It had taken a year to convince the professor from the other Princeton to bring the valuable document through the portal for the evening. Academics on the other side remained skeptical that running one’s hands over an object, being in its presence, and measuring the energy vibrations it gave off could garner information unobtainable by merely reading a copy of the text. He’d have a few short hours with the relic and should have been energized to make use of every minute.
In recent weeks, however, a growing concern about the portal had been wiggling its way into his awareness, like a shadow from the corner of his eye. He’d tried his best to pretend the doubt wasn’t there. This was, after all, an amazing moment in history—scientific and cultural trade with another universe. Surely that couldn’t be a bad thing, could it? The Egyptian relic, for example, might one day enhance the lives of people in both worlds by combining knowledge from the two realms.
But now, he could no longer deny that concern over the gateway was becoming an open dialogue. Albeit one currently based on anonymous notes left in the night.
He stepped to the club doors, trying in vain to work up some renewed excitement about the papyrus, when the laughter of two young boys caught his attention. He paused to watch as they played, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Around eight or nine years old, the boys sailed a small wooden plane on the breeze, the child in control weaving his hands through the air in graceful circular motions, fingers flexing and extending as he directed the toy in a zigzag pattern down the street. Pedestrians laughed and darted out of its path as the young pilot chased his friend with the craft while the friend ducked around trees and street vendors, and leap-frogged over a stray dog.
Gideon chuckled and pulled open the door when a loud yelp pierced the air behind him. A woman darted away from the oncoming airborne toy and stumbled into the dog who’d begun chasing the flying object. When she stepped back the other way she tripped into the street, arms wheeling, right into the path of a two-horse carriage. The child who’d been flying the plane ran towards her, his wooden toy dropping to the ground with his sudden inattention to it. The carriage driver shouted, yanking back on the reins. The horses reared up, hooves pawing at the air as the child pushed the woman out of the way, but only had time to cover his own head and crouch down, screaming as the horses hovered above him in what seemed a stilling of time.
Moving faster than thought, Gideon thrust both hands forward, palms flat and pushing toward the horses, forcing them to hold their reared-up position, hooves still pawing at the air.
“Move!” he shouted, and the boy snapped out of his crouch, running back onto the sidewalk, eyes huge and staring as Gideon lowered his hands and the horses returned their front legs to the ground, huffing and shaking their confused heads.
A crowd rushed in to encircle the woman and the frightened child, voices and shouts filling the scene. Thank you’s were directed to Gideon, and he lifted a hand in response, his own heart racing from the sudden burst of adrenaline as he made his way to the two boys. They pulled away from the crowd and came to him, their eyes huge with panic.
Gideon knelt in front of them. “Hey, it’s okay. Everyone’s fine.”
Tears welled from the eyes of the child who’d been flying the toy plane. “But I… we almost…”
“Accidents happen, but teasing people like that wasn’t particularly safe, right?”
“I didn’t mean to tease them. I’m just not very good with my powers. I couldn’t control it.” His bottom lip quivered, and Gideon placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not like you yet. You’re really strong.”
He held the boy’s gaze and smiled. “You’ll get there. I’ve got more than a few years on you. I’m also wearing these tonight for a little extra firepower.” Gideon lifted his palms, showing off the twin wristbands he’d put on before leaving his house. The leather straps were encrusted with an intricate pattern of garnets, moonstones, and tourmaline, crystals that enhanced his telekinetic power. Acting like prisms, they magnified and focused the beam of his energy, aiding in both direction and strength. He wore them whenever the otherworlders visited. Just in case. “But until you get more skilled, maybe practice in an open meadow?”
The boy nodded, and Gideon reached for the toy lying nearby. Not a model of their own glider planes, but a hand-carved replica of a jet engine plane from the other world.
His jaw muscles clamped tight as he stood and shook his head. “Where did you get this?”
The boy lifted his face to Gideon, who now towered over him. “I carved it myself. I heard about the planes on the other side. Someone brought over pictures of them, so I made one. Will we ever have them here? They go so high and so fast.”
He did his best not to scowl. The child wasn’t at fault for his enthusiasm over, what to him, must’ve seemed a magical technology. Traitor indeed. “Their planes are very loud, and therefore too painful for us to bear. And the way they are made and powered is bad for the earth. It’s not what we do.” He handed the toy back to the youngster. “Work hard on your own gifts, and one day you’ll fly our gliders higher and faster than anyone before.”
The child’s face lit with a grin, and Gideon gave him a wink as he stepped off, though the gesture certainly didn’t match the bleak feeling settling over him. The last trace of his enthusiasm for the evening faded, like the tide rolling out to sea, and he wished for nothing more than to get it over with.
He strode back to the club and stepped inside. The main parlor was already filling with locals and humming with excitement. Two men—one Gideon knew to be a composer and the other a sculptor—sat at the bar to his left. They spoke intensely over their dinner and drinks. Other groupings of men and women clustered on chairs and settees in front of the blazing hearth, or wove in and out of the library and study rooms that branched off the main salon.
He nodded at familiar faces as he passed, but didn’t stop to talk as he beelined to his office at the back of the main lounge, having no idea if he’d ever be able to close the Pandora’s Box he’d opened. The excitement on the faces around him proved that for every person who wanted the portal closed, another would fight for it to remain open. But he saw now that this marvelous moment in history came with a price. And that price—the peace and beauty of his civilization—was far too high.
Tonight, though, the portal would open, and a glance at the grandfather clock in the far corner told him he had only minutes to go over the night’s special guest list, familiarizing himself with the bios of anyone new before they arrived.
Opening the door to his office, his shoulders relaxed some as he stepped into his sanctuary, a quiet pocket in the otherwise bustling salon. In contrast to the art nouveau style of the main lounge, his private area was more contemporary, with cleaner lines and subdued colors. Dotted with leather furnishings and warm candlelit sconces, it was the grand piano at the far end that made this his signature space.
“Good evening, Gideon,” said his manager as she stepped into the room behind him, laying out the evening’s guest list on a large oak table.
Rather than startling him upon her quiet arrival, his tension almost immediately dissipated as her natural calm softened his jangled nerves.
He nodded in welcome. “Alana.”
“How are you tonight, G?”
Tall and thin, with long, straight red hair, Alana Knight had an almost ethereal look, which suited her nature well, and she offered her usual warm smile. Though, this evening, a hint of tension played at the edges of her mouth.
“Vikkras and I wondered if you’d join us for a late dinner tonight, once the visitors are gone,” she said. “It’s been a while since the three of us just spent a pleasurable evening together. Good conversation, business-free. You know, like friends do?” Her lips finally relaxed into a full grin.
She wasn’t wrong. He’d been working almost non-stop for what seemed like forever, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d merely sat and laughed over a beer with his best friends. Hell, the last time he’d laughed, period.