"There! There! Do you see it?" Cali James sat before the computer, her freckled face glowing with excitement as she pointed to the complex graph crawling across the screen.

Dr. Janice Sanchez, Cali's thesis advisor, peered over her favorite student's shoulder.

"Hmm." Dr. Sanchez watched the display. Her dark eyes gave nothing away.

"This is ninety-nine point nine nine percent identical to the quantum entanglement signature of my primary subjects." Cali tried to sound professional, but her voice bubbled with enthusiasm.

"Perhaps. Perhaps." Dr. Sanchez straightened up. "I do not dispute the accuracy of your results," she admitted. "But I am concerned about your interpretations. Especially given the nature of your test subjects and your selection criteria."

She and Cali both turned and glanced across the lab. An intricate tangle of wrist thick, silvery tubes filled half the large room.

Through the tubes, Cali could just glimpse the titanium gold alloy table with her current test subject, an ancient black book, lying on its center.

The tubes hummed as current flowed through them, creating complex energy fields. Several hulking pieces of test equipment squatted around the jungle-gym-like structure, analyzing the data.

Cali's voice shook as she tried to hide her frustration. "But this latest result supports my hypothesis. It demonstrates that the quantum entanglement field of our target subjects can persist beyond their original physical forms. This could change everything we thought we knew. It's a paradigm shift!"

Dr. Sanchez frowned down at the screen. "I am well aware of your hypothesis, Cali, but let us not be too hasty to jump to conclusions."

Cali blushed.

"Yes, of course, Dr. Sanchez." She brushed a lock of shoulder length auburn hair behind her ear. "I was just a little excited."

"Excitement is good," said Dr. Sanchez. "Logical, rational analysis of evidence is better. I'm not convinced your premises are valid."

"Then let me go over them with you," Cali said. "I'm sure I can defend my hypothesis."

Dr. Sanchez sighed. "Very well." She checked her watch. "Perhaps over lunch?"

Cali jabbed the shutdown icon, the humming died, and the machines went dark. She rose from her chair and rubbed her aching back. Following Dr. Sanchez out the lab, she turned off the lights as they left.

They strolled down the hall, Cali talking excitedly, Dr. Sanchez nodding calmly. As they turned a corner, neither looked twice at the stocky, coppery skinned janitor pushing his cleaning cart down the hall toward them.

Sam Littlebear, steering the unfamiliar cart, passed the two scientists without looking up. In silence he turned into the same corridor from which they emerged. Only when he reached the door to the lab did he glance around.

Seeing the corridor was empty, Sam entered the lab. He turned on the lights, and pushed his cart into the center of the room. He did not mop the floor, dust the equipment, or look for overflowing trash cans. Instead, he abandoned his cart and circled the silvery tube structure. He glimpsed the gold table with the black book lying on it. A buzzing sound filled his head. Sam's face relaxed. This was it.

Halfway around the structure Sam spotted a person-sized gap in the tubes. He stepped through it as the buzzing in his head died away.

Inside the structure, Sam was not alone. A thin, elderly man, with wispy white hair, round glasses, and wearing an old-fashioned suit, stood by the six-foot long, polished gold table. His hand rested on the thick black book. Its worn edges, yellowing uneven pages, and cracked leather binding made Sam think of ancient history.

Faded gold leaf letters on the book's fragile cover spelled out: Journal of Jeremiah P. Sutton.

The old man looked up and smiled. "Ah, Samuel, how delightful to see you again."

"Sorry to take so long about it, Professor," said Sam. He glanced at the book. "I'd have come back sooner, but you weren't in the museum and it took me a while to track you down here."

The professor waved a dismissive hand. "Samuel, please. Time is nothing," he said. "I just regret that finding me was so difficult." He paused. "Have you gone to such trouble in order to tell me of your success?"

"Yup," said Sam. "I tracked down your grandson and gave him your message. He still had your old desk in his attic. I went up with him to check it out. We located the hidden compartment and found all the papers just like you said. He was plenty happy when I left."

The Professor closed his eyes, nodded, and smiled. "Thank you, Samuel. You've done more than I had any right to ask of you."

Sam shook his head, his face grave. "It's what I do," he said. "Now you're free to finish your journey."

"Yes, I suppose I am," said the Professor. He opened his eyes, frowning slightly. Looking hesitant. "But not quite yet, I think."

Sam Littlebear blinked, but otherwise did not change his expression. "I don't understand," he said. "You already have one foot on the path. What's stopping you?"

"I'm sorry I can't take advantage of the new freedom you've given me, Samuel," said the Professor. "But there is one more task I must complete first."

Sam thought about this. "Is it something I can help with?" he asked.

"No, I don't believe so," said the Professor. "I want to assist a young colleague. With my help, she will soon make an important discovery."

Sam frowned. "What discovery?"

"Why, myself, of course."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Sam Littlebear's heart filled with a deep disquiet.

"Sure?" asked the Professor. "Of course not. Nothing is sure, but this is a discovery whose time has come. Or so it would seem."

Sam doubted the world was ready for this revelation, but before he could voice his doubts, the buzzing filled his head once more. And the ghost of Professor Jeremiah P. Sutton grew transparent. Faded. And vanished.