by Keith Hughes
The older version of Dr. Bertrand left the vehicle, but regardless of his familiarity, he detected a fragility, a brittleness, to his friend’s appearance that he had never noticed before.
Ness waited until the professor had entered the building before dropping some money on the table and leaving the diner. He jogged across the street between slow-moving traffic and followed in the scientist’s footsteps. As he entered the lobby, elevator doors were closing. Dr. Bertrand stood inside, and for a second, they made eye contact.
Damn it, did he recognize me? What the doctor’s reaction might be to his unexpected appearance Ness could not be sure. Most importantly, he didn’t want to give Bertrand the opportunity to disappear until they had an opportunity to talk.
He took his time ascending the stairs then waited inside the door until he heard the elevator chime. A few more seconds would allow the doctor to exit the lift and arrive at his former office. When Ness cautiously poked his head out of the stairwell, Dr. Bertrand’s door closed with a click.
Perfect.
His plan was simple, almost stupidly so. Dr. Bertrand’s conversation with his younger self could not have taken long, given the current professor’s complaints about how unforthcoming his older copy had been. Ness decided loitering in the hall provided the best way to make sure he had a chance to talk to the doctor. One wall held a billboard with a variety of notices, such as flyers for science competitions, a request for a used Bunsen burner, and ads from people in search of a roommate. Ness idly perused the items, hoping it might give him an excuse for standing there.
He heard a door open and turned his head to see the elderly doctor leaving the office.
Bertrand saw Ness waiting and gave him a tired smile. “Ah, Nestor. I thought I saw you ever so briefly in the lobby.”
“Hi, Doctor.” Strangely awkward, Ness had the sense he might be intruding in some way, but he forced himself to continue. “I got the video you dropped off, but I still had some questions on some things you didn’t mention.”
Dr. Bertrand closed the distance between them to grip Ness’s arm warmly. “Of course, of course. But do an old man a favor, I desperately need a place to sit. Some coffee wouldn’t go amiss, either.”
Ness grinned, ignoring the silent protests of his posterior. “I know a perfect place.”
A couple minutes later, they were ensconced in another booth at the same diner. The cook had renewed his glare when Ness reentered, but it softened when he saw he had brought another customer with him. Lacking any other patrons to service, the waitress quickly returned with tea and coffee before retreating to give them privacy.
“So, Nestor, when I told you to come back here, I didn’t expect we would meet like this.” Dr. Bertrand’s eyes twinkled as he took a sip of his coffee. He seemed to enjoy the peculiar circumstance of the two of them meeting in the past. Ness could not help grinning at his friend.
“If you could satisfy an old man’s curiosity, how did you know where, or more precisely when, to find me?”
Ness produced the envelope and set it on the table with the date showing.
“Ah, yes. I was engrossed with recording the dates of key events in my life during my fifties.” The doctor chuckled and shook his head at his earlier version’s foibles. “A peculiar quirk I had forgotten about.”
“So, I satisfied your curiosity. What can you do for mine?”
“What can I tell you?”
Ness’s brain clogged with a myriad of queries of various importance. He mentally waded through the mess until he found one of the most relevant. “First, who are these people searching for your device? I know they work for Intellisys, but is the whole organization corrupt or only a few?”
“You may have heard some derivation of the ancient phrase ‘the fish rots from the head,’ and it is eminently applicable here. About a month ago, in our time, the CEO of the company, John Fletcher, became a frequent visitor to my lab. By frequent, I mean once a week, extraordinary considering he had only done so twice before in all my years with the company.
“I almost had a working prototype but had not told a soul. I surmised John’s interest meant he knew the proximity of my breakthrough even with my silence on the subject. As you know, curiosity is my defining characteristic, so I did some research within the company databases and network folders. I even accessed some storage resources supposedly available only to the person they belonged to.”
Ness raised his eyebrows. He had never imagined the doctor as a hacker.
Dr. Bertrand grinned at him. “Let’s simply say my first task there had been to design a new network encryption system. I may have left a back door or two in place.” The professor gave Ness a wink and laid a finger along his nose.
Ness could only shake his head in amusement. “You found something.”
“Indeed, I did. I found a plan of such horror even Hitler would blush at its scope and audacity. John Fletcher had created a detailed blueprint for destabilizing the world in such a way as to elevate himself to ultimate power. Taking the reins of a mere country is too small a goal for Fletcher; he has to own the world. And his chosen tools were manufactured anarchy, systemic assassination, and targeted terrorism. Millions would die by means of tactical nuclear weapons crippling powerful governments, leaving him free to gather the remnants.”
Dr. Bertrand paused to take a drink, and Ness gratefully used the time to process his friend’s words. The plan sounded much worse than he had imagined.
“John sent his director of security after me to get the prototype. This man, named Paul Robbins, is most likely deadly in his own right. By his physique and bearing, I estimate he is a former soldier. He has these jet-black eyes, which are frankly terrifying.”
The description of those eyes sparked something in Ness’s memories, but he could not bring it to mind.
“Apparently Paul does not like to do his own dirty work, because he brought a man named Glenn to my house. I had never met him before, but he apparently does whatever dirty work Paul requests.”
“I know who Glenn is, although we’ve never met face to face.”
“A good thing, because I have no doubt that had you done so, you would now be dead.”
Ness shared his mentor’s certainty.
“These people must not be allowed access to my invention. Imagine such a tyrant with the ability to know exactly what will happen and when. No battlefield strategy would overcome him, and no place would be secure enough to keep them out. Time travel is a powerful force, and it can be used for evil as much as good.”
“What if I went back to when Paul and Glenn are in your house and stop them before you have to make your escape?”
Ness jumped at the sharp sound of the doctor’s palm slapping against the table.
“No! You must not make the attempt! If you were to appear there, they would surely kill you before you could do anything to save me.”
The horrible scene of Glenn killing two armed police officers in a matter of seconds came back to him. “You’re right,” he admitted.
Dr. Bertrand extended his arm and laid his hand on Ness’s forearm. “I have put you in enough danger already, and you have more yet to face. But I am doomed by my own invention, and there is no changing my fate.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Back to the Future
Tuesday, August 26, 1986 3:53 p.m.
There is no fate but what we make.
Ness’s brain supplied the quote from one of his favorite movies, as it fit his desire for a different outcome for his friend. He tried to find some way to refute the doctor’s words but could not muster a single argument. The doctor gave him a sad smile and patted Ness’s arm.
“Do not cry over my lost years, for I can attest they do not exist. I have not shared with you my recently diagnosed medical condition of a rather nasty strain of cancer. It has apparently been at work in my body for some time. My longevity is now measured in weeks, not years, and this is far better than the pai
nful end I know ultimately awaits me.”
The doctor’s words rocked Ness on such a deep emotional level that he didn’t know how to express his reaction.
Dr. Bertrand peered at Ness intently. “Have you retrieved my second time machine yet?”
The only way Ness could respond was to shake his head.
“As I said in the video, you must prevent it from being used by them, Fletcher and his ilk. I do not want to give the appearance of issuing orders, but the importance of that task cannot be overstated.”
A fit of coughing interrupted the doctor as he paused for a sip of coffee. He pressed his napkin to his mouth, and it took him almost a minute to get the cough under control. When he finally finished, Dr. Bertrand looked even weaker than he had before. His frailty tore at Ness’s heart.
“Part of the reason I had to entrust protecting my devices to you is because I do not have the endurance now to see it through to completion. I fear my weakness would lead to failure. I do hope you will forgive me for bringing you into my problems, but you are the only person I can trust with this.”
Ness swallowed his heartbreak and cleared his throat. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m honored you confided in me.” A long, strained silence came between them. Ness took a sip of his cooling tea, trying to gather his equilibrium. “What will you do now?”
Dr. Bertrand’s countenance filled with such joy that Ness almost guessed the answer. “I have a number of hours left. Once I am almost done, I will send the device to you, but in the interim, I intend to be with my Evelyn. Back before this same disease turned her into a shadow of herself. I have dreamed for years of holding her hand again, of hearing her laugh one more time. This is how I have chosen to spend the last few hours of my life.”
Ness could only dip his head in acquiescence, his heart heavy at his friend’s impending death. A drop of moisture on his cheek distracted him, and he wiped it away. When another replaced it, he frowned. He was not crying. A hand across his forehead came away wet, as if he had been working in the sun.
“Quickly, check your borrowed time! How much do you have left?”
Ness followed the doctor’s command. The timer on the PDA had grown large and red. It showed less than two minutes remained. He turned the device so the doctor could read the screen.
“You must go, now! Or you will die here as your molecules lose cohesion.”
“But where… is the second… PDA?”
“At my house, in my office. We don’t have time for a full explanation. You will find it.”
“I… wish… we… had more… time. So… much… I… wanted to… say.”
“Ness, you must go back. Please, do not allow my technology to take your life.” The doctor gripped Ness’s arm again, giving a firm squeeze before releasing him.
Looking through blurry eyes overrun with dripping moisture and uncaring tears, he managed to find the return button and tap on it.
“Bon Voyage.” Dr. Bertrand gave him a sad smile right before the long transition back home.
When he had left 1986, he had been in a seated position, and so after the unpleasant effects of time travel, he also endured the sensation of falling backward. He barely had time to react to the motion before he came to an abrupt stop. Now back in the antiquated bathroom of the Detroit Public Library, Ness landed awkwardly on the toilet seat. He sat, stunned, for a few seconds, trying to process his unexpected transition from falling to a hard landing on the unyielding toilet.
A fit of coughs shook him, and he stared at the ancient tilework as his lungs attempted to expel whatever irritant time travel had introduced. Finally able to stand, Ness moved to a sink. In the mirror, he was pale and sweaty, as if recovering from the flu. He splashed a handful of cold water on his face, which helped increase his level of alertness and bring some color to his cheeks. A single, stark memory intruded: the doctor had finally called him “Ness.” He grinned stupidly at himself then winced. The parting sentiment made his friend’s loss more acute. He took a few seconds to pull himself together from the twin influences of grief and nearly having every molecule in his body destabilized.
When he was reasonably sure of his ability to walk on his own without falling, Ness emerged from the bathroom. His strength returned second by second. Looking at the PDA screen, he saw a blue timer indicating he would be fully recovered from his trip in a little over five hours.
The clock near the main door of the library gave the time as 12:32, giving him a jolt of amazement. Despite spending hours in the past, he’d returned only a couple of minutes after leaving the present.
Glenn and his boys are a concern again as well. Ness’s tension level rose as this notion occurred to him. It took all his self-control to not look over his shoulder, as if the quartet of trouble would be right behind him.
Once outside, Ness crossed the street and waited at the bus stop, as he had in 1987. An odd sense of temporal dislocation settled over him. The cars on the road looked out of place compared to the 1980s-era vehicles he had seen there mere hours ago. Even the bus appeared futuristic compared to the earlier model he had ridden in. Ness did not appreciate the increased fare, and he paid it with a faint sense of being cheated.
The bus made its way along Woodward Avenue, heading northwest along its diagonal track, and Ness watched the scenery until he found himself starting to doze. He had lived half of the day before traveling and spent another ten or so hours in the past. His body needed a rest, even though the afternoon sun beat on him through the grimy window.
He managed to remain awake through force of will. He watched the buildings transition from decrepit to working class to trendy before finally arriving at expensive and luxurious. He left the bus in this last environment, the suburb of Bloomfield Hills, a haunt for those with money and status. The houses lining these streets were nothing short of stunning.
Ness went along a major east-west road, one of many in the Detroit area. The planners of the expanding urban infrastructure had instituted a basic grid system, giving the city a pattern of square-mile blocks. Only roads established during the early days of the city, such as Woodward Avenue, ran along a bias in defiance of the rigid grid formation.
Ness stood out in the upscale neighborhood. His gray hoodie, T-shirt, and jeans did nothing to help him blend in. Neither did his pedestrian status. Residents of this suburb drove their Mercedeses or Beemers wherever they were going, if for no other reason than to be seen in such a high-end vehicle.
A short distance along the road, a plain bridge crossed over the pavement. Even though brush grew along the side of the road, Ness found a path leading to the top of the bridge. By using the industrial artery of the train system, he could stay out of sight of anyone who might be offended by his uncouth presence. His urgency to avoid looking out of place faded, but he had plenty of other reasons to feel nervous. Glenn might have anticipated Ness’s arrival at the doctor’s house. If the hunter already possessed the second device, he would easily see Ness coming. Normally, he would not have described himself as a gambler, but he could not think of any way to avoid taking the risk.
Twin sets of train tracks and the rutted access road crossed the bridge. Ness followed the road, which almost devolved into a path away from the overpass. The level of the ground on either side rose until the train tracks were in the center of a deep valley, with sloped earth extending upward on either side. Brush and trees covered the top of each hill, hiding the back yards of several homes, including the one belonging to Dr. Bertrand.
Ness had been invited to a barbecue there once, and Ness, along with other friends of the doctor, had sat at tables in the back yard, drinking wine and eating burgers and beans. It had been an enjoyable afternoon, but at one point, the heavy bass rumble and shrill whistle of a train passing by in the valley beneath had interrupted their conversation. Bertrand had made a joke about his “noisy neighbors,” which had been funny at the time.
Ness had the task of determining exa
ctly where the doctor’s house lay along the valley. A tall bridge spanned the vast gap about a hundred feet above him. Apparently, the area between its concrete pillars had been adopted as a favorite teen hangout, given the beer bottles littering the ground and the graffiti emblazoned on each flat surface.
He had driven over that road to get to the professor’s house, and Ness tried to remember the route he had taken. He recalled crossing the bridge and turning right. Aligning himself in what he hoped was the correct direction, Ness climbed the brush-covered slope. About halfway along his ascent, his hand slipped from a bit of brush he had used as a handhold, and for a weighted second, he teetered ominously, nearly falling backward down the incline. Barely managing to pitch himself forward, gasping for air, he clung to the vegetation with both hands. A glance behind made his stomach sink; the valley slopes were much steeper than he had imagined. Falling backward from such a height would undoubtedly end in broken bones, or worse.
After recovering from his fright, he soldiered on, making sure he had a firm hold with one hand before releasing the other. Ness finally made it to the top, and he bent over, gripping his knees and gulping air. His fatigue was on par with the great height of his climb. He waded through the trees until he could see the back of a house. He scowled at the house, which didn’t match the layout in his memories at all. He paced among the trees and checked a couple houses on either side, but none of them were Dr. Bertrand’s residence.
Navigation had never been his strong suit, and Ness chastised himself as he comprehended his mistake. He’d climbed the wrong side of the valley; Dr. Bertrand lived on the other side. Muttering imprecations about his lack of intelligence, Ness peered through the treetops, using the sun’s position to recalculate his location. Though he was tempted to use the bridge to get to the other side, the primary reason for this approach had been to enter the doctor’s house unseen. If he went in via the road, Glenn might be waiting for him on the front porch. So he decided to descend the slope and climb the other side.