Twisted Time

8 - Answers

The laboratory, 00:07

As far as Dan can tell, Ric hasn't moved from the spot where she left him. He looks tired but holds her licence in his left and drums the fingers of his right in a rapid, impatient rhythm against his thigh. Dan lifts a hand, begging for patience while she waits for the wave of transfer dizziness washing over her to subside. At least this time, she can recall the moment before the involuntary shift in perfect clarity. Not suffering from memory loss, after all.

In an attempt to gain her attention, Ric drops her licence onto a polished stainless steel surface. "I think you owe me explanations, lady. Where have you gone? And why come back now?"

Dan takes a shaking breath. "I was—"

"Wait, I'm not finished. Why do you carry a fake driving licence? What do you want to pretend? And don't tell me it's a hoax planned by the guys on the third floor. It's too far-fetched and pointless, even for them."

Dan sighs, her patience almost used up. "Stop it! Give me time to breathe. And my licence. Maybe it's not genuine enough for you, but it was for the last policeman who checked. Nobody and his dog care if you call it a fake. Besides, I believe I'm the one who is due some answers."

She reaches for her permit, but Ric snatches it up before she has a chance to take it back. He squints at it. "I admit, the colouring is impressive, and the retro block font quite stylish." He feigns a yawn. "Interesting craftsmanship. But the picture is blurry and shows not the slightest similarity with you, that's sloppy. Plus, you take it too far with the name. Danielle Martine Lent, of all the possible monikers on Earth. I'd say—"

Dan interrupts his mocking tirade with a move fit for a striking cobra and grabs her licence. The corners of her mouth crinkle into a broad grin. "I've no idea how a driving licence looks in your time.  In my decade, this is state of the art, and I'll still need it." She stows the precious piece of plastic in the safety of her back pocket. "So, are you satisfied? Any more questions concerning my birth-year?"

Ric's brows twitch, and a crease forms on his forehead. He eyes Dan from head to toe. "You insist you were born back in 1981? In the late twentieth century?"

"I don't insist, it's the truth. Blame my parents for the timing—and for the names, too." She crosses her arms and straightens her shoulders. "And now, if we're done repeating the facts of my birth, can we move to the interesting part? A few moments ago, you stood over there and were reading my name from a fancy screen. Care to explain?"

"Wait, stop—you imply..." Ric trails off, running a hand through his dark hair. "No. This is impossible. You can't be her."

His face drains of colour, and he seems to struggle for words, walking up and down in the confined space. Dan leans against a table. She admits to herself she enjoys this part of the show, the part where Ric is at a loss instead of her. He stops to assess her. "You imply that you are Doctor Danielle M. Lent. The one and only Professor Lent. Wow."

"No idea about the one and only. Or the Professor." Dan can't help but smile at his befuddled expression. With the tousled hair, wide eyes and his half-open mouth, he looks like a confused schoolboy. Or her assistant when she tries to explain the cashew experiment. But she can't let herself get distracted. Ric's obvious distress is her chance to get answers, and if she has to push him further out of his comfort zone, then she will.
"Can we move on from discussing the variations of my name and honorifics? I'd like to know why you abducted me and what you want from me."

His frown is back, and he scrutinises her. "Okay, let's assume you are Doctor Lent for a moment. How would she get here?"

"That's the million-pound question, sweetheart. Believe me, Doctor Lent, aka me, would love to know too."

Ric ignores her outburst and takes up the pacing. "I always thought she published the first paper on the temporal effects of molecular animation when she was older, above forty." He runs out of space, turns on his heel, and almost pushes an oddly formed glass container off a shelf. With shaking hands, he catches the vessel and moves it out of harm's way while he addresses Dan without looking at her. "I'm sure it took her several years to build a temporal animator able to transport more than minuscule molecular masses."

Dan has the sinking feeling hypothesis number five gains probability by the minute. But—time travel? Ric seems to hint at it. Aside from that, there is only one part she understands. "Okay, I happen to work with molecular animation, but my project concentrates on the refinement of polymer surfaces. So far, we agree on one point—or two words, to be exact."

Ric's eyes are on her, and she fights to keep order in her thoughts. "Now, I want to know the rest.  What's a temporal animator? Is it possible this is just a huge mix-up, and we're talking different Dan Lents? I'm a few years shy from forty, and hardly anyone knows my name."

Her companion massages his temples in the manner of someone fighting a building headache. Six long strides bring him to the other side of the room where he turns on the same spot as before like a caged animal. Dan waits until he passes near her and grabs his sleeve.

Ric comes to an abrupt stop, his intense gaze on her. "Listen, if you're the real Doctor Lent, you have no right to be here. I've read her autobiography in my master course on animation. She—you—she never mentions a word about time travel this early in her career. I admire Lent's brilliant achievement, but something here stinks more than a little, Doctor Lent or whoever you are."

Her patience wears thin, and Dan fights to keep her voice level. "I already told you to call me Dan, so don't 'Doctor Lent' me. And let's get a few things clear." She holds up a finger. "One, I'll never write an autobiography. My life is too boring, and commas are my archenemy." Another finger follows. "Two, I was brought here without conscious action on my part. And three, you still owe me straight answers to three straight questions: Where are we, when are we, and why are we here?"

For a moment, she has the fleeting impression his brown eyes reflect the turning gears of his brain activity. "Dan, I've no idea—shit." He hits a fist onto the table beside him. "They brought you here without your consent. That's their damn experiment." With a deep sigh, he runs both hands through his already wild hair. "This mess goes far beyond anything Chronos or I suspected. We must find out why Doctor Lent—why you became a target. And, more important, what they've planned for you."

Ric's haunted expression and pale skin are the last things Dan registers in the flickering lights.