The Flight of the Silvers (Silvers #1)(60)

Hannah winced with concern. “He’s not about to get younger, is he?”

“No,” Quint replied. “You in particular will appreciate what he’s about to do.”

Charlie pressed a button on his glove. The device on his back whirred to life. A mesh of glowing blue lines appeared on his suit. Before the Silvers could process the odd display, he dashed back and forth across the stage—fifty feet each way, five times in each direction.

He did this all in a blurry six seconds.

The guests gaped as he came to a panting stop. Wisps of steam rose from his shoulder blades.

“The device Charlie’s wearing on his back is called a shifter,” Quint explained. “The outfit itself is called a speedsuit. As you’ve no doubt gathered, the gear doesn’t imbue the wearer with any special motor skills. It merely creates a temporic field in which time is accelerated. What was six seconds to us was a full minute to Charlie.”

Quint patted the young man’s shoulder. “Thank you. You can go change.”

Hannah watched Charlie exit. “God. Is that what I look like when I do it?”

“It is,” Quint told her.

“And is there one of those in every house also?”

“No. Speedsuits are expensive and difficult to maintain. But the technology isn’t limited to clothing. A temporic shift can be generated in any enclosed space. There are special cinemas where you can watch a two-hour movie and yet only lose twenty minutes of your day. Restaurants have special booths where a busy diner can enjoy a leisurely lunch in minutes. The technology’s been around for over three decades. Most of us can’t remember a time when our personal day was fixed at twenty-four hours.”

“How far can it bend time?” Zack asked. “I mean, is it possible to squeeze a year into a day?”

“No. By federal law, no shifter can go beyond twelve times normal speed, or 12x, as they call it. And there are limits, both legal and physical, to the number of consecutive hours one can spend in a shifted state. In most places, the cap is twenty.”

Amanda looked to Hannah with fresh concern. “What’s the danger of going beyond those limits?”

“That’s a source of endless debate,” Quint responded. “Aside from the small bouts of resistance one might encounter when tampering with their body’s natural clock, some psychologists believe the human mind can only handle so much disruption to its natural cycle without suffering . . . issues. Most of their concerns are either theoretical or anecdotal.”

Neither Given took comfort in Quint’s assurance. Great, thought Hannah. Now she’s going to treat me even more like a time bomb.

Moving on, Quint retrieved a small object from a display table. It looked like a ten-inch dinner candle without the wick.

“There are other forms of temporis that are specific enough in application to earn their own names. One of them . . .”

Pressing a button at the base of the candle caused a floating white flame to appear.

“. . . is lumis.”

While the others squinted curiously at the fire, Mia started a new page in her journal. She’d seen lumicands on two occasions now and was eager to learn how they worked.

“Temporic energy moves in waves, as does light. Using one to manipulate the other has opened up some interesting new avenues. This isn’t a real flame. It’s merely a temporal projection, a visual ghost that’s been digitally brightened and desaturated.”

Quint stepped inside a structure the size of a phone booth. It had no walls, just four metal posts supporting a thick ceiling. A series of round glass lenses lined the inside of each column.

“Over the last quarter century, lumis has been adopted into hundreds of everyday devices, and has made dozens more obsolete. The television. The lightbulb. Even windows and mirrors are being replaced by more versatile lumic screens. And as you’ve seen from this little device, lumis is the key to holographic imaging.”

Quint flicked the candle four more times, then exited the contraption. From the back of the room, Beatrice entered commands into a handheld console. Suddenly a second Quint appeared inside the booth, indistinguishable from the original except for the faintest of shimmers. Both Quints addressed the Silvers, though no sound came from the duplicate’s mouth.

“This machine is called a ghostbox. Like David, it reproduces images from the past with lifelike accuracy. These devices come in all sizes and are used for everything from store displays to forensic imaging.”

Just as Quint had done fifty seconds prior, his ghost lit the lumicand four times, then departed the booth. It vanished between posts.

“Does it come with audio?” Mia wondered. “Or are these all silent ghosts?”

“As we have yet to discover a way to restore sound waves through temporis, ghostboxes are forced to rely on standard digital recorders. This machine is currently muted.”

“But David’s ghosts come with sound.”

Quint nodded. “Yes. I was surprised to learn that myself. Obviously his abilities go well beyond the current technology. Perhaps with his help, we’ll be able to catch up.”

David leaned back in his seat, releasing a grin that was smarmy enough to make his friends chuckle. Theo wasn’t as amused. He’d noticed the boy earlier and felt a strange sense of outrage, as if David were mocking everyone in the room. He figured the mistrust was his own personal hang-up. Theo knew a prodigy when he saw one, and he had very strong opinions about prodigies.