by Richard Todd
“Congratulations,” said Strangelove. “Do you happen to have…”
“This?” Kyle said, holding up his temporal transponder.
“Ah, yes,” said Strangelove.
Kyle slid the metal box across the table to Strangelove. Strangelove picked it up, thrilled to be holding an artifact from another universe and time.
“It might be possible to triangulate the other universe with this,” said Strangelove, his mind already immersed in the challenge.
“Wait a minute!” said Lara. “Before we boldly go to universes where no one has gone before, I think we need to reality check this. These people land here, kick out the general, who is even more of a father to me than my bio father was, then we’re told we need to invade another universe. Is this particular crazy thing something we should really be doing?”
“The implications of another adjustment to this timeline by the other Time Tunnel are real,” said Roger. “We’ve already been ‘reset’ once by that tunnel. We have no awareness of it, because our experiences changed. We aren’t the people we were. It would be one thing if we didn’t know about what could happen, but we do. We know the tsunami might come.”
“Why did you kick them out? asked Lara, referring to the general, Annika Wise, and John Kaomea.
“The general was my mentor,” Kyle continued. “He gave me my silver star. But the bottom line is that I disobeyed the other general’s orders so I could be with my wife. There was potential for conflict, and I couldn’t risk confusion in the chain of command—particularly if something goes wrong.”
“Travelling to another universe—what could possibly go wrong?” Lara snarked.
“If you were one of the two temponauts in your timeline, that means Annika was your partner,” deduced Roger.
“Yes,” answered Kyle.
“What happened to her?” asked Roger.
“She died during the jump,” said Kyle. “Hence the reason why John is not with us.”
The group went silent, reminded that time travel was not a risk-free venture.
Central Park
Time Tunnel Complex
Area 51, NV
October 13, 2008
21:15 hours
Timeline 002
Kyle and Padma walked in the great atrium park under a starlit sky. The stars and constellations of the northern hemisphere glimmered on the atrium’s enormous faux skylight above the park. A sliver of waxing crescent moon accented the crystal-clear night sky.
Padma wore a simple cream-colored halter dress and pump sandals. Gold hoops glittered from her ears. For the occasion of their first dinner date in public, Kyle layered a black dress coat atop a white dress shirt and jeans. They held hands as they strolled the park’s stone paths through the trees, illuminated by perfect replicas of the iron Henry Bacon lamps that lit the way in New York’s Central Park. Padma enjoyed an ice cream cone Kyle had bought her from a park stand after dinner. She beamed with joy.
“We’re holding hands in Central Park,” Kyle said.
“I still can’t believe it!” replied Padma giddily, kissing Kyle on the cheek. She wiped ice cream off the side of his face with her hand.
Earlier that evening, the couple had dined on Italian at one of the Time Tunnel’s restaurants. They held hands across the table, covered by a classic red and white-checkered tablecloth. They scarcely touched their food. Instead, they gazed into each other’s blissful eyes as the light and shadows of a wax-drenched Chianti bottle candle moved across their faces.
The denizens of the Time Tunnel complex tried to avoid staring at the celebrity couple on their date. Ironically, after years of living in the shadows, Kyle and Padma relished the attention. Those that stole glances could plainly see that the couple was head over heels in love. The warmth of their adoration washed over the complex, melting the cold edge of General Craig’s abrupt departure.
“I can’t stop smiling,” she said. “I’m so happy!”
Kyle’s smile mirrored Padma’s. His joy at being with Padma in public was multiplied by witnessing her happiness.
Kyle and Padma stopped at the park waterfall. Kyle pointed at a constellation in the artificial night sky, anchored by stars arranged in a square.
“That’s Pegasus,” Kyle said. “Do you know how he got there?”
“I do not know,” replied Padma.
“Pegasus was involved in many heroic adventures in ancient times. The most famous was when Bellerophon rode Pegasus into battle against the dreaded Chimera, a monster that breathed fire. Bellerophon slayed the Chimera with the help of his trusty winged steed.
“Zeus rewarded Pegasus for his many heroic deeds by making him a constella—”
Padma interrupted Kyle, grabbing his face with both hands and planting a warm kiss.
“That’s fascinating,” Padma said between kisses.
“I wasn’t finished—” said Kyle.
Padma kissed him again.
“Pegasus can wait,” he said.
Padma looked around to see if anyone else was within eyeshot at the large waterfall-fed pond. She peeled off her dress, kicked off her shoes, then dove off the rock embankment into the pond. After a few moments, she surfaced, running her hands back along her long black hair.
“The water’s perfect!” she said.
Kyle quickly shed his clothes and joined her. They held each other in the water. Kyle nodded to a rock cave behind the waterfall. They felt the pounding waterfall as they swam beneath the surface into the hidden cave. Inside the cave, they found rock footing. The waterfall roared in the cave opening. Moonlight scattered through the water onto their faces and exposed shoulders. Padma wrapped her arms around Kyle’s neck and her legs around his waist. He held her buttocks, pulling her close. As they rose and fell in the water, echoes of the lapping waves ricocheted off the cave walls. Padma dug her nails into Kyle’s back. The pain shot through Kyle’s body, releasing his animal id. He grabbed Padma’s long hair in one hand, wrapping it around his fist at the base of her neck, pulling her head back. Padma clenched her teeth, then released a long, satisfied sigh.
She cradled his head with her hand. He felt her pounding heart and the rise and fall of her chest. Her breath was warm against his cheek as she pressed her wet face against his. When she finally spoke, she whispered one word.
“Perfect.”
• • •
Later that evening, Kyle and Padma lay in bed in their Time Tunnel townhouse apartment. Padma rested her head on Kyle’s chest. A night view and sounds of the South Pacific Ocean rushing gently against the pylons of a Moorea overwater bungalow played on the wall screen next to the bed. The view was partially obscured by sheer white curtains waving gently in an artificial breeze.
“We live in Disneyland,” Padma said. “We held hands and made love in Central Park, and now we’re sleeping in Disneyland.”
“We just need Space Mountain and it will be perfect,” Kyle replied.
Padma reached up and kissed Kyle.
“It’s already perfect. It’s beyond perfect,” she said. “I’m happy here. I don’t need to leave. Can we stay here?”
“I hope so,” Kyle said. “We need to be prepared to go through with the plan, just in case.”
Padma turned over and reached for a pack of American Spirits on the nightstand.
“There’s no smoking in the Time Tunnel,” Kyle said.
Padma shot him a glance and lit up. She sat up against the headboard, exhaling as she pulled the sheets over her breasts.
The image of Annika Wise’s cold stare in the hangar flashed through Padma’s mind.
“You’ve never talked about Annika Wise,” she said.
Kyle felt his abdomen tighten.
“You two weren’t just partners,” she finessed.
“No,” Kyle answered, piercing the perfect evening. “You were dead. Her husband was dead. We didn’t plan it. It wasn’t love at first sight.”
Padma stared ahead. She drew on her cigarette, taking in the revelation with the smoke. Since meeting Kyle, she had never been with another man. Words and feelings cycled within her. The words of her cosmopolitan mind reminded her wounded feelings that, technically, Kyle had not cheated—he was widowed when he met Annika. Her feelings simply hurt in reply.
“Do you love her?” asked Padma.
“That person is not the Annika I knew,” he said, glancing avoiding the question.
“Do you love her?”
“I love the memory of a person who’s dead. She’s dead!” Kyle shouted. “Just like you were—dead!”
Kyle tossed off the sheets and got out of bed. Padma’s questions had driven a lightning rod into his darkest place—his horror at hearing the news of Padma’s death, his failed attempt to avenge her, his breakdown, the years of crippling depression that followed. Yes, he had loved Annika and mourned her loss, though he had never stopped loving his fallen bride.
Kyle picked his jeans off the floor and began stuffing his legs into them.
“I didn’t cheat. I was never anything but completely, totally, unconditionally in love with you. You were dead! Even if our mission succeeded I wasn’t going to be with you. I could bring you back to life, but I couldn’t be with you.
“Don’t you get it?” he shouted. “You were going to be with another Kyle! I was saving you for him!”
Kyle sat on the bed and began pulling on his boots. Padma got out of bed and moved to Kyle’s side, sitting next to him. She put her hand on his back. She had never seen Kyle so agitated, on the ragged edge of unhinged.
“I trust that you love me,” Padma said softly. “I trust you completely.”
She placed her hands on his face, turning it to meet hers. “Don’t you trust my love too? I just needed a minute,” she said, smiling.
Kyle turned and embraced her. In an instant, Padma had released an enormous weight from Kyle’s shoulders, sharing some, dismissing the balance. The dark burden rose to the ceiling with the smoke from her cigarette, burning on the nightstand.
“I’m so sorry,” Kyle said. “I didn’t want to hurt you.” His anger had surprised and embarrassed him. Though exorcising his secret had exhausted him emotionally, he felt lighter, happier. Prior to his disclosure of his past with Annika, he had not believed it was possible for him to love Padma more. He was wrong. He held her tight.
“I don’t think it’s possible for you to hurt me, love,” she said, holding his head.
United States Army Central
(ARCENT)
Shaw Air Force Base, SC
October 22, 2008
09:00 hours
Timeline 002
General Craig sat at his desk in his office at Shaw Air Force Base. His hands were folded against a black leather blotter atop a shiny wood veneer desk with a reddish tint. A similar artificial wood product credenza flanked his office chair. Flags of the United States and the Third Army bookended the credenza. A small round table with four chairs completed the office ensemble.
The walls were white plastered sheet rock. A white drop ceiling with fluorescent light panels hung overhead.
The general wore standard-issue fatigues. Four stars gleamed from his lapel. He stared over his folded hands into space, clinically depressed, unable to fully comprehend or accept his new world.
General Craig had been given command of ARCENT, formerly the Third Army, as a consolation prize for losing Dreamland. Normally, command of Patton’s army would be considered the achievement of a lifetime. To General Craig, it felt as though he had been tossed off Mount Olympus and landed squarely in Sumter, South Carolina.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” said General Craig.
A young woman, a corporal in fatigues, opened the door.
“General, there is someone here to see you,” the woman said.
“Do they have an appointment?”
“No sir,” replied the corporal.
“Then they don’t have an appointment,” replied the general. “By the way, do I know your name?”
“My name is Corporal Jennifer Ryan, sir,” replied the corporal. “I’m your secretary. I’m the person who sits at the desk in front of your office.”
“Good to know. That will be all, Corporal,” said the general.
“Yes sir…Sir, I think you may want to see the person who is waiting to see you,” Jennifer persisted.
“Why do you think that?” asked the general, glaring at the young corporal with sullen eyes.
“He’s a senator, sir,” she replied.
The general’s glare didn’t budge. The very last thing he wanted was a futile conversation about the state of readiness of the world’s most powerful army at a time when said army had nothing to do but drill and polish weapons. The country’s energy policies had completely transformed its military priorities. Now energy independent, the US no longer imported oil from the Middle East. As a result, the country’s strategic interests in that part of the world had largely vanished. America was far less preoccupied with which despot, mullah, or fanatic ran which particular oil-rich Arab state.
Jennifer shifted uncomfortably under the general’s withering stare. After an awkward moment, the general capitulated.
“Very well,” he sighed. “Send him in.”
The general felt as though the gravity had been turned up in his office as he rose unenthusiastically from his desk. At the moment he reached apogee, Senator Jonah Jones bounded through the office door. His flab-filled white dress shirt lapped over the waistline of his brown suit pants like a soufflé. Dark brown cowboy boots thumped the floor. A fat blue tie with a sloppy knot was the coda to the high-speed fashion wreck.
The senator laughed as he entered the general’s office and extended his hand.
“My apologies, Senator,” said the general as he shook Jones’ hand. “Somehow your appointment did not make it onto my calendar.”
“The apology is mine, General—I’m ambushing you with a surprise visit,” shouted Jones with a projectile guffaw. He shook the general’s hand exuberantly.
The general gestured to a chair in front of his desk, then returned to his own.
“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” asked the general.
“Well, General, may I first offer my heartfelt congratulations on your appointment to commander of ARCENT,” Jones said. “It is quite an honor, and I can’t imagine anyone better qualified.”
“Thank you, Senator,” deadpanned the general. “I appreciate that.”
“I want you to know that my lone vote against the Strategic Research and Development Act had nothing to do with my estimation of your qualification to lead the Third Army,” Jones said.
“Thank you,” the general said, wishing Jones would get to the point and get out of his office.
“I hear the emperor and empress have taken up residence in Area 51,” Jones said.
“That is my understanding as well.”
“I am burning with curiosity about what on Earth those two wanted with that facility. Can you shed any light on that?”
“Even if I could, you know I wouldn’t be able to share that with you,” replied the general.
“I know, I know—you can’t blame a guy for trying,” giggled Jones.
The general attempted a courtesy grimace in response.
“I have to tell you though, I just shudder at the thought of the two richest and most powerful people on earth with their hands on the levers of some of our military’s most classified research projects,” Jones said.
You have no idea, thought the general.<
br />
“I share your concern,” he said.
“You see, General, I believe the power of the people has been usurped by these two individuals,” said Jones. “I believe this government is now a democracy in name only. As such, I believe Anderson Wild and Padma Mahajan have committed crimes against the constitution and need to be held accountable.”
“I don’t disagree with your assessment,” said the general, “though I don’t know what this has to do with me.”
“General,” Jones said, leaning forward, “you now command the world’s largest army.”
The general’s eyes went wide in disbelief. “Senator, I say this with all due respect: You must be insane.”
“What I am suggesting is that we take back our country from these dictators and restore the freedom and liberty bequeathed to us by our founding fathers,” explained Jones.
“Restore democracy through a coup d’état,” the general replied.
“Only temporarily,” said Jones. “As you know, there is precedent for imposing martial law in these United States. Lincoln suspended habeas corpus in 1861, and Congress did it again in 1863.”
“Lincoln was president,” the general said. “What you are suggesting is treason.”
“Is it, General?” Jones asked. “Is it treason to restore democracy that has been taken from us by these despots? There are many in Congress who share my view.”
“Look, Senator, may I speak frankly?”
“Well, since we’re speaking treason, we might as well speak frankly.”
“Even if your argument had an ounce of merit, I think we both know you have no interest in restoring democracy. You see an opportunity to exploit, and you’re going for it. Maybe you think that because I run the Third Army and was kicked to the curb from my former command, the stars might be aligning in your favor.
“Honestly, Senator,” the general continued, looking him dead in the eye, “do you think I earned four stars for my flag by disobeying the chain of command? Do you think that I’d consider for one cold minute the possibility of overthrowing my own government?”