by Anthology
S________ M____ Major (Ret’d)
Baker Street,
London, New Albion, 1881
DECISIONS
Michael A. Burstein
Commander Aaron Eliassen threw the tray across his cell. It smashed against the far wall, covering the white molded plaster in a mix of browns, greens, and reds. The tray slid down to the floor, clattered for a moment, then fell still.
Aaron glared around the small, featureless white room at nothing in particular. For the twentieth time, or the hundredth, or perhaps the thousandth, he ran and smashed himself against the locked door, hoping that perhaps this time he would break apart the unseen hinges.
As before, the door refused to budge. All he succeeded in doing was getting his blue jumpsuit even filthier than before.
Aaron placed his eye against the crack between the door and the wall, again trying to peer through to the outside, to get some idea of what lay beyond. He tilted and twisted his head to get some sort of view, but all in vain.
He shuffled back from the door until he stood in the center of the room, then looked up at the ceiling. Although he had not yet spotted a microphone or surveillance camera, he assumed he was being monitored. “You hear me?” he shouted. He pointed at the mess of food that lay in a lump on the floor. “Did you see that? I'm not going to eat anymore. Not until I get some answers."
No one responded. Eliassen walked over to the discolored wall and stared at the gloppy mess of stew, asparagus, and gelatin. His stomach rumbled slightly, but he ignored it.
"Let me out!” he screamed. He beat against the door with both his fists in unison, and then when that got tiring he changed the rhythm. Right fist, left fist, right fist, left fist. He walked around the perimeter of the room, continuing to bang against the wall, until he had come back to the door and his hands felt raw. He dropped his arms to his sides, panting. How many times had he done this? He couldn't say. He couldn't remember.
"Talk to me,” he said between breaths. “Someone, anyone, talk to me. Please."
He walked over to the bunk, stared at it, and then, in defiance, he collapsed onto the floor. For the third or fourth time, he cried himself to sleep.
* * * *
Aaron heard the voice, a deep one, calling his name. “Commander Eliassen. Commander Eliassen. Please wake up."
Aaron opened his eyes and immediately shielded his face with his arm. A bright light shone through the open—finally, open!—door. A figure stood in the doorway, with the light forming an aura around it.
Aaron fought down an urge to jump up and run through the door, knowing it would get him nowhere. Instead, he eased himself up, barely noticing that although he had fallen asleep on the floor, somehow he had ended up in the bunk. “Who is that?” he rasped.
The figure nodded to someone outside, and the door clicked shut, once again blending into the wall with but a tiny crack around it. Aaron's eyes adjusted to the ambient fluorescent light. He glanced at the far wall; someone had cleaned all of the food off of it, but a nauseating spot of brown color remained on the floor.
"Do you recognize me?” the figure asked.
Aaron studied the man's face and body for a moment. Black hair, solid jaw, etched wrinkles, blue blazer—it could not be possible, and yet Aaron did recognize the man.
"Director Carter?” he asked softly. “Gabe?"
Gabe nodded, his lips pressed together tightly.
Aaron jumped out of the bed and ran towards his friend, a mixture of anger, fear, and relief playing out within him. He raised his arms, but whether he intended to hug Gabe or choke him, even Aaron could not say. He figured he'd decide once within range.
Before he could get too close, however, Gabe pulled a revolver out of a shoulder holster and pointed it straight at him. Aaron stopped short. He lifted his gaze from the gun and stared into Gabe's eyes, trying to read his friend's blank expression.
"Gabe?” he said again. “Is it really you?"
Gabe nodded once. “Yes, Aaron, it's me. Please do not come any closer.” His voice sounded cold but uncertain.
"I don't understand,” Aaron said.
Gabe held the gun steady. “If you get violent, I will shoot you. If that doesn't stop you, the soldiers standing outside will fill the room with gas and knock us both out."
Aaron nodded. He backed away from Gabe with measured steps and sat on the bunk. “May I ask a question?"
Gabe slid the revolver back into its holster, but kept his eyes on Aaron the whole time. “Go ahead."
"What the hell's going on here?"
Gabe looked around the room for a moment. When his eyes finally settled on Aaron's face, Aaron noticed that they were bloodshot. “Perhaps you can tell me,” Gabe said.
Aaron's jaw dropped. “I should tell you?"
Gabe nodded. “Yes. Tell me everything that happened after you returned from your mission."
"After I returned? But the mission itself—I need to tell you about my discoveries—"
"Don't!” Gabe shouted, holding up both his hands. “Only tell me about everything that happened to you since you landed."
Aaron's anger had disappeared into his confusion; it now returned stronger than before. He repressed an urge to spit. “Don't you already know? Look around you!"
Gabe made no move to turn his head, so Aaron continued. “You locked me in a cell. You must know this already. Why are you torturing me?"
Gabe shook his head so slightly that Aaron could barely see it. “Assume I don't know already. Assume I need to hear it from you. From the instant you made contact with Earth."
Aaron yawned, cracking his jaw. “Well. The instant I made contact, hmm? Houston told me to bring her in at Edwards instead of the Cape. I came in fine, a perfect two-pointer."
"And then?"
Aaron glowered. “And then a bunch of army soldiers grabbed me out of the shuttle and dragged me into this cell. No one listened to my protestations or questions; it's as if I spoke Martian."
"And what have you done since?"
"Done?” Aaron made no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “Why, I took in a show and made out with a dancing girl. I'm planning to introduce her to Mom next week.” He tensed up. “What in God's name do you think I've done?"
"I'm sorry. It was necessary."
"Necessary? It was necessary for NASA to treat me like a common criminal? No—worse than a common criminal. No television, no radio, no Internet access—not even a telephone to call a lawyer, let alone my mom. Is this still America or what?"
Gabe lowered his eyes. “It's still America."
"How long have I been here? Counting the meals pushed through the slot and the cycle of the lights, I'm guessing four days."
"Four days sounds about right."
"'Sounds about right?’ Don't you know?"
Gabe placed his hand on his chest, near the holster. “Aaron, what's the date?"
"Huh?"
"You remember your mission schedule?"
"Of course I do."
"Well, then. If we assume that you landed four days ago, and have been here ever since, then what's today's date?"
Aaron thought for a moment. “If I returned on October tenth, as scheduled, then today's October fourteenth."
Gabe sighed. “It's not."
"It's not?"
"No. It's May eleventh."
Aaron narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me I was in space for over a year? Impossible. I didn't have enough supplies to last for that long."
"You misunderstood me. Today's May eleventh, a week before your launch."
* * * *
That evening, still locked in his cell and eating bland food off one of the government-issued trays, Aaron went over the conversation from that afternoon. At first, he had refused to accept his old friend's statement.
"What are you talking about?” he had asked.
Gabe sighed, and slid down with his back against the wall next to the door. He crouched on the floor, looking ready to jump up
if Aaron made any sudden moves. “What I mean is,” he said, drawing each word out, “you haven't left yet."
"Bullshit! I've gone and returned.” He stood up from the bunk and pointed at himself. “See? Here I am."
Gabe appeared to tense up. “Oh, I can't argue with the fact that you've returned, Aaron,” he said, waving a hand. “I mean, I'm talking to you right now."
Aaron settled onto the bunk again. “Well, then?"
"Well, then.” Gabe sighed. “The thing of it is, I also talked to you this morning."
"This morning? No way. I would have remembered.” Even though, Aaron thought, he had no way of knowing the time, since no clock hung in the cell.
Gabe chuckled. “I'm sure you do remember the conversation. I spoke with the real—I mean, the one of you who hasn't left yet."
"And what did we discuss?"
"We talked about the wafer with all the names on it.” Gabe stared at his face. “You said—"
"I said that it was a waste of my weight allowance."
"Yes."
Aaron snorted. “I remember that conversation. From over six months ago."
Gabe shook his head. “It happened this morning."
Aaron leaned forward. “Prove it to me."
Gabe stood up again and held out his arms in a gesture of helplessness. “I wish I could."
"Not good enough. If this is for real, then tell me—how did I travel back in time?"
"We believe your ship followed a Gott closed timelike curve, if you know what that means."
Aaron shook his head. “I don't."
"Do you want me to try to explain it to you?"
Aaron smiled. “I wouldn't consider it proof."
Gabe put his fingers together and stared at the wall over Aaron's head. “Think about my dilemma for a moment, even if you consider it just a theoretical exercise. How could I prove to you that you're in the past? You've lived through it already. There's nothing I can show you that you haven't already seen.” He paused. “I suppose you could ask me questions to try to trip me up, but I don't see how that would work."
A sudden realization hit Aaron. “But I could prove to you I'm from the future, is that it? Tell you what's going to happen tomorrow?"
The color drained from Gabe's face. “No,” he said, “do not do that, under any circumstances."
"Why not?” Aaron looked around at the walls. “Isn't that why you locked me in here?"
"No. We locked you in here to avoid any paradoxes."
"Paradoxes?"
Gabe sighed. “Aaron, what would you do if you managed to build a time machine? What would you use it for?"
Aaron's nose itched; he scratched it. “You tell me."
"You might use it to give yourself information about the future, so as to change it. But if you change it, then where did the information come from in the first place?"
Aaron thought for a moment. “I've heard of this. The Grandfather Paradox, right? I go back in time and kill my grandfather, and then I was never born. But then how did I go back in time if I never existed?"
Gabe nodded, a small smile on his face. “Good. You do understand."
Exasperated, Aaron asked, “What do I understand? Tell me."
"You understand why we had to lock you up."
Aaron glared at Gabe and clenched his fists. He suppressed the rage he felt. “I do not understand that at all,” he said in measured tones.
"We had to keep you away from everyone else to avoid contaminating the present with information from the future."
Aaron grunted. “I suppose,” he said, “I could grant that necessity."
Gabe sighed. “I'm glad you can see it my way. My own presence here is a risk. If you told me something about the future, it could destroy the Universe."
Aaron stared at his friend for a moment, then laughed. The hollow laughter rippled and cascaded, and wouldn't stop. After a moment, Aaron began coughing.
"Are you okay, Aaron?"
Aaron waved his friend's concern away as the last of his coughs spasmed out. “Yeah, I'm fine. It's just that you sounded so melodramatic.” He mimicked Gabe's serious tone. “'It could destroy the Universe,'” he repeated, and he started laughing again.
"It could."
Aaron stopped laughing. “Literally?"
"Yes."
Aaron thought for a moment. If Gabe was telling the truth ... “Then coming in here to see me must be some risk."
Gabe shrugged. “You weren't doing too well, Aaron. Somebody had to explain."
Aaron looked into Gabe's eyes and realized that Gabe himself must have fought for the right to tell Aaron why they had locked him away. For a moment, Aaron felt affection for his friend. But it quickly faded. After all, Gabe might have fought to talk to him, but what Aaron really wanted, really needed—
"Let me go, Gabe."
"I can't. It'll create paradoxes. We need to avoid them."
"You can't avoid any paradoxes! Hasn't my presence here already affected the timeline, if you believe your nonsense?"
Gabe smiled. “And now you understand my problem, old friend. According to Doctor—I mean, according to our physicists, I have to minimize your impact here as much as possible."
Aaron shook his head. “The only way you could do that is by keeping me locked away in here until the time comes for me to return."
Gabe stared at him silently for a few seconds, and Aaron suddenly felt cold.
"No,” he said. “No way. You can't possibly—"
"What choice do I have?"
Aaron's mind raced through the possibilities. “You've got a million of them! If you believe this crap, just let me out after the shuttle leaves on May eighteenth."
"No good,” Gabe said. “We can't explain your quick return. We're going to have to keep you here until October, without any other human contact. But I will push for a TV for you. Think of it this way. It will let you catch up with everything you missed, in real time.” He paused. “I'm sorry."
The door clicked open, and Gabe dashed through it. Aaron had rushed him, screaming, but by the time he got to the door, it had shut tightly in front of him.
And now, as he finished his food and left the tray on the floor, Aaron considered his options. He refused to stay locked up, without human contact, for six months. What could he do? He had to escape, somehow. But how? The door remained locked at all times, and his incessant tapping and banging on the walls had revealed no hollowness anywhere around.
Then he realized something. He had never been awake for the delivery of the food. They had to get it into and out of the room somehow...
Aaron smiled. Yawning loudly and deliberately, he walked over to the bunk and lay down. He closed his eyes, fought to stay awake, and waited as if he had all the time in the world. When the door finally clicked open, he was ready.
* * * *
Only one guard came in to retrieve the tray while Aaron slept. Only one, probably to reduce “contamination” from the future, as Gabe had put it. A lucky break, but Aaron had managed to surprise him. The guard now lay unconscious in the cell as Aaron dashed through the corridors of the base, wondering where he could run to.
As Aaron ran, a feeling of familiarity snuck up on him. He knew the base, he knew it intimately, and this place looked very much like the way he remembered it.
He stopped. Could he really have traveled into the past? Was today really May eleventh—perhaps now May twelfth?
If it really was a week before he launched, then Aaron—his earlier self—would still be here in California, doing some last minute prep work before flying to Florida. They kept him at the base, going over the details of the mission, checking his health, and generally giving him busywork until the time came to leave.
Aaron had nowhere else to run to, and an idea had already begun forming in his mind. Quickly, he navigated his way to his old quarters, in the residential part of the base. He found his door and jimmied it open, glad to see that he still had the lock picking skills he had
taught himself in college.
The door opened onto a dark room, with the ambient light of the corridor illuminating the nondescript bed, desk, computer, and chair. He snuck into the room, closed the door gently behind him, and flipped on the light switch. The man lying on the bed groaned and moved an arm to cover his eyes.
Aaron strode over to him, shook the man awake, and found himself face to face with—himself. Despite his expecting this on an intellectual level, his breath still caught in his throat.
The other Aaron's eyes filled with fear. He opened his mouth, and Aaron quickly placed his hand over it. God, this felt weird.
"Aaron, don't shout, don't scream. I need to talk to you. Please relax. I'm not going to hurt you.” He paused. “Do you understand?"
The other Aaron nodded, although fear still showed in his eyes. Slowly, Aaron removed his hand.
"How are you?” he asked.
The other Aaron sat up in his bed and pulled his body back into a defensive position. “What the hell's going on? How did you get in here?"
"Take a good look at me, Aaron. I'm you."
Aaron waited while his younger self studied his features. Finally, the younger Aaron said, “This isn't possible."
"That's what I've been trying to tell Gabe. Apparently, when you—when I—went on the deep space mission, we followed some sort of closed something something loop. I ended up back here, in the past."
"How is this possible?"
Aaron shook his head. “I can only think of one thing, and I tried to tell Gabe, but he wouldn't listen.” He sat down next to his younger self. “Halfway through the mission, at the edge of the solar system, I found something, a colorful wall of light. I didn't discover it until I hit it, but it must have been that closed something something curve Gabe told me about. When I passed through it, I must have traveled back in time."
The younger Aaron scrunched his eyes closed and shook his head. “I'm dreaming."
"I wish. For a while I thought I was. But apparently, it's all real. I must really have traveled into the past.” He looked off to the side. “Except—except that I don't remember this conversation."