A Spark Flared in The Recesses of His Mind

The room's dazzling illumination faded in a matter of seconds. When Katherine Branson opened her eyes, she saw Martin Wilkerson sitting in his machine—a sight she had never dared hope to see again. In the end, it had succeeded. His eyes flitted to the stranger with the rifle, and he leaped out of his chair and charged without thinking.

Still in shock from the blinding assault, the intruder collapsed under Martin Wilkerson's tackle. He was confused and unable to understand what had happened. With his finger poised above the trigger, Martin Wilkerson grabbed the revolver out of his grasp and leveled it at him. However, a spark ignited in the back of his mind, stopping him.

He was in a mental health facility. A knife shone. There was a gun on the ground. A woman let out a scream. His body ached and his blood was leaking as he lay on the ground. He gave a ferocious kick. A man was standing there. He hit the man.

The sound of bone breaking reverberated when the man's knee was crushed by Martin Wilkerson's foot. He grabbed the rifle and pointed it at the person. The air was broken once more by the woman's cry.

He was inside a home. Bullets flew past him, one piercing his skin with a sharp ache. The sparkles exploded from the muzzle as the gunshot boomed. He kicked again and lunged. Why not now? It had worked before.

He was hit by a gunshot. The man fell to the ground. A wave of agony swept through Martin Wilkerson's body. The figure was holding a knife while lying prone. Martin Wilkerson killed him by driving his own blade into him.

"No!" Sharp and loud, the cry ripped from him. With his revolver in hand, he hurried back to his lab. He unloaded it calmly, purposefully. Because they were useless without ammunition, or at least less deadly, guns were safer in this sense.

He dropped the weapon and looked around the room. Evidently certain that he would never come back, Katherine Branson sat on the floor with her eyes wide with fear. A few papers were strewn under Jonathan Aston as he sagged over the computer. The stranger limped over to the door.

Could you please let him go?

Right now, that's all I can do.

Perplexed by the strangeness of Jonathan Aston's appearance, Martin Wilkerson walked up to him. He's here, but why? He ought to be working on the Korium engine and radiation shield at the construction site. And what are those papers on the floor?

Recognizing them as his will and its directions for execution, he knelt down. Why print these? I said two months, and he knew it. Jonathan, I'm not yet dead or gone. "Why is Jonathan here?" he questioned, turning to Katherine Branson.

She answered, "He was concerned about you." Jonathan Aston groaned as he stirred, and Martin Wilkerson gave him a sharp look.

Why would he be concerned? At most, I was gone for an hour. He turned to Jonathan Aston, who was waking up groggily now. "Why did you print my will, Jonathan?"

It was evident that Katherine Branson was shocked. "Wait—you mentioned that you were only gone for an hour?" Jonathan Aston sprang to his feet, alert as ever.

Martin Wilkerson said, "Yes." "Are you unable to tell time?"

Jonathan Aston remarked solemnly, "Martin Wilkerson, you haven't been around for three months."

"Third months?" Their surprise was echoed by Martin Wilkerson.

"Three months, indeed. That's why I printed your will and why I'm here.

“Amazing,” Martin Wilkerson mumbled, withdrawing into his own thoughts, unaware of them. "Time must move incredibly slowly in the anti-universe if I saw an hour while others saw three months. This suggests that travel is short according to our biological clocks there. However, it appears far longer to those outside—about twenty minutes in the anti-universe is equivalent to a month here. But there, distances drastically decrease, enabling quick travel between locations. It might only take a few months to go across the real universe.

Katherine Branson scowled in complete confusion. “What are you talking about, Martin Wilkerson?”

"What? Well, just thinking out loud. Sorry. Uninterested in his esoteric digressions, she got up to look in the kitchen, and he refocused.

"So the anti-universe works, Martin Wilkerson?" Aston, Jonathan, pressed.

"All OK. Although there are some kinks to work out, it is feasible for transportation. What's up with the Korium engine?

"I had to hurry the shield—I haven't been doing it lately. We were severely impacted by radiation.

"We've already dealt with it?"

Indeed. We are currently out of orbit. Beyond the shields, the sun is close enough to start fires and boil oceans. The heat is only kept at bay by our technology. The shield barely held. Its run was curtailed by bad wiring. Although it wasn't lethal inside the insulated zone, we are all just slightly exposed to radiation here.

"Outdoor survivors?"

Without protection, none of them could have survived. There has been no update from anywhere—communications are still down. Even if we're fixing this, we might never find out if anyone else made it out alive.

"An intriguing dilemma," thought Martin Wilkerson. "I wonder if it was planned."

"How was it orchestrated?"

"To keep us apart—no communication with other people." It implies that, in spite of their own heroic attempts, nobody else made it.

“Interesting,” said Jonathan Aston. "It's worth considering even though I'm not sure if it's true." They gathered for a supper in the kitchen.

Gregory Rylance made the decision to go see pals, many of whom he was sure shared his ruin from the Maris disaster. Maybe they would understand his situation. His third encounter turned out to be crucial.

Gregory Rylance said, "It's good to see you again, Brendan."

Gregory Rylance, hello. How are you finding life?

That's the reason I'm here. Have you lost all of your pre-Maris investments? I wanted to see how you were doing because I'm in the same situation.

Gregory Rylance, the government is to blame. They wanted to destroy us, so they let it happen. They must be taught a lesson.

That's exactly what I thought. Any suggestions?

"Is this a safe room?"

Brendan, you're always the paranoid one. It is clean, really. Calm down.

"All right. We ought to retaliate.

"A revolution, what? You are aware that's not feasible.

"Terrorism—not a revolution."

"Terrorism? There's a strategy worth considering now. However, it will take more than two to shake the Canadia Shield.

"I know people. I'll get in touch with you and respond. Excellent catch-up, Gregory Rylance.

"Let's make real progress next time."

The difficult thing was realizing that we had gone too far. Now everything is going smoothly.

Martin Wilkerson struggled with bewilderment. His recollection had been distorted by the anti-universe. Though he was unable to recall specific incidents, he retained general lessons from his life, which was worse than complete amnesia. He looked for the source and the moment of his loss, determined to get it all back. He went back to the courtroom.