by Richard Todd
Padma shook Jones’ hand, then deftly moved out of range before he was able to plant a wet kiss on her cheek. She motioned for Jones to take a seat as she sat behind her desk.
Across the desk from Padma sat the one man her political engine had failed to defeat. Senator Jones had narrowly eked out a win in the 2002 election and returned to the Senate for a second term. Padma knew the election had been rigged—the polls had clearly favored her candidate. The media reported Jones’ victory as the greatest political upset since Truman had defeated Dewey in 1948. Padma’s political machine had been in its infancy in the 2002 election, with a fraction of the money and apparatus she now had at her disposal. In 2008, she fully intended to dislodge the Texan bull nettle from her side.
Padma and Jones were now fully engaged in a pitched and ugly battle for control of Jones’ Senate seat. Padma’s super PAC had poured tens of millions of dollars into state advertisements and PR to promote her progressive candidate, Wendy Davis, and expose Jones’ close association with big oil and banks.
From the content of his ads, a visitor from another world might have deduced that Jones was running against Padma instead of Davis. His ads spared any pretense of civility. The racism levied against Padma was full-throated, rallying white Texans against the brown-skinned woman whom he accused of being a Muslim with a foreign agenda. Jones called upon his base to take back their country from a dark, evil caliphate. It was red meat for conservative Texan voters who had sported “secede” bumper stickers on their pickup trucks long before Padma came to power. Padma was astounded by the irony—a party traditionally in the hip pocket of big business railing against the biggest business of all.
“May I offer you something to drink, Senator?” Padma asked.
“Iced tea, if you have it,” said Jones.
Padma picked up a small black remote on her desk and spoke into it.
“Please bring an iced tea for the senator and a black coffee for me—thank you.”
Moments later, a side door opened and a uniformed waiter emerged with a tray. He set a cup of black coffee in front of Padma. In front of Jones he placed a silver tray bearing a tall glass of iced tea on a coaster and a silver sugar bowl. Jones shoveled sugar into his glass, carelessly sprinkling some onto Padma’s otherwise pristine black desk. Padma’s gaze and serene poker face never left the senator’s face as the errant sugar crystals skipped across her desk.
Jones took a gulp of iced tea, egested a satisfied “ahhh,” then set the glass on Padma’s desk, missing its coaster. Condensation began to run down the glass and puddle on Padma’s desk. Though the senator’s Cro-Magnon manners irritated Padma, she knew better than to let Jones think he could get under her skin.
“I want to thank you for making the trip to New York, Senator,” Padma said with a cordial smile.
“It is my pleasure,” said Jones with a chuckle. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“I must say, I’m a little surprised you accepted my invitation to meet,” said Padma. “Your schedule has never permitted a meeting over the years.”
“Yes, well, representing the interests of my Texan constituents is a full time job,” said Jones. “I saw you on Oprah. It looks like you’re busy yourself on the talk show circuit these days.”
“Yes. It’s leaving me less and less time for my day job,” replied Padma.
“I hear you’ve got a book deal in the works too.”
“Your hearing is excellent, Senator.”
“Well, America loves you, there is no doubt about that. If you ran for president, you’d win in a landslide.”
“I much prefer my current job.”
“I don’t doubt it—your job is much more powerful than the president’s.”
“I doubt that seriously.”
“Oh, come on. Everyone knows you and the mysterious Anderson Wild run this country. Every member of Congress, every governor, even the president comes here to kowtow to the empress and get his marching orders. They know they can’t get elected without the backing of Wild Industries.”
“You did.”
“Yes, I did,” said Jones. “The people of the great state of Texas march to a different drummer.”
“That’s one possible explanation,” said Padma. “It’s interesting that the people of Texas said one thing to pollsters and another thing entirely at the voting booth. Does that mean the people of Texas are also…disingenuous?”
“You mean, are we liars?”
“That’s a severe way of putting it.”
“What it means is that polls can be so unreliable sometimes.”
“You overcame a 15 point spread in three separate polls where the margin of error was 3 points. That can’t be explained by science.”
“I’m not a big believer in science. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“So your explanation is divine intervention?”
“I’m a United States senator. I don’t believe I’m required to explain myself to you.”
Padma paused and took a sip from her coffee. Her gaze didn’t leave Jones.
“I am sorry Senator,” Padma said, placing her coffee mug on her desk. “We’re getting off to a bad start. I had hoped we could try to find common ground. I realize we have differing visions regarding this country’s direction.”
“Well, common ground is all well and good, but where I come from, those in elected office get to decide the country’s direction,” Jones said with a toothy grin.
Padma smiled politely and nodded. She knew well that Jones fully understood the absurdity of his comment. They both knew that the issue was not “whether” corporate masters, but instead “which” corporate masters.
“Perhaps it might be helpful,” continued Jones, “if you shared some of your priorities with me so I can let you know whether or not I can be of service to a concerned citizen like yourself. You are a citizen, right?”
Padma’s face did not betray her anger at the suggestion that it was OK to question one’s citizenship because their skin color was not white.
“I am a citizen—thank you for asking,” replied Padma with a smile. “Are you a citizen too?”
“Touché! Touché!” Jones said with a hearty laugh. “Indeed I am.”
“I’m also not Muslim, as your ads claim,” continued Padma, exposing the elephant in the room, “though I’m not clear why it would matter if I were.”
Jones chuckled. “I think we both understand the realities of the world in which we live.”
Padma felt a sinking void in her chest. Yes, she fully understood the hate and ignorance that still pervaded America, despite her very best efforts to eradicate it through education and opportunity. She also understood those who were all too eager to exploit America’s dark side and target the innocent for personal gain.
“To your question, Senator, Wild Industries has an interest in a government research facility at Groom Lake, Nevada. We believe it might be in the country’s best interest if this particular facility was under private management.”
The smile evaporated from Jones’ face. Padma had caught him off guard.
“You’re talkin’ about Area 51,” he said.
“A portion of it, yes,” she responded.
“That’s a mighty big ask,” said Jones.
“If it were a small ask, there would be no need for you and me to talk, would there?” Padma replied, smiling.
Jones paused for a moment, then raised his hands from his armrests and pressed his fingertips together. “You know, funny thing about the American people—they have a very low tolerance for tyranny.”
“As well they should,” affirmed Padma.
“America is a democracy, not an empire,” said Jones. “We don’t take our orders from mystery men no one has ever laid eyes on…or their exotic servants.”
“I am indeed sorry if I offended you,” said Jones with a big grin, noting that his epithet had scored its mark.
“Senator,” Padma said, leaning forward, “how could someone like you possibly offend someone like me?”
The senator laughed. He took another gulp from his iced tea and set it back in the puddle on Padma’s desk. He stood and extended his hand to Padma. Padma stood and shook his hand. It was clammy and wet from the tea glass.
“Thank you for your time,” said Jones with a broad smile. “This has been…illuminating.”
“Senator,” Padma acknowledged as Jones turned, strode the length of the office to the door, and exited.
Padma stared at the empty tea glass in its pool of water on her desk. She wiped her hand on the pant leg of her suit.
Another side door in the office opened. Kyle Mason entered the room.
One World Trade Center
New York, NY
September 22, 2008
10:30 hours
Timeline 002
At 47, Kyle, aka “Anderson Wild,” was in remarkable shape. Only touches of gray at the temples of his collar-length hair hinted at his real age. The contours of a superhero’s body shaped the black long-sleeved V-neck shirt that descended into his jeans.
Padma saw the incensed look on his face.
“No, you can’t kill him,” Padma preempted.
“Would the world really miss him?” Kyle asked.
“Maybe not, but I’d like to think we still have some shreds of a moral compass left intact. He probably believes he’s in the right.”
“But he’s not. We are.”
“Everyone believes they own the high ground.”
Kyle’s concern for Padma drew a loving smile from her. She turned her chair to face Kyle and extended her hand.
“Love, come here.”
Kyle walked over and sat on her desk, taking her hand.
“It kills me that I can’t be at your side,” he said.
Years earlier, on September 12, 2001, once the couple had finally emerged from Padma’s bedroom, Padma suggested that they have dinner at a neighborhood favorite on the Upper West Side, an Indian restaurant at Columbus and 75th. At first, she didn’t understand Kyle’s pained expression in reaction to her simple suggestion. Then she realized…
Kyle can never be seen in public again.
In their timeline, Kyle Mason was dead. The news networks had relentlessly beamed his visage into every living room, etching the image of his handsome face onto virtually every brain in the modern world. Compounding the problem was Padma’s plan to leverage Kyle’s knowledge of the future for financial gain. The wealthier she became, the more attention she would draw. In some file cabinet, somewhere in New York City Hall, was a public record of her marriage to Kyle. It was only a matter of time before someone discovered it. The world’s wealthiest woman, arguably also the world’s most beautiful, would be shadowed by paparazzi day and night. Disguises were no good—she could never be seen with anyone who even remotely resembled Kyle. Padma’s gaze dropped from Kyle’s anguished face as she processed the epiphany. The man she loved came with an immense price tag.
Padma knew that the Kyle of 2008 was well aware of the burden he had placed on their union. One difference Padma recognized between the old Kyle and the new was the hefty bag of guilt this one hauled around. This Kyle’s spirit was haunted by the death of one love, combined with the sacrifice of another, imprisoned by his anonymity. As heavy as Padma gauged that load to be, she sensed there was still more that Kyle had not shared.
“Everything I’ve done has been to protect you,” Kyle continued. “The bunker, Dark Star, it’s all been to protect you from harm. No one can hurt you here, but someone like Jones can run an ad and…”
Kyle paused. His face scrunched in pain and frustration. Padma gripped his hand tighter.
“I want to protect all of you. I want to protect your feelings.”
“Love,” she said, “it’s not your job to protect my feelings.”
Padma kissed Kyle’s hand and sighed.
“I have a question for you,” she said.
“What?”
“Kyle, are we having fun yet?”
Kyle looked down and sighed.
“We’re the richest people on the planet. We run the country. We can do anything we want, except for everything that everyone else can do. We can’t go to a restaurant together. We can’t go to the movies. We can’t go dancing. We can’t hold hands in public. We can’t go to Disneyland, for Chrissakes!”
“Disneyland?” asked Kyle.
“Yes—Disneyland! You know, Tomorrowland, Frontierland. If I have to choose between running the country and Space Mountain, I choose Space Mountain in a heartbeat.”
Kyle’s expression went sad. “I choose Space Mountain too. All this time together, I never knew you liked Disneyland.”
Padma smiled. “Listen to me—had someone given me the choice on 9/11 between living the rest of my life in a prison with you, or living in the sunlight without you, the choice would have been simple. It still is, love.”
“We may still be able to have what we want,” said Kyle.
“The Time Tunnel?” asked Padma.
Kyle nodded. “It’s our only way out.”
Mission Control
Time Tunnel Complex
Area 51, NV
October 13, 2008
10:00 hours
Timeline 002
General Aaron Craig watched CSPAN on the giant screen in the Time Tunnel’s mission control center with his mission director, Gus Ferrer. The gavel had fallen on the US Senate’s vote on House Resolution 7081, the Strategic Research and Development Act. The vote was 99 to 1 in favor. The sole dissenter was Jonah Jones from Texas. Having cleared both houses by overwhelming margins, the measure was on its way to the president’s desk for signature.
The general shook his head in disbelief.
“General, I am sorry,” said Gus. “I’m speechless. This is truly incredible.”
“In what universe does America’s most secret military research facility get handed over to a private company?” asked the general.
“This one, apparently,” answered Gus, shaking his head.
H.R. 7081 handed the keys to the Time Tunnel over to Anderson Wild and Padma Mahajan.
“How long until the transition?” asked Gus.
“They fast-tracked this sucker—my guess is a week, maybe,” said the general.
The general looked at the huge ultra-high-resolution mission control screen. “Why didn’t we ever use this thing to watch football?”
Gus laughed. “We still could.”
“Dammit!” said the general. “I sure wanted to take the tunnel for a spin.”
Even the vessel of the general’s steel-belted discipline could not contain his crushing disappointment. The Time Tunnel was his crowning achievement. He had worked for a decade to wrest control of the complex from General Patterson, then to transform it and bring the Time Tunnel online. It was now fully operational. The only question was how to use it. The history team had not produced any obvious inflection points in time to fix. In 2008, America was a juggernaut—it was at peace with the world, and its economy was at full throttle. Though the general would not be able to forgive what Anderson Wild and Padma Mahajan had done to him this day, he could not deny that America’s emperor and empress had made some very smart moves. America’s shiny new energy, communications, and logistical infrastructure was sparking a third industrial revolution, leaving other world economies in the dust. Unemployment was low, and t
est scores were up. Americans were happy and adoring of their unofficial empress. Many advocated simply legitimizing the empire—sweeping away America’s wasteful and corrupt branches of government.
“What do they want with the Time Tunnel?” asked the general. “They can’t know what’s really down here—no one on the outside does.”
“Maybe a leak?” speculated Gus.
The general shook his head. “No one knows. Even the president’s knowledge is limited. He knows the Grays and their craft are here, but not much else. He doesn’t know they’re from the future, he doesn’t know their craft is a time machine, and he sure as hell doesn’t know we’ve built a damn time tunnel down here. Unless…wait a minute.”
“What is it?” asked Gus.
“Maybe they know exactly what’s down here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What if we’ve already used the Time Tunnel?”
Gus’ face went white. “Anderson Wild?”
The general nodded. “You think he and Padma Mahajan became trillionaires just because they’re smart? What do we know about Anderson Wild?”
“The same thing that everyone else knows—nothing,” said Gus.
The general picked up a phone from one of the mission control consoles. “Page Roger Summit and Aysha Voong. Have them come to mission control on the double.”
Minutes later, mission control’s vault door opened, and Roger and Aysha entered. Before either could say a word, the general began.
“When does Anderson Wild show up in history?” he asked.
“That’s a question that gets asked a lot and does not have a high-precision answer,” said Roger, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard. “The earliest document we can find on him is from January 2002. That’s when official documents begin to appear.”
“Fake documents?”
“They must be,” said Roger. “Whoever he is, he didn’t just change his name—there is no one prior to 2002 to connect him to. He appears out of nowhere.”