Chapter One

Just for a moment I was nowhere. Then colour and light and noise invaded my senses.

It was a typical valley day in June without a hint of relieving breeze along the canal. Nothing to push the lingering heaviness away from the dusty hilly streets of Capistrano town. I attempted to wipe my glasses with one hand whilst steering the little red Vespa with the other. I was making a clumsy job of it. As the tiny wheels rattled on the old High Street’s cobblestones I presented a curious sight to the Friday morning shoppers in their vehicle-free zone. I managed to dodge a startled couple and swung right towards North Street and the bridge over the Riverway.

The short cut was necessary. I had to be at least vaguely on time for the ‘most important interview of my life’,  Mike’s description not mine. I gave an inner sigh because I’d heard it all before. That’s why I worked at the library; I’d had enough of ‘making something of myself’. My fellow grad students had accumulated promising careers and interesting lives but I hadn’t really bothered and that had suited everyone, including me, just fine. Until today.

Out of nowhere I’d been offered the possibility of a job with a company named Trans-Port that I didn’t particularly want and certainly wasn’t qualified for. James Mann, my best mate and definitely one of life’s go-getters, had fixed it up for me while my parents Mike and Joanne had wisely nodded their approval.

Foster parents I should say, I lost my real mum and dad in a car accident when I was ten.

I didn’t stand a cat in Hell’s chance with the interview of course; a particularly unlucky three-legged cat which was probably tail-less as well.

Also, I was still feeling a bit wired from last night’s dream. I’d had the drowning one again.

The job interview was at Capistrano Science Park up behind the cathedral. Rather than dwelling on the sheer inconceivability of a positive outcome I turned my thoughts, as I tended to in times of stress, to Amelia. I wondered for the umpteenth time if she was still living in that posh riverbank flat. We’d met at one of the rock concerts up at the University halls that I dragged myself to occasionally. We dated for a while, a short while, then she dumped me. During this mad fling I’d taken her to my local, The Druid, to meet my mates. Well, James basically. We’d slept together at her riverbank apartment a few times but then suddenly she’d wanted to ‘cool it’. Which had been a bit of an ego-basher. We had some painfully embarrassing break-up sex and that was it. My first and so far last affair of the heart. And loins. I thought my frail libido would never recover but life, apparently, goes on.

As she shut the door behind me she’d asked if I’d be okay?’

‘Of course,’ I’d lied, ‘never better.’

I have a tendency to cling on to memories especially women, not that there had been many. Perhaps that’s why the loss of Amelia, brief though our tragic affair had been, hit home so brutally. She was the one thing in this place that was exceptional, better than I’d come to expect I had a right too. If that sounds pathetic well, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it recently. Far too much of the stuff on my hands.

Unlike my colleagues at the town University I’d never really left Capistrano, both physically and mentally. I’ve been away on holidays of course, the south coast of France for instance, and Paris. The trip to LA was great although the details are vague now. It’s just been easier that way. I’m thirty-years-old but it’s just the way I am, the way I’ve been programmed. Maybe this interview would be a catalyst and open me up on some kind of personal level. You never know.

Leaving the town in the valley behind me I puttered around the foot of The Promontory, a steep hill that overlooks the town to its north and serves as a dramatic setting for the impressively gothic Capistrano Cathedral with its winged buttresses and high pointed steeple. My foster parents had given me the scooter as a graduation present a while ago now. I’d never bothered learning to drive and anyway this was easier, got me around. Besides, like a sad child I still get carsick.

I reluctantly replaced the memory of Amelia’s long golden hair with a quick review of my brilliant interview technique. If they asked me a load of scientific waffle what would I say? James had briefed me that the post was largely administrative, rather like my work at the library, with cataloguing, writing dull reports and transcribing. I guessed everything would be on disc anyway. My modest English Lit BA was probably good enough for that sort of thing but I had no scientific experience whatsoever; couldn’t even remember the basic school stuff. In fact, I couldn’t remember much about school in general. I guess I must have done alright there to have got the various modest posts I’d attained before today’s venture. Since graduating from Capistrano University I’d taught English Language to foreign students at the local Tech, worked in tele-sales, then insurance, then a small promotions group (if three people could be called a group). Eventually I’d been only too grateful to accept the position of Assistant Chief Librarian in the ugly sixties building at the top of North Street.

  I glanced down at the stacked roofs of student flats in the fields below and my eyes automatically alighted on the one I’d shared with James. I think I was at my happiest back then. He’d stayed on take his PHD after I’d left, something scientificy I could never quite grasp, then become a lecturer himself. The Trans-Port complex was apparently nearby the student halls on the far side of The Promontory. I’m not sure how James fixed up my interview with their boss Professor William Carver; something about the great man giving a talk to the Physics grad students, James being introduced as the department’s Student Liaison Officer afterwards and taking the opportunity to mention me, his friend, when Carver said the company needed someone urgently in an organisational role. I might have got some of that slightly wrong. Anyway, Mike and Joanne gave me their customary filial support despite my previous career failures and James told me he had absolute faith I’d pull it off. I promised to buy him a couple of pints in The Druid whatever happened. Once again, just like in our Uni days, he’d proved a true friend.

I jogged my mind back to the interview again. This was now cutting it fine even for me. I optimistically stood on the accelerator as the Vespa’s tiny motor complained. The Science Park’s gates appeared directly in front of me with a business’ board dominated by Trans-Port’s intertwined arrows logo. I’d seen it before in a few national press articles when the operation took up residence in Capistrano twenty-two years previously. It had been mildly controversial at the time although I can’t remember why exactly. After all, I’d only been eight. Something about a hidden potential danger to the town regarding its experimental work. The matter soon blew over, especially when it began employing local science graduates and staff. A small rider beneath the arrows stated Trans-Port were ‘An Institute Company’, whoever they were.

A black-uniformed security guard stepped out from a small hut. I managed to tell him enough to be directed to a sectionalised block of dark glass and rusting concrete. My instructions were report to ‘A Block: Reception’. But A Block was surrounded by cars and when I finally found the ‘designated motorcycle park’ I was definitely late. The clang of my helmet hitting the revolving glass door forced the receptionist to look up in alarm. She listened patiently to my out-of-breath excuse then indicated a plush white leather couch in a corner.

“You’d better leave that out here with me.” She pointed to the helmet then spoke into her mouthpiece. “Mr Peter Cooper is here Professor.” She smiled at me. “Would you like a coffee?”

“No I’m fine thanks…” I actually felt nauseous. I noticed some enlarged photographs of people pointing out computer graphics to each other and staring through laser beams; the images of a typical research company although a little hackneyed by now I’d have thought. The frames were fusty and the equipment rather dated.

A side door opened and an immaculately suited young woman walked briskly up to me and proffered a perfectly manicured hand. I rose to shake it.

“Good morning Mr Cooper, welcome to Trans-Port Incorporated. I see you found us arl-right.” I’d watched enough Californian cop shows to recognise the honey-smooth West Coast accent.

“Yes, no problem. Sorry I’m a bit late.”

“That’s okay. If you’ll follow me please…’ She marched back to the door she’d come through.

Professor Carver’s office was as almost as large as the Reception area we’d just come from. He was a big man with a brutish white crew cut and full jaw, features I found immediately intimidating.

“Mr Peter Cooper.” The woman told him.

“Good morning Professor.” I began.

The granite-like features broke into a warm smile as the ice blue eyes took me in. “Please call me William.” He spoke in a soft Scottish baritone. “Your friend James Mann has already told us a good deal about you so I’m treating this more like an informal chat.”

“Oh, right.’ This was already deviating from what I’d expected. I noticed two metal-framed photographs on the wall behind his head. One was of Carver at some important looking conference shaking hands with assorted science luminaries. The other, strangely, was a faded scene of a mud-spattered boy’s rugby team grouped around a trophy. There were no family portraits on the glass desk but there was a small picture of a white rabbit in a silver frame engraved with the legend ‘Oscar’. ‘William’ waited for me to continue. “I see you’ve got my CV.” I pointed out a crumpled piece of A4 with my name on it poking out of a plastic folder.

Carver glanced at it. “Yes, very interesting.”

At once I sensed he was patronising me. If he’d actually read the pathetic scrap of paper he’d  have already realised I knew nothing of science and that even my competency in the fields I was being interviewed for was at best limited. It suddenly bore home on me with undeniable force what a total lightweight I was. It had been a stupid idea to come here and the interview, or whatever it had been, was already as good as over. I should make my excuses and leave.

But as I stood up Carver jumped to his feet. “Right, nothing to be gained hanging around here. I think we’re ready for the grand tour. Claire, if you’ll attend?”

“Of course, William.” Claire, who hadn’t bothered introducing herself before, opened the door for Carver then walked beside me as we made our way down a long corridor of blurred figures trapped in offices behind darkened glass. She turned to me. “I’m Claire by the way, seeing as William hasn’t formally introduced us.”

“Peter Cooper.” I replied stupidly.

“Yes, I know,” then in a voice I was sure she’d lowered so Carver wouldn’t hear. “I know who you are Peter.”

“I’m sorry?”

She paused for a moment forcing me to stop as well. She studied me then frowned. “Never mind.” She promptly continued walking. Carver hadn’t appeared to notice.

‘What a bizarre manner’ I thought. Distracted, I bumped into Carver’s broad back. We were now in the middle of an open plan office full of cubicles and laptops. There was a sign stating ‘B Block’ on the wall. The area was empty and the giant screens hanging down from a high ceiling were dead. Like the pictures in reception, there was a fine layer of dust on everything.

“It didn’t used to be like this,” Carver said and I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or himself. “Things were better once and they will be again.” He looked round at me. “Depend on it.”

“Shall we show Peter the rest of the complex?” Claire asked, as if nudging him out of some reverie. “Including the Projection Chamber? Its fully operational as you ordered.”

Carver hesitated as if still lost in the moment. He seemed to gain focus. “Yes, let’s do that.”

She nodded. “The crew’s standing by.”

“Good, well done Claire. This way Peter.” He strode off again.

I hesitated and looked purposively at Claire but this time she kept her eyes firmly ahead.

We followed to a set of double glass doors at the end of the room. Carver swiped some sort of security card clearance and we were in a large hanger. There were some offices in the corner but apart from a collection of hefty looking electrical cables the entire area consisted of just two identical dark grey plinths. They were set a few yards apart from each other with a thick mesh-lined glass wall between them and a line of plastic seats.

Carver pointed the wall out. “Shatterproof steel-meshed glass.”

I looked more closely. Poised above the first plinth was a metal tube stretching up into complicated technical apparatus hanging from a gantry across the ceiling. The second stood on it’s own. There didn’t seem to be any point to either of them.

Carver noticed my attention. “What do you suppose all that is? You’ve presumably read the project’s basic outline that we sent you?” 

I remembered enough to hedge a vague reply. “Er… some kind of theoretical particle acceleration device…”

“Hmm... You do realise we’re talking about teleportation of course?”

“Of course.” I lied.

“Would you like a demonstration?” I glanced over Carver’s shoulder at two approaching figures. “Actually you’re about to get one anyway.” He addressed a man and a woman. “Professors Harding and Steiner. Dorothy and Christian, allow me to introduce Peter Cooper.”

I studied the white-coated scientists as we awkwardly shook hands. Steiner was a non-descript man in his early-forties. Harding was taller, a handsome if rather hard-faced fifty-ish with greying wavy hair. She turned a quizzical smile on me.

“Peter, it’s nice to meet you. We’ve heard so much about you, I mean about all the candidates.” She gave Carver an awkward glance he appeared to miss.

“Dorothy, I was hoping you might provide our young guest with a brief summation of how this thing works, just the ‘theoretical’ part of course.” He smiled at me and I wondered if he was taking the piss.

 “Certainly William.” She turned to me. “As I’m sure you’re aware, successful teleportation requires the binding energy of the atomic force that holds the nuclei together to be reduced to pure radiation.”

I nodded helpfully. I hadn’t been aware of that actually.

“I won’t confuse you with theories of spin and entangled particles but suffice to say we have found a way to capture that radiation in the form of a photonic beam, a ‘Projection Beam’, and move it to a new location before rematerializing it back to its original atomic structure. That could be just a few yards away, as in our demonstration, or potentially the other side of the world. When the total process has completed we will have achieved successful matter Projection; what the layman (she meant me) might call ‘teleportation. Do you understand?”

I nodded dumbly.

“Anyway let’s begin, after all seeing is believing as they say. If you’d all put these on to protect your optic nerves,” she produced a set of eye-protectors from a bag slung over her shoulder, “and take a seat over there.” We sat on the plastic chairs behind the screen.

“George, would you mind placing Einstein?” Dorothy asked a young man wearing a brown lab-coat who had quietly appeared. George produced a ragged-looking teddy bear from a plastic Tesco bag and placed it on top of the left-hand plinth. It sat at an acute angle threatening to topple over, its one glass eye staring inscrutably at us through the thick screen.

“Are we ready, ladies and gentlemen?” Carver asked, as if introducing a cabaret act. “Very well...” He made a twirling motion with his finger and the room lights dimmed. A wide window appeared high up along the far wall showing a long spot lit room. Vague silhouettes moved inside. A low mechanical whir came out of the darkness followed by rapid clicking sounds as the first plinth was picked out in a dull cone of light.

“Set up complete.” A wall-mounted speaker informed us. “All readings check green; ready for Projection to commence.”

“Carry on Control Room.” Carver replied, jutting out his jaw.

The cone became a powerful white beam. I squinted, trying to make out Einstein’s shape, but the teddy bear’s form had already become an insubstantial phantom, like dust particles trapped in sunlight. The intense beam shut off. The tube was empty.

“Have you got it?” Carver asked.

“No problem,” the speaker confirmed, “we’re shifting capture…now.”

The random light points reappeared on top of the lone second plinth. I watched as they coalesced back into Einstein. The light reflecting on its glass eye gave the toy a look of reproach at the indignity of its short journey.

Carver gave a slightly childlike clap and the rest of us joined in. As the wall lights came up I found myself being studied by the scientist. “I trust you enjoyed that? You’re lucky; not many get to witness a full Projection. We’ll go back to my office now for a quick chat then we’re finished for today.” He jumped enthusiastically to his feet and marched off, expecting me to follow.

I looked around for Claire but she’d already left. I was under the growing impression we’d met before today; unlikely of course