Ariana looked through the window at the instrument on display.  It was amazing.  The body resembled a normal bass guitar, but the headstock looked like something you would find on a violin or other orchestral stringed instrument.  You could always tell the instruments that were made with special attention and care, by people that played and truly enjoyed the sound.  There was an ineffable quality to them, something that made the cost seem to be a vulgar consideration.

In this case cost was a consideration.  Ariana had worked for 5 years to be able to purchase it.  Every day as she walked home from work, since the first day she saw it, she had stopped to look at it.  Most stores would not have maintained a single display for that long, but this particular shop was also where the instruments were made.  The owner had seen her watching one day and come out to talk with her.  Far from sneering at her inability to play, he had seemed to understand her need to obtain one of the instruments.

He had taken her through his shop, showing her each stage of the design and production of the instruments.  She had listened for hours as he would test new models, his fingers flowing over the neck of the bass with a fluid precision that never failed to entrance her.  For 5 years she had dreamed of this day.  While she knew it would require a lifetime to play as well as he did, she also knew there was no other path she could walk.

“So today is the day.”  Lucas smiled at her as she continued to stare at the window.  “Are you ready?”

She looked at him and said, “Yes.”

Lucas walked inside, folded back a heavy felt cloth revealing her new bass.  To Ariana, it seemed as if the instrument glowed with a life of its own.  She could almost see the music straining to be released and suddenly was sad, knowing that releasing that music would take years of work.

Lucas looked at her and smiled, “Much of the beauty of music lies in the awe of those listening, considering that someone can make such beautiful sounds.  That ability only comes through hard work.  Just like the beauty of this instrument lies in the work that created it, the beauty of your music will lie in the work you put in to learn how to make it.”

Ariana touched the body of the bass, closed her eyes and was happy.

This is a post for Fiction Friday.  The topic this week was to “write about a misunderstanding between 3 people.”  I think I failed at hitting the mark…this story was fun, but became too long and I had to resort to a quick wrap-it-up and spell-it-out paragraph at the end.

Erin’s eyes met Sergy’s across the table.  “I don’t see how that is even possible.”, she said, lifting her chin as if to dare him to disagree.  “You cannot move faster than light.  And even if you are talking about those experiments at the IBM facilities, they were not teleporting matter, just transferring attributes.”  She shook her head in disgust.

“I am not talking about moving faster than the speed of light and no, I am not talking about teleportation, though I do see where you might get that impression.”   Sergy paused, it was important to get Erin on board as she was to serve as the face of their new company.  “Imagine a bubble containing an object.”  Sergy grabbed a pen.  “Like this.  Now, inside this bubble, space/time is constant.  Take that bubble however, and break it free of the surrounding space/time and you can send it anywhere.  As long, and this is very important, as long as you replace it with a bubble of the exact same dimensions.”  He paused again, checking Erin’s reactions and looking for the telltale blank look that said he had lost her.  “Ok, so if you do that, you have effectively moved an object instantaneously from one place to another.”

“Teleportation.”  Erin said, causing Sergy to wince.  “Well, it is.  It might not be what the IBM fellows had in mind when they performed their experiments with light, but to the layman, that is what you are talking about.”  She stopped.  “What I do not understand is why we are having this conversation.  The development of the supporting technology alone would take years and I am a product marketing specialist.”  She stopped again. “Oh.”

Sergy smiled.  “Oh yes, we have it.  Want to see a demonstration?”  He laughed at the question and turned to walk away, knowing she would follow.

Michael saved the document containing the test protocols to his ring.  That was the last one.  He now had everything necessary to recreate the project should Sergy waffle on him at some point.  As the engineer, he couldn’t follow all of the theory behind the devices, but he had built them and could do so again.  The other documents were just to make sure he could recreate a product once he had the devices.

A key rattled in the door and Michael looked around to see if anything was out of place.  Nothing.  Good.

“Oh, Michael.  I didn’t expect to see you here.”  Sergey said.  “This is Erin.  She is our new marketing partner…”  He paused and looked at Erin.  “Right?”

“Uh…”  Erin faltered for a response.  She hadn’t seen a demonstration, but if the demo matched the claims, she was in.  This was a once in a lifetime opportunity.  Recovering her composure she continued, “I would like to see the demo and talk some numbers first, but I do like what I’ve heard so far.”

“Excellent!”  Sergy turned to Michael.  “Are we ready?”

Michael looked at him for a moment, wordless.  “What would you like to show her?”  He finally said, choosing his words with care.

“The Alpha 12 protocol, I think.  That will demonstrate the utility.”  Sergy replied, ignoring the look from the engineer.  He turned to Erin, “We will need something personal of yours, something you choose and that you will know that we could not duplicate.”

Erin thought for a moment and produced a pocket knife from her purse.  It had been a gift from her father and was the unique creation of a then unknown Sammy Kershaw.  “This should do it.”

Michael retrieved the knife without a word and walked to the rear of the lab.  There, upon a small pedestal and surrounded by a bird’s nest of cables, was a box that was about the size of a household oven.   He placed the knife inside and shut the door, motioning for everyone to go behind the wall where the control center was arrayed.

Once everyone was seated, Michael brought up a screen that showed a similar lab.  The young face of a college interne peered back at them.  “Greg. We need to run Alpha 12.  The object is enclosed on our end, are you ready?”

“Sure thing, doc.”  The too eager face on the other end was replaced by a waving hand filled with what looked to be paperwork.

“Ok, sending now.”  Michael said and with that he hit a key, then stood, walked over to the oven door and opened it.  Nothing was inside.

On the other screen the young intern vanished from sight.  There were some odd noises.  Michael and Sergy looked at each other, confused.  Within a moment the young man’s hand appeared in front of the screen.  “Wow, a vintage Kershaw.  Nice!”  He displayed it for the camera allowing Erin to see it was indeed her knife.

“Let’s reverse now.”  Sergy said, trying not to glance at the clock.

The intern again disappeared from view and was quickly back.  “On your call, doc.”

Michael rolled his eyes.  “Go.”, he said, then walked to the device.  From it he pulled not only Erin’s knife, but also today’s edition of the Durham Herald-Sun, a paper local to Durham, North Carolina and not distributed nationally.  Since they were 2800 miles away in Portland, Oregon, the significance was not lost on Erin.

She looked at the newspaper, front and back.  Then she looked up at Sergy, “Where do I sign?”

Unseen to her Michael shook his head and closed his eyes.

Having played their parts well, none of them realized the other 2 were working a confidence game.  They were all too blinded by the possibility and greed to see what was right before them.  Michael sold the plans to a Japanese company, not realizing that 500 million Yen was worth little in the current market.  Sergy was dead within two weeks after failing to deliver on a promised payment for gambling debts.  Erin released the plans on the Internet around the same time Michael was arguing with his banker about the exchange rate.  Of the 3, she was the only one who accomplished her goal.

The world would never be the same.

She switched on the light and looked in the mirror.  Not for the first time as she looked into her own eyes she was struck by how mirrors were perhaps the only thing you could rely on to never lie.

Every detail seemed so very important as she ran cold water into the porcelin bowl.  The tears were gone, replaced by a simple acceptance of reality.  As she brushed her teeth, she could feel the bristles penetrate her gums slightly and she spat the blood into the bowl.  She stared as the spot of blood worked its way down the sink and into the drain, leaving no trace of its presence.

The doctor had given her the news and explained the options.  The lump was malignant.  There were treatment options, but none that were certain.

Looking back to the mirror, she winced and looked away.  She took a deep breath and brought the clippers up to her scalp.

Travis waited until the subway car filled, clearing the platform. Looking carefully to see if anyone was watching, he stepped behind a pillar and slip shifted. He emerged in a bathroom stall marked “Out of Order” and listened for any other presence in the filthy room. Hearing nothing, he stepped from the stall and washed his hands for good measure.

This job was pretty normal by his standards. Just a routine surveillance on a conspiracy suspect. His usual approach would have had him riding the train to the station like everyone else, but he was running a bit late this morning and what was the point of being a member of The Guard if you couldn’t break rules on occasion?

Satisfied that he had not been observed, Travis opened the restroom door with a bit of paper towel and merged into the crowded train station.  The mark should be on the next train.  Closing his eyes, Travis scanned the occupants until he found the mark.  Something was wrong, but Travis couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

He opened his eyes just as a security guard approached. “Excuse me, may I see your ticket?” The guard said.  The politeness of his words contradicted the suspicion in his eyes.  Travis showed him the Guard mark on his palm and was amused at the instant change in attitude.  A flash of fear showed on the security guard’s face as he took an involuntary step back.  “Sorry to have disturbed you, sir.  Is there anything I can do to help?”  Despite the offer of help, the body language of the security guard betrayed his hope that Travis would decline.

“I think I have all that I need.  Thank  you.” Travis said.  He continued to look at the now sweating guard for a moment.  Then he looked away in dismissal.  The frightened guard walked quickly to the platform exit.

Turning back to the task at hand, Travis reached out for the mark again.  Not finding him, Travis began to quickly scan others, looking for any trace…someone who had seen the mark, someone who might have overheard him.  Nothing.  Furious at the security guard for distracting him and a bit frightened at the prospect of confessing to a failed overwatch, Travis increased his scanning pressure.  Around him several people bent over with nosebleeds.  Others squinted against headaches or nausea.  Still Travis could find no trace of the mark.

Turning back to the restroom, he knew there was only one choice.  By this time the Watchers already knew he had missed his opportunity.  Returning to Sanctuary and confessing a failed overwatch was bad, but if he failed to do so he would be marked as a runner and from that there was no return.

Feeling a bit nauseous himself, he stood in the stall marked “Out of Order” and slip shifted back to Sanctuary.