Read Online Coin #2 - Quantum Coin by E.C. Myers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: E.C. Myers
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for?”
“Nathaniel's coordinates. 909.877.111…9?”
“Good memory,” Ephraim said.
“It's like a phone number. Or a library call number. So—” Jena said.
Ephraim hushed her and leaned closer to the speaker. A low, gravelly voice was murmuring, but he didn't recognize it. It certainly wasn't Nathaniel.
He shook his head and reached for the tuner.
Jena grabbed his wrist to stop him. “Wait,” she said. “I recognize that voice.”
“Who is it?”
“It's…Grumps.” Jena turned up the volume.
“…is all I'm saying. I simply don't think he's man enough for the job.” The response was garbled. Ephraim reached for the dial again, but Jena slapped his hand away.
“Don't touch it,” she snapped.
“I'm just trying to get a better signal,” he said.
“You might lose it, and we'll never get it back again.” He and Zoe hadn't heard the same quantum frequency twice that night, which didn't bode well for getting in contact with Nathaniel again.
“Oh, my God,” Jena whispered. “It can't be, but it's really him.”
“Nathaniel?” Zoe asked. She came back into the room bearing a tray with a platter of sandwiches and three steaming mugs of coffee.
“It's our grandfather,” Jena said, holding up the microphone.
Zoe put the tray down on her bed and rushed over.
Grumps' voice cut back in. “That's right! I'm so pleased you said that. You know what this country needs, and it isn't—”
“Grandpa Dug!” Zoe said. “Wow.”
“How long has it been since you talked to him?” Ephraim asked.
“Eight years,” Jena said. “We lost him to colon cancer.”
Zoe put a hand on Jena's shoulder.
“That's awful. I'm sorry,” Ephraim said.
He remembered when Jena had missed a week of school in fifth grade. His week had been bad enough with her absent, but that was nothing compared to what she'd been going through. She'd been even more withdrawn for a few months, until Mary and Shelley managed to draw her out again. He knew someone in her family had died, but at the time, he hadn't really known what that felt like; now he was all too acquainted with death. That was also when his mom had kicked his abusive dad out and started divorce proceedings, so he'd had other things on his mind.
Jena turned to Zoe. “He sounds so young.”
“Don't forget, alternate universes can be at different points in our timeline,” Zoe said.
“Right. So he is younger. Can we talk to him?”
“He won't even know us. We haven't been born yet, from his perspective.” But Zoe tapped Ephraim on the shoulder and gestured for him to get up.
She took his chair and studied the number on the controller in Jena's hand. Ephraim looked over Jena's shoulder. The last digit of the frequency flickered between two numbers, corresponding to interference on the station.
“Hmmm. The signal isn't very strong,” Zoe said.
“If we save these coordinates, can the coin take us there?” Jena asked.
“That probably isn't a good idea. But you ought to learn this anyway in case you have to use the controller,” Zoe said.
She showed Jena how the menu worked and walked her through saving both sets of coordinates.
“No telling when this is,” Zoe said. “He bought this radio in 1953, I think, when he emigrated from Korea after the war. If that's still the same, and he's a young man, it's probably not long after that. He would be twenty-something.”
“It's tempting to try to visit, isn't it?” Jena asked. “I love the 1950s.”
“Me too,” Zoe said. She gestured at the piles of videotapes and DVDs of old TV shows from her father's collection, identical to the state of Jena's room back in her and Ephraim's universe. “Obviously.”
Ephraim wandered over to the tray Zoe had made for them and grabbed a peanut butter sandwich and a mug of coffee. He was surprised he wasn't sleepier, but he often stayed up this late on weekends playing computer games with Nathan.
He watched Zoe show Jena how to transmit by squeezing the
“Nathaniel's coordinates. 909.877.111…9?”
“Good memory,” Ephraim said.
“It's like a phone number. Or a library call number. So—” Jena said.
Ephraim hushed her and leaned closer to the speaker. A low, gravelly voice was murmuring, but he didn't recognize it. It certainly wasn't Nathaniel.
He shook his head and reached for the tuner.
Jena grabbed his wrist to stop him. “Wait,” she said. “I recognize that voice.”
“Who is it?”
“It's…Grumps.” Jena turned up the volume.
“…is all I'm saying. I simply don't think he's man enough for the job.” The response was garbled. Ephraim reached for the dial again, but Jena slapped his hand away.
“Don't touch it,” she snapped.
“I'm just trying to get a better signal,” he said.
“You might lose it, and we'll never get it back again.” He and Zoe hadn't heard the same quantum frequency twice that night, which didn't bode well for getting in contact with Nathaniel again.
“Oh, my God,” Jena whispered. “It can't be, but it's really him.”
“Nathaniel?” Zoe asked. She came back into the room bearing a tray with a platter of sandwiches and three steaming mugs of coffee.
“It's our grandfather,” Jena said, holding up the microphone.
Zoe put the tray down on her bed and rushed over.
Grumps' voice cut back in. “That's right! I'm so pleased you said that. You know what this country needs, and it isn't—”
“Grandpa Dug!” Zoe said. “Wow.”
“How long has it been since you talked to him?” Ephraim asked.
“Eight years,” Jena said. “We lost him to colon cancer.”
Zoe put a hand on Jena's shoulder.
“That's awful. I'm sorry,” Ephraim said.
He remembered when Jena had missed a week of school in fifth grade. His week had been bad enough with her absent, but that was nothing compared to what she'd been going through. She'd been even more withdrawn for a few months, until Mary and Shelley managed to draw her out again. He knew someone in her family had died, but at the time, he hadn't really known what that felt like; now he was all too acquainted with death. That was also when his mom had kicked his abusive dad out and started divorce proceedings, so he'd had other things on his mind.
Jena turned to Zoe. “He sounds so young.”
“Don't forget, alternate universes can be at different points in our timeline,” Zoe said.
“Right. So he is younger. Can we talk to him?”
“He won't even know us. We haven't been born yet, from his perspective.” But Zoe tapped Ephraim on the shoulder and gestured for him to get up.
She took his chair and studied the number on the controller in Jena's hand. Ephraim looked over Jena's shoulder. The last digit of the frequency flickered between two numbers, corresponding to interference on the station.
“Hmmm. The signal isn't very strong,” Zoe said.
“If we save these coordinates, can the coin take us there?” Jena asked.
“That probably isn't a good idea. But you ought to learn this anyway in case you have to use the controller,” Zoe said.
She showed Jena how the menu worked and walked her through saving both sets of coordinates.
“No telling when this is,” Zoe said. “He bought this radio in 1953, I think, when he emigrated from Korea after the war. If that's still the same, and he's a young man, it's probably not long after that. He would be twenty-something.”
“It's tempting to try to visit, isn't it?” Jena asked. “I love the 1950s.”
“Me too,” Zoe said. She gestured at the piles of videotapes and DVDs of old TV shows from her father's collection, identical to the state of Jena's room back in her and Ephraim's universe. “Obviously.”
Ephraim wandered over to the tray Zoe had made for them and grabbed a peanut butter sandwich and a mug of coffee. He was surprised he wasn't sleepier, but he often stayed up this late on weekends playing computer games with Nathan.
He watched Zoe show Jena how to transmit by squeezing the
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