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  A tiny smile flicked at the edge of Hack's mouth as he watched Taylor's eyebrows knit together briefly. Everyone's surprised by how little it weighs, Hack thought, as if they'd just witnessed a magic trick.

  Hack felt a tiny satisfaction to have pricked Taylor's smug armor. There was something about Taylor that he just couldn’t like, although he had so far been unable to pinpoint it. It's just his arrogance, Hack thought. The guy's got a giant ego. Been smart his whole life and doesn't want it to go unnoticed. As long as he comes up with something these guys haven't figured out…Nothing else matters. Hack smiled at Taylor and nodded. Taylor met his eyes without an expression and looked down at the artifact.

  The others waited, and watched Taylor turn the artifact over in his hands. Taylor's fingers traced faint swirling lines in the surface.

  "The lines look like indentions in the surface as if they are cut into it, but the surface is smooth. The traces are below a glossy, transparent outer surface," Hack provided. "X-ray and fluoroscope don't tell us anything about the tracings. The entire thickness of the artifact seems to be one material, but we think there might be sections with different properties." Hack made eye contact with one of the researchers. "There's a theory that the swirls might be for communication, whether as primary communications or enhancements, we don't know."

  Taylor continued to stare at the artifact.

  "What about the sound?" Taylor asked.

  Hack's eyes tightened on Taylor, "Sound?"

  "The music," Taylor looked up at Hack.

  Taylor asked, "You hear it?"

  "I reviewed the preliminary reports your team published, Major. Have you discovered a pattern to the music?"

  "Dr. Roberts," Hack asked, looking at the team's radiologist, "would you outline this for Mr. Taylor please?"

  Roberts cleared his throat and pulled himself up a little, "We didn't discover the vibrational energy that you're calling 'music' right away, but we isolated the range and monitored it for a three-month period, during which the underlying vibration or background noise didn't seem to repeat, at least in any recognizable way. It was just a steady stream of different tones, without repeating cycles. We haven't been able to reliably decode the patterns."

  Hack watched Taylor take this in and motioned Roberts to continue, "We observed patterns in the layer above the background vibrational stream that seem to coincide with the artifact's proximity to various items. These foreground vibrations change as objects are brought closer to the artifact. We experimented with various objects, a glass, metal objects, a wooden block, and things like that. We put the objects close to the artifact and tracked the changes in the tone patterns. At first, there seemed to be no logical pattern. We put an object near the artifact and the pattern would be completely different when we put it back. The second round of tests, we fabricated a fixture to hold the artifact and the object in exactly the same position relative to each other. When an object is placed in exactly the same position, it generates a pattern that repeats with about ten percent variance."

  "But the pattern is different when the object is out of alignment with the prior position," interrupted Taylor, "even if the same object is introduced".

  "Yes," Hack replied before Roberts could answer.

  "Cat's whiskers," said Taylor, watching Hack to see if he understood. "A cat's whiskers are called 'vibrissae'. They allow cats to navigate in complete darkness, winding through grass and branches, while avoiding objects that might damage their eyes. The foreground vibrations you've detected are transmitting a representation of the surroundings, like a radar image. The ten percent variance is likely caused by people walking in the hallway outside the lab. It's apparently detecting their movement as well."

  This evoked a response from Roberts, "That's just what I was getting at four weeks ago, but Jonas's ridiculously contrived experiment derailed my theory!" Jonas took up the argument and the researchers jumped in at once.

  The researchers were eager to score points against each other. As the debate picked up momentum, Taylor watched them, saying nothing. Hack knew there would be no clear winner. None of them would actually admit defeat even if they'd obviously lost, so very little was produced from the exchanges. Hack kept his eyes on Taylor.

  Taylor's mouth moved slightly as if he were participating in the conversation, with his eyebrows moving as an occasional point was made, but he didn't interject himself. He stared at the middle of the table, at the artifact. Because Taylor sat virtually motionless, Hack noticed a slight movement of Taylor's right arm. He was doing something under the table. Hack leaned his head back and to the side to see what.

  Turning only his head, Taylor met Hack's eyes and smiled. Something in the smile reminded Hack of Rudolfo's smug self-assurance. In the few hours he'd spent with Taylor in the preliminary planning sessions, working out contract details, Hack remained uneasy. The more time he spent with Taylor, the less he liked him. He was smart. Hack brought the artifact here because he was smart, but he didn't trust him. He kept suspicion off his face as Taylor spoke and reminded himself every few seconds that someone as smart as Taylor might be much more perceptive than Rudolfo.

  "I'm writing your report, Major" Taylor said. He raised his right hand up just over the edge of the table. His right fingers danced about as if there was a marionette underneath. As Taylor spoke, there seemed to be no interruption or hesitation of his finger's motion.

  Black leather tips covered each of Taylor's right fingers and his thumb. His palm was covered by a black glove with cut-out fingers. Taylor twisted his hand to display the back, which had a small chrome plate in the center and smaller knuckle plates. Blue LED lights tipped each knuckle, and flashed as Taylor's fingers moved. Seeing this, the researchers paused their debate, intrigued by Taylor's device.

  "I designed this to transcribe my notes during these sessions. It transmits notes, and immediate instructions to my staff," explained Taylor. "Please continue, I'm listening." Taylor put his right hand back under the table.

  The discussions continued for an hour longer before the researchers lost steam and noticed Hack and Taylor were just observing.

  As soon as the discussion ended, Taylor stood up. "Gentlemen, and Major, I hope you will agree that your time and considerable fees have been well spent." He smiled. "I will be pleased to meet with you again in the near future, should you require my assistance."

  For a moment, Taylor stood alone, with everyone else staring in disbelief. They'd expected the session to take all day, possibly several days.

  Hack felt his anger rise. The team was already negative about meeting with an outside consultant, especially one they'd decided had little scientific background. They'd give him Hell over this. Hack stood, "We're just getting started here Taylor". Before he could continue, the conference room door opened. One of Taylor's staff entered, holding a thick blue bound report.

  Taylor took the report, and presented it to Hack with a small head bow. "Major, it has been an especially great pleasure to meet you. You've brightened my day with this interesting artifact. Please reserve your judgment though, until you've read the entire report. It's quite thorough. There are six additional lines of research and investigation I've proposed to help our military understand the possibilities introduced by the artifact, including the artifact's neutrino mill, which, alone, is a discovery of great potential significance. Imagine the implications of continuous, ever-replenishing energy, Major. With suitable design changes, there might never again be a need to store energy. It could become inexpensively available for all. The possibilities are fascinating, to say the least."

  Hack was stunned to silence. He took the report and shook Taylor's extended hand. As Taylor nodded to the others and turned to leave the room, Hack looked down at the report. Then he glanced around the room, seeing a few faces already sporting "I told you so" looks.

  He opened the blue book, and was overwhelmed by what he saw. He flipped page after page. It was a fully-finished product. There were pages of c
onclusions, followed by detailed notes and references from other published studies. The second section, did indeed contain six new proposed tests. Two of the six were similar to concepts the team had discussed before the session with Taylor, but even these varied in the hypothesis projected.

  He typed and compiled this report, while participating, while leading, the discussion. How is that even possible? He must have been typing instructions to a team of technical writers and researchers upstairs the whole time he was in here with us. Taylor had been highly recommended, so Hack knew he was smart, but this? He'd have felt the session was an astounding success if Taylor had been able to break even one of the logjam arguments that had held the team unproductive for weeks. He'd never expected to come away with proposals for new lines of study. He flipped to the end. Counting ten pages of single spaced footnotes, there were 204 pages.

  The researchers filed past Hack out of the conference room. Jonas smirked at him, "That's a classic consultant, Major, they borrow your watch to tell you what time it is, and then they send you an invoice."

  Hack shook his head. "No. It wasn't in the report. I reviewed all the preliminary data we provided Taylor and removed references to the physical tests that were inconclusive. The foreground vibration results weren't mentioned in the preliminary report – at all."

  "Well, you must have made a mistake." Jonas said, shrugging off further discussion, "Otherwise, how could he possibly have detected the vibrations?" Jonas was shaking his head, "He obviously couldn't actually hear the music Major. The frequencies are far outside the human auditory range. You've just forgotten mentioning it along the way."

  Hack said nothing, letting Jonas lose interest and walk away. There was no need to argue. Hack had carefully pulled those findings from the preliminary packet. The smug bastard came up with that on his own, he thought. How?

  Hack couldn't wait to read the rest of the report.

  13

  Taylor heaved the last of his lunch through his open car door. A truck horn blasted his ears as it passed, although Taylor was sufficiently off the highway.

  Taylor closed the door, wiping his mouth with a sleeve.

  His eyes in the rearview were shot-through with blood. If only I felt as good as I look, it'd be at least some relief, he thought. The migraine was crippling. He hoped relieving the nausea might decrease some of the pressure behind his eyes. I don't have time for this.

  He couldn't remember having a headache before his teens, but had them regularly since. As an adult, it became a weekly occurrence. They usually started on Friday or Saturday morning. He thought it might be caused by not getting enough sleep through the week, but he'd never been able to stay in bed once he woke up – and he usually woke before five. He typically caught up on sleep with a Sunday afternoon nap, and reset for the week.

  When a migraine started, he could function but couldn't maintain sufficient concentration for anything complex, so he shuffled around the house and caught up on the week's chores until it crawled back from his temples, down his neck and back to wait somewhere down there until the next week. He usually felt better by mid-afternoon or evening on Saturday as long as he took the pills.

  He was at home packing when Sowyer called. He'd already taken the migraine pill. It was bad timing for a migraine when he needed to be sharp, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Would've been better to leave on a Monday or Tuesday, he thought, shaking his head. The headshake was a mistake and he instantly regretted it, as his eyes rolled over the broken glass he felt lining his eye sockets. He had packed all the essentials, a small case of clothes, the duffel bag of money and his checklists. Once he'd zipped the clothes in, he stood looking around the room.

  One last look around. Don't want to leave anything important behind. The house was much larger than a single man needed. There were four bedrooms, a large den that he'd converted into a home theater, a giant kitchen full of hanging copper pots that his girlfriends fussed over and his giant downstairs study. He'd owned the house for two years. The decorator he hired was still collecting pieces.

  The little throwaway phone vibrated in his pocket.

  "Taylor?"

  "Yes, it's me. Do you have everything?"

  "Yes, I have it. Do you have my money?" Taylor winced. Head is killing me.

  "Yes, of course, I'm looking at it right now," he lied, he was looking at his own duffel of money. He'd forgotten to pull out some for Sowyer. Do that in a minute, he thought. Stay focused, keep Sowyer calm.

  "Alright. I'll meet you in two hours as we planned." Sowyer said. "I want to get this over with so I never have to hear your name again."

  Whatever, thought Taylor, whatever it takes. Just focus on the objective. He glanced around uncertainly before spotting the yellow legal sheet with his active checklist. He snatched it from the desk and hurriedly scanned the list to make sure he wasn't missing anything important. No. Nothing critical to this step other than just keeping Sowyer calm. The checklist said, "13. Keep Sowyer calm. He is inclined toward anger and has tendencies toward solving problems with violence – do not argue with him about anything!"

  "That is excellent Agent Sowyer." Taylor replied. "I look forward to completing our transaction." He held back a sarcastic response to Sowyer's jab.

  He disconnected the call and put the phone in his pocket, going back over the list. He read carefully through each line, making sure he wasn't missing anything. He thought about crossing off the line that encouraged him to keep Sowyer calm, but decided he would leave it until he was certain he'd never see the man again.

  The line just above it read, "12. Pack bag of clothes (2 nights), duffel of cash (all of it) and book of checklists – don't leave anything behind that you need, you might not be coming back here again."

  He looked at the two bags on the floor in front of him and moved a large leather-bound journal to the floor beside them.

  Realizing how important his checklists were becoming to his life, he'd decided to transcribe them into something more impressive. The journal's thick leather cover was moss-green, soft and flexible. He'd had "T. Taylor – Timeshare Checklists" embossed deep into the bottom right cover. He liked the way it felt so much that he often just held it while sitting in his chair, watching television as he dozed off. It held a history of his past plans, instructions guiding his immediate actions and strategies for years into the future. It had become the book of his life. The pages were hand-torn, giving the edges a ragged thrown-together look like a magic tome.

  He was never able to catch up with the transcription process. He didn't take the book with him to the office. It was too valuable to risk losing. During the meeting sessions with clients, he used a different notebook filled with yellow legal pages. He stuck the loose yellow pad pages into the back of the book as he filled them. Several times a week, he'd sit down at his big desk at home and copy the checklists into the book with music filling his downstairs office. The wonderfully acoustic shelves of thick, old books the interior designer bought softened the music's echoes.

  He paused, looking at the book on the floor. I'm forgetting something. What is it? He remembered. Just about let it slip my mind again. He looked around the office for something the right size for $75,000. My briefcase, that's about the right size. I won't need it anymore. He dumped it out and crammed two stacks of bills into the bottom before he noticed the little chrome nameplate with "T. Taylor" stenciled under the soft, leather grip. He considered this for a moment, and then reached in and removed the stacks. Not be a good idea. He looked for something else. Aha. Perfect.

  His staff at Timeshare bought him a messenger bag for his birthday. On the side, a stencil read "Mr. Wonderful". Even though he suspected they intended it as sarcasm, they presented it with solemn expressions and phony smiles, so he went along with it. He didn't care what they thought of him anyway as long as they did their jobs. He preferred to interact with them as little as required. Even that minimal interaction was more than he desired. He brought the bag hom
e and tossed it into the corner of his office. His housekeeper later hung it on a lower rung of the coatrack where it remained untouched for months. It'll annoy him. He thought about Sowyer's reaction when he gave him the bag of money. With all his money in it, he'll just have to take it anyway. Good enough for him.

  14

  Taylor realized when he noticed the sign for Mclean that he couldn't remember any details of the drive. Couldn't remember cars he'd passed. Other than stopping to be sick, he'd just been on autopilot.

  He'd be early. He hoped for an hour's nap before Sowyer arrived. Closing his eyes for even ten minutes might give the pill a chance to slide the headache back down, at least far enough that he could function.

  He looked down again at the checklist, just to make sure he was still on track. He'd crossed out "12. Pack bag of clothes (2 nights), duffel of cash (all of it) and book of checklists – don't leave anything behind that you need, you might not be coming back here again," with a single ruler-straight line. The checklists were essential. Without them, there was no way to pass instructions to himself from the high-energy timesharing bouts to his normal times afterward.

  He'd started referring to his talent as "timesharing" years ago. It was a term from the early days of computers, before everyone had one for themselves and expensive ones were shared by many users. Even the earliest computers could process calculations and procedures tremendously faster than humans, leaving a computer spare time between one user's input and a human's ability to review its output. During this spare time, the computer easily processed input from other users, delivering new output without either user noticing a delay. The processing speed difference between computer and human was so great that many humans could share computer processes with little noticeable reduction in performance. From the computer's perspective, it was a serial response – one user's request after another, but the speed was so quick the users didn't notice.