“Oh, I bet they do,” Jeff told her. He was getting frustrated at this measured discussion among the plodding scientists. It felt like he was back in a congressional committee meeting discussing budget proposals. As they sat talking, more people were dying on the surface. Of course they did have a time machine, so the whole issue of not having enough time or having to rush was kind of a baseless argument, right? Jeff still couldn’t quite get his head around the whole thing.
They had created a time machine.
Chen jumped back in, “I agree with Congressman Madison. It’s highly likely that whoever engineered this virus knows we’re here and they will find us at some point and try to kill us and destroy the base. There’s too much at stake not to take the risk and send someone back. Do you all agree?”
Everyone eventually nodded. That—full agreement—was certainly different than in Congress.
Max cleared his throat and said, “Statistically speaking, sending one person and the data back is still risky. I’ve always encouraged having backups in case of an initial failure. In this case, if one person were to succumb to the rigors of time travel, then the second would be there to tell the story.”
Holly nodded her head. “We should send a team of two, and we should send them back to the start of the project. This would give the world nearly twenty years to prepare for the virus.”
Rohit was tapping away on his portable. “We should have enough fuel collected over the next six and a half hours to power the vortex for a jump with two people carrying minimal equipment and going back in time twenty years. I’ll have the exact calculations within the hour.”
“Now,” Chen said, “we come to the question of who to send back. We have to exclude anyone with a preexisting medical condition. That would be me due to my recent bout with heart disease. The team members need to be young and strong, certainly not overweight, and in very good physical condition overall. I also want scientists knowledgeable about Project Chronos, volunteers who can jumpstart the project.”
“You’ll also want someone who can convince the government that the viral threat is imminent and that they need to act for the defense of America,” Jeff said. “In the eyes of government and politics, something that may happen twenty years in the future is a distant target and not even on the radar screen.”
Jeff knew it would take special effort to move the bureaucratic machine into taking the extreme defensive efforts needed to combat the viral attack. He’d been a teenager twenty years ago, but he remembered his father talking about budget cuts and a shrinking U.S. defense budget. They would also have to convince allied governments to work on the project; the United States could not go it alone.
“I have to agree,” Chen said reluctantly. “To succeed we need not just technological expertise but political acumen as well. This will be no easy task, and it will take two very special individuals. First things first: I need to search the medical database and narrow the candidates down based on health conditions. Before we go, does anyone have questions or anything to add?”
There was a moment of silence until Jeff asked the question that had been dogging him. “If these two people are able to go back and change the timeline, what happens to us?”
There was a moment of silence as everyone focused on him, unblinking, and then each looked down at the table. They were scientists, all rational, logical people. But the thought of dying a painful death or being left behind in some apocalyptic nightmare world would expose raw emotion in even the most stoic of individuals.
Holly said, “You’ve all seen the results of my experiments on the paradoxes of time travel. They show that this present will change instantly. We’ll never know the difference.” Her voice was calm but not flat—she believed what she was saying.
“So we’ll have no memory of these horrible events? And our families will be alive again?” Jeff asked.
“If we can defend ourselves against this virus, then yes, everyone will be alive again,” Chen said. “There are no guarantees though. But at least by doing this we’re giving America a fighting chance. I’ve always said that this project was one of the greatest scientific achievements in the history of mankind. And now it could very well be our salvation.”
The room was silent.
Chen pushed back his chair and stood. “Give me an hour or so to get back to you with my two chrononaut choices. In the meantime, it’s very, very late; if anyone needs to get some shut-eye, please do so now. The hours to come will be eventful, to say the least.”
#
A short time later, Jeff received a text from Chen saying that the meeting of senior staff was reconvening. He’d managed a quick nap on one of the couches in the lounge, but his sleep was troubled with nightmarish images of people dying. Plus he was having flashbacks of Tom, the Secret Service agent who’d been guarding him, getting cut down by that powerful plasma cannon. It was one of the newer and more devastating weapons of the day. Jeff had never actually seen anyone die in real life, with his own eyes. It was a horrible, horrible sight, one that he’d never forget.
Jeff checked his portable to see if there was any more news and found the same bloody scenes on the streams. Much of it the same footage from earlier on an automated loop since no human was left living to update it.
He turned his portable off in disgust.
It was rare to be without a constant stream of data and instant access even for mere minutes anywhere in the world. Jeff felt cut off and quite alone deep underground with no access to anyone or anything familiar. Worse yet was not knowing what was really going on outside.
Back in the conference room, the same group was sitting down to learn Chen’s recommendations. He was pacing in front of the table and said, “I’ve identified two candidates. Ms. Scarborough is one. She’s one of the brightest here and even though she’s a graduate assistant, she knows just about everything there is to know about the project. She also meets the physical criteria—twenty-five years old, no health problems, and she’s a triathlete. Her muscularity and overall fitness and endurance levels are in the ninety-ninth percentile.”
Holly’s breath caught, but she nodded. “Thank you, Patrick. I’ll do my best.”
Jeff was sitting right beside her and could see her moving her fingers under the table, tapping them in quick, successive, repetitive movements. One tap of the thumb, two taps of the index finger, three of the middle finger, four of the ring finger, and five of the pinky. Then again and again. Jeff thought back to the counting in Chen’s office after Dr. Conner and Agent Tom had been shot. He knew a traumatic situation would rattle just about anyone, but this was the type of behavior that he’d only seen before in his son. Could Holly have a mild form of autism? Or maybe obsessive compulsive disorder?
Chen continued. “Now, as for the recommendation of having someone to influence and successfully persuade those in the past to believe the data we’re sending is indeed factual, I have the perfect candidate—Marcus Welston. He meets the physical criteria. He’s been a senior project manager here for several years and knows all the ins and outs of the project. More importantly though, his father is a retired U.S. Senator. At the time we plan to send this team back to, twenty years ago, his father was already a two-term senator and on the Armed Services Committee. Marcus can meet with his father, they can prove who he is using DNA testing, and his father can use his power to move defensive forces into place. It’s perfect!”
Chen was obviously very pleased with himself and his two candidates. He got up and opened the conference room door to a young man with a dark crew cut. Chen explained the situation to Marcus and as he was talking, the man looked more and more shocked, his face turning shades of red and then white. Jeff thought he was going to faint.
Marcus turned to Chen and said, “Sir, can I have time to think about this?”
“Well, certainly, Marcus,” Chen said, eyes wide with surprise. “This isn’t the military; we can’t force you to do anything. It has to be your choice. I know the risk and I know the fear yo
u must be feeling.”
Marcus furrowed his brow in apparent anger. “I’m not scared, sir. The risk is there, but I can live with it. It’s just that . . . ” He pressed his lips tight together for a moment. “Zoey is here with me. We were working late together.”
“I see,” Chen said. He looked over to the rest of the group. “Marcus and Zoey are engaged, planning to be married next weekend.”
“I don’t want to lose Zoey. If I go back in time twenty years, she’ll just be a little eight-year-old girl and have no idea who I am, while my Zoey here is left alone. I love her so much, I don’t think I can do that. I know all the theories on time travel, but none of us truly knows what will happen to this timeline. But whether there is a change or nothing at all happens, I want to be here with Zoey when it takes place.”
Jeff had to admire Marcus. He wasn’t scared, he just wanted to be with the woman he loved. He couldn’t fault anyone for that. With all the death and chaos around them and a truly uncertain future ahead, maybe that was the smartest approach any of them could take.
Chen patted Marcus on the shoulder. “I’ll find someone else, Marcus. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you, sir,” Marcus said as he left the room.
Chen looked back at his portable. “The trouble is, we don’t have that many other candidates. We have a lot of good, strong, smart, and healthy young people, but none of them have any type of political or military connections that would help move the decision-makers of twenty years ago.”
Jeff thought about what Chen was saying. Jeff was certainly no daredevil test-pilot type, willing to risk his neck and getting a rush out of it. Hell, when he went kayaking with some friends a few years ago, he was terrified of the class four rapids they had to go through. But he had to look at the bigger picture here. He had to look at what he could contribute, and that was what allowed him to put his fear behind him, at least for now.
“I’d like to put my name in the hat,” he said. “My father was a senator, and I’m in relatively good health. I don’t have any scientific expertise and I know next to nothing about the project, but I always had a good relationship with my father. He’ll listen to me, even a me twenty years older than the me living in his house. We just need to decide if it’s more important to send someone back who knows about the project or someone with a political connection.”
Chen looked down his nose at Jeff. “As much as I’d like to put the fate of the world in your hands, Congressman, you may be needed here.” The sarcasm was dripping from Chen’s words. “Neither President Paulson nor the military officers stationed at NORAD know exactly how many survivors there are out there. This means that you are now one of the few elected leaders left in the U.S.”
“We don’t know that yet, Doctor.” But Jeff knew that they had to consider the possibility. With global chaos, they had no idea what was going on.
“No, we don’t, but if that’s the case,” Chen continued, “then you should stay here in this timeline to help lead what’s left of the military and civilian government.”
Jeff’s heart started pounding at the thought that he might be the de facto President of the United States right now. It was something he’d dreamed about since he first went into politics. The circumstances weren’t how he’d envisioned it happening, but he would take it nonetheless. Yet his mind was thinking a step or two ahead—if he stayed here, he’d be left leading a fragile government and directing a war with a woefully feeble, if not annihilated, military. And he’d have to do it from an underground cave.
No, Jeff would take his chances in the past.
“Doctor, although I have some great leadership qualities, I have no military background and no experience leading defenses or assaults.” Jeff thought the best approach here would be contrived humility. He was a good actor and a good liar. “I’ve only been a congressman for just over a year, and before that I was a defense attorney in Virginia Beach. I may talk a good game, but as far as leading military forces, I’m not the guy. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to run from this fight, but I think I could have the greatest impact in the past.”
Chen sneered at him, apparently thinking that he was shirking his duties. “Very well, then,” he said. “Let me think about it. Why don’t you head to the medical lab and get your physical now. If I’m going to consider this, I want to make sure you’re in the best of health. In the meantime I’ll scan through these files to see if there are other potential candidates I may have missed the first go round. Other comments or questions?”
Before anyone could speak, an alarm started to sound, loud and shrill throughout the room. Chen’s eyes widened.
“That’s the breach alarm. Someone from the base is trying to get to the surface. They could let the virus in and contaminate us all! We have to stop them!”
Chapter 10
6:20 am EST, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier Resort
President Paulson woke to an annoying buzz. He was lying down, but he could see a readout on the display in front of him that showed his vital signs. A stopwatch displaying his time in the quarantine chamber was slowly ticking down from the sixty minutes needed to determine viral infection—ten, nine, eight, seven . . .
At zero, the chamber beeped and the display read, “Infection negative. Quarantine lifted.” Paulson felt incredible relief. He was still alive. The chance he’d taken when he removed his glove had paid off. He’d been able to get everyone into quarantine and not been infected himself. He felt exhilarated and ready to take on the next challenge.
The lid to his capsule popped open and light flooded in. Paulson found himself in the medical lab where Dr. Peebles was waiting in a white lab coat to greet him. He tried to sit up, but the pain from his broken leg returned in waves, and he grumbled from the exertion.
“Mr. President. Glad to see you’re okay, sir!” Peebles said. “I was worried when you took off your glove. That was an incredibly selfless and brave thing you did back there, but you were lucky to make it through alive. Now that you’re out of quarantine, I can start treating that leg.”
“How many others?” Paulson asked, his voice raspy from his quick nap.
She sighed and looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry, sir, out of the original sixty-seven on the flight, there are only fourteen who made it through the crash and the quarantine alive and uninfected. A few registered positive for the virus in quarantine, so I administered an anesthetic so they could die peacefully in their sleep. I. . . I just didn’t know what else to so, sir. I didn’t want them to suffer.”
Her eyes began to tear up. She did the right thing, but Paulson could see that she was crushed at not being able to help those people and for basically having euthanized them. Paulson put his arms around her.
“You did what you had to do, Rosemary. You saved them from suffering. They died peacefully.”
She wiped away her tears. “The survivors are through that door, in the main operation center. They’re waiting for you. But I can’t let you go until I treat this leg.”
“Just give me a painkiller for now,” Paulson growled. “I need to get in there and assess the situation.”
“But, sir . . . ”
“Just do it! And get me some crutches too, no damned wheelchair.” Paulson didn’t want to look weak. Whatever was facing him out there, he wanted to meet standing up.
After a quick shot from the doctor, Paulson hobbled into the central command area. The base had been updated with the latest equipment, including a direct feed into the LiveStream as well as coordination with GovNet. All information that currently existed in electronic form could be accessed instantaneously from this hub, with on-ground video and satellite feeds available in real time as well. Two main access terminals were occupied by survivors from Air Force One. The other survivors were sitting in a lounge area off to the side, checking their portables to see if any new information was available. By the frustrated looks on their faces there apparently was not.
Paulson was h
appy to see Secretary of State Cameron Farrow pacing the floor of the command center.
He’s one tough old guy, that’s for sure.
Everyone turned as Paulson walked in. He held up his hand in greeting and mustered a half smile.
“Oh, thank God,” Melinda said. “The president’s alive!”
Cheers rang from the group and everyone started clapping. Many came over and greeted Paulson, shaking his hand, patting him on the back, hugging him.
“Thank you, everyone,” he said, touched by their enthusiasm. “I’m glad you all made it. I wish we could’ve saved more. I want everyone to keep those we’ve lost in our thoughts and prayers.”
Farrow shook the president’s hand. “I knew you’d make it through, you old coot.”
Paulson said, “I couldn’t leave you to run the place. You’d have everyone taking orders from the French.”
Farrow chuckled and bowed with a flourish of his arm, “Oui, oui monsieur.”
Both laughed.
“Now what about Demetrius and Jones? Has anyone . . . ” Paulson stopped midsentence when the door from the medical lab opened and the colonel and Agent Jones came through, both looking relieved to see him.
Paulson embraced them both. “Glad you guys could join us. Don’t tell me you found the key.”
Demetrius and Jones glanced at each other. Then the colonel said, “No luck, sir. You did the right thing opening the door. Without your bravery, more would've died. But you are a stubborn, reckless old son of a bitch, with all due respect, of course, Mr. President.”
“I’ve been called worse, Colonel. I only did what I had to do and I was lucky not to have been infected. It’ll take more than a virus to take me out.” Paulson smiled; he could tell the colonel was lying. He did find the key, but had Paulson waited, more would have died. He'd made the right choice.
"Oh, and sir," Demetrius said with a grim look on his face. "We found some bodies in the hotel infirmary—several families who looked like they'd been on the way to a formal dinner reception of some type. We also checked a few rooms and the kitchen and staff areas and found more bodies. Seems like the staff knew there was some type of outbreak and asked guests to stay in their rooms, with the doors locked."
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