Steve was settled into a regular room for overnight observation. Anne fibbed about having been unable to reach Rudy Wells whom, she discovered, had been deceased for the past seven years.

She decided reluctantly to accede to Steve’s wishes and postpone the CT scan, knowing full well it would incur her colleague’s wrath for not following hospital protocol. The information she had gathered on the astronaut’s background concurred with her theory that he was undoubtedly another unwilling victim of the random time vortex.

Late in the evening, her shift over for the day, Anne wandered into Steve’s room to check on his vital signs. Satisfied that the patient was resting comfortably, she climbed in the next bed to catch some Zs. Barely had her head hit the pillow that she heard a faint moan. Quietly, she padded up to Steve’s bed.

“Steve?” she coaxed in a whisper. She knew by the flickering underneath the eyelids that he was rousing to open his eyes. “Hi!”

Steve blinked a few times to establish clear focus on the woman leaning over him. “Doctor Fowler?”

“It’s Anne, remember?” she corrected amicably. She lowered the bed rail to take his pulse.

“The pulse is definitely louder than the one in the right arm,” she remarked with a glint of tease. She lifted her eyes from her wristwatch to gauge his reaction.

“You know?”

“I studied cybernetics in college and was privy to the government’s experiments with bionics.

“Have you been able to reach Rudy Wells?”

She lowered her eyes and after heaving a drawn-out sigh, she perched herself on the rim of the bed. “You and me, we need to have a serious talk.”

He frowned with worry at the woefulness of her voice. “What is it?”

“I don’t rightly know where to begin.”

“Start at the beginning.”

“Humph! Which beginning?”

“I don’t understand.”

“What day is it?”

“September 24th 1980.”

She shook her head. “It’s June 7th 2006.”

“Is this your clever way to get me to agree to your head scan?” Steve asked bitterly.

“No. Believe me when I say you’re all there.” She stood from the bed and ambled to the window, her arms folded across her chest. “Do you recall a sudden whirlwind taking shape in the middle of a corn field?” She asked while casting an eye out the window.

Steve searched his mind of that occurrence. “Yes, I do. Only the land was fallow.”

“In 1980, perhaps, not in 2001 when I was sucked into the vortex.”

Steve gaped and held his breath while his mind tried to assimilate Anne’s shocking revelation. He then elbowed himself up in his bed. “What are you talking about?” he asked acridly.

She turned to face his quizzical eyes. “I’m talking about a wormhole, a passage through time. That is what happened to both of us. And now we’re stuck here.”

Steve heaved out a heavy sigh and sank his head into his pillow in utter despair. “What are you trying to do to me?” he lashed out at her.

“I am not your enemy, Steve!” she railed back. “If anything I want to help you.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head in utter disbelief. “I don’t believe this.”

“I didn’t at first.” She walked back to the bed. “I lied to you. I did reach Rudy Wells’ lab, but was told that he died seven years ago.”

“No!”

“Earlier, we accessed your personal file, there were no data available past 2002.”

“Translation?”

“I don’t think I need to figure that one out for you.”

“You mean…I’m supposed to be dead? I don’t exist in this time? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? I died in 2002?” he grilled.

Her rueful stare was self-explanatory.

“This is a nightmare,” he sighed with a gulp, running a hand through his hair. “My parents?”

She shook her head.

“Oh God!” he wailed, putting his hand over his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“Wait a minute…if you say you were caught in that same funnel, then how come you didn’t arrive in the same area as I did? What are you doing working in an Albuquerque hospital?”

“I did arrive in California. But after spending nearly four months trying to relocate the wormhole, I resigned to my fate and went job-hunting. In Cedar-Sinai they told me that Albuquerque Memorial was seeking a physician with my qualifications. So here I am.”

“What about your 2006 self? Is she alive?

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you afraid of running into each other?”

“I doubt that. She’s in Florida.”

“Didn’t they check your background when they hired you for this job?

“They did. Everything checked out with my social security number. They thought I was this girl from Florida. I know it’s just a matter of time before they find me out. As long as I keep a low profile and don’t stir up trouble, I can maintain a steady stream in the chain of events.”

“I certainly don’t have to worry about creating a paradox since I gave up the ghost four years ago. I can’t fear running into myself.

“That may be so, but what about crossing paths with people who used to know you? Friends, acquaintances, family members...old and new? And you can’t provide for yourself since you’re without a credit card or social security number. You’re more likely to arouse suspicion like you did here. Steve, you’re supposed to be sixty-four years old.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a lungful of air. “We have to go back there.”

“Where?”

“Where you found me. If there’s a chance for us of ever returning to our respective timelines, it’s there. We’ll have to wait for the next opening.”

“A bit like catching the six o’clock train,” she remarked cynically. “Do you earnestly think this vortex is on a time-table?”

“We’ll wait for it.”

“How long? Hours? Days? Weeks? Years?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“And what if that’s a single-span bridge. A one-way wormhole? What then?”

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“No humor, please Steve,” she admonished. “Unless you’re some genius quantum physicist who can devise a plan to escape this timeline, I’m afraid we’re condemned here forever.”

Saturday May 29th 2123

Later in the afternoon, Chris brought a semi-conscious Steve to his father’s underground quantum mechanics laboratory, heedful to avoid being spotted by the android scavengers sweeping the area for fugitives.

They settled Steve on a comfortable couch with a damp towel on his forehead. While Chris went to reprogram the GIDMIC in the palm of his hand, his father, Martin Cahill, ran a complete physical examination on the bionic man with a thermo-spectro scan of his own invention that quickly issued a diagnosis of his condition.

He fed the data into the mainframe to obtain a positive identification on the man. The results were conclusive: he was Rudy Wells’ twentieth-century bionic prototype, whose survival he found was vital to ensure his own.

Dr. Cahill was roused out of his disturbing thoughts by a faint moan. He removed his gold-rimmed half glasses and stood from his chair to step over to the couch. He sat on the edge to remove the damp cloth from Steve’s forehead and to feel his cheeks for any sign of a fever.

Steve’s eyelids fluttered before he slowly opened his glassy eyes. He blinked to establish focus on the smock-clad, white-haired man sitting by his side.

“Hello there, young man.”

“Who…who are you?” Steve mumbled groggily.

“I’m Doctor Martin Cahill.”

“Doctor?”

“Astrophysicist.”

Steve tried to elbow himself up into a sitting position but his throbbing head convinced him otherwise.

“Take it easy, son.” Martin eased Steve’s head back onto the cushion.

Steve rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and exhaled a drawn-out breath before scanning the impressive futuristic laboratory, furnished with intricate pieces of machinery and multifaceted apparatuses.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my laboratory.”

“Lab?” Steve sprung up, causing him to wince at the smart that shot across his pounding head.

“Easy.”

“What have you done to me?” Steve asked on an accusing tone.

“I merely ran a scan on your person to determine the extend of your injuries.”

Steve’s eyes widened in alarm at the thought of this man being cognizant of his special nature.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Martin assured with a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve continued to eye warily the elder who helped him sit on the edge of the couch.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve heaved out while rubbing his stiff neck. “How did I get here?”

“My son, Christopher, brought you.”

“Why?”

“Protection. You are missing the GIDMIC.”

“The what?”

“GIDMIC, that’s short for Governmental IDentification MICrochip. It’s embedded in the palm of your right hand.

Steve instinctively looked down at his hand.

“Without one, you are branded an outcast from society and the penalty can be gruesome.”

Steve frowned and shook his head in puzzlement. “What are you talking about?”

Before Martin could elaborate, the rumbling of the ironclad door sliding open drew both men’s attention to their visitor.

“Hey dad!”

“Son. Our guest has just rejoined the land of the living.” Martin stood up and walked over to the console to sit behind his computer.

“Great. How is he?” Chris asked, a tad concerned by Steve’s drawn features.

“A trifle confused but that’s to be expected.”

“So what’s the verdict? Outcast or out-of-towner?”

“Definitely the latter. The scan proves he’s not from our time.”

“Then he is one.”

Martin nodded.

Steve sighed in frustration. “Alright let’s just end this charade right here and now. I want to know who you’re working for and what you want with me?” he asked curtly.

“You have a very suspicious nature,” Martin observed amusedly.

“It comes with the job,” Steve replied sarcastically.

Chris turned to his father with a quizzical look. “He doesn’t know?”

Martin shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Steve, can you tell me the year?” Chris asked.

“What?”

“Just humor me. What year are we?”

“1980.”

“Correction. We’re in 2123.”

“Yeah, right,” Steve scoffed, letting his head slumped into his hands.

“Do you recall back at my house when you said you were in San Fernando Valley on business?”

“I remember,” Steve replied with a smudge of exasperation.

“San Fernando was indeed a valley back in 1980. However following the cataclysmic Californian eight-point-three quake in 2006 that sliced a huge fragment of earth’s crust, San Fernando Valley became San Fernando beach. That’s where I found you this morning.” Chris explained.

Steve slid his hands down his face, enough to uncover his eyes and stare at Chris with an eyebrow raised in incredulity.

“Son, you were caught in a time warp, a tear in the four-dimensional continuum. Its opening created a powerful vacuum that swallowed you whole and brought you here, to this timeline,” Martin added.

“I reiterate my question: What do you want from me?” Steve asked peevishly, his eyes seething with aggravation.

“Nothing. All we want is to help you return home.”

“Just hail me a taxi and I’ll be on my way,” Steve retorted with sarcasm.

“It’s not that simple.”

Steve’s eyes darted between one rueful expression to the next. “Am I your prisoner?”

“Nonsense! But we can’t let you go. Believe us, it’s for your own protection,” Martin explained composedly to Steve whose temper began to fray.

“Oh really?” Steve huffed sardonically. “I’ve been through this con game before. It didn’t work then and it certainly won’t work now,” he warned.

“Colonel Austin, I can assure you this is no hoax. You were thrust forward in time.”

“Dad, perhaps Joan can help convince him?”

“It’s worth to try. Go get her.”

Chris crossed to the solid steel door that slid open automatically.

“Who’s Joan?” Steve asked.

“Joan Corbett, one of your fellow agents who shared a similar journey through time.”

“She’s here?”

“That’s right.”

Steve cracked a knowing grin. “It’s all beginning to fall into place now.”

“Is that cynicism I detect in your voice?”

“Right” Steve glowered at the man he held accountable for the agents’ disappearances; the mastermind behind this brilliantly engineered operation. “Oscar was right; that barn was a smoke screen and I fell right into it. I must admit this is all pretty convincing.”

“You must be referring to Oscar Goldman?”

“You know him!” Steve said sarcastically.

“I know everything about you.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

The steel door slid open and in came Chris with Agent Corbett. Steve leapt to his feet and hurried over to her.

“Joan!”

“Steve!” she gushed, meeting him halfway to fall into his arms.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. You don’t know how happy I am to see you,” she quavered, her voice cracking with emotions as she stroked Steve’s cheek to seek evidence that he was real.

“Feeling’s mutual, believe me.” He clasped her hand and held it tight. “Where are the others?”

“What others?”

“The agents who were all abducted after you.”

“Abducted? No Steve, you got it all wrong. I wasn’t kidnapped. We’re not in 1980 anymore.”

“Oh no, not you.” Steve held Joan at arms’ length with a look of disgust. “Don’t tell me they succeeded in brainwashing you?”

Joan gripped Steve’s shoulders. “They didn’t, believe me. I had a hard time with it at first just like you did, but Steve…I went outside,” she shook her head, “we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Joan. It’s not that I don’t want to believe you. For all I know you could be under an hypnotic suggestion.”

“I’m not Steve, I can assure you.”

Steve looked at her with an eyebrow raised in incredulity before he turned to Martin. “I want to see for myself.”

“It’s too dangerous, son. We can’t risk it.”

“But you could with Joan?” Steve remarked peevishly.

“Yes and we nearly got caught by the scavengers,” Chris chimed in.

“Scavengers?”

“The government’s androids. They’re equipped with sensors that enables them to detect the outcasts who don’t emit a signal.”

“The microchip embedded in the palm of their hands, that’s what differentiates the abiding citizens from the fugitives,” Joan clarified to a puzzled Steve. “Steve, those people live under an oppressive regime. A dictatorial government sets the pace and if they choose to march to the beat of a different drum, they’re eradicated.”

“Eradicated?”

“A fate worse than death. They banish you from society; they impudently strip you of all your belongings; they sever your ties with your kinfolks and they sequester you. Woe betide the one who’s foolish enough to try to free you,” Chris explained.

Steve sighed heavily as he dithered whether to assimilate this information or just disregard it. He moved over to the couch and sat with hands folded on his lap, eyes looking downcast.

“I’m sorry. I’m finding it hard to swallow what you’re saying.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “If we admit the possibility that I…” he glanced over at Joan, “we encountered a rift in the space-time continuum, we’d have to travel at light’s speed, and there is no way a human body can sustain that amount of pressure.”

“You studied quantum physics?” Martin asked, surprised.

“I scratched the surface in college.”

“Then you know that each organism is composed of a quantum matrix, a mapping of subatomic particles into a specific pattern. It’s a signature, like DNA. No two are alike. It’s usually in a stable phasic balance, which prevents a body from crumbling into dust,” Martin expounded to the two agents listening with reserved interest. “When you entered the wormhole, you engaged in an intense quantum vibration entry phase we call the molecular deconstruction, during which your quantum matrix is disrupted and begins fluctuating.”

“It’s in essence fragmented. That’s where the quons are in a perpetual state of flux,” Steve deduced.

“Right. That process allows you to hurtle at light’s velocity of two hundred ninety-nine thousand seven hundred and ninety-six kilometers per seconds without being disintegrated within the first milliseconds. Now during that crucial entry phase, those subatomic particles are enfolded in an electro-magnetic field that acts as a protective sheath to maintain the scattered quons in a cluster. It’s an anchor that keeps you grounded while carrying you through safety through the vortex.”

“I’m with you so far.”

“Problem is that particular wormhole is highly unstable, in the sense that the EM field’s magnetic properties are weak and as a result, it leaks out particles directly into the vortex. The disruption is primarily caused by radiations.”

“Radiations emitted by nuclear cells,” Steve hinted to Martin.

“In greater part attributed to them, yes,” Martin replied with a knowing smile.

“But those…special parts…are nuts and bolts. How come they’re whole?” Steve questioned tactfully in front of Joan.

“They recombined mainly because they also possess a QM. However the trip drained the cells of all their power, hence the reason why the parts aren’t in working order.”

“Special parts? Steve, what are you talking about?” Joan inquired, confused by the odd looks both men were throwing at each other.

“I was referring to my watch and other metal accessories on my person,” Steve answered elusively. He turned his attention back to Martin. “If the EM field is seeping out particles, does that mean we’re not whole, subatomically speaking?”

“We assume those subA entities recombined in other timelines,” Chris ventured a hypothesis.

“You mean they rematerialized into another,” Steve’s eyes darted between both men, seeking the dreaded answer in their facial expressions, “me? There’s another Steve Austin roaming the earth as we speak?”

“Perhaps more than one,” Chris said.

“You didn’t tell me that!” Joan exclaimed in shock. “Is that also true for me?”

“No, I checked. You recombined whole. However Steve didn’t.”

“On account of the radiations,” Steve surmised.

“Right.”

“Radiations? Steve will you explain to me what you’re talking about?” Joan insisted.

“How many Steve Austin look-alikes are there?” Steve quickly asked Martin to elude Joan’s question.

“The exact number will be determined once we trace and measure their photon proxy waves and quantisize your atomic weight.”

“But if there’s just one opening, I mean you enter the vortex at point A and emerge at point B in the same space, why didn’t the particles all recombined in the same timeline?”

“We wouldn’t be talking about split infinities. All your subA particles would have merged into a single body. The ones that seeped out of the EM field were missing an anchor to guide them in a straight-line trajectory. And quons are known to engage in different paths; they sprawl out across space, going everywhere at once. Consequently, those lost drifted off a different velocities.”

“So in other words, the particles that coursed through the wormhole recombined into another me further into the past or future, and the slowpokes reached a destination in the vicinity of the year 1980?” Steve inferred, amazed at his willingness to acknowledge the concept of time travel.

“Or vice-versa.”

“Okay, how does that concern me? My health, that is?”

“It is imperative that we locate the others as soon as possible and merge you into a single body or you’re likely die.”

“Oh great!” Steve snorted. “What do we need to do to remedy the situation?”

“To begin with, I’ll need to establish your DNA pattern. Afterwards I’ll incorporate that signature into the CPU, which will match the corresponding photon trails in the next inward-bound vortex, the one that opens in exactly,” Martin craned his neck over to a data display on the console, “six days, fifteen hours, three minutes and two seconds.”

“I gather this is no mere speculation?” Steve said sarcastically. “Just curious. How do you know all this?”

“It’s the only active wormhole I know of and I’m making it my work to study its properties, including its pathway and time frame.”

“My doubles, how will you get them back?”

“Not me…you!”

“And how do you propose I do that?”

“You’ll summon them using a method called remote viewing.”

“Doesn’t that require extrasensory powers?”

“Usually, but with the FCRV, the Faradic Controlled Remote Viewing, we can intensify the electrical impulses in the brain to increase the ESP abilities in an individual that had yet mastered the skill,” Martin explained to a confused Steve. “I will feed you the coordinates of your alternates’ timelines, after which you will proceed to locate them in space. And with the TWT, the Thought Wave Transducer, you’ll be able to telepathically communicate with each one and relay the information they require in order to catch the next outward-bound vortex.”

“Telepathically?”

“Easy, since you’re all subatomically identical.”

Steve shook his head in disbelief, wary of this doubtful method. “I don’t like the sound of it. You’ll be messing with my brain.”

“It’s painless I can assure you.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Countless of times through our journeys into parallel universes. We use remote viewing to scour a particular destination to ascertain whether the populace is friendly or otherwise, and to locate an alternate in space to thus avoid any inadvertent encounter that could result in a temporal paradox.”

“Once this is all done, what’s next?”

“Once we recover all of your alternates and merge you into a single body inside the linear acceleration reactor,” Martin pointed to the glass-hardened bubble chamber in a corner of the lab, which Steve eyed suspiciously, “you’ll catch the next outward-bound vortex, this one opens in, “ he glanced at the data display, “thirteen days, twenty hours, fifteen minutes and nine seconds.”

“And we both should arrive exactly on September 24th 1980 in that fallow field in Northridge, California?”

“Give or take a few hours, yes.”

Steve stood up and walked around to let his addled brain process this staggering information. Joan noted the harried expression etched on his face, evidence that he was agonizing over the decision whether to trust Dr. Cahill’s competence. The suspicion of another hoax plagued his mind. ‘What to do?’ he asked himself.

Saturday June 10th 2006

Days later, Steve and Anne traveled back to Northridge in an attempt to locate the vortex.

People were returning to their demolished homes, sifting through the rubbles in hopes to retrieve some of their belongings and salvage what they could. Baby buggies and toy wagons were used to carry bundles of bedding and dear household treasures.

A rain of ashes was sheeting down on the doomed city as firefighters uncovered more casualties underneath the debris. With a look of disgust, Steve and Anne took in the grisly sight of blanket-covered corpses lying scattered on the ground as they searched for the exact spot where our unwitting time traveler was found.

“What a nightmare!” Anne deplored.

“It has to be around here,” Steve said, his attention focused on his objective. He squatted down next to a pillar on which he noticed smears of dried blood. “That’s it. That’s where I was.” He scanned the surroundings with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was reaching the dreaded conclusion that Anne was correct: he was stuck in this timeline.

“Excuse me!” A disheveled woman called out as she strode over to them.

“Can we help you, ma’am?” Anne asked.

“Yes. I was wondering if….” she clipped her sentence when she caught a glimpse of Steve’s face as he rose to his feet. She frowned quizzically and slanted her head. “I think I know you.”

“I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Yes, you were the man who tried to pull me out of my car a few days ago. Your arm was in a sling then.”

“That’s right. I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

“Yes. My son and I were among the lucky ones. We lost our home but we’re alive,” she sighed with dismay. “I told my husband I didn’t want to settled in California, mainly because of the earthquakes. But when he got a steal on a small farm, he convinced me to go,” she confided in the two individuals who stained to humor her. “The poor widow was desperate to sell the property after he husband died. It was a shock to all of us. Colonel Austin was barely sixty.”

Steve’s head perked up and his eyes widened in shock. “Colonel Austin?”

“Yes. The famous astronaut? The man who walked on the moon?”

“You said his widow sold you the farm?”

“She sold it to my husband,” she corrected. “I heard she moved to St-Gabriel with her two children.”

“Do you know her name?” Steve asked with eager expectation.

“Don’t do this!” Anne warned Steve with a hand on his arm.

He flung his arm free from her grip without averting his stare from the woman. “What was her name?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“Steve, that’s enough.”

“I need to know!” Steve lashed out at Anne.

“No you don’t!” Anne spat back.

“Yes I do. Anne you don’t understand. You…you’re alive. I’m…I’m not!” Overwhelmed with emotions, Steve swung on his heels and stormed away.

“Did I say something wrong?” the shaken woman asked Anne.

“No,” Anne assured smilingly with a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be okay.”

Anne walked over to Steve who was standing stock-still, his mind still reeling from the shock. The comforting hand she laid on his shoulder triggered a rush of tears to his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Steve. That was insensitive of me. At least you know you’re survived by two kids.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Steve said crushingly.

Anne felt a strong empathy with Steve’s pain. Her heart bled for this stranger she found herself drawn to. “Listen…if finding out the name of your future wife weighs heavily on your mind, we can always look it up in the public records,” she proposed to the heavy-hearted man, hoping to allay some of his torment.

“I need to reconcile with the fact that I won’t live to see any of this, which in itself is a blessing. I do find comfort in knowing that my family will survive unscathed this disaster.” He sighed heavily and wiped the tears in his eyes before turning to Anne. “I’ll delve into my past…or future...whatever, solely if we’re unsuccessful at finding a way back. That way I’ll be privy to the life I led before I died.”

“You okay with that?”

He nodded unconvincingly.

She folded her arms around his waist to pull him into a heartwarming hug.

Friday June 4th 2123

Six days later, in Dr. Cahill’s lab, Steve was stretched out on the couch, eyeing the physicist’s every move warily as he plastered electrodes on his temples and forehead.

“Okay, you just relax. I need to correlate a few more equations before I initiate the final settings.”

Steve heaved out an anguish-fraught sigh and nodded.

While Martin returned to his computer, Joan sat on the edge of the couch to keep Steve company. “How you feeling?”

“Terrorized. Joan I don’t completely trust that man.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You’ll stick close by?”

“Absolutely,” she reassured with a smile.

“We’ll begin the journey in precisely four minutes, thirty-six seconds’” Martin informed his subject. “You okay Steve?”

Steve gulped in a nervous breath. “Not really.”

“You must be completely relaxed for the experience or it might fail.”

“I’ll try.”

The ironclad door slid open and in came Chris.

“Hey dad!”

“Son.”

“How’s it going?”

“Everything’s proceeding accordingly. Just need to switch to the enhancement mode on the TWT. ”

“Great,” Chris said rather dryly.

Martin glanced at his son who looked preoccupied. “Something on your mind, Christopher?”

“You knew about him, didn’t you?” he challenged curtly.

“Of course. When I first analyzed his DNA.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!”

“I thought you already figured it out.

“We’re talking over a century ago, dad! It’s a bit far back in time for me to recall.”

“Didn’t the name Austin tip you off?”

“Eventually it did.”

“Christopher, can we discuss this later? The vortex’s about to enter in activity and it’s imperative for this experiment to be come through. We cannot afford to miss that window of opportunity,” Martin stressed, dismissing Chris’s own qualms about his discovery.

“Why? Another vortex opens at the rate of ten to twelve days. It’s not that dramatic if you should miss this one.”

“In Steve’s case, it might be. His strength is flagging. If we don’t recover his alternates and recombine them all…I don’t give him long to live.”

“And if he dies, it will disrupt the natural state of the temporal continuity and we both know the dire circumstances this will engender, right?” Chris expounded with a voice dripping with sarcasm.

“In more ways than one.”