The Quantum Prophecy - Ryan Matthew Harker (best management books of all time TXT) 📗

There was silence, silence so prevailing it contaminated the surrounding walls of brick and glass. Pure and dark it ran through the entire city like a plague, stretching on for many square miles and quieter than the interior of any ancient tomb.
All of a sudden out of the stillness came the soft tread of tattered feet. A shape slowly emerged from within the deeper shadows. It stumbled quietly and the noise echoed with the depth of thunder.
The shape paused on the verge of penetrating the lesser shadows, perching to listen as the world around it went deaf once more. Satisfied that not a hint of noise was to be found beyond its own ragged breathing the shape emerged into the lighter gloom and revealed itself to be humanoid. It moved through the better lit area and did not stop until gaining sanctuary once more within darker shadows. It stopped to listen before moving on again.
This strange creature wandered off on its enigmatic journey and the night was once more claimed by eternal silence, guarded by the ever watchful eye of the moon.

*****

Brshikt… the sound of a walkie-talkie being keyed echoed through the dark.
“Alpha team this is Bravo leader. We have acquired the target and are tracking on time…over.”
“Alpha team here Bravo. Copy that. Keep on target, I repeat, keep on target. Base command will have our hides if we lose this one again…over.”
“I copy Alpha. Target heading west/northwest, Will proceed to tail, with updates…over.”
“Copy, Bravo. Alpha out.”
“Bravo out.”
As the last key tone faded stillness reigned.

*****

The wormhole glowed bright red, a gentle swirl that emitted yellow and purple sparks in a slow tie-dyed biorhythm of sound and color. A paradoxical anomaly where nothing was what it seemed, it entered the next phase of its journey, constantly moving yet never going anywhere and an old computer produced an eerie sound as it spat out yet another series of complex data.
The computer was on a journey of its own, running parallel with that of the anomaly, and should have by all rights broken down and ceased functioning over sixty years earlier. Amazingly enough there was something produced by the enormous tear in the fabric of space/time- for this was the true nature of the kaleidoscope of energy- that kept everything around it in a constant state of frozen stasis for an encompassing radius of one hundred and fifty miles. The ‘Complex’ that housed the computer therefore was also in perfect condition. Not one door hinge had a single hint of the slightest squeak, nor the glass in any of the four hundred and sixty-two windows showed a stain of the smallest smudge. There was not even a single grass blade poking its way through the maze of concrete sidewalks that connected the multitude of buildings making up the grandeur that was the Complex. Yet in the midst of all of this perfection there was a blemish, a cancer if you would, a small speck of disquiet that would almost go unnoticed if not for its significance in the grand scheme of things.
It was actually he, and he was actually Max, Max Kimbal, genetic engineer, quantum theorist and the last surviving member of Team WormControl. Max was a small balding man, seemingly of about thirty-eight years in appearance and exuded a nervous kind of energy. Round, wire rimmed glasses sat precariously on a red bulbous nose that was the result of twenty straight years drinking straight bourbon and he wrung his bony hands together, constantly twining and untwining his fingers in a quick unconscious way that used to drive his colleagues crazy. Sitting in a cushy swivel chair he watched the printer spew forth its unending stream of data. Using a practiced analytical eye he unendingly searched for any change or discrepancy in the patterns and rhythms of the wormhole in front of him.
The novelty, which had followed the end of the initial terror produced from the invasion of the world or worlds beyond the wormhole, had quickly wore off after Max had recovered sufficiently enough to appreciate the actual monotony a ‘presence’ of its nature represented. There had been no new spatial disturbances in months and nothing had crossed over via the wormhole into his reality in a little over three years.
Max sighed. As the last member of the specialist team hired to develop the technology to find and successfully open a wormhole in the fabric of quantum space he had felt that it was his duty to wait and study the results of their handiwork. What a burden it had been to shoulder; over sixty years this poor, frail scientist had been waiting, his body in permanent stasis along with everything else in and surrounding the Complex. It was not that he did not know exactly where the boundaries of the wormhole stasis field were, it had been one of the first things he had measured all of those years ago when the sensors had first detected the disturbance produced by such a field in the atmosphere of its immediate area, no, the thing now was that he was afraid to leave. He had witnessed the passage of time outside of the stasis field for so long that he was afraid if he left the safety it offered time would catch up to him and he’d simply shrivel up into a wrinkled little mummy and die.
This not being something he wished to experience, he waited and watched.

*****

The sun was shining.
Candlelite woke up in his bed of fir needles, stretched and then sat up with a yawn. Rubbing his stomach he realized he was kind of hungry and then he realized he was also kind of naked. Damn, he thought for he was always annoyed to an endless degree when he awoke wearing nothing but scraps of the clothes he had had on. At least he was not completely nude. That had happened a few times as well, though not so much recently. He seemed to be doing better, getting more control of himself lately, and staying partially dressed at any rate.
Standing up he suddenly smiled. It was a beautiful day and who the hell was out here to see him running about with his bare ass hanging out anyway. All he could hear was the birds singing and the little sounds made by the various insects around.
Good, he thought as he sniffed the air tentatively, it seemed that once more he had managed to throw the pursuers of last night off his trail, yep, nothing in the air but the smell of honeysuckle and warm sunshine.
He yawned again and moved from the entrance of the small cave, if one could call the slight crack a cave, there was no time like the present to set out once more and hopefully he could find some breakfast while he was at it.
As he strode through the tall Doug Firs that composed the forest around him he admired the way the sunlight slanted through the trees. It spattered the undergrowth of ferns and bramble with warmth and light and as he picked his way through the dense undergrowth he let his mind wander to the men of last night, the soldiers that hunted him.
Candlelite thought they had been tracking him off and on for a couple of weeks, though he was not entirely sure because time seemed to move differently for him now. He was also unsure of why they were following him, although he had a pretty good idea of what their reasons might be.
Well one thing's for certain, he thought, it's definitely easier to elude them now than it has been. He actually rather enjoyed his nights now. The combination of instinct and logic was exhilarating and much preferable to the sheer terror he had felt in the beginning. While running on nothing but pure instinct, only able to rationalize things the next morning, he had found no happiness. He had been lucky if he could even think strait during the daylight hours. More often than not he had unsuccessfully tried to piece his night together from the disorganized fragmentation that had once been his memory. He had truly been a confused and frightened person.
Not now, he mused. He was a fairly happy individual and definitely enjoyed the unbridled freedom that his newfound life had presented him with. Even in spite of the few minor inconveniences he had experienced lately. Like being scared, followed, shot at, alone, naked, confused, physically and verbally abused, and… he stopped in his tracks for a moment and smiled. So there were a little more than a few things that had happened recently that could not exactly be counted under the ‘fun list’, all in all he was really and truly having fun.
Candlelite suddenly cocked his head to one side and listened intently. Then he heard it again, a soft rustle off to the right. He turned until he faced the direction the sound had come from, moving so slow that he hardly made any noise.
Ah… he smiled a bit to feral for the comfort of his human features- his prey was up wind- he sniffed the air, taking a good whiff out of the slight breeze that coiled lazily through the trees and brush only to gently caress his body as it passed, and smelled a rabbit; second year, female, nice and plump from a season of good eating. Candlelite briefly marveled at the detail one could obtain from scent, wonderful. He sniffed again as his ears tuned in on the soft rustle that had moved in toward him and a little further to the left. He crouched low into the wild melee of brush and rotting debris until he was all but hidden from sight, his white skin blending in with the soft light penetrating through from the thick canopy above.
Candlelite moved in slowly and with stealth one would not think to associate with his size, crept up on his target. He was so engrossed with the thrill of the hunt that he barely realized when, with such speed as no human has the natural right to possess, he suddenly leapt forward, snatched the furry little thing right off the ground and while rolling, neatly snapped it’s neck before the animal even had a moment to know fear.
The rabbit never had a chance.
Slinging the poor beast over his shoulder Candlelite got up and set off to find a suitable spot in which to enjoy his repast.
His wandered until the slight game trail he was on finally dumped him into a small clearing at the foot of a slight decline. Finding a comfortable spot he turned around a few times just like a dog, sniffing at the air and straining his ears until he had satisfied himself he was alone, then he sat, pulled a small pouch attached by a string from around his neck, from which he procured a rather sharp lock-blade skinning knife and set to work on the rabbit with it.
After losing the small quantity of possessions he had gained and regained more than once throughout his misadventures in clothing, Candlelite had decided he needed a more practical, permanent sort of something to keep his valuables upon his person at all times no matter what should befall him, hence the pouch.
He had found it in an abandoned shop he had stumbled upon while passing through one of the deserted cities. He had not known the name of said city, having missed any ‘Now Entering’ or ‘Welcome To’ signs, but he did manage