had not deterred offenders. Keller half expected to come across some recently—or not so recently—murdered soul. Every day the papers told of a body discovered in a field or culvert.

After interminable hours in the weeds they broke for lunch. He was already tired. His feet hurt, he had the start of a headache, and his concentration had evaporated. When he murmured a complaint Barbara scowled. He said nothing more but wondered how he would feel after a week of this.

After lunch they continued the search. Barbara was constantly drawing his attention to this piece of paper or that crushed can, soliciting his opinion on the likelihood they meant anything. He began to tire of the voice that only yesterday had rung so musically. All though her interrogatory Barbara wielded the camcorder, missing not a foot of ground out to twenty yards from the street.

Thank God she'd settled on twenty yards. They could make a career out of these fields otherwise. She did darkly hint they would return for a wider sweep if the rest of Jackson-Keller turned up blank.

What were they looking for? That was what so maddened Keller, they had absolutely no idea what might constitute a clue. They would know it when they saw it, she said. Assuming a linking clue did exist, Keller believed they would more likely tramp over it a dozen times before belated recognition dawned.

Nothing caught their eye. Barbara said they'd study the day's recording at length this evening. She caught him rolling his eyes and he got an even worse scowl.

Keller felt like an exhausted swimmer making shore when they reached the fields' end. He was spent mentally and physically. He had thought himself in good shape, he rode an exercise bike three times a week, but he was close to giving out. Although Barbara looked fresh as when they started, she took mercy on him and said they could go home.

When they returned to the house all he wanted was a quick meal, then sleep. Barbara fed him but denied him shut-eye as she played the camcorder contents on the big widescreen TV in her living room. Halfway through the review he nodded off anyway.

He awoke to Barbara's finger gently tapping his wrist. He apologized but she said it was okay, they were through for the day. Or almost through. She told him to follow her up to her bedroom. His exhaustion amazingly vanished as his heart thumped like a bass drum.

The next day they prowled about the small businesses clustered around the San Pedro Avenue intersection. They were able to enter only two establishments, where customers were frozen in the act of opening a door. The interior of the other buildings remained inaccessible because Barbara stuck to her decree of not unfreezing time.

Keller thought she was getting paranoid. If done properly, activating a door would take but a tenth of a second. But Barbara saw the fingers of their competitors poised above the Reverse Command on their watches; give them even that fraction of a second and they would snatch the initiative. While in sole possession of frozen time their competitors could hunt clues unmolested for weeks, months, years.

Well, Barbara would have to unfreeze time sooner or later, because the vast majority of businesses and houses on the street did not present access. She would have to use real time liberally to activate doors or windows. And activation alone wouldn't overcome locked entryways. He didn't want to ask what she intended doing about them; would she be wielding a crowbar?

The interior of the two buildings and the exterior of the other businesses yielded nothing. Again Barbara recorded every inspection. Keller did have to pay tribute to her determination. He'd never seen such a high level of concentration maintained for so long. His own brains were again mush by lunchtime.

The next day they began with the residences. For five days straight they were not able to get inside one house. Which didn't bother Keller at all. The detailed inspection of people's yards was drudgery enough. Barbara continued to copiously record, and they reviewed recordings every evening until their eyes burned. Both on site and on screen they found nothing resembling a clue.

That didn't demoralize Keller; he expected no success. What did increasingly bother him was the sensory deprivation. They were the only living creatures in a dead world. Their surroundings generated no wisp of sound, smell, or movement. If not for Barbara's presence he knew he would eventually go mad amidst such sterility.

Only at her house, specifically upstairs in her four poster queen sized bed, could he find respite. Her fevered embrace abundantly compensated for the drudgery of the rest of the day. Indeed, her charms obliterated memory of the rest of his life. Both past travails and future concerns were consumed in the passion of the incredible present.

Keller wondered if continuing to bed him were good tactics on her part. He more than idly considered ignoring any clue he might stumble on, so as to both prolong the search and going upstairs. Once she felt certain of finding the final square he might not see her bedroom again.

Of course the day would arrive when their affair ended anyway. It would end either by Barbara's volition...or by command of Gomperz and his fellows. He didn't believe they had designed this experiment to study the bedroom techniques of two thirty-five year olds. If he and Barbara didn't make progress toward the final square, he bet they would close the show.

However he also bet the researchers weren't too upset by their subjects' sexual detour. He wondered if they were filming these frenzied couplings. He could imagine the titillation such observance must provide. All in the name of science, they would claim. We're conducting a serious, groundbreaking study.

Even if they did record him in bed with Barbara, how angry could he get? Barbara was a world class woman; all his life he had pined to lie naked with such a stunning creature. Except for this study he would have gone to his grave pining.

He was finally beginning to appreciate the technical prowess these people had developed. This was more than just advanced hypnosis. He suspected this was a marriage between hypnosis and what he had thought was the embryonic field of virtual reality.

In virtual reality the subject still knew it was all make believe. However gripping the graphics enveloping him, he knew he essentially sat in a theater. What he experienced was entertainment, nothing more. The subject did not for a moment believe in the reality of the projected world.

Keller and Barbara faced something qualitatively different. They had become part of the graphics. To discern what was real, what was not, that ability had been taken from them. They were the captives of an invention both wondrous and fearsome.

Perhaps it was the wonder that inspired his fear. Any narcotic paled before the addictive potential of this system. He had used the word captive, but in the wrong sense. Could he voluntarily abandon the climb up Barbara's stairs? He would gladly pursue satiation for years to come.

It was testimony to the seductive power of this system that he now ignored thought of his research on aging, research that had obsessed him for ten years. Prior to the miracle in the sunroom he lived for nothing else. To uncover the mechanisms of senescence was his Holy Grail; he would have considered insane the suggestion anything could substitute. But Barbara had substituted.

He wondered if ever again he could summon the essential mix of enthusiasm and tenacity that aging research, any biological research, demanded of its practitioners. For he had seen the future—and it worked. A future in which aging could well be irrelevant. Why toil so fanatically to ferret out a piece or two of the gigantic mosaic that made up the aging process, when the means for pseudo life extension were already at hand?

How long had he really been involved in this study? Seven days had seemingly passed, but the actual elapse of time was probably far less. These people, with their incredible ability to create illusion, could likely spin his perceptual clock at any rate they wanted.

So, then, why worry about getting old? If what Keller divined was right, a person could live dozens of lives. Of course, the intrinsic aging process would continue. A person would still eventually die. But until that moment pseudo life could keep him or her in the full bloom of youth, through ever varying scenarios in which the person always achieved victory.

**O** n the eighth day of their search Barbara and he didn't gain victory, but they did save a life. Or pseudo saved a pseudo life. Barbara at least thought the whole thing deadly real...and Keller tried to ignore that.

They had crossed the Blanco intersection the day before, finding nothing at this second group of one and two-story businesses. Today they were back on a residential stretch. Up ahead of them loomed Lee High School, with many thousand square feet of floor space. Keller prayed entry wasn't available.

Barbara enjoyed a good laugh at his expense as they inspected their third yard. They'd had to climb a six-foot wooden fence to get into the backyard, where a Doberman pinscher sat on its haunches with head alertly raised. By coincidence its eyes were fixed on the spot they landed. Keller saw no chain restraining the sleek black animal.

Nothing to fear, Keller told himself, as his heartbeat accelerated. The dog was inert and harmless as a statue. In normal time the Doberman could maim badly, but this was frozen time. And for God's sake, the dog existed only as a computer graphic.

So why did his pulse race?

Barbara must have noticed his discomfiture. After they finished checking the grounds, she easily climbed the fence and disappeared into the next backyard. It had profoundly embarrassed Keller that he struggled getting over the fence into this yard; at least Barbara had had the grace not to offer assistance.

As his upper body muscles strained to lift him, he heard Barbara say a window was a couple inches open on the next house. She was going to unfreeze time so she could lift it.

Keller's head whirled to the Doberman and he shouted for her to wait. There was no waiting at the neuromuscular junctions in his own body, and he found himself tumbling over the fence. He landed in a heap at Barbara's feet.

Her lips curved up playfully. "A new high jump record," she said.

He got to his feet. His heart still beat wildly. "Very funny, Barbara."

"I agree completely."

"I could have injured myself. That ground is like concrete." Frozen time had taken all the give out of the turf.

"You're missing the main lesson, Peter."

"What lesson?" He spoke harshly. That surprised him, he had never raised his voice to her.

Her smile didn't fade. "Motivation, Peter. That is the key to everything. Motivation makes easy the formerly difficult."

Keller said nothing as he brushed himself off. His left hip hurt. He'd probably have a bruise the size of a melon. Then he reminded himself it was all in his mind.

After a fruitless search of two more yards, they crossed the intersection where Viewridge Drive ran into Jackson-Keller. Immediately their eyes were drawn several houses down on Viewridge. A car in a driveway had its backup lights on. Behind the car sat a toddler playing with a toy. The woman driving was looking back toward the street, but the little girl was too close to the car to be seen. The right rear tire was poised to run over her.

Keller forgot he had all the time in the world and he ran to the driveway. He tugged on the child, but she wouldn't come loose from the asphalt pavement. She was fused in place as if part of the earth.

Barbara came up beside him.

"We'll have to unfreeze time to save her," she said. "But it can wait." Her voice was dry, unconcerned.

Keller stared incredulously. "Wait?"

"Until we've covered everything on the street we can without unfreezing time. Then we'll come back here.

"You're crazy."

She stiffened, and again Keller couldn't believe he had spoken to her like that. But this child was in mortal danger. They had to act now.

"Neither the girl nor the car are going anywhere. She'll be perfectly safe until we return."

"What if we accidentally unfreeze time? All it takes is a rap on the wrong place on the watch. I could have done it falling over the fence."

"You're being quite unreasonable, Peter." Once again she was unsheathing rapier eyes. But this time steel arose from his own.

His hand moved to his watch. "I'll do it on my own. I don't need your permission."

"Let's discuss this." She drew herself fully erect before him, so there was no mistaking her one inch height advantage. He hated she was taller.

"I'm saving her. Now."

Their eyes locked in combat and he was able to parry every thrust of those gray blades. Finally she looked away.

"Okay," she said. "But let's be quick."

She directed him to take hold of the child while she put one hand on Keller. With her other hand she poised a finger over the Forward command. Her finger pressed.

A thunder of sound, the slam of sun and heat, the gale force of wind, a noxious odor. As his senses reeled his brain advised the onslaught was merely a car engine rumbling, balmy warmth, a gentle breeze, and carbon monoxide exhaust. Barbara's finger pressed again and the onslaught as abruptly vanished.

"Pull her free!"

Keller yanked the child, who had joined them in frozen time, off the pavement. The little curly haired girl gaped as he hustled her from the driveway. Then she began to squirm and cry.

"Put her over here." Barbara pointed to a spot in the yard where the woman would have clear view of the child.

The child now shrieked and writhed in earnest. Keller could imagine her shock and fear at the stranger who had appeared out of nowhere to grab her.

Keller held her down in the indicated place. With their bodies again linked the three entered real time. He let go of the child, savored the embrace of the real world, then returned to numbing silence as Barbara hit Reverse command once more.

They surveyed their handiwork. Distress distorted the frozen face of the child, but she was out of harm's way. Or was she? Once real time started she would probably run back to her toy on the driveway. The driver still might not see her.

Only after a long argument, in which she came close to throwing a fit, did Barbara agree to move the toy. For the first time he saw hate in her eyes. Her antipathy diminished only slightly when they returned to frozen time.

He knew it had been agony for her to enter real time, which did indeed open a window of opportunity for the competition. But they were vulnerable only two or three seconds.

As they continued the search Keller wondered if he had overreacted. He wasn't certain the girl's welfare had been his primary concern—especially since she probably was just a computer projection. He must admit he savored momentarily holding the upper hand. This one time he was in control over Barbara, leading instead of following. It had felt good.

It wouldn't feel too good, though, if she shut him out of her bedroom. He might not climb those stairs again. That would be a brutal price to pay for one moment of power. He began formulating an apology.

To his surprise Barbara beat him to the punch. She said, yes, he had been right, they couldn't have taken a chance with the child, even if the odds were slight of harm coming to her. This contest was distorting her values; she wouldn't let it happen again.

Keller said they should just put the episode behind them. She nodded and offered her hand. Keller accepted, but thought how strange that two lovers would shake hands to make up. Except they weren't really lovers. They were just business associates who engaged in sex. As never before in his life he understood the significance of a gentle kiss. His heart ached that to make up she hadn't bussed his lips.

At the end of the day, they returned homeward as usual via 281 North. As usual they passed the airport and Keller again glanced up at the jet descending from the west. The jet had been hanging in the air over a week, situated a couple hundred yards to their left. Now, though, the jet had moved almost directly over the highway. There were the three seconds spent saving the child.

They made love that evening but Keller slept a troubled sleep anyway. His dreams were all about Barbara; during one he was chasing her in his car while she drove faster and faster on the motorcycle. She would occasionally glance back with hard eyes and a bright smile. He awoke exhausted.

**A** fter breakfast they rode for the tenth time to Jackson-Keller. Keller's concentration was already shot. But Barbara continued to earnestly play the game, from the moment she turned off McCullough onto the eastern end of the street. As each morning she drove slowly past previously covered territory. Her gaze swept from right to left and back in hope of spotting one item somehow missed. What likelihood was there of that? Even he knew by heart every building, car, and cigarette butt along the now despised corridor.

At the intersection with Blanco Barbara wheeled the motorcycle about. She coasted to a stop before a dry cleaners store. She sat erect on the rumbling machine, her head scanning in a restricted arc.

Keller didn't see anything unusual. Everything was like before. The front door of the store was still closed, and the same three cars were parked out front.

Barbara cut the machine. Absolute and soulless silence replaced the comforting gurgle of the engine. Keller imagined it was as hellishly quiet inside a black cave.

Her rich, precise, exquisitely female voice filled the void. "Look at the door, Peter. What do you see?"

He refrained from screaming "Nothing!" He studied the glass door. An Open sign hung in the upper right hand corner—as before. The store hours were posted below the grip bar—as before.

Well, she hadn't stopped here due to boredom. Something had caught her eye. But what?

"Nothing rings a bell."

She started the bike. "We're going back home."

Not an unwelcome announcement, but Keller was perplexed. Barbara quitting after ten minutes? Maybe she was upset he didn't see what she saw. Though she didn't sound angry.

"How come?"

"I want to check the recordings. That door is different."

At the house she quickly found the recording in question. They stood a yard before the TV screen as the camcorder panned the front of the dry cleaners. Barbara froze the recording when the door appeared.

The door looked the same as it had twenty minutes ago. Keller saw not a whit of difference.

"Yes," she said.

Keller stared at the screen. He would bet his life nothing had changed.

"I just don't see it. What?"

Barbara stood still, but he could see the knuckles of her clasped hands had turned white. Her eyes riveted on the seemingly innocuous door.

"Are you going to tell me?"

She drew in breath. "What do you see at the door? On the inside?"

Keller moved closer. Now he saw it. A woman, half obscured by reflected daylight on the glass, stood about a yard inside the store. She had her hand extended in readiness to push open the door.

The woman hadn't been there this morning.

Hair rose on the nape of his neck.

"She—"

"Right, Peter. Only three seconds of real time has passed since we took this recording. Only time enough to step outside. When we arrived this morning, she should have been in plain view. The only explanation is that she entered frozen time right after leaving the store."

Barbara faced him. "There's a member of our competition."

# Chapter 7

**I** t was difficult to discern exactly what the woman looked like. Shadow fell on her face. Keller could tell she was tall and slender. Had the researchers made that an experimental parameter, using women taller than their male partners?

The woman looked downward, as if she were dejected. Undoubtedly she had been searching the store—and probably two dozen other places that day—for the same elusive clue as he and Barbara. That woman didn't have to tell Keller how sapping the hunt could become.

"It's too bad I didn't go up to the door with the camcorder," said Barbara. "We'd have a better shot of her, and maybe I could have gotten her partner."

"Think he was in there?"

"I hope they're working together. But they could be split up, searching different places on the street."

Keller wouldn't want to be alone out there. Barbara got overbearing at times, but another human's presence was mandatory in that deadness.

"It's amazing you noticed the woman. Or I mean, noticed her absence. That's recall of a high order."

She shrugged.

Certainly luck played in her discovery, but Pasteur had said: "fortune favors the prepared mind". For the first time Keller considered that this woman would have made a good, perhaps outstanding, scientist. Her dazzling beauty made one overlook other attributes. Barbara had initiative, energy and determination, plus excellent analytical ability. Keller could imagine how fiercely and thoroughly she would attack a scientific problem.

Barbara balled her hands. "Peter, now things get interesting."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Remember what I said on the Tower? That if we could identify our competition before they identified us, we could take their watches? Well, we've identified one of them."

He inspected the woman on the screen. Her face remained indistinct, but they could probably recognize her, especially if she were clothed the same. Keller could clearly see she wore a yellow sundress. Also she was carrying a large cloth handbag. And on her left wrist, the one extended toward the door, was strapped a black watch.

"They must have our last names," said Keller. "I thought the researchers would pick people with different names so we wouldn't bump into each other on that street."

"They wanted us to bump. It's obvious now."

"But—"

"I doubt there are any clues on Jackson-Keller. Just two pairs of contestants who need the others' watches to win."

Maybe that had been the strategy. Use the street as bait to bring the pairs in proximity, see who stumbled on who first. He couldn't fathom the scientific reasoning behind such a game plan, but he was becoming convinced this exercise was primarily a field test for their virtual reality/hypnosis system.

"Victory will go to the pair that best maintains discipline," she said. "Which means not entering real time every couple of minutes or so. Like our opposition must be doing."

Keller smiled sheepishly. "I almost blew it for us yesterday."

"Actually not." Barbara paced before him. Her brilliant blonde ponytail swayed with each stride.

Keller fought to keep his eyes off the cloth straining against her chest. Today she wore a snug pink T-shirt, one advertising her club. He wished he had the nerve to ask if they could go up to the bedroom.

"I think things have worked out perfectly," she said. "We would never have detected that woman if we hadn't entered real time yesterday. That three seconds made the difference."

"We were lucky they didn't detect us."

"We were off Jackson-Keller then. Obviously they didn't spot us, because we still have our watches."

"So what do you propose we do now?"

"Go back to our favorite street. See if we can find the woman."

He almost did ask if they could first go upstairs. But she would probably fly off the handle. This close to victory, too, she might not feel compelled to bed him.

His rolls in the hay were running out regardless. He and Barbara would probably wrap up this contest in a matter of days. Once they stood on the final square she would shake his hand, wish him well, then he would never see her again. These ten days with her would have to do. They were ten days that had shook his world.

In contrast to his glumness Barbara was beaming as they mounted the motorcycle. She roared off and took the first corner way too fast. He hung on for dear life as she gunned the machine even faster on Bitters Road. Ten days on a motorcycle and now she thought herself an expert. Every muscle in his body knotted.

But dammit, this was all in his head. He rode a motorcycle only somewhere in the depths of his brain. He had nothing to fear...except his own cowardice.

He yelped as Barbara whipped through the flotsam of traffic near the 281 interchange, narrowly missing several vehicles. Logic said one thing, but his body screamed this ride was for real. Mind or body, which to trust?

The speedometer said fifty as they passed the airport and the suspended jet. Then thankfully Barbara slowed down. She kept slowing until the motorcycle crawled, then she came to a dead halt. She stopped the engine.

"What's the matter?"

She smiled and said nothing. She dismounted, then walked a lane over to stand before an eighteen-wheeler. An oil rig. The grill of the tractor reached to her chest.

Barbara pulled the blush pink T-shirt over her head. For a moment Keller thought she had stopped to dislodge something underneath. When she dropped her sweatpants he understood. She wanted to make love, right there in front of the truck.

"Come on, Peter. Let's celebrate." She slipped off her sneakers.

Keller's tongue wouldn't work, nor would his legs. He couldn't get off the motorcycle.

Barbara was completely undressed now, and she was crooking her finger. She wore a lustful smile. But despite her beckoning beauty he still couldn't move.

"Dr. Keller, please come here. I need biological activity badly."

Keller looked from her to the towering tractor. Before time froze the truck had probably been going over seventy. If time somehow unfroze, the truck would instantly turn Barbara into dismembered pulp.

Illusion, idiot. Just illusion. Beautiful, delicious Barbara waited and he let a mirage paralyze him.

Keller managed to dismount. He pointed to a spot beside the motorcycle.

"It'll be better here."

Barbara shook her head. "Peter, get over here."

"I'd feel more comfortable by the bike."

"I don't believe this."

"What if our mode buttons jar during...the activity? They could, you know."

"The watches come off, you know."

Barbara proceeded to unstrap hers. She placed it on the bumper of the truck.

"Now please join me. I don't think I've ever been so hot."

Keller fumbled removing his watch. His thumb accidentally grazed one of the buttons and his heart nearly stopped.

After undressing he forced himself to walk to Barbara. Her hands and mouth quickly fastened, but he didn't respond. All he could see was the mammoth looming vehicle.

She scowled. "Will you forget the damned truck?"

He tried to pull her to the side.

"No! It's here or nowhere."

"Barbara..."

She half threw herself to the pavement.

"Take me, Peter."

Keller eyes didn't shift from the silver and white oil-rig. The black fumes streaming from an exhaust pipe above the cab confirmed that the beast of a machine was poised to mash the two humans in its path.

He stepped out of the path. When Barbara realized he would not lower himself onto her, she sat up and wrapped arms around her knees. The gray eyes probed his.

"I'm sorry, Barbara. I just can't. Not here."

"It's a pity."

"I am sorry. I really am."

"The truck is quite impotent, Peter."

That word stung.

She rose and began to dress. She stayed in front of the truck. Keller apologized again but she didn't answer.

He dressed quickly. Knives dug into his intestines.

Barbara calmly walked to the motorcycle. "We'll go to the street now."

"I feel like an ass."

"Forget it. I was too forward."

"No—"

"I was. Really, it's okay." She got on the bike and he faced her ponytailed back.

Of course it wasn't okay. The truck was as harmless as the air about him. He knew he had failed, failed miserably at this impromptu test of manhood. Why couldn't he have ignored that truck?

When he lay dying—forty, fifty, sixty years from now—he would be asking the same question.

**W** ithin half an hour they found the woman in the yellow sundress. She was in a pawnshop at the San Pedro intersection. They had a good view of her, as she faced the glass double door entrance. She stood about a yard from the entrance, with her right hand poised only inches from her wristwatch.

"Not quick enough," said Barbara.

This close Keller could definitely tell the woman was taller than himself. By a couple of inches. Her face was also on the elongated side, but attractive nonetheless. Pleasantly pretty, he would say. Her wavey brown hair bore a touch of red and it hung halfway down her neck. He was surprised at the narrowness of her neck, the narrowness of all of her, really.

"Peter, look here." Barbara peered in the storefront window.

Keller pressed his nose against the glass.

"The boy turning from the counter," said Barbara. "I think he's her partner."

The boy was a teenager, who looked sixteen or seventeen. He had a baseball cap on backwards, and wore a baggy Spurs T-shirt over even baggier shorts. His moon face stared down at the same type wristwatch. His hand apparently had just started moving toward the watch.

Barbara smiled with satisfaction. "We have them cold."

It certainly appeared so. What kind of contest was this, pitting two such unevenly matched teams? He didn't know how sharp the woman was, but he doubted she ranked in Barbara's league. Few people would. As for Keller's counterpart, the disparity was laughable. That kid looked plain dumb.

Barbara whipped out the camcorder and panned the interior of the store. Then she stepped back and shot the outside, including the parking lot. For a pawnshop it was a pretty snazzy building, sparkling white with rounded corners. Green and yellow racing stripes ran across the upper front. EXPRESS PAWN blared the sign overhead, DIAMONDS, TVS, JEWELRY, TOOLS.

Keller returned to the window to examine their opposition. He was having second thoughts as to what constituted a mismatch. Who said the researchers cared about balancing relative brainpower? What they had here were two attractive women...and two sexually desperate males. (He assumed the boy was desperate; Keller remembered his own consuming urge at that age.)

All along he had suspected Gomperz and friends didn't give a damn which couple found the final square; they would focus on behavior displayed along the way. Already they'd forced an incredibly beautiful woman to bed a nerd, and forced the nerd to humiliate himself before the ghost of an eighteen-wheeler. What had transpired between the other couple? What debasements had the woman and the boy endured?

Barbara announced they better go home; they needed to plan carefully before seizing the watches.

Keller kept his eyes straight ahead as they passed the oil-rig, which still sat unmoving on the expressway. All he wanted now was for this thing to end. What had happened by the truck would haunt him. There he had looked into a mirror and seen his true worth. As a man, as a male, as supposedly one of the warrior sex, he rated but a fart in the wind.

The only thing saving him from a suicidal state was the sad but certain knowledge that even if he had performed, Barbara would not develop romantic notions. He had not blown a one in million chance to gain her heart. At the most she would have regarded him with affection—affection of the same nature bestowed on a favorite pet.

They had lunch by the pool as Barbara settled on a plan of action. She said the most critical moment would be getting into the pawnshop. The other woman's hand poised a fraction of a second from hitting her own Reverse command.

It was imperative they activate the shop doors and return to frozen time before the woman touched her watch. If the woman beat them to frozen time, then Barbara and he would wind up the ones without watches. They must act flawlessly. If they did, the watches were theirs.

Barbara's face grew radiant as she discussed the certainty of victory. With four watches and twenty inquiries in hand, the contest should end quickly. After twenty halvings the 1600 square kilometer area inside the Loop reduced to 1500 square _meters_. They could walk that off in a mere four hours. Yes, said Barbara's glowing eyes, her ship—her fleet—was coming in.

Keller wanted distance between him and Barbara when she learned Gomperz and his buddies had torpedoed the fleet. No way were they going to help Barbara land that gentleman in Austin. Even if they wanted. These people could awesomely deceive a mind, but they still couldn't _control_ one.

The researchers better find some way to placate her. A vengeful Barbara could commit a lifetime to getting even. She probably wouldn't accept monetary compensation unless in the six figure range. She might consider the loss of Richard equivalent to several million.

Well, how they dealt with Barbara was her and their worry. He'd take a measly ten grand and run.

Barbara drove very carefully to the pawnshop. Keller had never seen her quite so deliberate. Her eyes had narrowed to pinpoints and her jaw set grimly. Don't mess up or you're dead her demeanor said to Keller.

In the parking lot they laid out their assault equipment. Keller didn't like the knife she'd brought along, but Barbara insisted they needed it to cut loose the watches. They wouldn't have time to daintily unbuckle the straps. Nobody was going to get hurt. Probably not, since their opponents would be bound, but he wondered if worst came to worst whether this woman would sever a hand to get the watch.

Barbara put on a ski mask, and he followed with his own. The mask completely covered her blond hair. All he could see were those gray eyes, eyes now of a hunter. The hunter would not brook identification. Barbara reasoned that after taking the watches, they would still require several hours in the open before locating the final square. She wanted to insure that the other couple would not interfere.

They walked slowly, as if approaching a great precipice, to the double doors of the shop. Keller took a quick glance at the sky. Still so royal blue and sun suffused after all these days. Barbara jabbing his ribs brought him back to the pawnshop.

Keller gripped the door with one hand and Barbara's left arm with the other. Barbara held her watch in her palms, with both thumbs poised over the data entry panel. One thumb would jab the Forward command, the other almost simultaneously the Reverse command. Or so was the plan.

Barbara took a deep breath. Her thumbs moved.

Again booming sound slapped Keller, then was as quickly gone. He felt the door give a little. He pushed and it easily swung inward.

"Thank God," exhaled Barbara. The woman inside was still frozen and her fingers had advanced only millimeters toward the watch. The boy at the counter had turned but a degree.

"Let's do it," Barbara half shouted as they entered the shop. Triumph laced her voice. Keller felt sorry for her, knowing how hollow she would soon find her victory. One more time her hopes would be raised to the highest pitch, then dashed.

They wrapped silver duct tape around their opponents' arms and legs. Then Barbara slipped the knife blade under the woman's watchstrap. She directed Keller to thread himself through the circular gap formed by the woman's outstretched arms.

"Take hold of her right arm with both of yours," she said after he squeezed into position. "Try and wedge yourself between her hands."

Keller pushed hard and forced some of his flesh between the steel slabs that formed the woman's hands.

Barbara put a foot on his and took another deep breath. "Okay. I'll start and stop time again, then cut the strap. Remember, she'll be in frozen time with us and is going to fight like hell."

Keller gripped hard. "I know she is." The duct tape would restrain but not completely immobilize the woman. Her frozen state had not allowed them to clamp together either wrists or ankles.

"At all costs you have to keep her hand off the watch. You can't be gentle, Peter. You can't worry about hurting her."

Christ, he wasn't going to break this woman's arm. Though that's what Barbara would expect.

"I'll get the job done," he said.

"I'm counting on it." Barbara gripped the knife handle and readied to hit the Forward command. "On the count of three. One...two...three."

A slap of sound, silence, another slap, then silence.

Suddenly he wasn't holding the woman's arm anymore. But he couldn't see anything, somehow the ski mask had shifted to cover his eyes. He yanked off the mask and whipped his eyes around the shop.

Both Barbara and the woman were gone. As was his wristwatch.

# Chapter 8

**K** eller stood stunned. Then he noticed the boy was still by the counter, in the same pose. The boy still wore his watch...but the duct tape that bound him had been removed.

He darted to the boy. Stupidly he tried to shake the immovable teenager. More stupidly he shouted at the boy, demanding to know what had happened to Barbara. The thick lipped statue didn't answer.

Keller tried to remove the boy's watch. His attempts earned him only a split fingernail.

One of the double glass doors was wide open. A strand of duct tape secured the door in its position. Keller stepped outside.

The motorcycle remained where Barbara had parked it. The machine, which should have maintained its activation, was frozen solid as the rest of the world about him.

Keller walked to the center of the intersection. He scanned San Pedro and Jackson-Keller in hope of seeing a flicker of movement. He scanned and hoped in vain.

In all directions he shouted Barbara's name. From all directions echoes responded. The echoes chilled him, for they sharply drove home his aloneness. Alone, alone, alone. That which he had dreaded, to be the only living thing in this land of no life.

His heart began to race.

Keller ordered himself to calm. He wasn't alone, of course, probably a half dozen of Gomperz's people were watching him. Barbara's disappearance was their doing, part of the experimental program. They wanted to see how the subject handled this startling turn of events.

He would handle it by saying he had enough. He would go back to the pawnshop, sit in one of the chairs, and wait. Wait a damn day if necessary. When they saw he wasn't going to run the maze, they would finally release him. What more could they want from him, anyway?

Keller sat in one of the white plastic chairs in the front of the shop. The chair felt like stone. Which of course it was in frozen time. As his buttocks shifted on the unpalatable chair he wondered what had happened to Barbara. Had the other woman kidnapped her? Why then did she leave her partner behind? Was she coming back to get him after she took care of Barbara?

He didn't like the implications of that phrase, take care of. Had the woman done harm to Barbara? Barbara had been ready to violently subdue her. The woman might want to win as badly as Barbara. If the two had gotten into a fight—he didn't know how he'd been shoved out of the equation—blood might have flowed. Barbara did have a knife in hand.

No, the researchers wouldn't let it go that far. They couldn't afford for anybody to physically get hurt; they would have to worry enough about the emotional trauma this time distortion inflicted.

For a moment Keller considered that perhaps Barbara and the woman had teamed up. Barbara hated men so much that she probably wouldn't mind switching to a female partner. Maybe Barbara had planned along those lines, especially after the debacle before the oil-rig. Dump the men, take their watches. Serve them right.

But the boy still wore his watch. And he was no longer bound. Both made absolutely no sense. The women would need all four watches to win; fifteen inquiries wouldn't do it. Well, it would, except they'd be walking for weeks.

Keller shook his head. He had no idea what was going on. He expected any moment for fingers to snap in front of his face and the trance to lift. He'd had a most enjoyable ride, but now he wanted to go home.

"I'm ready to quit," he announced.

The pawnshop did not dissolve.

"I am not participating anymore. At this point I have no reason to seek legal redress. So let's end this now."

The ultra hard chair continued to mash his butt. It mashed for many minutes before he spoke again.

"I am not moving. So pull the plug."

He stubbornly sat until the discomfort became unbearable. When he rose, his bladder demanded immediate emptying. Hunger pangs also assaulted.

Keller relieved himself in the weeds at the side of the building. His urine ran in a yellow flood over the concrete-like earth. He stepped back to avoid its path.

He did not return to the chair. Instead he paced in and out of the shop, periodically calling to the researchers. Eventually he became exhausted and slumped on the floor. His rear end hurt too much to sit, so he lay on his side. Increasingly angry, thirsty and hungry, he nonetheless drifted off to sleep.

When he awoke he ached all over. His mouth was cotton dry. With dismay he saw he still lay on the linoleum floor of the pawnshop. The teenager with his watch hadn't gone anywhere, nor had the motorcycle.

"What do you want of me?" he hoarsely cried to the ceiling. "Let me go!"

Outside he relieved himself again, this trip requiring a bowel movement. He hated that no toilet or toilet paper was available. The stench from his exposed feces hit particularly hard.

He got away from the stench. And from the pawnshop. As he found himself walking up San Pedro Avenue, Keller realized he was heading towards Barbara's house. That's what he should have done right off. At Barbara's waited food, water, a soft bed, and a toilet.

So he hoped. He prayed Gomperz had kept the house activated.

It was a seven mile walk. Distance did not glide by as when he rode the motorcycle. The days of walking along Jackson-Keller had toughened him, but the hike was an effort nonetheless. He was struggling by the time he reached 281. Growing thirst bothered him the most.

With each step he took on the expressway, he prayed the world would explode to life. Instead each step brought more of the stalled vehicles occupied by mannequins. Each step brought the solitary slap of his sneakers on the expressway shoulder. Each step brought another increment of thirst.

He approached, then passed the shameful site by the truck. Doubly shameful in that his failure might have led to his current predicament. Why had he not plunged to the pavement beside her? Now he would never see, touch, or savor her milky loveliness again. No additional torment Gomperz devised could match that.

Near the airport he saw that the jet no longer hung directly overhead. It had advanced at least a hundred yards further toward the runway. Two bursts of real time had pushed the 727 forward.

No, wait, there were three bursts.

God, his mind was in an even worse state than his body. Why hadn't he remembered that a double burst occurred when he was holding the woman? They'd planned only one. That extra burst must be where things went wrong.

Could the woman have reached her own watch after Barbara entered real time? Keller could swear that was impossible, he had a death grip on her arm. That arm didn't fight, either. But things had happened so fast. What could he be sure of?

He hoped Barbara was okay. He hoped this delay in letting him out of the study wasn't due to injury to Barbara. Which made for a queasy thought: the researchers were debating how to cover their butts. He wondered if he should demand proof nothing had happened to her. Of course he would...once he was safely out of their grasp.

At last Keller turned onto Barbara's street. By now he couldn't even spit. He had never endured thirst like this; he had some idea of what those lost in the desert suffered. Thank God no merciless sun had beaten down during the walk.

His heart rammed into his throat when he saw Barbara's front door. It was closed. What would he do now?

As he approached he saw a sheet of paper taped to the door. It contained three paragraphs of neatly written script. He walked up and read.

Peter:

You will find food and water on the back patio. To get more you will have to go to Sam's on 410 N.W. We have activated most supplies and facilities in the store and the adjacent Walmart for your use, including the restrooms.

I am very sorry our association turned out this way. You deserve much better. I like you but life is cruel, and I am afraid life belongs only to the cruel. I saw no alternative to the action I have taken. I do regret it.

I will remember you.

Barbara

Keller sighed. So she had joined forces with the other woman. No matter. At least she was unharmed.

He still wondered about the boy at the pawnshop. Why hadn't they taken his watch? Maybe the five inquiries had already been used on that watch. Or maybe the two women would return to get it. No matter. Keller was definitely out of the game.

The thought of cool, wet water got him quickly over her high back fence. On the umbrella shaded table by the pool waited several liter bottles of spring water. Beside them sat a picnic basket filled with fruit, bread and luncheon meat.

He drained one bottle. He paused, then slapped together several sandwiches and stuffed them down his gullet. He ate fruit and some cookies she had wrapped in aluminum foil. He chased them with the water of a second bottle.

He eased into the cushioned deck chair. The cushions gave and he realized Barbara had activated them with his comfort in mind. He supposed he should give thanks for her thoughtfulness.

Keller opened a third bottle and began sipping. As he did wetness pooled at the corners of his eyes.

What was this? He had no reason for sorrow. None whatsoever. From the start he'd known their "association" possessed a finite life span. She'd promised him nothing. Furthermore, the betrayal at the end was of a business rather than personal nature.

But he knew what the tears were for. Each morning when he had woken in the four poster bed and saw her lying beside him, he dared imagine he was her husband. Utterly impossible of course, yet such splendor in the fantasy. What if every morning the rest of his life he waked to her? Him, her mate, the man she loved.

Futile thoughts, insane and inane. Thoughts of a child who didn't comprehend reality. The reality was she had dumped him, and would not look back. Regardless what her note said he would fade from her memory within weeks.

Fatigue again tugged. It pulled him into the cushions. As consciousness slipped away he whispered a name, that of a majestic woman who had roused him from a long slumber.

# Chapter 9

**K** eller had no idea how long he slept. He awoke thirsty but drank sparingly from the third and final bottle of water. He ate a single sandwich, then decided he better get over to Sam's. The provisions Barbara left would last only another day. No telling how long the researchers would keep up this circus.

With picnic basket and bottle in hand Keller started on the hike to Sam's. He figured he had a six or seven mile trek ahead. But it wouldn't be any problem; he felt stronger today. Yesterday had been a day of shock, stress, and—yes, shame.

He walked at a relaxed pace. He took Bitters to West and West down to 410. 410 was clogged with traffic, but the horde of cars provided no hindrance to a man on foot. He was glad he had never traversed this road on the back of Barbara's weaving motorcycle.

On 410 he rested once and within a couple hours the huge parking lot before Sam's and Walmart's came into view. Cars occupied less than a third of the asphalt expanse. Perhaps a hundred mannequins dotted the frontage before the two massive buildings. Keller saw that doors on both buildings were open.

Good. His water bottle was empty and his thirst wouldn't quit. Plus it would be nice to use a toilet again. He was getting tired of going on the ground like an animal. The stores should contain everything he needed to make comfortable the remainder of his imprisonment. He hoped the researchers realized imprisonment was exactly what he regarded this.

At the entrance to Sam's he had to squeeze between several patrons to get in. Many dozen more statues waited beyond in the cavernous confines. He had forgotten what a huge store Sam's was; it could double as an aircraft hanger.

He went to the towering merchandise racks directly before him, which held computer equipment and accessories. He put his hand on a cylinder of writable DVDs. The cylinder lifted easily off the shelf. Items on the adjacent shelves also pulled free.

A stack of soft drinks caught his eye. He ripped open a case of Diet Coke and dug out a can. The can hissed loudly when he pulled the tab. He chugged all twelve ounces despite the sting of carbonation.

He took a fresh can with him as he headed into the depths of the store. A hundred, maybe two hundred people stood about, but his footfalls on the cement floor produced the only sound. He remembered this store sold about everything, including mattresses. He would make that his first priority, to set up a bedroom area. After that he would bathe the best he could in the restroom.

As he advanced his head swiveled to survey the aisles. Paints, tools, candies, clothing, lawnmowers, canned goods, cereals. He occasionally paused to see if he could move an item, and in every case he could. He wondered why Barbara had bothered to activate power tools or giant cans of peanuts.

Keller stopped in his tracks.

At first he thought he was hallucinating. His eyes said that halfway down an aisle a woman in a yellow sundress sat in a chair. Broad bands of silver secured her to the chair. The woman's head hung limply, almost on her chest.

Keller gingerly approached the female member of the opposition. The duct tape bound her to the wooden chair at her ankles, waist and shoulders. The woman's eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open. The movement of her chest told him she was still alive. Her wristwatch was gone.

His nose contorted as he got within several yards. She stunk to high heaven. She reeked of the same urine stench he had encountered at subway stations when he visited New York. Then he realized that the woman had occupied this chair nearly a day.

She looked a mess. Her auburn hair was a rat's nest, dark circles hung under her eyes, sweat stains splotched the dress...and her lips were cracked. God, she probably had not drunk since being tied to the chair. He remembered the agony of his own thirst, which he had slaked many hours before.

Was Barbara responsible for this? She must be, she had written the note telling him to go to Sam's. But why do this to her new partner? Had Barbara gone crazy? Had they fought over something and Barbara flipped out?

The woman stirred. Keller tried not to breathe in the smell as he leaned close. The woman's eyes cracked open and he saw they were bloodshot. The eyes focused on him and her head shot up.

Keller jumped back. The woman croaked something and her head jabbed toward the soda can he held. He put the can to her lips and she slurped feverishly at the contents.

He set to freeing the woman. Barbara had done a thorough job; the woman could have never wiggled out of the tape by herself. Barbara had taken a big chance on leaving the woman like this. What if Keller had been delayed reaching Sam's? This woman could have died.

No, no, the researchers wouldn't let that happen. But it spoke ill of Barbara that she left the woman to suffer. He would like to give Barbara the opportunity to sit for a day or two with a parched throat in urine soaked clothes.

The woman rasped while he peeled off the tape. He got her some bottled water, then resumed tugging tape. The woman's rasps now turned to wracking sobs. He murmured words of comfort, telling her it was all right, the worst was over, they'd be out of this mess soon.

She stopped crying and stared at him strangely. He thought a look of horror flashed over her face. She quickly dropped her gaze.

He helped her from the chair. She couldn't rise; her legs must have cramped from hours locked in the same position. He laid her on the floor gently as he could. He offered more water.

She shook her head. Again something like terror swept the exhausted face. Being bound helplessly must have really shaken her. Little wonder. Even if Barbara had promised help was on the way, the woman would have feared otherwise.

"You don't now?" she asked forlornly.

"Know what?"

"You must know." She struggled to a sitting position.

"You mean that Barbara—my partner—has all four watches? Or three of them; I don't know why you didn't take the boy's. Did you already use his inquiries?"

"You don't know."

Keller had never heard such bleakness in a voice. Like Barbara she'd probably invested high hopes in winning this contest. But how was Barbara going to win it? The rules were two people, not one, had to stand on the final square.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Does it matter?"

"I'd like to know what to call you. We may be stuck together some days."

The woman fixed her red rimmed hazel eyes on his.

"We're dead," she said grimly.

"What do you mean?"

" _Some_ days? You mean all the days the rest of your life."

Keller laughed involuntarily. "Are you crazy?"

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. This woman had been through an ordeal. She had to fear she was going to starve to death.

"I wish I would go insane. That or suicide is the only way out."

"Look, I know you've been through a lot—"

"Don't you understand? You're supposed to be smart. The blonde bitch said you were a scientist. We're not going back. We're in this still time forever."

"That's baloney. Why did she tie you up anyway? How come you two aren't out there looking for the final square?"

Tears filled the woman's eyes. It was evident she was battling them, but sniffles, then sobs, won out. Despite the smell, Keller knelt beside her. He squeezed her shoulder.

The woman jerked away

"Don't ever touch me!"

Keller couldn't believe the vehemence in her voice. All he wanted was to comfort her. This had really unglued her.

"Don't think for a moment I'm going to sleep with you. You can stick your thing in a pipe or use your hand. But us being here doesn't give you any rights with me. I'll kill you if you try."

Keller's mouth dropped. Good God, she had become unhinged. He hoped the researchers would call it off right now. This woman needed time in a hospital under sedation.

He put up his palm. "It's alright. I'm not going to bother you. Uh, I do think you should change your clothes. I saw some gym wear several aisles that way. You'll probably want to wash up in the restroom, too."

"No kidding," she spat.

The woman rose on unsteady legs. She brusquely waved away his extended hand.

"I think the restrooms are that way." Keller pointed toward the left rear of the building. He had to use them too.

The woman hobbled off and Keller followed her slender frame at a respectful distance. He detoured to grab some sweatpants and shirts, then some soap. When he presented them to her at the woman's restroom entrance she did mumble a thank you.

It took her a long time to emerge. When she did the stink was gone and she looked halfway presentable. The grim demeanor remained.

Cold and wary eyes fell on Keller. "What are you waiting here for?

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine. Now I would appreciate it if you would stay on one side of the store. I'll stay on the other.

"I said I wouldn't bother you. But we need to talk."

Her lips curled. "There's only a few things to discuss. One, we're screwed. Two, you won't screw me. Three, go screw yourself." She shuffled away.

Keller stood thoroughly nonplused. What was it with this woman? Had the events of the past days traumatized her that much? He didn't want to drive her into hysteria, but he had to get some answers.

"Please," he called, "you have to talk. I promise I'll keep my distance."

She halted as she was about to disappear around a corner. "Okay. But first I'm going to eat something. Meet me in awhile by the checkout counters."

Keller used the time to locate mattresses. He pulled one to the far end of the aisle, then grabbed a pillow and comforter from a nearby bin. He didn't see any bed sheets. Well, if Sam's didn't have some the Walmart would.

The woman was waiting by the counters when he arrived. He saw a butcher knife tied to her sweatpants' drawstring. Keller positioned himself a counter away. Patrons and salesclerks paid them no heed.

Damp hair was still plastered to the sides of her face. The hair framed good features, although they were on the bony side. He didn't see many curves protruding through the sweat suit. She needn't have worried about his attentions; skin and bones women didn't rouse his libido.

He also had to admit she looked her age, if she was old as he and Barbara. Unlike Barbara her face showed mileage. Her complexion had lost its youthful sheen and the start of crow's-feet notched the corners of her eyes and lips. Still, a degree of attractiveness remained and he imagined she had been quite fetching ten or fifteen years earlier.

"So what do we need to talk about?" she asked.

"The first thing is why did you team up with Barbara? Why did you desert your original partner?"

"I didn't. He deserted me."

"He couldn't have. He's still frozen. Back at the pawnshop."

"The boy was a decoy. My real partner is with the blond woman."

"Huh?"

"We didn't think you would suspect. We paid the boy to act as a stand in. My real partner—Brian Jackson—doublecrossed me. Just like your partner did you."

Keller was having difficulty digesting the woman's words.

"Yes, you and I were both betrayed," the woman said. "Real good."

"I don't understand anything."

The woman sighed. "Well, I guess you don't. We ambushed you. We set it up so you thought you were ambushing us."

"But how? You couldn't have known who we were."

"That wasn't necessary. I'll say this for Brian, he's very clever. Even if otherwise he's a piece of crap."

A glimmer of comprehension dawned in Keller. If the boy was a decoy, then the real partner—Brian—had been waiting somewhere else. Waiting for the opposition to move against the woman in the yellow dress.

"But how did you know we'd finger you and the boy as the competition? There were hundreds of people along that street."

"That was the gamble. You may never have. The first part of Brian's plan was to have me and the boy catch your notice. We would go into a store, stay ten or so seconds in moving time, then return to still time as we left the store. We hoped you would spot us in the store, then notice we had disappeared. That would tell you we were the other partners.

"The next part was to trap you. You would be on the lookout for us—me and the boy—and we figured you would try to take our watches. We didn't know at which store this would happen, so at each store Brian waited in another building. He watched the front door of the store and was ready to stop time. He would know you were the ones because you would appear at the door out of nowhere. You'd have to go back into moving time to get the door open."

"But we got the door open and nothing happened."

"He planned for that. He knew you might go in and out of moving time too fast at the door for him to react. But he would see you and that would alert him. If he missed trapping you at the door, he'd have a second chance when you tried to take my watch. That's when he got you."

Keller leaned on his palms. Brian's strategy had been good, damn good.

"He sure did," said Keller. "It's quite a feat, considering he never saw us up to that point."

"We saw you before. The blond bitch, I mean. Near the Alamo. But we didn't know you were in the contest then. We didn't know there _was_ a contest then."

"You saw Barbara?"

"Well, you can hardly miss her. She stands out like a beacon. Brian noticed her right away. He'd already met me, and he thought she was just a ripe piece of ass, not part of the contest. He couldn't keep eyes off her even though I was trying to talk to him. Then we lost sight of her in the crowd."

"Did you go over to the Tower of the Americas?"

"That's what the watches said."

"We sure didn't see you there. We looked pretty carefully, too, for people with watches."

She shrugged, then laughed derisively. "You know what that son of a bitch said after we learned the rules? He said he would shoot the other partners if we were both closing in on the final square. He said in still time it would be no problem. No witnesses to worry about, just drag the bodies into some underbrush. I told myself he was just talking. I should have quit the partnership right then." She shook her head. "What a prick. He spent half the time trying to get into my pants, the other half scheming how to trick you two. Or now I realize, how to trick me and you."

He couldn't blame the man that much for changing partners. Barbara was a breathtaking woman. Keller wondered how much persuasion it had taken for Brian to convince Barbara to switch sides.

Probably not much. Barbara would readily perceive Brian was a man of action, decisive and determined. Drop the nerd wimp Keller, the man who couldn't perform in front of imaginary trucks, and get on to the magic square with someone as resolute as herself.

"What's this about staying here the rest of our lives? That's nonsense."

The woman wrapped arms around herself. "It's true."

"Will you tell me your name now? Please."

She hesitated, then sighed. "Paula."

"Last name of Keller, I presume?"

She nodded.

"I'm Peter Keller. Paula, it's my firm belief that our minds are being manipulated. You remember the movie, _Total Recall_? This is somewhat similar, although based on an inferior technology." But how much inferior? "We are probably in recliner chairs in some lab. Don't worry. When they've had their fun, we'll be back in the real world. I do hope they can explain why they're continuing this."

"Brian said this was real. That our watches were black holes in reverse."

"What?" This guy Brian was a riot.

"Don't smirk at me, mister. I don't know much science, but what he said made sense."

"There's no such thing as a reverse black hole. Paula, believe me, there's no physical basis for our situation. You just don't turn time on and off."

"Brian said time almost stops at the edge of a black hole. Something about the huge gravity field. At the edge one second will pass while ten million years go by outside. He said the reverse happens with the watches, that for someone in the field of the watch ten million years can pass while one second goes by outside the field."

Keller failed to repress another smile. "Paula, I'm not laughing at you. This is just the most bizarre theory I've ever heard. Brian's not a scientist, is he?"

"He's a doctor. But he said he's an astronomer, too. He has his own telescope.

Yeah, and he's probably read books by Stephen Hawking and Carl Sagan. Then formulated his own astrophysics.

Paula went on. "He thinks the watches contain anti-matter. He thinks the anti-matter creates an anti-black hole, which has a time effect opposite that around a normal black hole. When we press the Reverse Command we lower the shield keeping us out of the hole's field. He thinks whatever is exposed to the field stays in still time until field is closed off."

"That's pure fantasy."

"Don't believe, then. You'll still rot here."

"We'll be out soon. By now Brian and Barbara can't be very far away from the final square. Though I don't understand why they've kept frozen time on. They've had plenty of time to run through the inquiries. They need to return to real time to walk off the final area."

"You still don't get it. They aren't in our time. They've left us behind."

"They can't leave frozen time without bringing us out too. When they hit the Forward command they unfreeze everything they froze. That's the way it's worked all through this."

"They used two watches to get away. Brian and Barbara went into still time with one watch. They brought you and me into still time with another. Then they used the first watch to return themselves to real time. Before they left they hid the second watch, the one holding us in still time. Buried it somewhere, they said. We're completely trapped here."

Keller smiled pleasantly. "I refuse to believe that."

"Okay. But I'm going to go lie down now. Don't disturb me, please."

Her eyed her knife. "Of course not."

Paula disappeared down an aisle.

Keller walked outside. Being a good scientist he forced himself to consider the validity of Brian's proposition, no matter how seemingly ludicrous. It would have helped if he were a theoretical physicist steeped in the equations of general relativity. He did know what Brian said about black holes was correct, that the massive gravitational field at the boundary of the hole severely distorted the space-time continuum.

At the boundary time did slow down, exactly as it did for objects nearing the speed of light. But this stuff about antimatter, Keller had no idea how to evaluate that. He would think a black hole made of anti-matter would also slow time at its boundary. Time would certainly slow for objects consisting of antimatter. What, however, would be the effect on real matter?

Matter and anti-matter were diametrical opposites. Could their gravitational fields also possess opposite characteristics, so that a massive anti-matter field would accelerate rather than decelerate time—that is, for objects made of normal matter? Perhaps. But even if such could happen, how could anyone put a black hole in a watch?

Black holes supposedly resulted when a massive star collapsed under its own weight. The gravitational field of the condensed star was so great nothing inside could escape, not even light. Though he did remember reading that the condensed mass at the center of a black hole occupied no space—the so called singularity.

So, stuff a black hole—make that an anti-matter black hole—inside a wristwatch? And somehow modulate its potentially lethal gravitational pull? He wondered if the most advanced civilization in the universe were capable of such feats. Even God might have His hands full with that.

Keller wandered the parking lot. He saw Paula looking at him through one of the front windows. He waved, but she turned away.

Paula had good reason for her despair if she believed Brian. If frozen time were generated by physical rather than mental phenomena, their situation truly would be desperate. Ten million years could pass for them while one second passed for everyone else. They would live out their lives in a fraction of that ten million years, and their very bones would have crumbled when that second expired.

The thought unnerved him, and he didn't believe in black holes in wristwatches. But wait a moment, had Barbara believed? _Had_ she?

He tried to will away the answer. To no avail. The answer was written in her note with the words "you deserve better" and "I regret it" and "life belongs to the cruel". She had bought Brian's explanation, and acted ruthlessly upon it.

Keller dropped to his knees. His head craned toward the heavens. A primal cry erupted from his throat, driven full force by his diaphragm. Another cry followed, and another.

When he lowered his head he saw a wide-eyed Paula staring at him from the entrance. Something like sympathy played on her stricken face. Doubtless she thought his anguish due to acceptance they truly were trapped here.

No, Paula, I don't believe we are trapped. I wail because the woman I now realize I fell in love with believed she was casting me into oblivion.

# Chapter 10

**B** arbara's mode of rejection was no doubt brutal. But after the initial agony passed, Keller reflected that she was hardly the first woman to find no place for him in her heart. The rejection was a matter of degree, not kind.

Keller had often pondered whether he would trade competence in science for competence with women. Women had buffaloed him since puberty, while since puberty he had succeeded at hard core science.

Would he switch? If given the choice he well might say: "I agree to the trade. Let women fall at my feet and I will abandon the quest to learn the secret of aging." As much as he loved the quest, Keller would be sorely tempted.

Unfortunately the conjecture was moot. His abilities had been determined long ago, nine months before his birth. During Prophase I of meiosis the random shuffling of parental genes had ordained his strengths and weaknesses. Too bad that shuffling hadn't favored him better in regards to the fair sex. It would have saved so much heartache.

Yet much as he wanted, Keller could hardly feel sorry himself. That shuffling had left him without any real mental or physical deficiency. It _had_ granted him an intelligence superior to ninety nine percent of humanity. It also bequeathed a pleasant, unoffending personality that let him get along with most anyone. Prophase I had awarded him more assets than liabilities.

He must also admit Peter Simon Keller had enjoyed considerable advantage after birth. Unlike so many of his generation, he grew up in the same place, a good place. At age one his parents had moved from Newport News to Reston. Reston was one of the first "planned" communities. Even though this Northern Virginia suburb contained some Section 8 housing, Reston on the whole exuded affluence and style. Barbara would have loved the place.

Keller was also fortunate concerning family life. He was the second born, the first son, the indulged baby of the family. He had never experienced sibling rivalry with his sister, two years older. Judy if anything served as his protector. She always intervened for him in playground spats, always had time to help with homework, always let him know he was her special little brother.

His father was a warm and strong man. His father too always made time. Keller had thought that's how it was for all children, their Dad readily available. A father who at the drop of a hat would toss a ball, answer a stream of questions, go off together to buy ice cream, drive him to a friend's house.

His mother he supposed typified the old fashioned sort. His parents operated an eighty-twenty rather than a fifty-fifty relationship. It was obvious his parents were in love, but his father dominated. His mother was that, a mother. She never worked outside the house. Her children and her husband, they fulfilled her. Keller she certainly doted on.

But childhood lasted just so long. No matter how much one wanted to cling to a life of hassle free simplicity, it had to pass. For Keller entering puberty had been the equivalent of ejection from a second womb. He hadn't entered this new world squalling, but he should have.

Now he knew that puberty and adolescence had been an ordeal for all his peers. At the time its travails appeared created solely for his torment. Inexplicably everything was changing. Bewildering new patterns of behavior were expected, and there weren't any courses offered to guide him.

His main problem concerned the female sex. Formerly a benign curiosity, these creatures that had undergone such radical revision in morphology now terrorized him. He hadn't the vaguest idea how to deal with these frogs now turned princesses. A ravenous sex urge had been thrust upon him, directed at these young lovelies—the same beings who existed so innocuously a couple years before.

Most boys adjusted to this new dichotomy between the sexes, some more quickly than others. He never really had. Other boys, many others, found steady girl friends. Keller tried his hand, but girls wanted him only as a friend. Girls invariably liked him, liked him like his sister did. He did not elicit a romantic response.

The greatest humiliation of his young life occurred junior year, at South Lakes High. For two months he tried to line up a date for the prom. No takers. The girls said politely, sweetly, no. Everybody else in his class had a prom partner. Everyone, including "Moby" Jennings, the fat alabaster kid the jocks mercilessly taunted.

During the debacle his father had been very supportive. Your time will come, you have many good qualities, women your age are more concerned with glitter than substance but that will change, believe me, and keep your chin up. His sister, over the phone from college, also spoke many soothing words.

Still it cut deeply. He never asked for a date the remainder of his time in high school.

So strange, girls continued to act friendly with him; he had to admit they never treated him like a pariah. And the jocks never harassed him. People liked him, people trusted him. So strange, the one who couldn't get a companion for the prom found himself once again elected to the student council.

Not until his late twenties had he reflected as to why his peers repeatedly voted him into student office. At the time he assumed it stemmed from his sterling academic record. He always got A's. He got them even in the honors courses, where he was pitted against the intensely prodded offspring of parents determined their children would get into the Ivy League—or at least the University of Virginia.

However, other students made straight A's. He belatedly realized trust in him resulted from an incident in eighth grade, which at the time caused him more grief than praise. Walking to school he had found a wallet. The wallet—belonging to Calvin K. Blanchard, he still remembered—held ninety-three dollars.

Keller turned the wallet into the principal's office. Word of the act quickly spread to the teachers, and by lunchtime everyone in his class knew. A few people complimented him, but many expressed shock if not outrage. Why hadn't he pocketed the $93 and just dropped the wallet in a mailbox? Ninety-three bucks, ninety-three bucks, people said in a litany as they shook their heads.

And yet—he soon after found himself nominated for Treasurer of his class. He won the post easily. Afterward he also found people, sometimes virtual strangers, even girls, confiding in him. He never betrayed a trust, monetary or personal, and people's respect grew.

Respect or not, during his high school years he sensed he stood on the outside looking in. He never felt connected. So much of the teen culture left him uninspired—the adulation of athletes, the bizarre music and dances, the petty backbiting that seemed the mainstay of personal intercourse, the reverence for drunken partying. He didn't deride but he also didn't mask his disinterest.

In both junior and senior high school he had many friends, but no bosom buddies. No close male friends, certainly no girlfriends. At the time only the latter bothered him. Now he knew both deficits should have concerned him greatly.

When he went to college, at Georgetown, the pattern did not change. Superficial popularity, sexual deprivation. The women at Georgetown were even more wrenchingly attractive than the upper echelon of femininity at South Lakes. These were real, full grown women, quite aware of the power of their allure. And to them Keller existed only asexually. His slightest advance was treated as a joke. Biologically his desires had approached their lifetime peak, and here he was, utterly helpless.

All through that suffering, that longing, he had never disliked women. He never blamed them for their romantic rejections. Any dispersion he cast upon himself. Even in those days he reasoned in Darwinian terms, that the fittest won the finest. His genome did not contain the right gene versions that would allow him to successfully compete for the female sex.

He remained a virgin during his four years at Georgetown. Too bad they didn't give a guy a night with a cheerleader for graduating summa cum laude. But that or Phi Beta Kappa or any other academic award failed to elicit female passion. Glitter still ruled their hearts.

Not until the third year of graduate school, while in the molecular biology program at Johns Hopkins, did he in the biblical sense finally know a woman. He bragged to no one of his conquest. For who could brag of a quickie obtained in a massage parlor? The woman who did him in seemed more amused than anything else. All Keller could really remember of the encounter was his heart thundering in his ears. He doubted the woman, good looking enough even though approaching middle age, had ever entertained a more traumatized customer.

Pretty sad, only days short of his twenty-fourth birthday before he bedded a woman. Throw in having to pay for it. But he went back to that parlor often as he could afford. He stuck to that woman, Trudy, the whole time. She never lost that air of amusement even if she did eventually treat him as more than another john (his last year in grad school they even exchanged birthday cards). She too never took him seriously.

During his first post-doctoral fellowship, at Columbia in New York City, he at last enjoyed a "normal" relationship. Normal in that he was the man and she was the woman, and nobody paid the other. Charlene—Char—was a lab technician, once divorced, and of average looks. She was also a clinging neurotic.

He'd been so proud of himself, moving in with a woman after a mere month of dating, living with a woman previously married and not a panicky spinster. See, he could get a woman other men had wanted.

God, was his live-in a fruitcake. Even though aware of the demands made on a post-doc, she ragged about the extended hours his lab work required. Worse, she accused him (of all people) of having an affair with another post-doc, a married woman. To keep an eye Char started matching him hour for hour in the lab, always running her mouth, always only a couple yards away.

Through his twenty remaining months at Columbia she alternated between teary protestations of her love and scathing itemization of his faults. Keller was ashamed to think he kept up the relationship only because her mood swings did not impair her steady desire for sex.

At the end of his post-doc he departed New York with great relief. Char threatened suicide if he didn't take her to his new post-doc position at the University of North Carolina. But for once in his life he summoned some cruelty, and countered with Rhett Bulter's parting shot to Scarlett. Keller had not heard from Charlene since.

At Chapel Hill there was Jennifer. In Chapel Hill the sun briefly rose. Ahead he saw a lifetime with a lovely, lively and stable woman. A home, a family, all the warm good things he had left behind so long ago in Reston. He would always look back on those four months as the golden age of his life.

Then the sun fell out of the sky. He was back where he had always been...on the outside looking in; like the song said, wishin' and hopin' and prayin' for a woman's true love.

**F** rom Chapel Hill he traveled west of the Mississippi to accept an assistant professorship, at the University of Texas Health Science Center at San Antonio. The change of time zones did not alter his schizophrenic existence. Professional success that included swift securing of tenure coexisted with not getting to first base with the female sex. Or getting picked off first if he did.

A schizoid existence indeed. Matters of the heart, matters of the mind. Thumbs down in one, thumbs up in the other. So many lonely Saturday nights he begged God—or the Committee of Angels—or whoever was in charge—to reverse the thumbs.

The other days of the week his pleas were less frantic. Within the depths of his mind, and his soul, Keller knew he would choose science over women if an absolute choice were demanded. He lusted both, of course, but the yearning to know nature's secrets exceeded all his other yearnings. That too had been decreed in Prophase I.

Strangely it had taken Keller half his life to acknowledge he was in grip of that decree. During childhood he vaguely planned to follow in his father's footsteps as an architect, but only vaguely. After puberty he toyed with becoming a doctor, but that was born more of belief doctors easily attracted women than passion for the field. His junior year in high school he investigated computer programming and found that didn't grab him either.

Not until the second semester of his senior year did he glimpse where his future waited. Previously he had not considered a career in science. Almost as an afterthought he took a course in geology (ironically to avoid biology, which he considered a silly science devoted to the categorizing of plant and animal minutiae). He had already taken courses in physics and chemistry, and while getting A's, found the subjects dry. He didn't expect study of rocks to turn out better.

His geology teacher had other ideas. Mr. Taylor infused Keller with his own passion concerning the processes that formed the earth's topology. Keller found himself fascinated by the dynamics of a discipline he thought stiflingly static. Mountain range and ocean trench formation, earthquakes and volcanoes, continental drift and ice ages, even the creation of sedimentary rocks, they enthralled him.

Of course, the study of geology could not avoid intersecting with the rise and radiation of life on earth. Especially since Mr. Taylor brought to class fossils from his private collection. His basement display room contained a diverse set of these natural lithographs, some reaching back 250 million years to the Permian period.

That winter the geology class took several field trips to fossil rich sites in Maryland and Pennsylvania. Keller loved every moment tramping about the exposed rock formations even if his classmates complained about the bitterly cold weather. When the course ended Keller knew he would seek a career in paleontology, the study of prehistoric life.

Destiny however worked in strange ways. The summer after graduation Mr. Taylor organized a trip to one of the most important fossil sites in the world: the Burgess Shale of British Columbia. The physical beauty of this area in the Canadian Rockies stunned Keller. The views of ice blue Lake Emerald and the soaring purple mountains would inspire him forever.

The fossil sites inspired him more. For here the fossils spoke of mass creation, not extinction. Here simple organisms had evolved—no, exploded—into forms seen neither before or since. It was if God had thrown caution to the wind. The most bizarre creatures, _Opabina_ , _Anomalocaris_ , _Aysheaia_ , _Hullucigenia_ , and many others, had sprung into existence alongside the distant ancestors of those relatively few phyla that survived to modern times.

When Keller left the Shale he knew developmental biology was his career. At the Burgess Shale he heard the great question hanging in the clear, crisp air: how had these diverse, unprecedented organisms developed so rapidly from a common ancestor?

Keller had chosen his graduate school, Johns Hopkins, carefully. Or should he say, chose his principal advisor carefully. An astute doctoral candidate selected advisor first and institution second. And astute investigators accepted sterling candidates into their labs with open arms.

Alan Clemmens, a developmental biologist of national renown, was a driven man. His drive and balancing patience were just another way of saying he never quit. The man attacked a problem from every angle, until intellect and experiment battered it down. He demanded the same commitment from everyone else in his lab. He was the example Keller tried to emulate ever since.

For five years Keller rarely took off an evening or weekend. Others in the lab griped about the lack of leisure time, but Keller (the man with zero social life) didn't mind. His thesis research on developmental genes in the fruit fly _Drosophila_ provided sufficient entertainment. His relentless effort paid off in becoming primary author on a paper published in _Cell_ —a remarkable achievement for a graduate student.

The riddle of development had fascinated him, and it still did to this day. Keller didn't know when the riddle of aging nudged into his purview. During his graduate school years most biologists—certainly his advisor—regarded those investigating the aging process as either fools or charlatans. Keller too initially disdained gerontologists.

By the time he won his doctorate he still cast a wary eye on aging research, but the contempt was gone. Perhaps the shock of realizing his parents were getting old—and would someday die—let him consider the field worthy of serious study.

During his post-doc stint at Columbia he continued research in development. He still toiled with _Drosophila_ , still sought genes which programmed the organism's rise from embryo to pupa to adult. He worked diligently on his funded project, but he increasingly pondered the fruit fly's fate after it attained maturity. Why in the benign world of the laboratory—with no predators and plenty of food—did they still all expire within a month?

During his limited spare time he read research papers on senescence. He was amazed at the disorganized state of the field. Almost every gerontologist expounded a different theory as to why multi-cellular organisms aged. Worse, many theories were based on flimsy observational evidence and fleshed out with illogical conjecture. Chaos rather than fundamental principles ruled the field.

Halfway through his post doctorate at Chapel Hill, where he studied frog embryos with ever less interest, he decided to commit his career to experimental gerontology. Keller had published nothing in the field, but he did have five solid papers in developmental genetics to his name.

The autumn after he lost Jennifer he paid his way to the national gerontology conference, held that year in Orlando. By then he had read much of the literature in the field, and he knew who to seek out during the poster sessions. He was particularly keen to talk with the people in the Aging Group at San Antonio's Health Science Center. The investigators in the Group were established and well respected.

He hit it off with everyone in the Group. They were looking for bright fresh blood, and assured him his lack of experience in gerontology would not hamper consideration. In the spring Keller traveled to San Antonio for the formal interview process, during which he gave a well received seminar. He was offered an assistant professorship before he left town.

When Keller told his graduate school advisor he had accepted the San Antonio position, Clemmens was aghast. Apparently his mentor had thought Keller's musing about gerontology a passing fancy. You're going after fool's gold, Clemmens warned. You think you'll find easy fame, but what you'll get is heartbreak. Please don't waste your promise.

Keller bridled at implication celebrity status motivated his decision. True, whoever discovered how to lengthen the human lifespan would probably win an immediate Nobel Prize. And all the money and adoring females he could handle. But Keller had never sought the spotlight; he was just going where his intellectual passion commanded.

He later did allow Clemmens had a point. Every man wanted to leave his mark. Advances in developmental biology would bring recognition and respect—within the scientific community. Advances in life extension would gain a man worldwide acclaim. For longer than Andy Warhol's fifteen minutes, too. His name would endure alongside those of Columbus and Newton.

Perhaps—subconsciously—lure of such fame did fuel Keller's passion. One thing was for certain, he didn't want to end up as just another name in the Citation Index. Like Max Frankel. As a graduate student Keller had tracked down a paper by the Israeli chemist, whose citations covered a 25 year period. The man first appeared in the 1940's as second author on several papers, then in the 50's and 60's as first author. This shift undoubtedly corresponded to his rise from scientific apprentice to head of his own lab.

The citations stopped in 1966. Keller never learned whether the man died then or just retired. Strangely, he felt guilty that he hadn't bothered to inquire. But what bothered Keller a lot more was that the man's professional life—all his hopes, toil, and accomplishments—were reduced to fourteen obscure journal articles.

Okay, Keller would take fame. Fame would mean his name not passing into oblivion.

Yet something rawer now committed him to the endless succession of sixteen hour days. It was anger. Every time he saw an elderly person he raged against the biochemical destruction rotting their bodies. He loathed, almost to the point of irrationality, the inescapable and unstoppable cancer of aging. He rebelled against the homily it was only nature's course.

Thumbing through history and biography books especially pained him; there the passage of a person's life was brutally compressed. In a half dozen or so photographs a youth transformed into a decrepit wreck. Whether the photographs captured the decay of a great man like Darwin or wastrels like Edward VIII, they incensed Keller just the same.

Anger kept Keller fresh in his assault on this, the toughest of all biological questions. Anger motivated all through the inconclusive experiments and groping hypotheses. Anger would keep him in the hunt until aging too claimed his body.

Aging would probably beat him, yes, but humans of the future would escape its ravages. Gerontologists of today knew little, still they had glimpsed enough to know aging was preventable. Sometime during this millennium—perhaps even before 2200—man the wise would ferret out the last of its secrets. The great humbler would be humbled.

In his lifetime he would do what he could. Like his mentor Clemmens he would attack, regroup, attack again. Keep coming on. Where before he had hoped to move mountains, now he would settle for chipping at the cliff face looming above gerontologists.

When those other researchers—the ones who had plunged him into this alien world where time did not move—let him loose, he would eagerly rejoin the fray. He'd always enjoyed the battle. In the lab he jousted well. Outside, in the world where the Barbaras and Brians ruled, he fared poorly. But in science he was a worthy man.

# Chapter 11

**A** fter Barbara's betrayal Keller wallowed in self-pity several days, and at first didn't notice what was happening to Paula. Belatedly he realized she was trying to drink herself to death. She had camped in the wine aisle and at last count a dozen bottles were littered about her.

She refused to change clothes or perform basic hygiene. Again she reeked of urine, to which aroma was added those of excrement and vomit. His offers to help were greeted with obscenity. When he ventured too close she brandished the butcher knife.

So Keller hovered at the aisle entrance, hoping she would snap out of it. The days turned into two weeks and the bottles kept coming off the shelf. He began to get really worried. Color had drained from her face and she looked skinnier than ever.

Finally he worked up the courage to try and get the knife. With a handful of flour and a broom handle he approached her slumped form. He would throw the flour in her eyes, then use the broom handle to beat the knife from her hand. But the precautions weren't necessary. She was so drunk she couldn't lift her head.

Keller grabbed the knife and snapped the blade. Then he rolled her onto a blanket and dragged her toward the restrooms. She babbled as her soiled body and clothing slid over the gray concrete. She was addressing someone, but not him

He stripped her in the woman's restroom. He was shocked at how her ribs and pelvic bones protruded. She reminded him of a concentration camp inmate. No doubt about it, this woman was wasting away. That she utterly didn't give a damn testified to the faith she put in Brian's black hole cockamamie.

For the life of him he couldn't understand why Gomperz and his colleagues stood idly by. They had to see the woman's deterioration. Nothing in scientific investigation justified continuation of this exercise.

Paula's skin felt cold to the touch and very dry. He washed her with warm water, dried her carefully, and wrapped her in several layers of beach towels. He then tried to get some orange juice down her throat. Still unconscious, she spit out most of the fluid.

In infant goods section he found baby bottles. Though remaining in a stupor, Paula reflexively sucked on the bottle nipples. With them he was able to get a quart of diluted juice into her stomach. He imagined her color immediately improving, but of course it wasn't. He felt a bit relieved anyway.

After he dressed her in clean clothes he taped her arms to a pipe below one of the sinks. He gave her about a yard of play. She would be furious, but he couldn't let her get back to the wine. Dried out she might see the folly of Brian's story, too.

Furious was an understatement. When she came to he feared she would dislocate her arms the way she jerked at the tape. She screamed that he had raped her while she was unconscious, and swore vengeance. She kicked savagely when he tried to bring food to her mouth. She vowed not to eat while bound.

A day passed and she took neither food nor water. Keller didn't know what to do. She refused to promise to stop drinking if untied. On the other hand, he didn't doubt she would stick to a hunger strike. He debated getting rid of the wine, but he feared removal of that crutch might totally unhinge her.

Finally he just let her go. She immediately returned to the wine aisle. He watched with horrified fascination at the speed with which she regained an alcoholic fog. All he could do thereafter was see she got some juice and sports drink while passed out, and tend to her hygiene.

As the days passed a month's worth the first doubts gnawed. He tried to dismiss them, but uncertainty would not fade. What if Brian weren't full of shit? What if, however remote the likelihood, the watch contained a minuscule anti-matter black hole? What if time actually had slowed to a crawl?

He had read Stephen Hawking's book, _A Brief History of Time_. Hawking described how tiny black holes were created during the early moments of the Big Bang. Keller supposed some could still exist, although Hawking predicted most would self-destruct through quantum mechanic effects. Hawking remained silent about time effects around these mini-holes. And even quieter whether time would behave differently in the presence of anti-matter.

It still made more sense that this frozen world existed due to mind bending rather than matter bending. In scientific investigation he had always applied Occam's Razor, the rule that where two alternative explanations existed, choose the simpler. The rule had served him well.

But...the watches might work the way Brian said. And if the researchers—whoever they were—had not anticipated that one pair of contestants might strand the others in frozen time, they would be helpless to affect a rescue. Their experimental subjects would be trapped before the researchers could intervene. Indeed, all Ben Gomperz and his friends could do was say "oops".

Keller clung to Occam's Razor. He did not want "oops" the epitaph to his life.

His doubts grew as the days piled one on top of another. Every additional twenty-four hours in the frozen world tipped the scales further the wrong way. Every additional day increased the likelihood he was serving a life sentence. Despite his best efforts, his spirits sank. He also began to long for a wine bottle. He did not pull a cork, but he came close.

After the sixth week he finally succumbed. He drank a full bottle of white zinfandel. It promptly struck him down, for he was a totally unpracticed drinker. The bottle blessedly removed him from the paralyzed world for half a day.

Keller revived to a dreadful hangover. After he muted a sledgehammer headache with aspirin, his first impulse was to get drunk again. Right then he knew what he had to do.

He dragged an inert Paula back to the restroom. Once more he bound her. Her recovery this time included a bout with delirium tremens, but he would not yield to her screaming pleas for alcohol. Nor to threats that promised castration, evisceration, and assorted other butchery. Her resumption of a hunger strike didn't dissuade him either.

When the haggard woman finally dried out he sat on the restroom floor just out of kicking range. He looked into eyes that churned with repressed hysteria.

"Keep drinking and you're going to die," he said quietly.

"Why won't you leave me alone? If it's sex you want, take me. Get it out of your system."

"Have you any idea how unappetizing you look? And smell, I might add."

"I'm not eating till you let me go."

"Do you know your skin's turning yellow? You are destroying your liver."

"So what?"

The past weeks had aged her ten years. Her limbs were stick thin.

"I want you to think about something. Then I'll let you go. I promise I'll never tie you up again. You can drink yourself dead and I won't interfere."

The reddened eyes in the hollowed sockets met his warily.

He moved closer, well within kicking range. She didn't kick.

"Don't leave me alone here, Paula. I know you are terrified. I'm starting to sense the terror myself. I'm starting to agree we might be marooned. If you die I know I'll go insane from the aloneness. It's a totally selfish request, but I need for you to stay alive."

The muscles of her jaundiced face quivered as she struggled to maintain hostility.

"If you keep drinking I don't think you'll last beyond several months. I know we're in a terrible, horrible situation if the black hole theory is true. But don't make me live out the time ahead by myself."

Paula's head dropped and a filthy mop of hair covered her face. When after long moments she raised her head the hostility was gone. Instead a tear dribbled from one eye.

"I don't want to leave you alone," she said. "I'm just not a strong person. Life was tough enough for me in the real world. Here there's nothing to live for."

"If you truly wanted to die, Paula, you would have already slit your wrists."

"That's my fall back position."

"I'm not going to kill myself. I'm going to live, and in as good health and spirits as I can manage."

"Good for you."

"Don't leave me alone."

She shook her head. "I can't promise anything."

Keller cut her loose.

"Don't leave me alone," he said again.

She struggled to sit up. She couldn't.

Keller propped her back against a wall and gave her some sports drink. She gulped it down. She refused a cup of applesauce, saying she had no appetite.

"You'll get one if you stop drinking," he said.

Of course, once appetite returned she would have to start with the likes of applesauce and baby food. Her stomach had certainly shrunk. Solid food too soon could rupture it.

She took more sports drink. "I'll try to lay off the booze. But I can't promise. If we had hard drugs, I'd probably use them."

Keller wondered if the store pharmacy carried some.

She rubbed her wrists where he had bound the tape. The skin was badly bruised.

"I apologize for binding you. I couldn't see any other way to get you sober."

"When I'm sober all I want to do is throw up from the fear."

"You're doing a good job of that from the booze."

He thought her lips mouthed "fuck you", but she didn't flare. She was probably too weak.

"Paula, I'd like to help you to a bed. Don't worry, I've made one for you in a separate area. You need rest—and lots of it."

For awhile she just looked at him. Then she closed her eyes and nodded.

**W** ithin two days Paula was taking soft food. She still needed help getting to the restroom, but Keller was greatly encouraged. He also took it as a good sign the first encounter with a mirror appalled her. He hoped the shock of that wasted face and frame would keep her from the wine aisle.

He set up a card table near her bed where he brought her meals. He started eating his own—multi course—meals there. She didn't protest, although she continued to watch him warily. That he didn't understand. She had nothing to fear from him; hadn't he amply proved that by now?

She did say how good his food smelled, and complimented his cooking skills. Keller replied that lab work and cooking had much in common. He didn't comment that here he had an excess of time to devote to the culinary arts.

He in turn complimented her forsaking the wine.

Perhaps that was a mistake. Her still gaunt, still yellow tinged face immediately clouded.

"It's taking all my willpower."

"If you don't take the first drink, you'll never take the second."

"When I'm sober I feel like ten tons of concrete are on my chest."

"I get that feeling too. I think in time that will pass."

Some of the hostility returned. "What, after twenty years?"

"The human mind has a tremendous capacity for adjustment." The words sounded pretty empty. He wanted to add they would find a way to survive and thrive, but if they were stuck here there would be no thriving. Only an endless battle to maintain sanity.

Keller had finished a bowl of vegetable soup, and was moving on to the main course of au gratin potatoes and pork tenderloin. Paula spooned in orange goop from a container of Gerber's squash.

"Nobody's ever been this alone," she said. "How do you adjust to that?"

Brian was wrong, had to be wrong. But if Keller and Paula were prisoners of a mini black hole, they were in uniquely dire straits. Even people shipwrecked on a remote island had some hope of rescue.

Paula forced a laugh. "I knew I shouldn't use the watch. But I couldn't resist, even before I learned what we could win."

Keller nodded. "I couldn't resist either."

"Who were you going to control?" she asked. "If you had won?"

"I hadn't decided. Probably some billionaire." Probably Bill Gates.

"Yeah. That's what Brian was going to do. Will do."

He didn't like being lumped with the likes of Brian. Keller hastened to explain he planned to take only part of the billionaire's money, and those funds he would contribute to science. Nothing would go for himself.

She just shrugged.

"What had you planned?" he asked.

She looked away. "It's not important now."

Keller was tempted to respect her privacy, but he better persist. He had to learn who this person was. To gain any influence he must establish a bond.

He spoke softly. "Please tell me."

She hesitated, then her hazel eyes moistened. "My ex," she croaked. "I wouldn't use my power to ruin him, though I'd be tempted. I just want my daughter back. He's got custody."

"Oh?"

"I know what you're thinking. Yes, they awarded my little girl to him. I get one day twice a month—under supervision."

All his life Keller had been polite, maybe too polite. He had avoided frank comment. He didn't want to embarrass other people or himself. He always tried to put the best face on someone else's problems or transgressions. Deference and diplomacy had allowed him to get along with most everybody, but they also let him escape real involvement.

He looked her straight in the eye. "The court must have thought you a pretty unfit mother to declare that. What did you do?"

Her lip curled. "I axe murdered my first child."

Keller's mouth dropped, then he realized she was being sarcastic.

"What did you do, Paula?"

"Statutory rape."

"What?"

"You heard me." She stared defiantly.

Keller was aghast. "With your own child?"

Paula's mouth dropped in turn. Then she furiously shook her head. "Of course not! It was with a fifteen-year old boy. We were lovers."

"Good lord."

"Pretty horrible, isn't it? I'm right there with all the other sex offenders."

"No, no." They'd actually hit her with statutory rape? He could see charging a man who'd seduced a teenage girl, that was taking advantage. But a woman with a boy? He'd given his eyeteeth to have a woman bed him at fifteen. "That's terrible. I mean, that they arrested you."

"The boy's mother caught us. She returned early from a trip out of town. I tried everything, even offering money, but she pressed charges. They actually put me in jail."

"It must have been horrible."

"You don't know the half of it. My husband—the scum—he refused to put up bail. He pulled everything out of our joint accounts so I had nothing. I had to spend a month in the Bexar County jail. A month with prostitutes, gang girls, and meth heads."

"What happened after the month?"

"I got probation. Plus a fire and brimstone lecture from the bitch judge. If I even laid eyes on the boy—on David—she'd revoke probation." Paula's voice caught when she said the boy's name.

"How—how did you get involved with the boy?"

She looked at him sharply. But she didn't snap "none of your business".

"He did our lawn. He did a lot of the lawns in the neighborhood. He was that kind of young man, ambitious, willing to work. He was fifteen, but he acted twenty-five. He was so nice, too. He had that real genuineness about him. I liked him a lot, even before we..."

Keller was surprised to see her face redden.

She wiped away a tear. "He was so sweet. He really was. If he'd been my age—or vice versa—I'd fallen in love with him." Then her eyes drilled his, hard as Barbara's ever had. "What happened between us was not crass sex. It was something very beautiful. I suppose it was wrong, by all conventions, but neither of us could help ourselves. We had five months of true intimacy. I've never had that closeness with anyone else."

"I'm sorry you were found out."

"You don't think I was contributing to the corruption of a minor?"

"No," said Keller, with complete conviction.

"You're about the only one. Except my friend Becky."

"You—you didn't see him again?"

"I sure as hell didn't want to go back to jail. Besides, I knew when we started it couldn't last. It was unnatural. I was sixteen years older. But the whole thing nearly killed him. He really did love me...or what passes for love at that age. He wanted us to run away together. Can you imagine?"

Keller could. He remembered his romantic fantasies about the mothers of some of his friends. Pretty, shapely women in their early thirties. He would have gone anywhere they wanted.

"I did speak once with him—by telephone. It was so hard telling him we couldn't see each other anymore. He said he'd wait until he was of legal age. We could get married then, and no one could stop us." She sniffled. "He's eighteen now. Maybe I should have taken him up on the offer."

Keller gave a sympathetic grimace.

"Of course it would have never worked," she said. "Within five years he'd started looking at women his own age, while I was nearing my forties." Again she eyed him hard. "You men are always looking. No matter who you're married to."

Keller didn't voice a defense. She was right, anyway. His married colleagues never failed to sexually comment on any attractive woman.

"Well, even before I left the courthouse I was served with divorce papers. Of course at the hearing he got custody of Linda. He also won on alimony, despite my having no job skills. I dropped out of college to marry him and never did anything but part time work afterward. Plus I got screwed out of a future share of his military pension because of my felony conviction. I did get half the equity in our house, but that was peanuts—a lousy five grand.

"So there I was, thirty-two years old, tossed out of my home, deprived of my child, no income, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown. If it hadn't been for Becky I don't know what I'd done. She helped me get a job at the store she works and let me stay with her until I could get my own place." Paula's eyes blazed. "She was the only one who stood by me. I was a leper to everyone else."

"I regret all that happened to you."

"You do, do you?"

Keller shifted in his chair. His response did sound pretty thin. At least he hadn't said she brought it on herself. She had, to a degree. But the punishment was way out of line.

"I am sorry. You were treated miserably."

"He was such a son of a bitch. It would almost be worth doing time to kill him."

"I—why—I mean, you must have been pretty dissatisfied with him before you and David, uh, started up. Why didn't you file for divorce yourself? You could have probably gotten custody plus some support."

"Because I was weak, am weak. And an idiot. Even after twelve years of his cold shoulder, I thought things were my fault. You talk about a black hole, that's his heart." Her face screwed, and he thought she would start bawling.

She kept her composure. "When I met him—my second year of college, at Ohio State, he was an ROTC instructor there—I was so impressed by his competency and decisiveness that I forgot to look for the compassion. I wanted a strong man, one with lots of self-confidence because I had so little. He just wanted a good looking woman he could handle—I used to be an attractive woman, believe me—and one to bear his children.

"I loved him, I really did. I worked so hard to get his love; I believed it was my fault he didn't. Not till years later did I realize he just didn't have the capacity to love. At least not a grown woman. He's crazy about Linda—our daughter."

Keller wanted to pat her shoulder. But she would probably fling off his hand. "I'm sorry."

"And he cheated on me. Repeatedly. I thought that was my fault too. I wasn't woman enough to satisfy him. I read every sex manual I could get my hands on, quizzed my friends endlessly on how they took care of their men. I tried to talk to him, but he grew colder than ever when I brought up the subject. I just accepted I was a failure as a woman."

Keller shook his head. "The man was a fool."

"I thought myself worthless. He criticized most everything I did. He never struck me, but even that would have been preferable to the coldness." Her eyes glistened. "So many years of coldness. Do you know a person can die on the inside from the coldness?"

Keller didn't know, but he nodded grimly.

"I can tell you're thinking, wow, what a stupid bitch to put up with that for years. Yes, I should have had the guts to ditch him, but I didn't think I was fit for anyone." She sighed. "Except, I suppose, fifteen year old boys."

"I don't see how anyone could blame you for what happened with David."

"Well, they did. It's so incredible. He cheats me silly, and I'm the one that pays for a one time lapse."

"You had no proof of his affairs?"

"Nothing. Really a dumb bitch, no?"

"Of course not. You were trapped in the situation." But Keller couldn't help wonder if she had stayed because something in her required that abuse. Any rational person would have bolted after a year or two. But he was forgetting she did have a daughter. Maybe for the child's sake she wanted to keep an intact family. He didn't know. He, the single man, had successfully avoided messy entanglements like this one.

"I was an idiot!" She shrieked the words. "I wasted away half my life staying with that prick. And I lost the only thing good to come out of it, my daughter. This deal with the watches was the only chance to get her back. Now I won't see her again—ever."

Now Paula did start crying.

Keller bent close, but did not touch her. "You might think this is a crazy idea, but we could go see your daughter. If she's not too far away."

Paula did look at him as if he had taken leave of his senses.

"I mean you could go look at her. We could bike to wherever she is. The bicycles in the Walmart are activated. You of course couldn't communicate, but just to see her again might lift your spirits."

"She's in Kerrville."

"We can do that. Sixty miles is certainly a manageable ride."

Paula said nothing, but the sobs had stopped.

"It's just a suggestion. If we're going to be here forever, it's something we have plenty of time to do. Wouldn't you like to see her again?"

"Oh, God, that might break my heart. I don't think I could stand her being like these people." She gestured at the statues about them.

"Think on it. We can ride to Kerrville in a day. Once you get in shape the trip will be a snap."

Paula groaned. "I want to end this so bad. I can't promise you anything."

"Don't give up the ship, Paula. There's hope we may get out of this. You may someday see your daughter in real time."

"Please leave me alone for awhile."

Keller hesitated, but he left her. If she was going to hit the bottle again, she was going to hit it. He had made his plea. She had to now dig inside and come up with the determination to abstain.

He walked out the front entrance of the store. The faces with which he had become so familiar waited in the parking lot. If Brian were right, they would get ever more familiar, right up to the last day of his life.

Could these people comprehend that two people might be living out their lives at Sam's while they went about a simple errand? That two people moved unseen about them, that decades would roll by for the two in less time than one of their heartbeats? Who would believe, who could believe? It was so preposterous. Except now Keller put odds at fifty-fifty Brian knew of what he spoke.

Keller stopped before a couple that had previously caught his attention. The man and woman were elderly, probably past eighty. The man used a cane and the woman supported him by his other arm. Both had completely white hair.

Once again he inspected their time ravaged faces. Again his eyes took in every hideous detail: the deep lines, the nets of wrinkles, the brown spots, the sunken cheeks, the wattled chins, the parchment complexion. Again he surveyed the outer manifestation of the biochemical poisoning occurring within.

He shuddered. For he saw himself and Paula fifty years hence. If Brian were right the years would pass at Sam's and each day would bring him and Paula closer to resembling this withered couple. Finally the day of equality would arrive; he and Paula would match these two. Then he and Paula would wither some more.

If Brian were right.

**P** aula stayed off the booze. Every day she looked a little better. She ate, not a whole lot, but at least she was getting real food into her system. She even got some exercise as she accompanied him on short bike rides around the immediate area.

She didn't smile much, but he could hardly expect more. The prospect of empty years ahead loomed heavily for him too. He and Paula were going to have to find something to do. He hadn't the faintest idea what, but they would need meaningful activity to get them sanely through the years.

For the moment they must focus on making it through single days. Both Walmart and Sam's offered a large selection of paperbacks and he vowed he would read every one, even the Gothic romances. Both stores also carried entertainment systems and hundreds of CDs and DVDs.

Beyond the stores waited the city. Sequestered in research as he had been the past seven years, Keller really hadn't seen much of San Antonio. When Paula was in better shape he would take her out for longer bikes rides. They would pack a lunch and cycle through areas heavily frequented by tourists...and those areas where no tourist dared venture. They could kill quite a bit of time that way.

He didn't again mention going to Kerrville. He would wait for her to bring it up. When Paula was mentally ready, she would. The ride would be a good minor project, one whose preparation would absorb them for a couple weeks. Later they could consider trips to more distant places.

One day shortly after their tenth week at Sam's Paula approached him while holding something behind her back. He was sitting outside in a lawn chair reading a spy novel. Her mouth was set grimly, her cheeks were blood red, and her eyes flicked on and off him. The thought flashed that the hidden hand grasped a knife, and he straightened in the chair.

Her hand came slowly forward. It held a box, a box of blue colored condoms. She placed them in his lap.

"I think you'll be needing these," she said with lowered eyes. She spun on her heels and went back into the store.

# Chapter 12

**S** leeping with Paula was far different than with Barbara. Sex with Barbara was a thermonuclear explosion, with Paula a warm fireplace. Barbara took him across the universe; Paula only across town. But Paula snuggled up when it was over and Barbara had never done that. Paula seemed to need him and of course Barbara had needed no one.

The days marched on and Paula's health returned to something resembling a normal state. He even got her to occasionally laugh. She began to put effort into keeping herself occupied. She would read determinedly all one day and would bike with him all the next. Once a week or so she lapsed into a crying jag, but she recovered quickly.

They talked a lot, but there were periods when they didn't. At first the silences were uncomfortable for Keller. He felt obligated to keep her engaged. As her spirits improved he realized he could and should leave her alone with her thoughts; even here one needed space.

He was also left alone with his. Surprisingly he found himself ruminating about the aging process. If Brian were right, he couldn't more futilely apply his brainpower. He would never again sit at a lab bench, attend a conference, or submit papers to journals. He was out of that game—if Brian were right.

Still, he ruminated. He could hardly help it. With Paula's mental and physical health on the mend, no other matters pressed him. Well, this imprisonment did, but resolution of that rested in other hands. In this frozen world food and shelter were provided, along with respite from lurking criminals and bumbling bureaucrats.

Never before had he encountered less distraction. Previously his most original scientific thinking occurred during postdoctoral years. He could concentrate primarily on his own research. While a graduate student he was still learning the ropes, and as a lab director he juggled an increasing number of administrative duties. He had thought his post-doc days a gone forever boon, but here his mind enjoyed an order of magnitude greater freedom.

In the liberating quietude he sought renewed insight to that ancient and enigmatic question: why do humans—and all creatures—die? Why does the vigor of youth pass as certainly as the rising and setting of the sun? Why, a thousand times, why?

Keller had come a long way from simpler explanations of aging. The simplest, the "wear and tear" theory, proposed that a creature's body was issued with a limited warranty. The effort of living subjected body parts to constant mechanical stress, which eventually brought them—like in any machine—to the breaking point.

Wear and tear seemed plausible, but that explanation had proved insufficient. Wear and tear should still allow a few creatures to survive far beyond the average lifespan of a species. Most autos didn't make it to 150,000 miles but some lasted 500,000 miles. Similarly, human aging based on mechanical stress should allow a few people to survive past 300 years. Yet the maximum lifespan recorded stood at just over 120 years.

Other researchers took a purely Darwinian approach. They contended that organisms aged due to a lessening of natural selection. When operating at full force, natural selection retained helpful genes and rejected harmful ones. But natural selection operated at full force only long enough to allow organisms to reproduce. After that natural selection lost its protective power. Thus an accumulation of harmful genes was inevitable, and aging along with them.

It was further contended that initially helpful genes could also contribute to aging. A gene essential for growth might produce detrimental side effects. A gene that obtained calcium for bone formation might later cause calcium deposits in blood vessels. Bone formation was obviously essential for the organism to mature and reproduce; it really didn't effect the survival of the species if the elderly died of cardiovascular disease.

Keller had shied from this theory. The theory meant many genes were involved in the aging process. The worst case scenario held that every gene contributed since every gene might eventually produce lethal side effects. If even a quarter of genes contributed to aging, gerontologists would be grappling with a monster. _Homo sapiens_ contained roughly 25,000 genes. To overcome the side effects of 6000 would pose a daunting task.

Because of his background in developmental biology, Keller had favored the theory that an organism's demise was genetically programmed. Each species seemed to possess an inner clock that limited life span; when the alarm rang, the body switched off.

The pioneering work of Leonard Hayflick had convinced Keller the programmed death theory was valid. Hayflick observed that human cells grown in culture divided a fixed number of times, then began to die. The studies also found that cells from young humans divided many more times than those from the elderly. Furthermore, cells from longer living species divided more times than those of shorter living species.

Many gerontologists favored the programmed death theory because it promised a relatively quick victory over aging. Programmed death should require but a handful of genes. To shut down an entire organism, one need throw only a small number of switches. The need to identify just a few genetic switches kept many gerontologists clinging to the theory despite accumulating experimental evidence to the contrary.

Keller had always been able to face facts, no matter where they led. It was becoming clear that a single gene, or set of genes, did not say to an organism: "it's time to die." The Hayflick limit merely reflected the shortening of chromosomes that occurred when a cell divided. In some cells, the stem cells, the enzyme telomerase could overcome this shortening. And healthy stem cells could replenish the regular cells—muscle, kidney, liver—that died upon reaching the Hayflick limit.

But stem cells died too. Or they deteriorated and produced defective replacement cells. Either caused organs to degenerate. It was dawning on gerontologists that stem cells played a major role in the aging process. The question arose, of course, why did stem cells themselves turn defective?

For several years now Keller embraced the argument that the fate of stem cells was tied to their mitochondria. These organelles—derived from bacteria that invaded cells over a billion years ago—produced energy for the cell. These power plants also produced scads of destructive free radials.

Evolution had moved most mitochondrial DNA to the cell's nucleus, far from the barrage of free radials. The remaining DNA—at ground zero—could not escape the relentless hammering. Eventually the mitochondria buckled and could no longer provide sufficient power. And the host cell buckled soon afterward.

It was the viability of this DNA, thirty-seven critical genes in humans, that Keller believed determined lifespan. When these genes went down in a stem cell, humans died a fraction. The fractional destruction accelerated as time went by. Until enough accumulated to bring the whole structure down.

Tim Case, who shared Keller's view, joked that if Bill Clinton had been a gerontologist he would have said: "it's the mitochondria, stupid." So right. The little buggers, one thousandth the size of their host cell, were the key to it all.

" **W** hat on earth are you doing?" Paula asked one morning after waking from a late sleep.

Keller was bent over a checkout counter. On the counter he had unrolled a couple yards of heavy duty aluminum foil. His right hand held a nail.

He smiled. "I can write on this and it will last forever."

During the past week a new approach for assessing mitochrondrial genes in _Drosophila_ had popped into his head. After a burst of excitement, he realized a new approach counted for naught if he couldn't transmit it to Tim and John. If he were trapped in a time differential he couldn't record his ideas with paper and ink; they would not survive the perhaps millions of years separating him from his post-docs. He couldn't count on a digital recording to last either.

"Aluminum is impervious to oxidation and to microbes," he explained. "It won't decay. I'm also making sure I scratch the surface, not just indent it. The marking should last just like inscriptions in stone." He beamed at Paula. "This means my career isn't over. I can still make contributions."

She kissed him. "I'm glad for you."

He kissed her back. "Let me get down some suggested experiments before breakfast. After we eat, we'll go over to my lab. If it's okay with you."

"Sure. You finish while I get breakfast."

Keller returned to work with the nail. As he scratched, he remembered that Churchill had said that genius meant the ability to totally concentrate. Not that he displayed any genius, but his mind was definitely employing all cylinders. The background static generated by the burdens of everyday living no longer cluttered his neuronal pathways. Now insights appeared with almost frightening regularity.

Over breakfast he tried to explain to Paula what he was suggesting to Tim and John. He quickly lost her. She knew about _Drosophila melanogaster_ , having taken a year of biology at Ohio State, but the genetics of senescence were beyond her.

He couldn't blame Paula for that, but again he pondered the differences in intelligence among the four contestants. He supposed the researchers had intended a rough equivalence between the original teams. Pair a life science professional with a college dropout. The teams would hopefully compete on an even basis.

Barbara, however, greatly outshone Paula. Barbara could have attained any advanced degree she sought; Paula would have likely struggled to get a baccalaureate degree. No one would call Paula bright or quick. She possessed somewhat above average intelligence, nothing more. Could they have intended that much disparity?

He also wondered why Gomperz and his colleagues chose life science professionals who dealt extensively with the biology of aging. Paula had certainly piqued his curiosity when she told him Brain specialized in geriatrics. Brian was of course confined to the clinical rather than research aspect of aging, but Keller couldn't dismiss as coincidence the similarity of their fields. The researchers intended something by that.

Well, it was moot now. He was stuck at Sam's, and Brian would soon step on the final square. Maybe the present situation did prove the legitimacy of the original pairings. Keller and Paula had proved the weaker component on each team.

They let their breakfast settle, then cycled the two miles to the Health Science Center. At the Center they circled the complex in search of an entryway. On the trip over that had worried Keller, whether they would find all doors to the Center closed. After lunch hour there would be a minimal level of movement in and out of the building.

At the loading dock by General Stores they saw a man wheeling boxes from the dock into the ground floor level. They parked their bikes. With aluminum foil scroll in hand, Keller lifted his eyes to the ribbon of third floor windows. He prayed they would find passage to his lab.

They entered the building. Immediately his eye caught a wall clock. It read 1:11 p.m. Only two hours had passed since he left the Center—four months ago.

Probably no one had yet missed him. They probably wouldn't until he failed to show for the three-thirty committee meeting. He could imagine how it would go. Petersen would call the lab; the lab would say they hadn't seen Keller since ten-thirty and someone would check his office. That person would find the office empty.

Tim and Jason, with Keller's behavior of the day before fresh, would be immediately concerned. They would search around the Center, then go to his home. There they would find no sign of him. They would likely contact the police when he didn't turn up by the end of the day.

After 24 or 48 hours, he didn't know which, he would officially become a missing person. The police would find nothing missing from the townhouse—well, just the clothes Barbara took, and how would they know the clothes were removed? He didn't post an inventory. Further investigation would reveal nothing withdrawn from his checking or savings accounts.

The police would eventually locate his car, in the driveway of Barbara's house. How would she explain that? But Barbara of course would move the car, park it at one of the shopping centers around Bitters and 281. She would have to hope no one had noticed his car at the house. Fortunately for her, the car had sat there almost entirely in frozen time. And she could drive it away in frozen time also.

So that's all the trace they would find of him—his car in some parking lot. Nothing else. He'd vanish from the earth—in the middle of the day—just like Jimmy Hoffa. And by the time the clock ticked 1:12 he'd be as dead as Hoffa.

On second thought, a ghoulish thought, trace of him and Paula might remain. If their bones lasted, their skeletons would appear at 1:12 on the concrete floor of Sam's. What a commotion that would cause, bones and skulls popping out of thin air. People would scatter screaming in all directions.

From dental records the police could identify them. But no one—except the researchers and Barbara and Brian—could explain the supernatural appearance of their remains. It would make the local news, probably the national news too. Conspiracy theories would abound.

Of course, even their bones might disintegrate after a thousand or two millennia. Then he and Paula truly would leave this world undetected.

Keller tried to shake the somber thoughts as they sought a way to the third floor. It took them half an hour to negotiate passage. The worst obstacle lay between the second and third floors, where they had to squeeze through the gap of a closing door. In the entire complex that portal offered the only link between the two floors.

As they advanced through the windowless maze of hallways of the third floor, Paula wondered aloud how anybody could find their way around. He was about to comment when he spotted someone he knew. By the elevator near the Physiology wing stood a student and Mike Edwards. The two were sharing a laugh.

His throat constricted. Before this moment he had been separated from his colleagues only in the abstract. Seeing Mike frozen drove home the reality of the situation. He would never again speak to this witty and energetic man. When the sun came up tomorrow, Keller would have long since departed Mike's world.

Keller reminded himself he mustn't lose hope. This frozen world could still exist because of hypnotic delusion. He must not fully accept the black hole hypothesis until he received inconvertible proof.

Only their footfalls sounded in the corridor as they approached Keller's lab. In the long hallway he ran into more familiar faces. How badly he wanted to greet everyone; he had to restrain from embracing the statues.

Then they stood before his lab. He paused for several seconds before entering. Paula didn't query; she seemed to understand the difficulty of the encounter that waited inside.

He stepped into the lab, now brilliantly lit by early afternoon sunlight. He kept tight grip on his emotions as his eyes fell on his people. He even allowed himself a smile as he saw everyone was hard at work. Other labs might slacken when the principal investigator exited. Not here. People had always produced for him.

He placed the aluminum foil scroll on Tim's desk. Tim was at his bench station only a couple yards away, preparing an agarose gel. He wondered what Tim would make of the foil and its inscriptions. Undoubtedly this bizarre means of communication would stupefy him. Nevertheless Keller felt he could trust Tim to later carefully evaluate the scroll contents—and act upon them.

Keller then "introduced" Paula to the lab members. As his people remained silent he commented on the strengths and weaknesses of each. Of course the pluses considerably outweighed the negatives. He had assembled a fine team. Which would now have to disband; there would be no other option after his disappearance.

To mask his plummeting spirits he launched into describing the organizational setup of the lab. Basically people worked on either the developmental or aging grants. Tim headed aging research; Jason development. Both used the fruit fly as their experimental organism, although Keller said he had recently submitted a grant proposal targeting zebrafish.

Paula asked why use zebrafish. Keller explained that on the plus side fruit flies had a short lifespan, much was known about their genetics, and they could take a lot of punishment. But they were insects, which had diverged long ago from the evolutionary branch leading to Homo sapiens. It was unlikely similar paths of aging existed in such radically different species. On the other hand, zebrafish were fellow vertebrates. Learn why they aged and one probably had found the reason for man. Unfortunately, he said, zebrafish were far more complex organisms than insects.

Keller watched to see if Paula followed his explanation. She seemed to be. Then she surprised him with a cynical smile.

"Sounds like you have a built in excuse."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on. This is a rerun of what you people do with cancer research. Ask for gobs of money, and at the same time say how difficult it'll be finding a solution. A sure fire way to keep the money rolling in."

"That's a ridiculous insinuation."

"Is it? They've put billions into cancer research, what, ever since Nixon was in office? Every year they announce some breakthrough, some new therapy, but all I know is hundreds of thousands of people still die from cancer. With aging it'll be the same. Promise results in five years, then say progress has been made but we're not quite there, please fund this new study. Nobody wants to die of cancer or get old, so people will swallow their disappointment and ante up."

"You're way off base, Paula." His hackles rose. Integrity lay at the heart of the scientific method, and for Paula to suggest he and his colleagues would play loose with the facts stung. Cases like the cold fusion fiasco were the gross exceptions.

"Oh, I don't blame you people," she said. "You're fighting for government money like everyone else, and good does eventually come out of your research. I just wish you'd cut the con."

Keller stiffened. "The finest men and women I've met are in the scientific field. We have a very strong sense of ethics. We are not of the same cloth as politicians and auto salesmen."

"Don't have a cow, Peter. I'm sure you guys are very dedicated. It just takes you forever to deliver."

"In our field only an idiot would promise results by a specific date. If anything, we are pathologically conservative. It's the press that often sensationalizes our preliminary findings."

Paula smiled. "Well, whatever."

"No, listen. You talk about cancer research. In 1970 we knew almost nothing about the mechanisms of the disease. There were a lot of theories and hunches, but cancer was as mysterious as aging is now. But we had to start somewhere. Today we know many of the molecular details about cancer. With those details and what we've learned in other research, especially immunology, we're devising therapies that specifically attack cancer cells. The days are numbered for what one of my friends calls the 'carpet bombing' techniques of radiation and chemotherapy that make patients wish they were already dead. I can't promise next decade we'll have the definitive cure for cancer, but we _are_ getting close."

"I hope so. My mother's side of the family has cancer way back."

"Like I said, aging research now is where cancer was forty years ago. Lots of hunches, but no one truly knows why we die. But we are doing good, solid research. The field no longer has that charlatan air hanging over it." He took a deep breath. "I going to tell you something I would never mention to my colleagues. My private hope is that I, we, anybody, will extend the human lifespan fifteen to twenty years, and more importantly, that this happens before I reach sixty. If they do, I'll have a good chance of living in a good state of health into my nineties.

"If I reach my nineties in salvageable condition, there is excellent chance by then research will have extended lifespan another decade or two. That means I could survive to 120 and beyond. And by then, eighty years from now, my future as yet unborn colleagues will likely solve a good part of the aging puzzle." Keller still thought it would take a couple centuries to completely defeat aging, but every tad gerontologists slowed the process would give him another year to hang on.

Paula looked at him dubiously.

"Yes," he said, "you think it's more con. But what I say is possible, even probable. In two hundred years aging will be regarded as a horrible affliction—which struck down other people in other times, just like we now shake our heads at the scourges of smallpox and bubonic plague. But for me to get to age 500 I need this first extension of twenty years. Otherwise I miss the boat. So the next four decades of aging research are the most critical—from my standpoint. I have to make the boat."

"I'd like to make it too. But I'm not betting on it."

"At least we have a chance, Paula. All humanity before us didn't. Every human born was doomed."

Paula turned bitter eyes on him, eyes he hadn't seen since their first weeks together. "We are doomed."

"We are not. Not absolutely."

"You believe what you want."

He didn't press the issue. In a way it was better she had given up hope of rescue. Through much suffering she had accepted the prospect. Vacillation between hope and despair would likely send her back into alcoholic hell.

Keller talked more about his research plans, especially his goal of someday travelling to Africa to study an animal called the naked rat mole. The naked rat mole mimicked the social insects in lifestyle, including domination by a "queen" that bore all the colony's offspring. Keller wanted to investigate why this matriarch lived several times longer than others in the colony, as did the queens for ants and wasps.

As he spoke he saw Paula's spirits hadn't lifted at all. But the bitterness was gone. Instead a soft sadness permeated her face. The sadness, he realized, was not self directed. She grieved for him. She grieved that he would never get back, never study naked rat moles, never get his life extended.

She squeezed his hand.

Keller fought the impulse to fling off her fingers. He didn't want her quitter's sympathy. That was a cruel thought, but this woman had no fight in her. No wonder she had submitted to all those years of degradation.

He forced a wane smile. "Well, those were my plans. I think we'd better go. This place is getting on my nerves."

Paula said nothing. He detected a sniffle as they left the lab. He hoped she wasn't on the brink of another sob session.

She refrained from tears as they wended their way back to the bicycles. She maintained her silence. He remarked on how he would return to the lab from time to time with further suggestions. He said he wished the lab was activated, but he could settle for performing thought experiments. He tried to joke that such experiments were good enough for him if they had been good enough for Einstein.

Paula remained in a funk as they returned to the outside. He didn't know whether her gloom was inspired by the general situation—or by his belittling thoughts in the lab. She may have sensed them.

Before they reached the bikes he stopped and embraced her. He didn't apologize or murmur words of comfort, but she clung tightly nonetheless. He did stroke her hair. As he held her, he was discomfited as usual that her head poked above his a couple inches.

They cycled from the complex. Both agreed they didn't want to immediately return to Sam's. They decided to take Fredericksburg Road to Huebner and ride out to Churchill Estates. They'd survey the fancy homes there and hopefully work up a good appetite.

The ride along Fredericksburg Road presented no problem, nor did the first half mile on Huebner, but when they crossed the railway tracks on Huebner a long, steep upgrade confronted them. They dropped to their easiest gear and still the climb made for an ordeal. He waited for Paula to plead they halt and walk; instead it was him who cried uncle as they neared the crest.

The crest coincided with the intersection of Huebner and Lockhill-Selma. From the intersection they stared at the southern fringes of the Hill Country as they panted several minutes. Again Keller marveled as Paula's heavy breathing ceased before his. Don't tell him another woman was going to outperform him physically.

When Keller's breathing eased he swilled some diluted Gatorade. After wiping sweat from his eyes, he readied to remount the bicycle.

Paula stopped him with a shrill cry of "Look!"

She was pointing across the intersection, at a Shop N Buy convenience store. Keller couldn't imagine what had caused her eyes to bug, but suddenly she was off and running. Her abandoned bike toppled to the pavement.

Paula sprinted across the five lanes of the intersection, then abruptly stopped at a blue car beside one of the store's gas pumps. His puzzlement grew as she grabbed a man bent over his trunk and started shouting at him.

Must be someone she knew, Keller thought. Though what on earth did she think she was going to accomplish tugging and yelling at a frozen being like that? Keller shuddered at how much unthinking emotion ruled this woman.

Keller got halfway across the intersection when he saw the man under Paula's assault was none other than Ben Gomperz.

# Chapter 13

**P** aula had ceased her histrionics by the time Keller reached the gas pumps. She now bent alongside Gomperz over the back of his cobalt blue Lexis. Gomperz, with cell phone held to an ear, had been in the act of writing something on a business card. Paula's head craned a foot above the pen and little rectangle of paper.

Keller saw the beefy, mustachioed man still wore his "Don't Mess With Texas" cap. For an instant Keller wanted to grab the man too. He'd like better taking a baseball bat to the jerk thug, the front man for the insidious perpetrators of this ordeal.

"Look," said Paula again.

Keller's head pushed beside hers and he read what Gomperz had printed: "PSK-PVK: W@1316-50; GM, 1/GM,". After the "1/GM," the pen was inking another character, only fractionally complete.

An icy chill gripped as Keller fixed on the "G" letters. He barely heard Paula's exclamation.

"PSK-PVK! That's our initials. He was writing us a message."

"It appears so." Keller spoke leadenly.

"Maybe he and the others learned what Brian and Barbara did and he's telling us what to do."

Keller stepped back. A steel vise threatened to crush his rib cage. He staggered to the pump and sat down.

Paula was immediately beside him, her voice anguished and hands probing. He assured he wasn't having a heart attack.

Would that he had.

It took a minute before he could get out what had floored him. He debated not sharing his revelation, but then she already accepted their fate. The "inconvertible proof" Keller had demanded would shake her far less than it was shaking him.

"What Gomperz has written there," he croaked, "it's very bad news. The 'G' especially. It has to stand for Newton's gravitational constant. The 'M' probably stands for mass."

"What's so bad about that?"

"Gomperz is trying to tell us something about gravity. Which means the watches do contain a gravitational field; he wouldn't refer to the constant otherwise." He drew a deep breath. "So Brian's theory is correct. No one is going to snap their fingers and get us out of a hypnotic spell."

"I'm sorry, Peter. I know how much you wanted to believe that."

He straightened a little. "At least now I know. No more doubt to torment me."

"Can you make out anything more?"

"Not really."

"Come on, Peter. If our situation is hopeless, why would he try to give us a message?"

"I don't know. Maybe the message would be useful if completed. But he was cut off when Barbara put us into frozen time."

It appeared Gomperz was writing an equation of some sort. But Gomperz should know Keller wasn't familiar with the mathematics of general relativity—or even those of Newton's far less complicated theory of gravity.

He sighed wearily. "I can't make heads of tails of what he wrote. There's just not enough of it."

"But he thought he could help us," said Paula. "Why else would he have stopped in the middle of pumping gas and started writing? He wasn't giving us a goodbye message."

"He should have."

"That's the spirit, Peter." Her lips curled in disgust.

What was this, Miss Waterworks getting on him for feeling depressed? Sorry, but he'd just received confirmation of his death sentence. But she needn't worry; he wasn't going to prematurely carry out sentence by rope, razor, or the bottle.

He could get lucky, though, and have that coronary.

**T** wo weeks after encountering Gomperz, they took the trip to Kerrville. They cycled from San Antonio on Interstate 10 West. By now Paula was in good physical condition and Keller didn't think the 120 mile round trip would overly tax her constitution.

The weeks of cycling around town—combined with proper diet—had taken ten years off her appearance. Color had blossomed on her cheeks, the crow's feet had receded around her eyes, and her rusty hair had gained luster. She had put meat on her body, too. While she was still too slender for his taste, her skin thankfully no longer stretched taut over bones. The cycling had especially benefited her legs; they were acquiring a fine shape.

During the past week he found himself actually excited when the time came to make love. Previously the activity served mainly to relieve biological pressure. He had almost come to regard sex with Paula as a chore.

Even with Paula's femininity restored, she could not evoke his full passion. The reason of course was spelled Barbara Michelle Jackson. Four months ago—or two hours ago, however one wanted to look at it—he would have begged to mate with a woman like Paula. If as a pretty a woman had tossed a condom in his lap and said follow me, he wouldn't have believed his good fortune. But Barbara had spoiled him for anyone else.

The contrast between Barbara and Paula would gnaw all the days of exile ahead. But he must always remember that the contrast was in no way Paula's fault. And if he pined for a more glamorous partner think how short he fell of Paula's ideal man. She accepted him, he must accept her.

Anyway, which woman made the more preferable sexual partner wasn't the problem. He doubted even Barbara's presence would lessen the wrenching despair that had enveloped him. Since the day he and Paula stumbled on Gomperz a barbed wire snake had invaded his guts. From the time Keller woke till he slept the snake yanked its barbs.

Paula had come to grips with the fact she wasn't going back. Would he? He had thought her weak, almost corrupt, for her frantic embrace of alcohol. Now he didn't blame her at all. He might convince himself that thought experiments and aluminum foil inscriptions were useful, but he really had nothing to live for.

Prior to encountering Gomperz he'd had a safety valve, that hypnosis and virtual reality better explained his predicament than a black hole—even if the odds kept dropping as the days turned into months. The possibility of parole existed. When he went to bed, he knew he might wake in the real world. The door to escape remained cracked.

Gomperz had slammed the door shut. Keller was hermetically sealed in this alien world and no one could get him out. Ten, even twenty years of imprisonment here he could deal with. Deal with bitterly and with rage, but the distant day of release would sustain him. The absolute hopelessness of his position was what sapped his will. That hopelessness had driven Paula near death, and Keller found himself the past week fantasizing about a sleeping pill overdose.

Sweet temptation aside, he wouldn't kill himself. He would deserve a fate worse than this banishment if he left Paula alone. If she ever died he would by his own hand swiftly follow, but now he would have to live.

As they cycled side by side Keller strove to keep his attention on the rolling countryside slipping past. They had entered the Hill Country, but the Interstate was gently enough graded not to cause undo exertion on upslopes. Occasionally the highway slashed through a hill, revealing stacked slabs of chalky limestone.

Texans boasted of the beauty of the Hill Country, but Keller had spent too much time near the Blue Ridge Mountains to be enchanted. Still, on a brilliantly lit day like today, with the stunted trees and brush lushly green from record rains, the terrain did not lack for charm. The carpet of orange and yellow wildflowers in scattered meadows especially drew his eye.

They were making good time. Pausing occasionally for water, or to take in a striking vista, they maintained a pace of eight miles an hour. Twenty miles into the trip and Paula hadn't slackened yet. For Keller's part, both his lungs and legs showed no sign of fatigue. The exercise must have released a fair amount of endorphins into his blood stream, for his spirits had improved considerably.

They stopped for lunch, then cycled the final fifteen miles into Kerrville. Paula's ex was among the many military retirees living in the pleasant community of twenty thousand souls. While stationed at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, the ex had brought several acres of land in Kerrville and contracted to have a house built.

Paula said she had looked forward to life in Kerrville. It was a safe, conservative community, and would be a good place for Linda to grow up. She had also hoped that the stability of a permanent residence, combined with cessation of career pressure on her husband, would salvage their marriage.

Once in town they cycled to Linda's elementary school. They walked around the wings of the one story brick building, peering into each classroom. When Paula let out a moan Keller knew they had found her daughter. Keller could easily tell which of the sixth graders was Linda. The child was a near dead ringer of her mother.

Eerily the child with the elongated face and ruddy locks looked right at them. Of course Linda the bored student was just staring out the window, but the eye contact still gave Keller goose bumps. He could imagine its effect on Paula.

Well, he didn't have to imagine. Paula crushed against the window and half sobbed, half hyperventilated. Blubbered repetitions of "my baby, my darling" resounded. Paula had vowed to keep rein on her emotions, promising that she was reconciled to loss of her daughter.

Keller of course hadn't bought a word of it. Paula was Paula, and calm logic would never guide her. Paula's emotional excesses usually repelled him, but this time he choked up himself. What horrible torture for her, to stand only feet away from the person she loved most, and that person utterly inaccessible.

He pulled Paula to him. Paula completely let loose, tears drenching Keller's shoulder. His fellow exile cried and cried. They ended sitting with her head buried in his chest. He murmured what words of comfort he could, and reflected it had been a birdbrain idea to come to Kerrville. Paula would find no solace here.

"I'm so sorry. I know you must miss her."

Paula's tear glistened face lifted from his chest. "She hates me."

"No, no..."

"She won't mind me being gone."

"Deep down she loves you, I'm sure."

"She thinks I'm evil. From what her father told her about David and me."

"She'll understand someday, Paula."

"I've tried to explain to her. You should see the looks she gives me. Like I'm dirty, filth. My own daughter!"

Keller remembered how Barbara said she hated her mother when growing up. That had changed dramatically.

"Your daughter will see the light. You love her, and she knows that in her soul. Which will someday overpower all the lies. I promise you that."

Paula desperately searched his eyes for conviction. She found it and squeezed tightly against him. He hugged back.

She straightened and blew her nose. Then she said softly, "Linda and I had problems before David. We fought a lot."

"What mother and daughter don't?"

"From the time the daughter's two years old?"

"Was she hyperactive or something?"

"She was spoiled big time, by that son of a bitch. Linda was Daddy's girl from the time go. I was the one who had to impose the discipline. And he never backed me. Linda learned fast how to play us against each other, and she always won."

"I'm surprised a military man wouldn't clamp down on her."

"Linda instinctively knew how to stroke him. His ego ate it up. So I always had to be the heavy. I was trying to raise her properly, keep her from becoming the selfish little bitch she is now."

"You have nothing to blame yourself for. You were doing your duty as a parent. He wasn't."

"He made things worse the way he put me down in front of her. He didn't treat me with respect, so she didn't."

Keller shook his head.

Paula gave a little cry. "You wonder how you could have been so stupid. I mean marrying him. To not see him as he really was. Why don't men like him come with a warning label like cigarettes?"

"Would you have really gone back to him? If you'd won this contest?"

"Yes." She spit the word out. "I'd have him by the balls. He'd do whatever I said. I—I could even order him to love me." Paula's voice broke at that declaration.

"Wouldn't it be better to just take your daughter and move on?"

"I thought of that. But these days there are enough broken families. I want Linda to grow up with her mother and father in the same house."

Keller bit his lip. Of the four contestants, only Paula had not sought victory for self gain. She alone had thought "small". She just wanted a proper home for her daughter.

Paula rose and stared at Linda a long time. Keller couldn't bear the sorrow on her face and he turned away. He wished Barbara were here to see this. Maybe then she would appreciate the full enormity of her crime. Keller only half believed in a wrathful deity and the eventual settling of accounts, but this scene made him yearn for full faith.

On the trip back to San Antonio Keller asked Paula if she would consider a bike journey to Virginia. Her red stained eyes widened.

He said he had mulled the idea a week now; he wanted to deliver an aluminum foil message to his parents in Reston, telling what happened to him. Undoubtedly standing only feet away from his parents would tear him apart like Linda had Paula, but he owed them a final word. His disappearance would cause grief enough.

"How could you explain this?" Paula's hand swept at the frozen world. "It's not believable."

She had a point. He would have to invent something plausible, not in the realm of the paranormal. Still, he would go. He wanted to lay eyes on them again. With luck he wouldn't have to peer through a window, either. This time of year his dad should be outside preparing his garden.

Before Keller could say more, Paula said: "I'll go."

For the first time Keller wanted to hug and kiss Paula out of affection. Here he was proposing a fifteen hundred mile journey on bicycle, one which would prove arduous and perhaps risky. And she simply said she would go with him. Well, he owed her one. He owed her a dozen.

Maybe she felt so too, because she in turn caused his eyes to widen as she forwarded her own proposition. She wanted a baby.

"I know it sounds crazy," she said. "But it would make our lives so much fuller."

Keller couldn't have been more surprised if she'd asked if they could paint themselves green. What was she thinking? In the first place they had no medical facilities, and second this frozen land was the last place into which to bring a child.

"It's too dangerous. I know nothing about delivery. If anything went wrong, you'd be dead."

"I've been through delivery. The first one's supposed to be the worst, and that took me only four hours. The doctor said I was a natural at giving birth."

"It'd be a terrible gamble, nonetheless."

"I don't think so."

She looked determined. She wanted a replacement for Linda. He realized he had absolutely no way to stop her from getting pregnant, short of abstinence. She could put a pinhole in one of the condoms and that would be that.

"Paula, say you did have the child. Without complication. You're not looking ahead to consider the child's welfare. They'd have absolutely no future here."

"In many ways here is better than back in the real world. No drugs or bad influences. And without us having jobs we could devote our lives to them."

Them? Sounded like she was planning a brood. He better drill home exactly why children were out of the question.

"We don't have the right to create a family. It would be pure selfishness. Sure we don't lack for material resources, we've got food and clothing enough for twenty generations. But have you thought what we'll condemn them to, aside from life in this sterile world? You said you took a year of biology in college; well, do you remember the terms F1 and F2 generations?"

Paula vigorously shook her head, although she probably had an inkling. Her lower lip stuck out.

"Our children would be the F1 generation," said Keller. "Our gene combinations would pose them no threat. Their children are the F2 generation. The odds are 50-50 that every bad recessive gene you and I carry will end up in double strength in our grandchildren. Our children will give birth to retards, cripples, and plain monsters. I know how empty this world is, but that's not the way to remedy the situation."

Paula's face twisted and she cycled furiously. She sprinted fifty yards ahead.

He let her go. He hoped his argument would sink in, sink deeply. Paula was a decent person. Once her disappointment subsided she would probably accept his conclusion and refrain from pregnancy. She would make this sacrifice to spare others pain down the line.

Keller sighed. Children would have indeed made their lives much richer. A couple of sons and a couple of daughters would banish much of the bleakness of this lonely world.

**I** n the weeks that followed he and Paula threw themselves into preparations for the Virginia odyssey. He calculated the entire project would take at least three years. He planned to establish supply points every twenty-five miles along the route. Twenty-five miles was a short enough distance to walk, which would be necessary if their bikes broke down.

To cycle fifteen hundred miles wasn't the problem. They were both in excellent condition now and could cycle fifty to seventy miles a day. Fifty miles daily would get them to Reston in five weeks, even with every seventh day off. At a more leisurely pace they could still complete the round trip in three months.

The logistics, however, were another matter. He and Paula resembled astronauts in that they would sever ties with earth after liftoff from Sam's. The grocery stores and restaurants passed en route could provide no sustenance. He and Paula would have to transport from Sam's every gram of food and water consumed along the route.

They would need a lot of grams. With baskets and backpacks each biker could carry about one hundred pounds of supplies. Long distance cycling required heavy consumption of calories and fluids; Keller estimated that a hundred pounds of food and water would take a biker three hundred miles. So the three thousand mile round trip meant each of them needed a thousand pounds.

Keller blanched when he realized the half ton requirement assumed food and water already waited down range. But nothing was yet in place. Not a single supply point existed.

To get to New Orleans, about a third of the distance, would take dozens of lesser roundtrips to establish the supply points. Keller developed algorithms that let him compute the total miles and poundage required to reach Reston. He arrived at the staggering totals of 35,000 miles and twenty tons of supplies.

It took a lengthily explanation for Paula to understand the mathematical constraints they faced. But she did. She understood so well, in fact, she made the simple suggestion he should have thought of immediately: make the bikes into a truck so they could carry more than a hundred pounds per person.

They designed a composite vehicle, with bikes embedded in the front, and the truck platform on four wheels behind. They found they could carry six hundred pounds on level ground without straining themselves. The weight cut their average speed to five miles per hour, but they could live with that.

With the bike truck operational they planned the journey in earnest. They would establish major supply points every two hundred miles, but they would also provision minor ones every twenty-five miles. Each two hundred miles they would leave a ten speed bike. Each six hundred miles they would stock a double supply of goods as a safety cushion; the further they got from Sam's the more they were exposed to disaster. They must prepare to weather injury or illness no matter their location.

As they gathered supplies for their first trip, one that would take them to the outskirts of Houston, a seed in Keller's subconscious finally bloomed. Perhaps it provided the real drive behind his determination to go to Virginia. He didn't breathe a word of his hunch to Paula, though, as he suspected his brain was trying to toss him a phantom life preserver. He would not set Paula up for dashed hopes.

He better watch his own mental health. He was gradually accepting his fate. Depression still plagued, but the snake had left his bowels. Keller didn't want it back, which might happen if he embraced the hunch too fervently.

At various times since encountering Gomperz he had reflected on the incomplete message. Try as he might, it sparked had nothing. But lately he began to wonder about the term "1/GM". It was of course well known that the strength of a gravitational field diminished by the square as the distance between two objects increased. Had Gomperz had been trying to tell them that the gravitational field generated by the watch also diminished with distance? The numbers before the term, did they refer to the distance at which this occurred?

The numbers were 1316 dash 50. Did that mean the field ceased its effect beyond thirteen hundred sixteen plus or minus fifty kilometers? Keller wanted badly to believe, but why hadn't Gomperz just spelled it out? Why did the bastard resort to a cryptic message, when Keller and Paula's lives hung in the balance? Gomperz could have scribbled "Go to Atlanta" in the time it took to write the other stuff. They damn well would have gone.

That's why he didn't mention his hunch to Paula. Why build hope that the field would lessen the further they got from San Antonio? He certainly hadn't noticed any effect in Kerrville. If something happened at the thirteen hundred kilometer mark or even at Houston, great; if not, Paula would be none the wiser.

They reached Houston after ten days of conservative cycling. They established their first major depot where Interstate 10 intersected the Loop Freeway, five miles from the center of the city. The downtown skyscrapers, much more numerous than those of San Antonio, stood like a bulwark against the cloudless eastern horizon.

The last ten miles of the trip they had encountered thick traffic on the interstate, but the shoulder allowed the bike truck to slip by. Keller realized they would eventually run into a complete blockage that included the shoulder. He just hoped it never happened on a bridge.

Despite covering only twenty miles a day, they found themselves whipped. Despite relatively flat terrain, and a descent from nine hundred feet elevation to sea level, lugging all that cargo had drained them. Neither of them were natural athletes. They rested two days, although on the second day Keller felt worse than ever. He didn't even want to eat. He wondered if their bodies would hold up through the thousands of miles cycling ahead.

The third day their strength returned—somewhat—and they began the return journey. The bike truck rolled a lot easier weighing a quarter ton less. They made good time and pushed ten miles past the Colorado River before halting for the night. They set up camp just off the Interstate, on a moderate overlook above empty plains.

They ate a hearty dinner made from freeze dried stew, talked awhile, then turned in. Paula came to bed undressed and Keller surprisingly found himself inflamed. They hadn't made love since the third day out from San Antonio; each evening they were too exhausted, even during the rest at Houston. He had begun to wonder if the cycling would permanently impair his drive. Keller gave thanks his body hummed with desire.

Afterwards they lay happily spent. She cuddled close, and just before she drifted off, she murmured "I love you". Keller's own descent into blissful sleep halted. He waited until her breathing signaled she was fast asleep, then he rose.

He stood looking at her. A gentle smile curved on her lips.

She had never before spoken those words. It was evident she was fond of him, cared greatly about his mental and physical welfare. But loved him? He didn't think so.

Even if she did, this love was born of contingency. They were marooned on a desert island; for Paula no other male option existed. It therefore might not be hard to convince herself she had fallen for Peter Keller. Women seemingly needed to devote themselves to a man, and here only he could fill the bill.

He knew he didn't love her. He liked her, now respected her. That however didn't translate into adoration. He wished it did. Loving a mate could bring purpose to this purposeless world.

Keller sighed and strolled away. He walked to the crest of the overlook and gazed out upon Texas. The land, usually dun, lay before him as intensely green as Virginia. Virginia however never stretched about him with such vastness. Once again he sensed the Lone Star State reducing him to insignificance. He wondered if the battle to overcome that sense was why Texas had produced so many larger than life men.

He returned to the interstate and walked slowly westward. The sun which did not cast his shadow still hung where it had for six months, in the azure sky that stretched forever.

During the two days in Houston he had watched if existing shadows did move. Any movement meant time was unfreezing the further they got from San Antonio. While Paula slept he had marked the tip of a shadow cast by a lamppost. Unfortunately with the sun high in the sky, the shadow stretched only five yards. Those two days he couldn't detect movement.

Next time in Houston he would monitor the shadow of a skyscraper. Whereas the lamppost shadow might move an undetectable micrometer, that of the skyscraper might shift a millimeter or two. A millimeter he could discern.

He walked on, until he had put a good mile between himself and the campsite. He finally halted before a tractor-trailer. He looked up at the cab, where a bald driver with large jowls ignored Keller and watched the road ahead.

Keller approached within inches of the bug splattered grill. Ruefully he shook his head. Yes, now he could stand in front of the beast of a vehicle without flinching. When it didn't matter. How maliciously ironic. He sincerely doubted Barbara would have betrayed him if he had displayed the proper mettle before the oil-rig.

Come now, what was the matter with him? You didn't throw someone into oblivion because they couldn't sexually perform. Barbara had de facto killed him. Killed Paula, too, who wasn't a member of the hated male race.

Keller had debated leaving an aluminum foil statement with the police naming Barbara and Brian as responsible for his disappearance. But Barbara and Brian would of course plead ignorance. Moreover no physical evidence linked them to Keller and Paula. They would go scot free.

Perhaps. Barbara and Brian had forgot one thing. Keller was still alive. Nanoseconds alive in terms of their life, but fifty or more years in terms of his. Barbara thought she was safe because of his entrapment in frozen time. She figured even if Keller stumbled across her—like he had Gomperz—he couldn't harm her even by whacking away with a pickaxe.

She figured wrong. If he did find her, he would return to Sam's and fetch a roll of steel wire. He would place a noose from one end around her neck and tie the other end to a car bumper. He would select a car moving at a good rate of speed. In Barbara's time, the wire would instantly decapitate.

Keller grimaced. Would he really do that? Thought of her lovely head flying sickened rather than satisfied him. Perhaps that demonstrated weakness, that he couldn't kill his killer. The killer who had given him such ecstasy.

Barbara. Would her memory ever stop tormenting? He couldn't keep her out of his dreams or conscious thought. He had loved her, he had hated her, now he just wanted to forget the malignant woman. She wasn't fading, though. Inside him Barbara Jackson burned more fiercely than ever. The heat blistered.

Keller walked on along the silent highway.

**T** hree days later they arrived in San Antonio bone weary. Neither of them looked forward to another trip to Houston. They agreed to wait at least two weeks before setting out again.

As they pedaled slowly on the shoulder of Loop 410 Sam's crept into view. Benighted home though it might be, they welcomed its appearance. Sam's provided real beds and real toilets, cold soda pop and hot meals, and carefree relaxation. Everything was relative, Keller reflected, and this dreary retail warehouse certainly lorded it over the open road.

They turned into the mammoth parking lot before Sam's and Walmart. About halfway across Paula said she didn't want to cycle anymore; could they please just walk the final couple hundred yards? Keller and his sore butt raised no objections.

They left the bike-truck and shuffled past the familiar cars and shoppers. Keller barely noticed them, as his eyes were fixed on the store entrance—where beyond waited a soft mattress. A slump shouldered Paula beside him was equally oblivious. He never knew what caused him to glance at the elderly couple he last inspected two months before.

He stopped and stared, and at first he didn't know why.

"What's the matter?" asked Paula.

"I'm not sure."

He stepped in front of the two snow haired people. Paula followed.

"Are they somebody you recognize?"

"No."

"Well, what?" Irritation laced her voice. He knew she wanted to get inside badly as he.

Keller studied the pair, the ancient withered pair, then it hit him. He almost toppled over.

# Chapter 14

**T** he man was looking at his wife. Which was impossible, since when Keller last studied them both stared straight ahead. That he knew for fact; he had paid more attention to these two people than to anyone else around Sam's. Previously the man's cloudy corneas did not direct toward his wife.

"They've moved," said Keller.

"What?"

"The man's head has turned." How long ago had he really focused on this couple? Probably not since he and Paula had gone to his lab.

Paula looked unbelievingly at the old man, then at Keller.

"He can't have moved. Nothing can move." Paula shrilled her words.

"But he did."

"Peter!"

Paula probably thought he was flipping out. But he knew the man had turned his head. Turned it during the five or six weeks that had elapsed since Keller last noted him.

Keller ran fingers over the man's furrowed face. The mottled skin didn't give under pressure. The man remained solid rock. But he had moved.

Paula tugged at Keller's arm, begging they go inside. She said they were both very tired. They needed a long sleep. A good deep sleep to clear his head, no doubt.

Keller walked with her and kept his voice calm. "I think I understand. We assumed that the field is so strong that time outside hardly moves. I thought that a million years for us equaled one second for everyone else. But the differential isn't so great."

"What are you babbling about?" Paula sounded both angry and frightened. He supposed fear of losing him to mental imbalance rated just behind fear of losing him to death

"How long does it take someone to turn their head? A second? Two? So one second passes outside the field while roughly one month passes inside." Keller computed quickly. "Thirty-six hundred seconds in an hour, eighty thousand in a day, two and a half million in a month. So the differential is in the micro, not pico, range."

"I still don't know what you're talking about. Are you saying we're not trapped?"

"No. We are. We'll still be dead before their clocks hit one-thirty. Six hundred months for us—fifty years—equals ten minutes for them."

"What does it matter then?"

Keller took her by the shoulders. He looked up into her confused and wary eyes. "Because one second a month means a certain gentleman has had two seconds more to write his message."

It took a moment to sink in, then Paula gasped.

Keller nodded. "Let's go see him."

They barely noticed their fatigue as they cycled on ten speed bikes to the Stop N Buy store. En route Keller realized Gomperz knew his message would reach the trapped test subjects while they were still alive. Instead of centuries completion of the message would take just months.

Gomperz probably needed more time to finish the message. Two or three seconds would permit adding less than a dozen characters. Still, ten or so new characters would give Keller a start on deciphering the equations. Hopefully the full text would be available when he and Paula again returned from long distance cycling.

As they approached the store, with their legs rubbery from the long climb up Huebner, they saw Gomperz hunched in the same position over the trunk of his Lexis. Paula muttered that nothing was different, but Keller reminded her only a few seconds had passed. He did think cars in the intersection had advanced several yards.

They parked their bikes and closed to within a couple feet of the big man. Keller immediately noticed the pen tip no longer touched the business card. It had withdrawn an inch.

He and Paula nearly banged heads as they bent to read. The "PSK-PVK: W@1316-50; GM, 1/GM," remained. The "1/GM," was immediately followed by "X!!; @JK-JKES".

Keller lifted his head. He was sorely disappointed that Gomperz had not begun clarification in plain English. Gomperz instead listed more physics symbols. Keller assumed the X (with a double factorial?) stood for an unknown in an equation they must solve. K likely stood for kilograms, J for joules, E for ergs—and the S? God, that was a term from thermodynamics, S standing for entropy, the amount of disorder in a system. What gave here?

Paula's nose still hovered over the card. Then she said something he was sure he misheard.

"I know what it means."

"You can't." He said the words reflexively.

She rose with a sour face. "Don't look so astounded."

"How—I mean—"

"You don't think I could possibly know. I'm too dumb, I'm not a scientist or doctor. Brian thought I could barely add two and two."

"I wasn't implying that." He was just so used to Paula reacting emotionally instead of intellectually. Which didn't mean she lacked an intellect. "I only meant—those are physics terms. I didn't know you knew any physics."

"Maybe some of the message is. But I know what the JK-JKES stands for." She folded her arms and looked at him defiantly.

"Tell me." When she didn't answer, he added "please."

"It's what I thought all along. I was the one, not Brian, who put our last names together for Jackson-Keller Road. At first he scoffed, then when he did accept he said the connection was obvious, that he would have gotten it soon himself. He never asked my advice for anything, before or after."

"You think the JK is for Jackson-Keller?"

"Yes. And the JKES is for Jackson-Keller Elementary School. I also suggested that to him, that Jackson-Keller School on Jackson-Keller Road pinpointed where we should go. But his ego was bruised by my first suggestion, so he dismissed it." Paula's face twisted. "I should have insisted. But he was the doctor...and I was the sales clerk, the statutory rapist. I followed him around like an obedient dog. I wanted to win so bad, I was willing to take his treating me like one." Then her eyes blazed. "But at least I didn't sleep with him. I really would have slit my wrists if I had."

Keller gave thanks Brian had failed on that account. He would find it difficult to make love to any woman Brian had.

Out of nowhere a wrenching vision thrust into Keller's head, one of naked Barbara in sweaty embrace with Brian. A white hot knife accompanied the vision, to rip his abdomen. Barbara would have slept with him, too, in a snap. Probably right off to cement the new partnership. The vile, evil whore.

"What's the matter, Peter?"

Keller became aware his face had contorted. He wiped it clean.

"Nothing. Maybe you're right, maybe it is the elementary school."

"Do you want to go over there?"

At the moment Keller didn't want to go anywhere. This last bit of cycling had about totaled him.

"Can you wait till tomorrow?" he asked.

"Can you sleep not knowing?"

"I'll sleep through anything. Besides, whatever's at the school isn't going anywhere."

Fortunately the ride back to Sam's was mostly downhill. There they gratefully got off their bikes and slumped into the lawn chairs outside. They promised each other they would go inside in a minute, after resting their legs. Keller didn't want to move another inch; every cell in his body demanded rejuvenation.

They sat a long while in silence. Keller inspected the statues about him, trying to remember their previous positions. Everybody looked the same. He reminded himself that two seconds didn't allow much change.

"Peter..."

Paula spoke softly, plaintively.

It was an effort to turn his head toward her. He looked into troubled, almost desperate eyes. Her clasped hands were a twisting knot.

"What is it?"

"Are—are you sure you want to go back? I mean, if we find out at the school how to get back—do you really want to?"

He just blinked at her.

"I know it sounds insane," she said. "But I'm not sure I want to return. My life back there was a constant struggle. Just one painful day after another and nothing better to look forward to."

Keller found the energy to sit up fully.

"I never seriously considered suicide," she went on, "but I can understand why people do. If I return, all that's ahead for me is getting old. I mean, I hope aging research works out but it probably won't be in time to help our generation."

"You'll get old here too, Paula." She wasn't thinking rationally. Stay here, in this numbing limbo?

"Yes, that's true. But—no one hassles us here. There's no struggle, everything is provided. There's no nasty surprises. Best of all my daughter's hate won't get worse—which it will, if I go back."

"It won't. You—"

"It will! I know her. Here she will always be my little girl. I won't have to watch her life take all the wrong turns." Paula touched his hand. The heat in her fingers jolted him. "Here I have a person I care for. Someone who makes me feel very good."

Keller's tongue knotted. He didn't know what to say—except that no way he would stay in this static world a second longer than necessary. When Paula got enough glucose back into her brain cells, he didn't think she would either.

He blew out breath. "I can't stay, Paula."

Surprisingly she smiled. "I know. Your research. You do love it, don't you?"

"It's what I am. All I am."

"I don't agree with that."

"You won't stay—if I go back?"

"God, no. Alone here would be the worst thing."

"There is a life for you there, Paula. You've just got to set some priorities. You can do a lot better than a sales clerk. With your heart I think you'd make an excellent nurse. I could help you get in the program at the Center."

Paula said nothing, just continued to smile tightly.

"One thing we do have to remember," said Keller, "is that we may stay here. There's no guarantee we'll find a way out. That message is still pretty cryptic."

"I have faith."

Which no doubt could move mountains. They'd need more than that. Keller would really have to guard against a letdown if they came up empty. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about Paula being disappointed.

Eventually they summoned the strength to enter Sam's and head toward their bed.

**W** hen he woke Keller noticed the eyes of a dozen people on him. He bolted to a sitting position. These people were also gaping. For an instant Keller thought he had returned to real time, then he saw the men, women and children in the aisle remained quite frozen.

But many were looking at him. Their pupils didn't point anywhere else. They saw him.

Beside Keller Paula still lay asleep. He wondered what she'd think of this group attention. He hoped it wouldn't freak her out. She'd probably insist they pull the bed elsewhere, although the onlookers couldn't detect any of their actual movements.

What these people did see was an image of a mattress, which had inexplicably materialized in this aisle, and the even more bizarre illusion of a man and woman winking in and out of existence. He and Paula had bedded here four months now, four to six seconds in their time. Those seconds explained the widened eyes and open mouths.

Why hadn't he or Paula noticed the staring before? They'd been away three weeks, which was one additional second at most. These people were wide eyed when they left. He could only suppose that during the three previous months the shoppers' reaction had been too gradual to register. Three weeks away were required to drive home the change.

He awoke Paula and explained the situation. She was aghast that people had seen them making love. It took a while for her to accept they hadn't (though he couldn't rule out reception on a subliminal level). But she still wanted the bed moved out of view.

Strangely—or not so strangely—neither of them were eager to get to Jackson-Keller Road. They dawdled half the morning eating, dressing, packing a lunch. Finally they placed their still weary bodies on ten speed bikes and entered 410 for the six mile ride.

Foreboding gripped Keller as he spotted the exit sign for Jackson-Keller. In all the time since his and Paula's entrapment they had avoided this street. Only bad memories, those of betrayal and disaster, waited along that length. It was hard for him to believe he could find salvation there.

They coasted from the exit ramp onto the western end of Jackson-Keller. At the first intersection, that with West, they passed an H.E.B grocery store which had its sliding doors open. Keller gave thanks he and Barbara had not made it this far. That soulless bitch would have spent a month in there looking for clues.

Four minutes later they arrived at the elementary school. Keller's heart was pounding, and not from the exertion of cycling. He didn't want to get off the bike. He felt like a man awaiting the verdict in a murder trial. Would the jury rule acquittal—or life?

Slowly they walked around the school. All entrances were barred. Keller remarked they better hope whatever Gomperz referred to was outside, otherwise the message was useless. Paula said Gomperz would know that.

The walk around revealed nothing. They then started on the parking lot, where about fifty cars waited. They split up to inspect faster.

Paula almost immediately called out. She stood before a gray Honda and her finger pointed at the rear license plate. Even from where he stood Keller could read the plate: BJ2-PK2.

"That's the partners' initials," Paula said unnecessarily. "There's two of each of us."

Keller nodded. As he stood staring at the big blue characters a weird surge of pride coursed through him. Pride for Paula, that she had been right.

Paula circled to the front of the car. She summoned him. Again she pointed at the license plate.

"Do you know what that means?"

The front license plate bore "MAKEHAM". Somewhere deep in his brain several hundred neurons fired. They weren't enough to trigger a coherent thought, but they made him linger before the plate.

"It is someone you know?" asked Paula.

"I—" Keller rubbed his chin. "The name is familiar." He tried to think if he'd met a Makeham at a conference. Or read a paper by him.

"Do you think it's one of Gomperz's people?"

"No—I mean, I don't know. It could be." Yet how would that help?

But he knew the name. He just couldn't place it.

They carefully looked over the car. A sticker on the lower right side of the windshield, where the inspection sticker normally went, contained "GM, 1/GM, X".

Hope surged in Keller. Gomperz had used those terms in his message. In his message he had also put two exclamation points after the X, which meant it was of overriding value. Gomperz undoubtedly wanted them to combine information found at the school with information in his message to solve for the X. Keller still had to figure what X stood for, but for the first time he sensed a real chance to escape the frozen world.

Paula called out again and Keller hurried to the front passenger door window, which bore a circular sticker. Small print on it listed a column of values: A = 2.1, G = 1.05, M = 11.

Keller stood back, very puzzled. He didn't remember the exact value for the gravitational constant, but 1.05 was orders of magnitude off. M = 11, did that mean a mass of just 11 kilograms? And what did "A" stand for?

He fought a sinking feeling. He reminded himself to view what was presented without discouragement. They had time, plenty of time, to sort it out.

Paula looked at him like she expected the answer to roll across his face. She did manage however to hold her tongue.

Makeham. Was he a physicist? Keller strained to place a Makeham among the roll call of Plank, Bohr, Pauli, Feynman, Hawking. He didn't know enough about the field to tell whether the man belonged. Though if Keller didn't know, how did Gomperz expect him to make use of the name?

Paula was pointing at another sticker, on the rear window. It said "Bonus: mamca+, G = .91"

Keller muttered. Constant meant constant, and here they were giving two different values for "G"—1.05 and .91—both of which bore no resemblance to the true value. And he hadn't the faintest notion what "mamca+" referred to.

Further inspection of the car revealed nothing additional. Keller even crawled to make certain the underside didn't contain the Rosetta stone that would let them break this riddle. Evidently the researchers felt the hints on the license plates and stickers were enough—enough to scramble the brains of any contestants displaying sufficient acumen to make it to the elementary school.

Paula saw the frustration on his face and suggested they break for lunch. He nodded and they sat on the front steps of the school while she broke out sandwiches and soda cans.

"So nothing rings a bell?" she finally asked.

He sighed. "I'm so sick of them jerking us around. I really wouldn't mind shooting them."

"Stand in line, buster."

"Makeham...I've heard the name. In science."

"Not at the Health Science Center?"

"No. I'm sure of that. But somewhere."

"Maybe when you remember, that will clear up everything else."

Keller doubted it. Probably just confuse matters more.

"I guess we should look over the other cars," he said. "Might be something there."

"Let's finish eating first. You need to settle down."

Paula telling him to cool it. But her advice was sound.

He chomped on a sandwich, mindless of what lay between the bread. It could have been dirt for all he tasted.

Makeham, Makeham.

"Son of a bitch," he said.

Paula started, for he rarely cursed.

"What is it?"

"Makeham. And Gomperz. I mean Gompertz, a 't' between the 'r' and 'z'. Benjamin Gompertz, who made actuarial observations in England during the 1800's. He found that the mortality rate accelerates with age."

"Who is Makeham?"

"I don't know exactly, I think he was someone else that century. There was an equation derived last century called the Gompertz-Makeham equation. It plots death rate against age for various human populations."

Keller rose and stood hands on hips. He stared into nowhere. "I should have caught it long ago. I mean about Ben—Benjamin—Gompertz. If I'd listened more carefully I probably would have heard him pronounce the 't' in his name."

Paula made soothing noises.

"There's no excuse," he said. "I've been slow all through the contest. I've missed almost everything. And that's my profession, to notice the details, to ask the questions, to put things together."

"You got Makeham."

"Yeah." Better than nothing.

"Do you remember the equation?"

He chewed his lip. "I think so." It wasn't especially complicated. He had toyed with the equation occasionally during his post-doc days at Columbia, when he had investigated gerontology literature on the side.

Keller fetched a pen and pad from his bike, then sat back on the steps. He wrote down A, G, and M, which were terms in the equation. He wrote them in various combinations in hope one would jog his memory.

One combination did. He smiled a little as he printed out the equation and explained its meaning to Paula.

"If you plug in different ages, say 20 vs 60, you can see the mortality rate is exponentially higher at the more advanced age. A and M are mortality constants which don't depend on the aging process, like deaths you can expect from accidents or infectious disease. G, the Gompertz coefficient, is the key value of the equation. The larger it is the faster a population ages."

Paula nodded and Keller hoped she did understand what he was saying. He'd always found the implications of this equation fascinating.

"Amazingly G appears to be the same in all human populations. Whether you were born poor in Bangladesh or rich in Sweden it doesn't matter. No matter diet, health care, or environment, the death rate past age forty increases at the same rate in all populations. This indicates a universal mechanism of aging. That mechanism is what I and hundreds of other gerontologists are struggling to find."

Keller attempted to plot the curve that would result from plugging in the given values of M, A, and G. He found he couldn't even grossly estimate without a table of natural logarithms. He would have to wait till they got back to Sam's. Hopefully the store carried scientific calculators in the electronics section. Probably did; Sam's had everything. He might even be able to use one of the PCs to generate the curve.

"What I don't understand," said Keller, "is how plotting that curve helps find the final square. I mean, that's supposedly the purpose of this information." And even if they could find the final square, how would that get them back to real time?

"Maybe they want us to put the curve on a map of San Antonio," said Paula. "The square might be on the curve."

Keller wondered. Paula might have something. He certainly wasn't going to nix her suggestion. If she was right—and she'd been right before, bless her simple mixture of common sense and intuition—where on the map did you place the curve?

Well, a graph had axes. And so did a map. The y axis could correspond with the north-south line on a map, the x axis with the east-west line. Now where might lie the origin of the axes? He supposed common sense—of the simplest kind, to which even a Ph.D. might stoop—said the Tower of the Americas. The Tower stood near the center of the circle formed by Loop 1604 and it was where they received instructions.

He smiled, then kissed Paula in thanks.

She didn't let him pull away. Instead she held his lips to her wet ones. Her tongue entered his mouth and his loins ignited despite his brain urging he return to Sam's to further investigate the equation.

Paula released her embrace, but only to yank off her T-shirt. She wore no bra. Then she clamped against him.

Hot breath brushed his ear. "Don't worry. I packed protection."

"You did?"

Paula patted her jeans pocket.

Some inane part of his conscious warned they were under surveillance. The researchers had not physically followed them into frozen time, but Gompertz and his gang no doubt had posted cameras at locations in San Antonio where they thought the contestants would appear. Such as the Tower, the contestants' homes, the Health Science Center, the final square—and certainly Jackson-Keller Elementary School.

That would explain how the researchers learned of Brian and Barbara's betrayal even if the two had plotted while in frozen time. The time differential between frozen and real time was not so great that high speed video couldn't capture what had occurred. It also meant the researchers could record what was about to happen by the school.

The researchers probably hadn't time to get cameras into Sam's. So there he and Paula were shielded from their eyes.

So what about now? Did he disentangle from Paula, tell her to put her shirt back on? Or did he ignore those who had caused him so much pain, and give pleasure to the one person who cared more about him than anyone except his parents? He had failed in front of the eighteen-wheeler; don't let him fail now before the school.

He reached for Paula's jeans.

## Chapter 15

**K** eller and Paula sat expectantly before the Mac computer. Its broad screen displayed a street map of San Antonio. He designated the Tower of the Americas as graph origin and Loop 1604 as the limits to the x and y axes. The y axis he scaled logarithmically to 1000 deaths per year and the x axis arithmetically to 100 years age.

He inserted the given values of G, A, and M into the Gompertz-Makeham equation, then watched as the curve generated by the equation appeared on the map. The curve began on the golf course at Breckenridge Park, dipped down slightly to bottom near the Alamodome, then rose inexorably in a nearly straight line. It cut diagonally northeast through Fort Sam Houston and the Windcrest and Live Oak districts.

Keller estimated the curve length at about twenty miles. The graphics application gave him a precise computation of 21.8327 miles or 34,914 meters.

"The two watches permit ten inquires." Keller halved 34,914 ten times. "That cuts the curve length to 34 meters. Two watches let you win easy."

Paula groaned. "If only Brian had listened."

"Yes." If Brian had put aside his ego he and Paula could have gained victory immediately. Well, immediately after figuring out that the clues at the elementary school pertained to the Gompertz-Makeham equation. But Brian was a gerontologist, and he would have made the connection. And probably sooner than Keller.

He turned to Paula. "Didn't you say Brian used one of your inquiries? To check out Jackson-Keller?"

She nodded, then shrugged. "I thought it was a good idea, too."

As had Keller. Only Barbara had the discipline to hold back.

"So that leaves them with fourteen inquiries. I'm assuming they have already used the five on the hidden watch. All of which they must apply to the Loop area since they don't know about this curve." He did some computations. "After the last inquiry they will have a hundred and twenty square meters to check out."

"That's still real easy."

"To walk off, yes. But they have to stand on each square ten seconds—in real time. Real time leaves you wide open to attack."

"They don't have to worry about us."

"If we get out of here, they do."

Paula swallowed. "Would you hurt them?"

Would he?

"I don't know. But I can see the dangers of the end game now. Ten inquires would get you within thirty-four meters of the final square. No problem there, since inquires can be made in frozen time. Those last meters, though, you have to walk in real time. Which will take five or six minutes."

Keller grimaced. "You can avoid real time to that point. But to win, you have to leave that sanctuary. The opposition would almost certainly enter frozen time during that gap, and they'd eventually stumble across you—just like we did Gompertz. They'd probably find you even if they weren't looking."

Paula grimaced in turn. "I guess that's why Brian worried so whenever we went into real time."

Yup, anyone in real time was a sitting duck. The opposition could maim, exile—or kill—with no worry of prosecution.

He wondered how close Brian and Barbara had come to killing him and Paula. If the exile option hadn't existed, Keller bet Brian would have put a gun to their heads.

Barbara might not be able to pull the trigger, but neither would she plead Brian spare the victims. She'd take a walk while Brian rubbed out Keller and Paula. She'd only demand he drag away the bodies before she returned.

With the curve plotted, Keller and Paula turned to the other part of what Gompertz wrote at the Stop N Buy store: "W@1316-50". Gompertz knew Keller and Paula needed more than information about the final square. Knowing the location of the square wouldn't get them out of frozen time; only a watch would. The "W" had to stand for watch. And "@" of course for "at".

Could Gompertz know where Brian and Barbara had hidden the watch used to exile them? If the researchers had posted monitors throughout San Antonio, they may have recorded Brian and Barbara dumping the timepiece.

His colleagues could have flashed word of the watch's location to Gompertz, who alone of their number Keller and Paula would recognize. They knew Keller and Paula would—during the remainder of their lives—chance upon the Don't Mess With Man.

Keller's heart thumped as he sought the spot 1318 meters on the curve from its start in Brackenridge Park. The watch had to lie within a circle with a radius of 50 meters from that spot.

His heart rate abruptly slowed. He realized that the researchers had specified this curve long before Brian and Barbara planned their evil. Only the remotest chance existed that they had hidden the watch on or near the curve; out of the vastness of San Antonio the curve comprised an infinitesimal fraction. Gompertz most likely was directing Paula and Keller somewhere else.

He pushed back from the computer. "I need to think about this awhile."

"You don't know where?"

"Not yet. But Gompertz must be telling us the location of the watch. Nothing else will save us."

Paula suggested they take a bike ride, to clear their heads. He agreed.

During the cycling of that day, and the next, the solution did not materialize. He found himself unable to concentrate. At other times during his career this had occurred, and it always signaled mental exhaustion. He could recover only by backing away from the riddle at hand.

His mind had not so numbed, though, to notice those two days Paula failed to once say "I love you". Previously she mouthed it several times each day. He had awkwardly replied "I care for you, too," but he had never said the L-word.

Was her lack of declaration due to his continued reticence? Or did she no longer protest undying love because they might soon return to real time? If they retrieved the watch, they returned. It also meant they could stand on the final square the required ten seconds. Once they won the contest, why would Paula feel compelled to love him?

Winning would give Paula her daughter back. Purpose would return to her life. Control of her ex-husband would also assure Paula's material well being. The impoverished struggle through meaningless days that formerly constituted her existence would vanish forever.

Paula was still very sweet to him. She still let him make love. Yet she understood the rescue ship was sailing toward them and that what applied on the desert island would not hold on the mainland. Only out of desperation had Paula convinced herself she loved Keller.

Trite though the sentiment he hoped they could remain friends, good ones. Certainly a bond, the bond of battle, had formed between them. They had successfully fought the mental hell of this place six long months.

If they did go back, he realized he would again be alone. Before he had tolerated aloneness because after Jennifer he lacked the guts to seek another relationship. He had hid in his research. Now he would return fresh from six months of intimate companionship. Companionship with two attractive women, both passionate in their own way. Previously Keller had considered the time with Jennifer an aberration, and aloneness his normality. Now he had a different perspective.

Keller wondered if he were subconsciously blocking solution of the Gompertz message. He sensed the solution wasn't that difficult. A little more mental elbow grease should unravel Gompertz's hieroglyphics. Was he holding back because he feared the aloneness?

He did want to return. Paula was correct they faced few hassles here, but they lived in a tainted Garden of Eden. They would atrophy from the stimulation of just each other; it was already happening.

Strange, though, how he did not hunger to return to the lab. He didn't mind returning; the prospect just didn't fire him. He had always thought his research so vital. Not so. His imprisonment here devastatingly drove home that gerontology would have continued without him, thank you.

Certainly he should rouse enthusiasm, at least in light of the inscription "Bonus: mamca+, G = .91". That he had figured out. This G value reduced the slope of the mortality rate curve. The difference translated to an increase in human lifespan of twenty-four years.

The "mamca+" stood for MAM and the calcium ion. MAM was the acronym for the interface between mitochondria and the internal cell network; the network dealt with component synthesis and regulatory signaling. Calcium ions played a major role in the signaling. The interface was vital to proper cell function.

Keller gave thanks that mitochondria were involved in lengthening of the lifespan. It was confirmation he had been on the right track. He was surprised that the internal network and calcium signaling played a part, but if he got out of here he would pursue that avenue of investigation. And, yes, he would pursue it eagerly.

But they still had to get out of here.

**T** he solution to escaping presented itself while he innocuously sat at breakfast. The triggering prop couldn't have been more ludicrous—the backside of a box of Sugar Pops. Paula often teased him about this cereal, a favorite of his since childhood.

The backside featured a cartoon facsimile of a world map. A welter of differently costumed children occupied each continent. A bold caption urged the eater to find where in the world was the treasure located. A hidden X waited in the maze of children to direct a child—or Pops loving thirty-five year old—to the treasure. "X marks the spot!" closed the caption.

Someday they would figure out how the brain fused disparate scraps of information to form instantaneous insight. Today Keller would just thankfully take the result. He knew without analysis that the X in "GM, 1/GM, X" stood for X marks the spot—not the unknown "x" of an algebraic equation. X marked the location of the final square.

Almost as quickly he understood GM and 1/GM. They stood not for multiplying the G and M values, but for graphic representation of the Gompertz-Makeham equation and its inverse. The intersection of these two curves marked X, marked it to the square centimeter. All the information necessary to find the final square lay on the Honda. With bitter irony Keller realized watch inquires weren't needed at all. The inquires had only served as lure for each partnership to battle the other.

That took care of the location of the final square. The location of the watch was now the critical matter. At the Stop N Buy store Gompertz had written "W@1316-50". For the first time Keller considered that the numerals stood for map coordinates. Or more accurately, graph coordinates (x = 1316, y = -50), which superimposed on the map gave the location of the watch.

Paula hadn't said a word through all the time he had stared at the cereal box. He must have drilled his eyes into it a good ten minutes. When he did lift his eyes from the box he quietly said: "I've got it." She nodded, her mouth remaining a thin straight line.

They found the watch under a car in a motel parking lot. The motel, a sleazy one story clapboard structure, was located in the East side of the city, within sight of the Freeman Coliseum. Even at high noon Keller would not have ventured into this gang infested area. He gave thanks the statues loitering about could not budge.

The watch lay just behind the right front tire, out of casual view. When the car backed out it would crush the watch. Keller wondered why Brian and Barbara hadn't buried the watch. Then he remembered in frozen time even the softest earth became concrete.

It required all of his and Paula's willpower not to immediately return to real time. But they had previously discussed the necessity to keep their fingers off the Forward Command. While they remained in frozen time Brian and Barbara could not harm them. Frozen time, so long their enemy, now served as protector. Paula and he could approach the final square unscathed.

Once on the square, though, they must stand exposed ten seconds. If Brian and Barbara spotted them then, Keller and Paula could find themselves back in exile—with this time the watch hidden perhaps hundreds of miles from San Antonio. Paula had worried about that a lot.

Keller didn't. He told Paula of his earlier kill lust, when he planned to wrap wire around Barbara and Brian's necks and let a passing car behead them.

Neither of that malignant pair lacked intelligence. They would realize their vulnerability and take proper precautions. Which meant staying behind locked doors, probably well away from the vicinity of Fort Sam Houston. They might even wait an hour before venturing out. Keller and Paula would have their ten seconds.

From the East side they biked northward to Fort Sam. They entered the post at the New Braunfels Street entrance. Keller had never been to Fort Sam and he was amazed at how the street just ran from a block of pawnshops and pool halls into the post. Several MPs waited at the entrance, but the statues did not halt them.

Keller and Paula cycled past trim stucco buildings with orange tile roofs and fronted by palm trees. Traffic was light so they didn't have to dodge many vehicles. Traffic, though, made for the least of their concerns.

His heart drummed and his breaths grew shorter. The exertion of cycling had nothing to do with either. Paula—her face ghostly white—looked grimmer than he'd ever seen her. In the air of course hung the fear neither dared mention: what if the watch didn't work?

They turned right at an intersection and rounded a bend. Keller wheeled to a stop as the expanse of Arthur MacArthur Field unfolded before him.

"Good God," he whispered.

"I told you it was big."

He shook his head. The map had showed only a harmless rectangle bounded by streets, not a vast grassy death trap. The Brooke Army Medical Center, a ten story building, stood Lilliputian at the opposite end of the field.

Keller pulled out the map and checked the scale. The field was just short of a mile in length but it looked far longer. The field lay absolutely level and contained no shielding structures or foliage. Even a pair of contestants determining the exact location of the final square must survive ten seconds on that naked plain.

The researchers had obviously planned for confrontation to occur here. That the confrontation might turn bloody had not deterred them. Hopefully he and Paula would cheat whoever or whatever desired such a diabolical finale.

They parked their bikes and ventured onto the emerald green field. The final square waited three hundred meters distant. As they neared, Keller checked their position against computer generated graphics. The graphics depicted how they should align with surrounding landmarks when standing exactly on the square.

They stepped onto the spot. They stood on the long sought piece of earth and waited. Keller didn't want to immediately press the Forward Command, and Paula probably didn't either.

What would the command bring? Nothing? Would nothing and return to exile be preferable to a rifle shot through their skulls? Which could happen if Brian had gambled his own safety and lay in ambush.

Or did victory wait?

"I guess we better do it," Paula said. Her face was still ashen.

"Yes." His voice issued hoarsely.

Paula looped her arm through his and his hand moved to the wristwatch. His finger poised above the Forward Command.

"Brace yourself," he said. "The return of the world will hit us like a hurricane. We want to stand our ground ten seconds."

"Do it, Peter."

Keller's finger descended. He didn't pray, he didn't hope, he didn't think. What would be, would be.

The finger pressed.

How they remained on the square he didn't know. Thunderous roars and a raging wind pounded. They sought refuge against each other. For a moment Keller really thought a hurricane had descended.

Then a booming voice assaulted them.

"Are you all right?"

Keller reeled from the voice, which surely was spoken through a bullhorn five yards away. He twisted to spot a man in jogging attire that had stopped on the dirt track circling the field. The man was a hundred yards away.

"That's not Brian?" he asked Paula.

"No, thank God." She cupped her hands over her mouth. "We're fine," she shouted. "We're just messing around."

The man regarded them curiously a few moments more, then resumed jogging.

"We must have looked nuts," Paula said.

Waves of noise, now combined with blast furnace heat and overpowering odor, continued to hammer Keller. His senses begged for relief.

But it was only normality. It was only the cars on the roads bounding the field, only the early afternoon sun, only the smell of grass and dirt and life at large.

"We're home," he told Paula.

She smiled, though not radiantly. Neither did she embrace or kiss him. But that he expected and accepted.

He glanced at the wristwatch, where words were scrolling across the LCD window. They read: "Final Square located. Contest terminated. Orally designate commandees within seventy-two hours". He showed the message to Paula.

"So we won after all," she said.

"Yes." He looked around. Things looked harmless enough, but Brian and Barbara might have already started for the field. Things could turn ugly fast when they realized they had lost.

"We better get moving." He pointed toward the nearest building. "We'll phone for a cab. But let's get out of sight."

Paula needed no prodding. They double timed across the now soft grass, all the while expecting their competitors to arrive on the scene. It wouldn't have surprised Keller if a car broke from traffic and raced across the field in attempt to run them down.

They made the building safely. No one took note as they stepped inside and found a phone.

The cab drove them from Fort Sam toward the Health Science Center. During the ride they spoke little as Keller fought hard to focus his thoughts. His head still spun from the return to the real world.

Though the cab stayed within the forty mile per hour limit, the vehicle appeared to hurtle down Hildebran Avenue. Several times Keller almost screamed as the driver—to Keller—barely avoided collisions. Beside Keller Paula endured the ride with white knuckles.

Even at red lights Keller sat uneasily. The world that now throbbed around him pressed bizarrely. Each of his five senses struggled to interpret the perceptions flooding him. Everything was askew, jumbled. He wondered how long this highly unpleasant disorientation would last.

He had read about people blind from birth that as adults gained sight after cataract removal. The sense of sight overwhelmed many of these people. Some were so shaken they longed for return to a world of darkness. Keller had found that incomprehensible; now he did not.

The cab deposited them at the Health Science Center. He walked with Paula to one of the benches near the fountains. Other people strolled past them, and Keller couldn't help marvel at these statues which now moved and talked. Again he prayed for a swift adjustment to the real world.

He turned to see Paula regarding him sadly, with her lips sucked in. He knew what she was going to say and he beat her to it. He understood they must go their own ways now, Keller said. Back in the real world both had other obligations. Her ex-husband waited her command—Keller didn't doubt now that the command would work—and her daughter waited after that.

Paula nodded through all he said. She patted his hand as he spoke, and a couple tears rolled down her cheeks. But no histrionics.

He said he would call her a taxi, but she shook her head. She said her car was in easy walking distance, over at Methodist Hospital. That's where Brian worked and she had followed him to the hospital after their encounter at the Tower.

"I even still have the keys."

They stood awkwardly, then she reached to kiss him for the last time. He savored the brief press of her lips.

"Could we have dinner tonight?" he asked.

"Peter..."

"I mean, I just don't want to be alone tonight. And there's nobody else to talk to about this. It's going to take awhile to adjust."

"Another time would be better, Peter. I really need the space tonight."

Well, she was shutting the door firmly. No false equivocation. Their time as man and woman ended here.

He forced himself to nod. "I understand."

"I promise I'll call in a couple days. What's your number here?"

He gave it to her. Then she was walking away. He watched his tall slender companion move swiftly past the guard booth toward Methodist Hospital. He stared after her until she faded from view.

Keller turned, and faced the nearest entrance to the Center. He checked his watch, which was just a timepiece now. Five minutes after two. He would have to go in. Go in and pick up his life where left it. And act as if nothing had occurred since he hurried from the building to find a partner at Alamo Plaza.

He wondered if anybody had missed him. People in the department took their lunch at various times, so his absence over the past three hours should have been little noted. He wouldn't have to explain anything to anyone.

Except to Tim, he soon found. When Keller entered the lab his charges routinely greeted him. Tim smiled pleasantly like everyone else, then he drew his principal investigator aside. They went over to Tim's desk, where Tim pulled open a drawer, which contained rolled up aluminum foil.

Keller had almost forgotten about the foil. Good God, Tim must think him deranged to have left a message like that. Especially after the episode of last night.

"I haven't shown this to anyone else," Tim said before Keller could fashion an explanation. Tim's coal black eyes locked on his.

Keller forced a smile. "It was a prank. I—I don't know what got into me the last twenty-four hours. But I'm perfectly fine now."

Tim softly shook his head. "Some prank."

"It's all over, Tim. I promise."

Tim's finger tapped on the foil. "I hope not. This stuff is good for two or three grants. How long have you been sitting on this?"

Tim's words took a moment to sink in. Keller saw the man was regarding him with admiration. Intellectual admiration. Keller knew Tim liked and respected him, though more on a personal than professional level. Tim possessed the potential to someday land in the National Academy of Sciences; the best Keller could previously hope for was to train someone of Tim's ability.

"Six months," Keller answered. Keller almost said he wrote on foil because of superstition fire might destroy these ideas if committed to paper. Wisely he held his tongue. Anyway, innovators were permitted eccentricities.

"This stuff is dynamite."

Keller didn't know what to say. He didn't remember exactly what he had written down. Since encountering Gompertz at the Stop N Buy store, this lab had been far from his consciousness.

"You really think so?"

"I'm tempted to stay on here as a post-doc so I can work with it."

That of course was nonsense. Tim had a tenure track position waiting at Purdue. No matter what a person didn't forfeit the jump to professorship. Tim would realize that once this rush of enthusiasm waned.

Keller however could propose they collaborate long distance. He would let Tim use the lion's share of these suggestions for Tim's first grant proposal. Even someone able as Tim could use help establishing a research program, especially with grant money so tight.

All of a sudden Keller's knees weakened. He groped for support.

"Are you alright?" Tim was asking. Tim's hand had taken hold of his arm at the elbow.

Keller kept his footing. "I'm a little weary." I'm drained to the core, actually, having just escaped terminal exile. "I didn't sleep well last night. After that foolishness."

He turned. "I'm going to my office for a while. Then I've got that search committee meeting at three-thirty. I'll go home right from there. So I'll see you tomorrow."

Tim looked dubious. Keller patted his post-doc's arm and smiled. "I just need sleep. What you can do for me is thoroughly critique what I've put on the foil. Don't pull any punches." Especially since you'll inherit it.

During the search committee meeting Keller was in left field. His colleagues looked at him curiously, no doubt by now having heard of his escapade of the night before. But no one rebuked his inattentiveness. They understood everyone had a bad day—or two—and ran through the curricula vitae without his input.

Keller took another cab home. Tomorrow he would put in a stolen car report. The police would locate his car shortly, wherever Barbara had moved it. She better move it. He would press charges if the police found the vehicle still at her house. He'd deny driving over there.

He wondered at Barbara's state of mind now. She had to know she lost. He bet she and Brian had worn out a certain hundred and twenty square meter patch of Arthur MacArthur field this afternoon. To no avail.

Brian had likely sworn revenge on the researchers—who he would likely never identify. And Barbara? Barbara would probably say little, but she would burn on the inside. Burn that men had once again played her then betrayed her.

When Keller arrived at his townhouse he telephoned his parents. He had made his weekly call just a couple days ago and they greeted him with a touch of alarm. He assured them no crisis had occurred, he just wanted to chat. He had to laugh when his mother wondered if he were calling because he had met a nice woman. (He'd met two women, one of them nice.) She always asked if he had. She never gave up hope.

He talked for an hour. It was so good to hear their voices. They were delighted when he said he'd come home for a week when the semester ended. With difficulty throughout the conversation he kept his voice from turning husky.

When he hung up fatigue clawed. To bed, to bed, it ordered. But before he turned in he really should ponder what he was going to do with his prize. When he woke tomorrow he would have little over forty-eight hours to designate "the commandee".

Would tomorrow he book a flight for Washington State, to see Bill Gates? He need give Gates but one command: sign over forty of your fifty billion. Then he could leave the man alone. Ten billion should still give Bill plenty of running room.

Part of Keller's mind screamed theft, but he was very tired. In the morning he could examine the issue more carefully. He again vowed if he did take the money, not a cent would accrue to his benefit. Perhaps the best way to handle the transfer of funds was for Gates to donate the money to the National Institute of Aging. That way Gates would at least get acclaim out of his involuntary largesse.

Keller stepped into his bedroom. He stared at the small double bed, which had never held more than one person. How alien a situation that seemed now. For most of six months a living, breathing companion had shared his sleep.

Welcome back to the real world. Welcome back to the rest of his life.

God, he was tired.

# Chapter 16

**K** eller bolted awake. From somewhere a mega decibel noise slammed his ears. His head whirled to check that Paula was okay. He froze upon seeing she didn't lie beside him. More apprehension stabbed as he realized he wasn't in Sam's. Instead of the cavernous store interior a small room confined him.

It might have taken a second, or ten minutes, before he understood he lay in his own bed in his own home. The horrible piercing noise was only his alarm clock. He had returned, irrevocably returned, to the real world.

Keller slapped off the alarm. He stared in loathing at the clock. For six months that tyrannical device had not once ruled him. At Sam's, and on the road, he and Paula awoke when they pleased. A lifeless world was the price for such freedom, but he had gotten very used to that freedom.

The red digits on the clock face said 7:15. The usual time he got up on a weekday. As he recalled—it was difficult to recall—today was Thursday. Thursdays he didn't lecture, but what about meetings and appointments? He should have checked before leaving the Center yesterday.

Then Keller remembered he faced a task far more critical. Namely that he had little over forty-eight hours to designate his "commandee". One thing he did know, in the fresh light of morning, he wasn't going to rob Bill Gates. Or anyone.

Should he designate a commandee at all? During the six months of exile he had never confronted the issue. Of course, that was because he believed he and Paula had lost the contest. Now he would have to face head on the most momentous decision of his life.

His head began to throb. He decided to first wash up and get some breakfast. With a groan he rose and padded across soft carpet toward the bathroom.

Halfway to the bathroom he stopped. For another unknown period he stood absolutely still, unintentionally mimicking the statues he had dwelled among for so long. When he resumed movement, his chest reverberated with thundering heartbeat.

Keller proceeded to slowly shower, shave and groom. After dressing he forced himself to eat a leisurely breakfast. When the clock at last read eight a.m. he called the department and said he would be in later, probably after ten.

He waited half an hour before making another phone call. A secretary told him what he needed to know. He called for a cab.

A brilliant, balmy day greeted him outside. He had a pleasant conversation with the Hispanic cab driver transporting him from the Northwest to the Northeast side of town. At the destination he gave the driver fifty dollars and asked him to wait. Keller promised he'd be out within fifteen minutes.

Under the soothing shade of live oak trees Keller strode a curving sidewalk to the club entrance. Two middle-aged women lugging tennis gear were exiting the double doors as he neared. He hastened to hold a door open and they rewarded him with genuine smiles.

At the front desk flanked by potted plants a pretty young woman also smiled, but she regarded him quizzically. He knew she couldn't place him as a member, and he was dressed in coat and tie and carried no athletic bag. Keller had seen the notice on the door stating "No Solicitors Please".

The brunette with good cheekbones maintained her display of gleaming teeth as she asked: "May I help you?" Her voice sounded loud, although not like the booming voices of yesterday. Perhaps by tomorrow his hearing would have returned to normal.

"I'd like to see Barbara," Keller said pleasantly.

"Barbara Jackson?"

"Yes."

"May I ask the nature of your business?"

The young woman still smiled, but she now thoroughly eyed him. Her inspection was caused no doubt by the incongruity of such a nerdy looking guy using her boss's Christian name.

"It's personal."

The woman's eyes shifted toward the hallway on the left. Lining the corridor were several closed doors, each bearing a nameplate. Keller couldn't make out the names, but one likely was Barbara's. He knew she was in; his phone call to the front desk had ascertained her presence.

"Did you have an appointment?" Her eyes scanned a schedule book.

"No. But she'll see me." Keller grinned knowingly.

"Are you a friend?"

"An acquaintance." Who has made passionate love to her a dozen times. "Tell her Peter Keller is here."

"I don't—"

"She'll see me, believe me."

The receptionist hesitated, then lifted the phone receiver and punched a button.

"Miss Jackson, a man named Peter Keller is here. He would like to talk to you."

The woman's brow furrowed as she got no reply. "Miss Jackson? Miss Jackson?"

The middle door in the corridor cracked and Barbara's head thrust out. Keller had not seen her milk skin whiter and certainly not her eyes more enlarged. The head with the flaxen hair stared some seconds before the lips finally moved.

Her voice registered at conversational level, so he knew she must have mustered only a whisper.

"Peter."

Her hand held the doorknob for support. Her lips moved again, but even he couldn't hear anything.

"May I talk to you, Barbara? I won't take much of your time."

A long moment passed.

"Yes," she answered in another whisper. She shakily opened the door to admit him. Keller caught the receptionist's eyes, which were also widened. He imagined the receptionist had never seen Barbara not in control of a situation.

"Hold all calls," Barbara told the receptionist as Keller walked past her into the office.

Barbara shut the door. She turned and just stood staring at him. He looked at her too. She was as breathtakingly beautiful as he remembered. She wore a beige skirt and a green blouse that tastefully displayed the magnificence of her figure.

"You're alive," she finally managed to say.

"Why don't we sit down, Barbara. We have a few things to discuss."

He took a chair at the side of her desk. She awkwardly settled in her own seat.

"Thank God you're alive." This time her voice spoke full force and he winced. Her incredible gray-lavender eyes once again socked his, and they seemed to convey sincerity. Though Keller wondered if she feared he carried a gun, and was trying to mollify him.

"Aren't you interested in the how of my survival?"

"Every moment I've been back I have regretted what we did. I truly have, Peter. I didn't sleep at all last night."

He did think he saw trace of circles under her eyes, which makeup had masked. But lack of sleep could also have resulted from bitter disappointment she lost the contest.

"I slept like a rock."

"I thought you were dead for sure."

"A hundred years dead, no? How could you do it, Barbara? Did hobnobbing with the 'elite' mean that much?"

Barbara seemed to shrink into herself.

"It was in the heat of battle," she said. "I really didn't think the consequences through. Did you know that Brian wanted to kill you two? I persuaded him not to."

"Quick death, slow death, I fail to see the difference."

Barbara was massaging her lovely hands. She looked away. "It was in the heat of battle."

"No excuse, Barbara."

"I know that now. I was sick with what I had done. You must believe me."

"It must have been quite a shock when you came up empty at Arthur MacArthur Field. Almost as much of a shock as when you learned I was at the front desk."

"How—how did you escape?"

"We found the watch." He didn't elaborate.

"If I could undo what I did, I would. I meant what I said in the letter. I like you, I very much respect you. I wish it could have been Brian I did that to, not you.

"You also did it to Paula."

She hung her head a little, then her back straightened. "Why did you come here, Peter? To shoot me, or just rub my nose in your victory?"

"Did you sleep with him?"

"What?"

"Did you sleep with Brian?"

She regarded him with amazement. "What does that have to do with anything?"

His voice lashed. "Did you sleep with him? Yes or no?"

He couldn't have imagined addressing Barbara in this tone before. But now it came with a bizarre naturalness.

Her piercing eyes leveled with his. Anger and defiance flickered on her oval face. But they soon fled.

"No, I didn't sleep with him. God knows he wanted to badly enough."

"Would you have? To win?"

"Peter, did anyone ever tell you what a magnificent asshole you are?"

"The answer is you would have."

"Only as the very last resort. With you it was the first resort."

"I'm glad he never bedded you."

Barbara's lips drew into a straight line. "Have you been to see Mr. Gates yet?"

"No."

"He would have been my choice if I'd won. I'd changed my mind about Richard. With fifty billion dollars who needed him?"

"Could fifty billion bought you peaceful sleep?"

"Please go, Peter."

"Shortly. But I had to tell you one thing. It's proof the ordeal—a six month's ordeal, that's how long it took us to find the watch, all the while never knowing if we'd get out—proof the ordeal has unhinged my mind."

Barbara drew slightly back in the chair. She must have thought him ready to draw a knife or gun. But she didn't try to flee.

"I'm insane, I know it," he said. "Because I still love you."

It took awhile for his words to sink in. When she realized she hadn't misheard him, she softly shook her head.

"You are insane."

"I must be. What other possible explanation can justify it?"

"I tried to kill you...or the equivalent."

"Yes. But it wasn't personal, was it?"

She wasn't sure if he were mocking her or not. "I liked you, Peter. A lot. I am thankful to God, Allah, Buddha, all of them, that you escaped. I don't even mind losing that much knowing you are alive. But you must know I don't love you, could never love you. And you, by any logical standard, cannot love me."

"I love the woman who existed before Roger worked his evil. That woman I briefly glimpsed during our time together. She's a hell of a person."

"She's long gone, Peter. I will always be fond of you. One thing I can say truthfully...you deserve better than me."

"I often wondered when we were together how much of my attraction was based on your physical appearance. Of course in the beginning it was a hundred percent. Your beauty knocked the breath out of me. It still does. I suppose a woman's looks will always be something a man can't completely factor out. I've heard women can, that's to their credit. But Barbara, you have other first rate qualities."

He had never seen her look sad. That made him love her even more.

"Go to Redmond, Peter."

"Barbara Michelle Jackson, I command you to love me as deeply as you did Roger. I command you to wash away the pain and the hate of his betrayal. I command that you return to the state of grace that existed before that horror befell you. You will be the Barbara of eighteen years old, with your vibrant spirit intact."

Barbara sat cationic. Her eyes had receded into herself. On the ride over to the club Keller had feared Gompertz and friends might not honor this last promise—though they had kept their word on everything else. At least he did not doubt they possessed the ability to rewire neuronal circuits

Barbara's eyes finally fixed on him. They fixed softly, and radiance bloomed on her creamy face.

"I love you so much, Peter." She spoke the words with both wonder and sincerity.

Keller's skin tingled and he swallowed hard. She was his. What no amount of money could have bought he now possessed. Barbara, oh Barbara. All the rest of my days you will be the woman I protect and adore.

"I love you too, my darling," he said in a voice rapidly choking with emotion. "I will never let you down."

They rose from their chairs and embraced. Once again her lips pressed against his, but this time affection instead of raw desire held her lips tight. Once again he smelled her fragrance and luxuriated in the warmth of her body. His stomach roller coaster plunged as he thought of what awaited this evening. And every evening thereafter.

"You won't hate me someday because you gave up the money?" she asked.

"Barbara, I command you to never doubt my love. You are never to worry."

She loosened her grip on him. "I do worry about one thing. I know you'll always try to be fair, but—the power to command, that gives you absolute power over me. You say you love my spirit, but if you can make me do anything you want, what happens to that part of me? We won't have a true relationship of give and take."

"I'd never take advantage of you."

"I can be very determined about things—as you know. You might find it easiest when we disagree to simply command me to do it your way."

Keller trusted himself to act fairly. But she was right, they wouldn't enjoy a real relationship if he remained the final arbiter of her behavior. He would have to let loose the reins.

He decided to speak before caution could overrule. "Barbara Michelle Jackson, I command that from this point on you will not obey any further commands I give you. The previous commands stand. But from this moment you are a completely free woman."

They kissed again, and Barbara nearly broke one of his ribs with the fierceness of her embrace. God, this woman didn't do anything in half measure. Living with her would be riding the tiger.

"We could get married today," she said.

Keller tried to ease away from the body crushing against him. "Uh, today? I mean, I hadn't even thought about that."

"You do want to get married, don't you?" The gray laser eyes probed his retina and beyond.

"Of course. But we'd need time to get in all the relatives."

Keller was a little annoyed. She should have let him propose, but that was Barbara being Barbara. He would have to get used to it.

He hadn't really considered marriage to Barbara possible. It was such an outlandish concept. For his own mind, for anyone's. Who would believe the union between two such opposites? People would shake their heads and ask if he had some hidden power over her.

That would be the proudest day of his life, when he stood with his best man—Jason or Tim, that'd be a tough choice—and watched white clad Barbara walk toward him. She'd beam with love and all the other men around would eat their hearts out.

"We'll set the date soon," he said. "I've got to get you a ring too."

"We'll pick it out together."

Gee, Barbara, I'd kind of like to take care of that myself.

He finally disentangled and gestured toward the door. "I better get going. I have to get to my lab."

She lifted the telephone receiver and extended it toward him. "I can't wait for tonight, Peter. Let's go to my house now. Call your lab with some excuse."

Keller noted the absence of "please". She also held the receiver like a club. But his eyes ran up and down her hourglass body and he dialed the lab.

En Soo answered. Keller said something personal had come up and he would be in on the morrow. As he hung up he knew he should have left a number the lab could reach him at, but...

As Keller replaced the receiver Barbara advanced again. Her hands groped all over and he feared she was going to insist they make love right in the office.

Instead she said "damn" and told him she remembered a group of guests were arriving at ten. They were tennis playing tourists from Atlanta who belonged to an affiliate club. She had promised that club manager she would show them the facilities.

"But I should get away in an hour. Why don't you go over to the house and wait?" She fished in her purse and took out a key chain. She pulled off a key. "This is to the front door." Then she wrote the security code on a piece of paper.

Keller accepted the key and paper. He stared at them. These gave him entry to where Barbara lived. Where he would live, and would enjoy Barbara's delicious nakedness forever and ever.

Barbara checked her watch. "You better go, darling. They'll be here soon."

They parted with a passionate kiss that left Keller reeling. He didn't even see the receptionist as he left the corridor and pushed through the double doors to the outside.

**H** e did, however, see Paula. She was at the end of the walkway. The tall slender woman stood unsmiling.

"Good morning, Peter," she called.

Keller approached her greatly puzzled. Had she tried to reach him at the lab? But how had she known he was here? Nobody but the cab driver was aware of his whereabouts.

His eyes searched for the cab. It was gone.

"I sent the cab away," Paula said. "I've got your change."

As he walked to her a strange ache welled in his chest. He wanted to kiss her. He backed off as he realized the total inappropriateness of the notion.

"Aren't you going to ask what I'm doing here?" she asked.

"Uh, yes. How—"

"I didn't follow you. I just waited."

Now another pair of female eyes bore into him.

"I don't—"

"I'm sure you don't. But I understand—everything."

Keller shook his head. "What's going on? Why are you here? Did the researchers send you?"

"No. But I did meet with Ben Gompertz last night. He gave me something to give you." She opened one of her hands and Keller was looking at another black wristwatch. He stepped back as if she held a snake.

"Gompertz says it stops time just like the others. Except it has a built in limit of five thousand hours. You can't get stuck in frozen time no matter what."

She held the watch out to him. He didn't take it.

"Go on. It's yours. Gompertz says this is your bonus for what we went through. He was sure you will make good use of it, like you did with the aluminum foil stuff."

"Tell him thanks but no thanks."

"Take it, Peter." Paula stuffed the watch in his coat pocket.

Keller didn't resist. Actually, he was considering how the watch would allow him to concentrate undisturbed on the MAM. Ungallantly he also considered how the watch could grant instant respite from Barbara whenever he needed that respite. It would make their life much more manageable.

"Did Gompertz say who he was? And who was behind this?"

"I asked. He just smirked and said: 'I might seem like a devil of a fellow, but really I'm an angel.' " Paula shrugged. "Go figure."

Keller would spend the rest of his life trying to figure.

"So you had a chat with Barbara?" asked Paula. Her lips formed a grim line.

"Yes. She—"

God, how would he explain he hadn't come here to castigate Barbara, but to claim her heart?

"So she loves you true now?"

Keller's mouth dropped. How could Paula know that? Gompertz couldn't have told her. Keller didn't even know the identity of his commandee until a couple hours ago.

Paula sighed. In what sounded like exasperation.

"Months ago I knew you'd choose her. If you got the chance."

Keller continued to gape.

"Peter darling, how many times do you think you called out Barbara's name in your sleep? Sometimes you even do it during your orgasm. So I didn't have to guess real hard where you'd head today. And not for revenge, either."

His tongue shook off its paralysis. "I love her."

"Sure you do. Your attempted killer."

"She's—you don't understand her. She's been hurt so badly. She a decent person underneath."

"Let's take a little walk." She nodded toward the street sidewalk.

"I—"

She looped her arm through his. "Let's take a walk."

Keller didn't know why he just didn't stand his ground. Or go back in the club and call for another taxi. Instead he was walking away with Paula. As they neared Thousand Oaks the passing traffic began to hurt his ears.

"Peter," she half shouted, "you have heard the term pussywhipped?"

"What?"

"Pussywhipped. You have a real bad case of it. I can understand, she is a beautiful woman. But you're not in love."

"I am too."

Keller futilely ordered himself to turn—and flee. His body kept marching alongside Paula. They turned onto a quieter street.

Why should he want to flee? This was Paula, his good friend, his comrade in arms through a great ordeal, just trying to talk sense to him. She wanted to save him from a person she considered irredeemably evil.

But Keller couldn't deny the dawning comprehension. One last time his brain commanded his legs to run. He would later reflect his act should have been to clamp hands over his ears.

Paula was smiling radiantly at him.

"I love you so, Peter."

"No..."

"I have for many months now. All through it I've hated sharing your heart with another woman. Especially this one. But then, if it hadn't been for her, we'd never been together."

"No!" Keller did manage to turn, and get a couple yards away. A voice calmly called after him.

"Peter Simon Keller, I command you to stop."

Paula's voice hit him like a sonic boom. Then he was seeing stars and the next thing he knew he stood beside her.

"We'll be so happy together," she said.

"Paula, don't take her away from me. All my life—"

"All your life you've wanted a woman like that? Well, you've got rocks in your head."

Keller could see the guillotine blade descending. Then a gleam of hope suspended its fall.

"Your daughter, what about her? You can't give Linda up for me."

Paula smiled sweetly, almost with sympathy. "That was my bonus. Gompertz has taken away all the poison my ex put in her. She'll love me now. That's really much better than my having control over her father."

Despite his peril Keller was glad for Paula. He remembered her agony that day in Kerrville as she helplessly gazed upon Linda. Doubly separated from her child, by the frozen world and by the child's rejection.

"I'm going to get custody. Gompertz assured I would. I hope you won't mind her living with us. She's a good kid, really."

Keller remembered the watch in his coat and thrust his hand into the pocket.

"Leave the watch alone, Peter."

He strained mightily, but his hand could not seek out the mode button.

A great sorrow spread through him like a black stain. He was going to lose Barbara. In seconds he would forfeit one of the most magnificent women alive, flawed though she might be. He could now hear the guillotine blade hissing down.

He made his final appeal. "If you love me, Paula, let me have her. I won't be happy otherwise."

"You will, Peter dear. Because I command you to love me as deeply as you think you love that woman. I also command you to now hate her for her crime against us. Truly hate and loathe her. See her for the horrible person she really is."

Keller's head exploded in another Four of July firework's display. When the smoke cleared he grabbed Paula and held her tight. Though he remembered everything she had said, though he knew he loved her by command, he did love her. His heart ached with the intensity of the love. And his heart soared in the knowledge he would spend all his days with her.

They engaged in a long series of kisses. A couple of passing cars tooted their horns, but he paid them no mind. It felt so right to love Paula. And she loved him, miracle of miracles, without anyone having to command her.

"How could I have loved that bitch?" he asked.

"They call it thinking with your groin."

"Yes..." He still couldn't banish image of Barbara's flawless curvatures. But now the frantic desire had to vie with revulsion.

"I command you not to think of her anymore, Peter. That's best all around. For us, and for justice. I can't think of a more fitting punishment than for her to passionately love you, and you utterly indifferent. For her that will be like burning at the stake...for a whole lifetime."

"It is just." Something told him otherwise, but more stars flared in his head, and the sentence seemed totally appropriate.

"Too bad we can't do something to Brian," she said.

Keller had never laid eyes on Brian, so the man was just an abstraction. Keller did bet losing this awesome prize would torment Brian endlessly.

"Will you marry me, Paula?"

She laughed. She had such a nice laugh, no cynicism in it like Barbara. "What do you think?"

"You truly love me, Paula? You won't dump me?"

"Let's go home and I'll show you just how I feel. And no, I'll never stop loving you. We're together forever."

Their lips fused again. But when Keller came up for air, he couldn't help staring at the club two hundred yards behind them. His eyes tried hard to penetrate the white stucco walls, tried to penetrate all the way to the manager's office. His mouth readied to whisper the name of the woman inside that office.

Paula once more told him to forget her. He did, and they walked on.
