by Ron Rayborne
“I’m not going to lie to you, Deet’s going to push you, and push you hard. It won’t be easy. You’re in good physical shape now, but I want you in the best shape of your life, and then some. The training will last three weeks, with a week off at the end to rest and prepare for launching.” Julie, who had been a bit lost in her own thoughts, looked up at him, over to Jaqzen, then back to Karstens.
“I understand, I’ll do my best,” she answered.
“Wonderful!” Karstens said, clapping Julie and Dietrich on the shoulders, “Then we’re all set.”
Doubt, however, gnawed at the pit of his stomach. It was a hard, almost painful fear he could not show. A fear not just for Julie’s life, but for the future of all humanity.
Chapter 5
For the next three weeks, Julie trained, Jaqzen putting her through every conceivable exercise. Over that time, she began to feel her muscles harden, like her resolve. Though inwardly she was uncomfortable with the man, a discomfort she could not define, she pushed these doubts back down, below the surface of her consciousness. So excited was she at the impending journey that she simply would not allow room for anything else.
Jaqzen, sensing her resolve, took advantage of it. And, thus, day blending into day, the pair became almost inseparable. Julie found that, in fact, he began to grow on her. There was relief in this, as it cut the prior tension and gave Julie hope that they could pull this thing off. In between sessions, they often ate lunch together or just sat and talked. The administration encouraged this closeness, hoping that a bond would make the team stronger.
There was a confidence in Deet that Julie admired, a strength that made her more confident. After a while, she no longer worried about him, coming to believe that her original impressions had been mistaken. Well, mostly. Every now and then, she would catch his glance in a mirror, or the reflection of a window, surveying her toning body from behind, a glint of something - different - about his gaze, and it worried her. But she kept it to herself.
The sessions lasted six hours, five days a week, for seventeen days, and she’d go home exhausted. Tom, who had been apprised of the secret mission and knew of his wife’s physical travails, always had a delicious meal and warm bath ready for her.
Tom had been shocked, quite understandably, when he’d learned of this operation. She told him that night, after the Blacksuits left. Had been given permission to. It was felt that keeping such a secret from her husband would not only be impossible (how to explain a month-long absence), but would be too much of a distraction for her. She had assured them that he was discreet, that he was loyal. They’d also quietly run a profile on him and found it acceptable, so he was subsequently pulled aside and officially informed. In these highly uncertain times, the mission would give Julie and him a much better future (for what it was worth) than that which most people dreaded. And all it would cost was a few weeks’ training and a thirty-day trip. Simple. At least that’s how it was presented. The actual time travel part of it was not clearly explained to him, and truth told, in all the good news, he managed to gloss over that bit of detail. Time travel was an esoteric idea to Tom, an abstraction he’d never given any thought to. For all he knew, the ability to move in time was something not inherently impossible; something which perhaps science had possessed all along.
Julie Welsh was 22 and Thomas Pine 25 when they met. She, a slim, five and a half-foot, 110 pound beauty, was also a grad student in paleontology at UCLA, with intern work at the museum, while he studied music theory. A year into their relationship, she moved in with him and he dropped out to provide for them. Not able to find anything else, he settled for a job as a “stamper” at a local dirtbag factory while practicing music after work. Her profession was satisfying and relatively high paying, while his job was dull in the extreme. It involved standing most of the day in one spot, punching the company logo, name and address onto small pieces of metal, which were then affixed to the company product, Crystil Flush Toilets. The pay was low, benefits nonexistent, the environment smelly, noisy, dirty and dark, and his boss a psycho jerk. But it was work. For two hours in the late afternoon, he also worked a second job as a musician at a local club. He did it because he felt he had to – first, for the money, and second, to restore self-esteem he lost on the factory job. Her worth index was 35.7 while his was a 16. It seemed an obvious mismatch at first, but any doubts her friends had soon evaporated when it became clear that they were in love and that Tom was a good man. Good for her. True, he made less money than she, but what he brought home was more than many whole family’s combined income.
The fact was that the majority were barely making it these days. The population / available work ratio was way out of balance. If a home had a single provider, actual take-home pay notwithstanding, that was a successful home. Most families were on government welfare to survive. The GAP, or “Government Assistance Program”, was initially designed to fill in the gaps between paychecks. It later devolved into the principal means of support for most. Since so many were on it, the stigma historically associated with welfare programs faded. The larger part of these people were not hirable anyway, even if jobs were available. Dejected, despondent and angry, they stumbled their way through life. Often sick or drugged out, GAP and shelter were all they had.
There was, however, a darker side to GAP: as a condition of qualification, one was required first to sign an Allegiance To The State Agreement. Ergo, anyone at anytime deemed a “threat” to the order could simply be denied it. This Damocles Sword served effectively to keep potential troublemakers quiet. An initial cutoff for a relatively minor infraction, such as trifling criticism of the regime uttered in public, was “actionable” by a minimum two month revocation of the transgressors card. Further, anyone found guilty also had their worth numbers reduced, sometimes to zero. Like the Worth system, subversive comments were subject to a rating scheme based upon both the quality and quantity of the words spoken. Usually the unfortunate soul, thinking that his whispered comments went undetected, would find a summons in his mailbox to which he was obliged to respond. Once at the hearing, he sat dumbfounded while his inflammatory mutterings were played back to him. People eventually learned how sensitive the microphones were.
A large proportion of these criminals, suddenly finding their GAP assistance gone, would move in with other family or friends. This, of course, created a tremendous strain on that family, which, often down to one meal a day anyway, could kick them out at any time. That knowledge served as additional deterrence to other potential transgressors, for many, having no family that was willing or able to take them in, ended up on the streets, homeless and scrounging for scraps, until finally starvation, sickness, homicide, suicide, or the elements took them. Or they joined a gang.
Indeed, the world had become a perilous place for those without somewhere to go, and even for those casually caught on the street. Crazed gangs roamed the night, always on the lookout for prey, desperadoes joined by their shared deprivations. Many suspected that an unofficial truce existed between these wild mobs and the government. After the sun fell, they could take whomever they wanted, if found outside, and do whatever they wanted to him or her, while Big Brother looked the other way. But only at night. If caught during the day, they were executed.
It was also rumored that the night gangs were cannibalistic. As a consequence, when the screams came, no one ventured out to see. This de-facto martial law helped clean up the street and struck paralyzing fear into the hearts of the populace. Every homeless person wandering the highways stood as silent warning to any would-be agitators. Their government, rather than rounding them up and sending them to camps, simply left them to their fate. There were very few repeat offenders. The ban on seditious speech was, of course, not limited to the lower classes, though they were the easier to deal with. Still, The State had ways of dealing with anyone who persisted in subversion.
Neither Tom nor Julie was on the GAP program. Though for a while times were tough, they struggled to rema
in free, feeling a natural aversion to handouts from The State, especially with such atrocious strings attached. That shared hardship, rather than causing divisive stress, as it did so many other unions, bonded them in a mutual determination and an uncommon love, each for the other. After a time, Julie gained more status and, thus, money. Meanwhile, Tom developed a bad cough, and over Julie’s objections, often went to work ailing. She doted on him with soups and medication, begging him to quit the factory, but he knew that if he did, his chances of finding other work would be nil. For one thing, he was convinced his boss would give any potential employer who called a bad reference. So he toiled, lost weight, and his complexion paled.
Then one day, at the urging of his club’s proprietor, he quit Crystil and began to play for him five hours a day. With that, his pay actually increased, though only slightly. Thus, together, struggling, he and Julie were doing okay. If there was a surplus, they gave money and food to the beggars in the streets. Tom’s cough, however, remained, waxing and waning, but becoming a permanent feature.
Now, seven years since their first meeting, they were more in love than ever. Each seemed to compliment the other perfectly. If one partner lagged some days, the other picked up the slack without a word of complaint. Neither took undue advantage, for they knew that, in a world falling apart, they really only had each other. They were an island of stability in a sea of upheaval.
When they could, they took day trips, visiting those few remaining patches of wilderness left which were owned by well off friends or others interested in Julie’s work. These latter, agreeing to put them up for the night, indulged her strolls arm-in-arm with her husband through their acres of wilting forest. Then they would disappear for hours, and sit in silent repose listening to the breeze in the pine boughs or making love on a dry grass strewn hillock. In a different time their lives would have been complete. Now, though, there was always an undertone of sadness in the air, especially for Julie. Tom knew that when she sat next to him on the grass, head turned away from him, that she was crying, silently. Softly he’d whisper, “It’s not so bad is it? We have good jobs, food on the table, a place to live...” But she’d not answer. Then he would sit and encircle her in his arms, she laying her head on his shoulder. The wetness of her tears stung him deeply.
Tom, while enjoying these times with her, did not share his wife’s abiding love for nature. Why should he? Most of what he saw was brown, dying, and stunk, and had for most of his life. This was reality. What was past was past. Julie, though, informed by her memories as a child and her knowledge of the natural world, by what she knew should have been, saw tall trees adorned with green leaves dancing in the breeze. She felt soft green grass under her bare feet. A Capri blue sky filled with birds and puffy white clouds slowly drifting by. In the distance, she saw the stately magnificence of a proud elk, heard its faint, shrill call to its harem. Come, I am here. The day is wonderful. Let us graze together. She’d see a fox bounding through grass higher than he. A meadowlark, frog or cricket thrumming its little song for all to hear. The delicious scent of spring flowers floating on warm currents.
The way life was meant to be, the real world. Not this artificial, synthetic, plasticized, ruined husk of a planet, barely clinging to existence, destroyed by greed, hubris, and spite. By a species that never learned how to be satisfied, to be grateful for what it had all along, but refused to see, that always wanted more, more. A species that rarely seemed to fit in and was always at war, if not with itself, than with the rest of nature. And so it bulldozed and razed, hunted and parceled up, poisoned and polluted its way to its paradise of oblivion. Already, it was rumored, much the world had fallen to anarchy as the collapse spread.
Julie remembered an obscure study that had emerged some years back, only to be quickly put down. It found that, for some reason as yet unknown, the human race had, deeply embedded within its genetic makeup, a desire to self-destruct. But not only to self-destruct, but to also bring everything else down with it. It was part and parcel of the more positive qualities it possessed: the arts, innovation, and charity. A yin to its yang. A bizarre finding.
And whilst not fully appreciating it, somewhere in the depths of his soul, perhaps only where it touched lightly with hers, Tom understood. Perhaps he’d unconsciously hardened his heart to the kind of pain Julie felt, cancelled it out because it was too much to bear. Yet, somewhere, somehow, he knew that something good was leaving us, and it was a sad goodbye.
For all their love, Julie couldn’t chance asking Tom’s permission to go. If she honestly revealed the hazards involved, he most certainly would have said no. As it was, he was uncomfortable with the whole idea, but he’d assented, imagining the enterprise to be but a short, relatively risk-free excursion in the name of science. When he saw how badly she wanted to do it, he couldn’t say no. So he asked if he could come along too. She said she’d ask. When he got a chance to meet Karstens shortly thereafter, he requested that they send him in place of Jaqzen. Who could be more dedicated to protecting Julie than her husband? A man who loved her like the sun loves the moon?
Karstens smiled at that, then, placing a hand on Tom’s shoulder, gently let him down. He told him what Julie hadn’t, though not quite everything. He told him that the Miocene was a time of beasts and geologic phenomena, conditions for which Tom simply was not equipped. That to send her back with anyone other than a professional would be to risk tragedy. He then assured him that every measure would be taken to ensure Julie’s safety, that Jaqzen was a top-notch game-hunter and survivalist. He was also a highly decorated military man. If anyone could take care of Julie, it was Jaqzen. He added that, though he would have liked to send Tom in addition to Julie and Jaqzen, the energy budget, not to mention the authorities, simply would not allow it. In sum, to attempt to send Tom back would be to jeopardize the entire mission. It was impossible. But not to worry, thirty days from the day of launching, they would be reunited and could then enjoy a worry-free life.
Tom looked hard at Karstens, trying to decide if he was being told the truth or a load of crap. Finally, assuming that the government would not go to all of this trouble only to have the mission fail, he softened his expression and relaxed his stance. He cast his eyes to the ground, then back to Karstens. “You take care of Julie or you’ll be dealing with me,” he said. Karstens’ smiled. “Of course,” he replied. And in that moment he knew what love was, understood the bond between them, Julie and Tom. I promise you, my friend, I will do my best, he thought.
For the three weeks’ training before launch, Tom drove and dropped Julie off at the Institute, and picked her up afterwards. He rearranged his hours, his supervisor at work readily agreeing. Tom had never met, nor even laid eyes on Jaqzen. Then one afternoon, as he waited in the parking lot, they came out together, Julie and he. Standing outside, they chatted for a while, and Tom got his first view. Jaqzen was a big, forbidding man, towering over Julie like a boulder, a human boulder. He had a short, tight crew cut and hard, angular edges to his face. There was something on it, on the left cheek, but he couldn’t tell what it was. Jaqzen’s movements were those a beast restrained, but able to pounce at a moment’s notice. He held a black jacket slung over one shoulder and wore a black T-shirt. Under that, it was obvious, was solid muscle. And he was an alert man, simultaneously paying close attention to every word Julie spoke, while glancing, from time to time, at the goings on around him. For a moment, Tom’s fears about Julie’s safety abated.
As he sat there watching the two, Tom realized that he hadn’t really given Jaqzen much thought. For one thing, Julie rarely mentioned him. But now seeing him, his imposing size, the easy way he conversed, Tom suddenly felt out of place, even intimidated. He wondered then, though not for the first time, at his luck in meeting and marrying Julie. Not only was she a true beauty, lithe of figure and form, sweet and unselfish, she was also intelligent, professional, and fit in easily with any in the upper classes. He knew that she could have had anyone she wanted. Anyone. And
yet, she chose him.
He remembered how once she told him something like that when he’d brought it up. Just a casual remark on his part, quickly spoken, half-consciously, betraying perhaps a bit of inadequacy. They’d been strolling, her arm in his, looking in shop windows when he said it. There was silence, then suddenly she pulled him back and held on, looking hurt, and said, “I married you because you were the only man for me. The only man I could ever marry. Don’t ever forget that!” And in that moment she looked so young and fragile that he wanted to hold her and protect her from the world. And that was their relationship. When the spark in other relationships around them fizzled, theirs was everyday renewed.
Tom opened the door to a rush of muggy heat and got out. He wanted to meet the man he was entrusting his wife to. His life to. Julie turned, sensing his approach and waved to him. The giddy wave of a girl half her age to her boyfriend. He smiled and returned the wave. Then Jaqzen saw him and Tom noticed the scar, a long one running from his temple to his chin. Unsmilingly, Jaqzen sized up him in an instant, then looked back at Julie. A small affront, but it felt dismissive. When he had closed within ten feet, Julie met him, and grabbing his arm, said, “Deet, I’d like you to meet my wonderful husband.” Tom smiled, stuck out his hand and said, “Hello, friend. Glad to meet you.” Dietrich looked down at him. At six foot seven, he was truly a giant of a man. He returned the smile, but it looked forced, plastic. “Hi,” he said in simple reply. He noticed Tom’s outstretched hand and grabbed it in his huge paw. It entirely covered the smaller, weaker hand, and gripped. “So you’re Julie’s husband, huh?” he said.
Tom’s smile dropped a bit at the pressure on his hand. “That’s me. Uh...” he pulled away. Dietrich smiled again, it seemed with humor. “Well, you bagged yourself quite the little lady here,” he said. A loud, resonant voice.