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A mind-control invention has a small problem...

" He helped Mitch to the control room, deliberately going slow so's not to tire him out. They passed chunks of debris and equipment, idly glancing at Billy as he sifted through the rubble to find as much weaponry as he could, and entered the control center.

The lights were dim but they could make out what was left of the monitors and consoles that were still working, and a young lady with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail (Mitch assumed this was Jen) darted around different control panels as Cynthia tried to coax power out of them to get the cameras and monitors working again.

Michael guided him over to a table where the maps were laid out, and Mitch rifled through them to find the right one he needed.

"Where's that computer image of the signal?"

Michael stared at him as if he grew a third eye in his forehead, "You've got to be kidding! We barely have any power to run anything, half of the center is trashed, and I don't even know if we can bring up the file let alone run in on a working screen!"

"Get a screen working; any screen!" Mitch said, "Find that image; I have to see it!"

Michael huffed and walked away, scanning the remains of his command center and shuffling through discs and flash readers littering the desks and floor. Mitch glanced at the clock that was, miraculously, still working: 7:24 AM. He only had four hours left to find Lisa, or they would be trapped here for another day. And, judging from what Michael and the others had told him about the circumstances in this dimension, one day was one too many as far as he was concerned.

"Michael," this from Cynthia, typing away at her controls, "I've got a few of the cameras working again; we've got images." She punched some controls and the main screen flickered to life, a few distortion lines crossing the field of vision. They all looked and Jen was the first to speak.

"There's nothing out there. The streets are empty; they're gone."

"No," said Michael, shaking his head, "they're only gone on the streets we can see; they could easily be patrolling the ones we can't." He went back to his searching, and smiled when he found the disc he wanted.

"Here it is," he said and walked over to Cynthia's console and loaded the silvery disc into the computer. The big screen blinked and replaced the outside picture with a new one, this time the satellite image of the city.

It looked exactly like the map in every detail, with the exception of the thin red, concentric rings that fanned out from every blue dot on the screen, looking like water ripples. They spread out and covered the entire city, overlapping and merging with one another.

"How much of this image do you have?" asked Mitch.

Michael answered, "About ten minutes."

"Can you overlap it into a continuous loop?"

Michael punched a couple of keys on the board, "Done, now what?"

"Give me a minute," Mitch scanned the image, looking for... what?

"You've only got nine," Cynthia threw over her shoulder.

"She's right," said Michael, gazing at the image as well, "They think we're all dead. If they catch a signal coming from down here..."

"I know, I know," Mitch said, impatiently, "I just need a few minutes to look."

He scrutinized the flashing image, willing it to give up its secret.

"C'mon... c'mon, damn it... it's there, I know it is."

Michael caught Mitch's mumblings, "What are you looking for?"

"A pattern, there's always a pattern."

"Mitch, we've been looking for months; we can't see any pattern."

"It's there!" Mitch grimaced, then shook his head, "I'm sorry, I'm worried about Lisa. I have to find her; we've only got..." he glanced at the clock and...

His eyes lit up as he watched the second hand tick away the seconds.

What was that Lisa was saying about the signal?

Mitch thought back to last night and remembered, '"Do the towers receive the signal at the same time?"' she asked before.

"Michael, speed up the image."

At Mitch's request, Michael hit another key and the rings of red fanned out quicker.


The speed increased, the red lines starting to blur.


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