Read Online Phase Shift by elise abram - Free Book Online
Authors: elise abram
Tags: Archaeology, fiction about women, fiction about moral dilemma, fiction adult fantasy and science fiction, environment disaster
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subtitled.
ALDERSHOT
We were filming the children flying kites, so
my camera was pointed skyward.
He points to the middle of the television
screen.
It appeared over there, over the tree tops.
It was black. Huge. Shaped like a pie wedge. It was suddenly just
there. It criss-crossed over the trees a few times and then
disappeared.
Cut to loop of fuzzy film footage depicting
a black, wedge-shaped object at dusk. The object flits across the
screen, shifting directions mid-flight. After traversing the screen
three times, the object darts up and disappears from view.
REPORTER
Voice-over
There is no word yet as to the nature of the
craft. The U.S. government is investigating the sighting as well as
the footage, although they have confirmed it is not a weather
balloon and there were no test-flights scheduled at that time.
April Sondheim, Channel Ten News, Chicago.
Cut to close up of anchor. She is
smiling.
ANCHOR
In other news...
Prescott Checks Out
If there is one thing Xander Morales is, it's
predictable. At least, that’s what Palmer tells me. Every morning
from 7:30 to 8:15, he sits at the same table in the cafeteria
sipping a latte, eating a blueberry muffin, and reading the morning
paper. Xander Morales is so reliable in fact, his students learn to
set their watches by him. Upon arriving at the cafeteria they look
for Dr. Morales. If he's sitting at his table, they know they have
enough time to finish their transactions before they need to head
off to class. If anyone but Dr. Morales is sitting at Dr. Morales's
table, the students take it as a sign they're late and have to skip
their morning caffeine fix and high-tail it off to class. Xander
Morales is so predictable, there's been talk of memorializing his
favourite breakfast table with a plaque.
Dr. Morales, Palmer and I sip lattes and
pick at matching blueberry muffins. Dr. Morales's ritual is one
generally carried out in solitude, but we had caught the man with a
full mouth and sat down before he could protest. Currently, we sit
in silence as Dr. Morales appears to contemplate the pool of latte
on the lid of his coffee cup, while I contemplate how I might begin
the conversation. And though Palmer sits next to me, we agreed I
must be the one to engage Dr. Morales in discussion—Palmer’s here
for moral support. This is my show.
Palmer places his hand on my knee and
squeezes. I suppose that’s my cue. "Dr. Morales?" I say. I feel
like we’re intruders. Like we’ve broken a sacred trust, even if it
is between a man and his breakfast. My better judgment says we
should get up, walk away, and give the man his space. But I need to
pick Dr. Morales's brain. He's one of the leading scientists in the
field of Quantum Science in Canada, if not the world. He's the only
man with feet large enough to fill Prescott's shoes. If anyone
could give me a sense of the validity of Stanley's collection—or
"The Prescott Papers", as we’ve begun to call them—it's him. "You
teach Physics, right? Quantum Physics?"
Dr. Morales smiles a rather humourless
smile. There is an unspoken hierarchy in the world of academia, a
prioritization of study, if you will. In the University’s
Department of Archaeology for example, the prehistoric
archaeologists pooh-pooh the work of the historic ones. In the
grand scheme of things, departments such as Mathematics,
Engineering, and Pure Science tip their noses at the lesser
disciplines of English, History and the Social Sciences. As a
result, Dr. Morales suffers our questions as an impatient adult
might suffer a child, curious about the mundane machinations of the
world around him. "Quantum Mechanics, yes."
"And this is the study of alternate worlds?
Alternate realities?" I hesitate before I ask, "Time travel?"
"Guilty as charged." Dr. Morales sips
cautiously from his latte cup. A light dusting of foam clings to
the bristle of his moustache. He gropes for a napkin and wipes it
clean.
"Tell me: exactly how
ALDERSHOT
We were filming the children flying kites, so
my camera was pointed skyward.
He points to the middle of the television
screen.
It appeared over there, over the tree tops.
It was black. Huge. Shaped like a pie wedge. It was suddenly just
there. It criss-crossed over the trees a few times and then
disappeared.
Cut to loop of fuzzy film footage depicting
a black, wedge-shaped object at dusk. The object flits across the
screen, shifting directions mid-flight. After traversing the screen
three times, the object darts up and disappears from view.
REPORTER
Voice-over
There is no word yet as to the nature of the
craft. The U.S. government is investigating the sighting as well as
the footage, although they have confirmed it is not a weather
balloon and there were no test-flights scheduled at that time.
April Sondheim, Channel Ten News, Chicago.
Cut to close up of anchor. She is
smiling.
ANCHOR
In other news...
Prescott Checks Out
If there is one thing Xander Morales is, it's
predictable. At least, that’s what Palmer tells me. Every morning
from 7:30 to 8:15, he sits at the same table in the cafeteria
sipping a latte, eating a blueberry muffin, and reading the morning
paper. Xander Morales is so reliable in fact, his students learn to
set their watches by him. Upon arriving at the cafeteria they look
for Dr. Morales. If he's sitting at his table, they know they have
enough time to finish their transactions before they need to head
off to class. If anyone but Dr. Morales is sitting at Dr. Morales's
table, the students take it as a sign they're late and have to skip
their morning caffeine fix and high-tail it off to class. Xander
Morales is so predictable, there's been talk of memorializing his
favourite breakfast table with a plaque.
Dr. Morales, Palmer and I sip lattes and
pick at matching blueberry muffins. Dr. Morales's ritual is one
generally carried out in solitude, but we had caught the man with a
full mouth and sat down before he could protest. Currently, we sit
in silence as Dr. Morales appears to contemplate the pool of latte
on the lid of his coffee cup, while I contemplate how I might begin
the conversation. And though Palmer sits next to me, we agreed I
must be the one to engage Dr. Morales in discussion—Palmer’s here
for moral support. This is my show.
Palmer places his hand on my knee and
squeezes. I suppose that’s my cue. "Dr. Morales?" I say. I feel
like we’re intruders. Like we’ve broken a sacred trust, even if it
is between a man and his breakfast. My better judgment says we
should get up, walk away, and give the man his space. But I need to
pick Dr. Morales's brain. He's one of the leading scientists in the
field of Quantum Science in Canada, if not the world. He's the only
man with feet large enough to fill Prescott's shoes. If anyone
could give me a sense of the validity of Stanley's collection—or
"The Prescott Papers", as we’ve begun to call them—it's him. "You
teach Physics, right? Quantum Physics?"
Dr. Morales smiles a rather humourless
smile. There is an unspoken hierarchy in the world of academia, a
prioritization of study, if you will. In the University’s
Department of Archaeology for example, the prehistoric
archaeologists pooh-pooh the work of the historic ones. In the
grand scheme of things, departments such as Mathematics,
Engineering, and Pure Science tip their noses at the lesser
disciplines of English, History and the Social Sciences. As a
result, Dr. Morales suffers our questions as an impatient adult
might suffer a child, curious about the mundane machinations of the
world around him. "Quantum Mechanics, yes."
"And this is the study of alternate worlds?
Alternate realities?" I hesitate before I ask, "Time travel?"
"Guilty as charged." Dr. Morales sips
cautiously from his latte cup. A light dusting of foam clings to
the bristle of his moustache. He gropes for a napkin and wipes it
clean.
"Tell me: exactly how
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