by JT Dylan
The next day at 6 am a young recruit rapped on his door with an envelope for him. Inside was a new security clearance badge and a note. The badge promised him unlimited company resources under his direct command for seven full days. The note promised him a court marshall and a long military trial for insubordination and treason if he failed to deliver. He was under no illusions as to the severity of this threat. He was in well over his head and it was now all or nothing. His superior officers had been quietly transferred during the night and he was given a fresh team of dedicated scientists from across the globe.
Their first priority was to iron out the flaws in the spatial delivery. Daniels worked through the first night going through every scrap of information he could find on the subject. He went back to his early days and reverted to rubber-duck debugging of the puzzle. He forced himself to explain the situation out loud, step by step, as if explaining it to an inanimate object with no previous knowledge of the problem. The theory was that in comparing the expected result at each point with the actual result it would quickly become apparent at which stage the logic failed.
The soldiers were somehow being relocated not only in time but also in space. Daniels broke the problem down into parts and went back to the beginning. It had long been established that space and time were directly linked. Since its inception, time travel theory had gone under the assumption that a man's path in time would be rigidly attached to his path through space. Say a man planned to stand on a rock in the desert for two days. If you approached that man at the start of day one and sent him through time to near the end of day two, he would disappear from your perceived reality and appear again almost two days later on that very same rock. Daniels knew that what was actually happening indicated that the man would not appear on the rock but at a different location, seemingly linked to the rotation of the earth. The man would also most likely be buried under sand. Two problems, two deviations. X and Y axes.
The problem along the vertical Y axis was easily explained by changes in terrain height between now and the point of arrival. Launching above water was a quick and dirty but inexpensive fix for this. Even with miscalculations for terrain height, a leaper who arrived too low would only get wet and not become entombed in solid rock. And the company loved inexpensive fixes, no matter how quick or dirty. Daniels already planned to recommend that leaps only occur above ocean territories from then on.
The real problem he had was with the positional deviation across the land - the X axis. If there were to be any real improvements in Leap duration as he had promised, he had to be able to predict exactly how far along the Earth's surface the Soldiers would travel before landing. Otherwise even launching above the middle of the Ocean could not guarantee a wet landing. The question was why it was happening at all.
A young Ben Freeman had been unable to sleep that night. Newly graduated as an Elite operative, he'd been awarded 72 hours downtime to debrief and prepare for his first mission. He'd been outside his trailer, smoking his second cigar of the evening. Just looking at the stars and taking stock of his life. Over the horizon he could see the green glow of battle raging on as it did every night. He was always amazed at how beautiful it looked from a distance. A chain link fence bordered his trailer's perimeter and the Darka-Labs. Sometimes the white coats came out for a smoke and they exchanged pleasantries through the wire. Ben hadn't seen anyone for a few days. Rumour had it that something big had gone down. A few of the boys had volunteered for some top secret recon shit and had shipped out to the battlefield with a truckload of white coats. The brainy kid Daniels had also gone into the facility after them. There had been some shouting and cursing, and the kid hadn't come back.
Ben was halfway through the vintage cuban when a fire door opened on the other side of the chain-link and Daniels came out. He wore standard issue dark Elite combat trousers, and a two-tone black vest that was soaked through with perspiration. He wore a white lab coat tied clumsily around his waist. He ran his hands through his hair and sat heavily on the asphalt with his back to the red bricks. It took him a moment to notice Ben, and he nodded politely. Ben held up the cuban in return. Daniels wiped a hand over his face then pushed himself up off the floor.
'Busy night?' Ben handed him the cigar through the fence.
'Terrible.' Daniels's eyes were red rimmed. He closed his eyes and pulled hard on the tobacco. His usual boyish charms were nowhere to be seen.
Ben nodded at Daniels's Elite uniform. 'You too then?'
Daniels exhaled a mouthful of clean white smoke. 'An army of two.' He grinned.
'Three.' Ben watched the green flashes in the distance. 'Silent Jack deployed early yesterday. Cancelled his allocated leave time and requested immediate transfer into the Green Zone. Seems he couldn't wait to get stuck in.'
Daniels raised an eyebrow and tapped his own temple. 'Hate to see how that clock works.'
Ben looked over at the dark Med-Lab buildings. A clinical white light streamed out through the open fire door. 'So what can't you tell me about your project in there?'
'Everything. They'd shoot you for even knowing there was a project.' Daniels looked deadly serious. Ben let out a low whistle.
'Heavy shit huh?' He winked at Daniels. 'Anything I can help you with Hawkings?'
'Not unless you can disprove Einstein's most thoroughly proven theorem, and apply that to a machine we haven't even built yet.' He glanced nervously at the patrolman guarding the Med-Lab entrance gate in the distance. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. Right then Ben thought how lucky he was to be just another set of feet on the ground. He hated all the politics that came with warfare.
Daniels looked up at the stars, took one last drag of the cigar and dropped it by his feet.
'I guess I'll see you out in the field, Freeman.' His smile was weighed down by a world of responsibility.
Ben gave a friendly salute. 'Hope you work out whatever it is you're trying to fix.'
'Oh that? I already have.' Jim Daniels smiled, crushing the embers underfoot. 'I just came out to celebrate.' His smile changed into an infectious grin and both men laughed. They laughed without really knowing why. Perhaps just because they could. In those days they were invincible, as only the youthful truly can be.
Ben watched Daniels head back to his work and shook his head in admiration. He took one last look at the stars and, still smiling, thought he would sleep just fine after all.
SEVENTEEN
The mid-morning sun had long disappeared. Jack hadn't been surprised when the drops of rain had turned to sleet, and as they reached the high ground, to fat flakes of snow. The sky was a constant dull grey and visibility was minimal. The old man still ploughed on ahead, using a stick when the incline got too rough. The boy had kept up most of the way but now sat astride Jack's shoulders, issuing warnings whenever a low branch approached.
The long walk had been uneventful for the most part. They'd had a few false alarms, mainly thanks to the old man's jitters. They'd crouched low and silent for the best part of ten minutes at one point because a deer was following them.
The boy grew suddenly heavy on Jack's back and his breathing became a steady rhythm. Jack strode forward and walked level with the old man.
'I never asked your name.'
The old man grinned, spat out a snowflake. 'I've always been called Sonny. Before the old man arrived back then, I was probably something else. I don't rightly recall.' He smiled. 'After that, just Sonny or Son. I guess it's the only thing I can call the boy without feeling a little strange about it.'
'It's why you call me Sir instead of Jack. You still see me as an elder don't you.' Jack couldn't help but be intrigued by the situation. The old man winced and stopped to take a breath. He looked at the sleeping boy, his younger self, and smiled.
'None of us ever really grow up into the adults we seem on the outside do we Jack. We all carry our childhood demons forever.'
Jack pulled his collar higher. Up ahead the ground evened out and promised the shelter of
trees. The old man looked to where Jack was looking. A layer of frosting mottled the grass ahead, and a little snow had begun to take hold.
'I guess we're almost there after all.' Old Sonny managed a crooked smile. 'It's been such a long journey – I guess I've never really thought about reaching the end.'
Jack suddenly felt as if he were back on the battlefield, and forced his heart to slow a little. He quickly scanned the perimeter, but saw nothing. Nothing but the steady fall of snowflakes. Old Sonny sensed his unease and put a comforting arm on his shoulder.
'Not quite yet dear Jack. Not quite yet. Come. We're almost at the wall.' He continued through the opening in the trees and into the woods, a new spring in his step.
And Jack carried the boy in after him.
EIGHTEEN
Young Sergeant Rogers was tired. He looked at the orange light of the clock on the dash. 1:20 am. He had twenty five minutes left and only the pleasure of a hormonal wife to greet him when he got home. Oh, the joy of it. The rhythm of the windshield wipers had already sent his partner Hodgson to sleep. Rogers marvelled how a man could sleep so much. Maybe he was diabetic. He made a mental note to rib him about cutting down on the candy.
It had been a quiet night overall. A couple of DUI's and a domestic. Nothing major. Maybe they had the rain to thank for that. It hadn't stopped for six hours straight. Rogers squelched the radio as they cruised past the construction site.
'Dispatch, this is 48. I need a 10-9 on that address.'
The radio buzzed. A mischievous female voice replied. '48, a 184 Heaton. Old age setting in 48?' Rogers smiled. Clara. The fact she was deviating from protocol was a good sign. He hadn't overstepped the mark with her last night after all. Or maybe he was just grasping at straws now that things had gone to shit at home.
'48, 10-97.' He clipped the radio back on the dash.
Rogers had married his high school sweetheart at 20, and now at the grand old age of thirty one, the pressures of their jobs and his reluctance to want a family seemed to bring out the worse in the both of them. Every conversation had become a battle, and they had become strangers living in the same house. He was tired of it. Tired of his life. He eased the Crown Vic to a halt and nudged Hodgson in the ribs. He popped the lights.
'Cinderella. Let's go.'
'Sleeping beauty, numb-nuts.' Hodgson stretched and grinned. 'Christ, how long was I out? Feels like a camel took a dump in my mouth.' The car shook as he manoeuvred to wipe the doughnut sugar from his uniform creases.
'Lost a little weight there Hodge?'
'Screwing your wife keeps me below my target man, you know that.'
Rogers smiled in the dark. He took the Maglite from the dash and walked out into the strobing blue and red thrown by the roof lamps. The call had come in three minutes previously. A homeless man in some kind of trouble. No third parties involved. Witnesses had seen him from the overpass. Rogers blinked against the heavy rain. Should have worn his poncho. Where were the damn medics? He hated this part of the job. First on scene always got the worst of it. He heard a siren in the distance and relaxed a little. Hodgson went to the trunk and put on his waterproofs. He looked like an oversized fisherman. Rogers unclipped his gun and shimmied through a workman's ad-hoc opening in the high mesh fence.
'Are you kidding me?' Hodgson looked in dismay at the size of the site entrance. 'I'll meet you in there. Must be a more formal way in.' He blinked against the downpour. 'I'll check the perimeter en route.'
'Roger that. Blip me in 5.' Roger went ahead, holding his flashlight in front, his other hand shielding his eyes from the weather. He unclipped his radio and pressed the talk button. He heard a squelch and then a whine. Reminded him of amp feedback. Dammit. Weather-proof my ass.
The construction site was only a partial build. Rogers thought it looked like ground zero had a few years ago. It was a huge flat area surrounded by high boards and fencing. Alternating piles of rubble and deep trenches made up most of the space. Huge concrete pipe sections stuck out of the ground here and there. Either ready to be put in or old ones being dug out. Steel rods outlined proposed foundations. No machinery. No diggers or dumpsters. Rogers thought maybe the project had been postponed, or was in-between contractors. He'd heard a lot of similar stories these past couple years. The economy was going to shit, that was for sure. He was deep in this train of thought when his four-cell flashed across a mannequin. It was only the top half, and was almost completely covered in grey mud. Then the mannequin's eyes opened and looked right at Rogers. Rogers jumped and his breath hitched in his throat.
The figure's eyes lolled back in its head and it let out a blood curdling wail. Rogers leaped back with a yelp and dropped his flashlight into the mud, plunging him into a terrible darkness.
NINETEEN
'Wake the boy up. He needs to remember this.' Old Sonny had followed a snaking dry stone wall to the base of a grand old tree. He was looking up at it as if trying to establish how high it climbed. Jack grabbed the dozing child and hoisted him up over his head. The boy awoke on the way down and groaned. He yawned as he was set on the ground and looked around blearily.
'Is this the place?' The boy's hair stood up at the back and Jack was painfully reminded of what little childhood the boy would get to enjoy.
'Sure looks like it. It seems smaller than I remember but maybe that's just my eyes being bigger these days.' The old man gave a half hearted smile. He seemed a little unsteady. He knelt down, looked up at the tree, and ran a shaking hand across his own face as if remembering something.
Jack looked up at the gnarled old Oak. It sure looked the part, whatever this was about. The tree stood out a mile from all the others. The old man walked around the thick dark trunk, looking upwards the whole time he did so.
'This tree will be important. To both of you.' The old man turned and knelt down next to the boy. 'Son, when it is eventually time, this is the tree. When you see her next on your travels, she'll be but a baby tree. You won't understand that right now. But it's important that you remember her. And that you mind what I'm telling you.' The boy looked confused. He shrugged and risked a mischievous glance at Jack. The old man's eyes opened wide and he struck the boy hard across the face with an open hand. The boy yelped in fright and pain. His eyes welled up and he looked up at Old Sonny with such fear and heartbreak that even Jack found himself moved.
The old man gripped the boy by the shoulders and shook him once, hard. Old Sonny's eyes were glazed with tears and spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. 'You'll never know how much it killed me to do that, and I know you'll never trust me fully again. But know this,' He tilted the boy's red face up to look at his own. 'This tree will remind you forever, that I was once your Pa. And your Pa loved you with all his heart.' The boy wept a child's tears, his chest hitching and his breath caught in his throat. The old man pulled him into a tight embrace and whispered in his ear. 'I love you son.'
He pushed the boy back to arm's length and studied him. He wiped a tear from the boy's cheek with a weathered thumb and stroked the hair out of his eyes. 'Now don't you ever forget this God forsaken tree. This wall won't always be here to guide you.'
'I won't Pa, I'm sorry.' The boy's words slurred out amongst more tears, and the old man tousled the lad's hair and spoke with a softness that Jack hadn't heard in him before. 'There's nothing to be sorry about my boy. You always did real good.'
He wiped his own face and cleared his throat. Jack noticed he kept one arm tightly around the boy's shoulder as he got up. Maybe he was scared that if he let the boy go, he'd never get to hold him again.
The old man pointed up past Jack and high into the tree. 'Your part in this lies way up there Jack. In a knot hole no bigger than your fist. How are you at climbing trees stranger?' The old man's colour had come back a little, and Jack was relieved to see that the boy too was a little curious, wrinkling his nose up at the tree's nooks and crannies.
Jack was about to hoist himself up when an idea hit him. He looked up at the
thick branches and with a sharp intake of breath gave the old man his most solemn look.
'I don't think I can do it. Seems awful high to me. I'm not much of a climber.' He shrugged at them both. The boy's eyes lit up, but he held his tongue. His confidence had been shattered.
Old Sonny looked like he was about to scold the soldier's ineptitude but a look from Jack stopped him. The old man's eyes narrowed. He looked at little Sonny and saw what Jack saw in the boy's face. Old Sonny's own eyes lit up in understanding.
'Well, I certainly can't climb her. May as well ask me to climb to the moon. Oh well. I guess that's that then. We tried at least.' The old man turned away from the tree.
'I can do it.' The boy spoke a little more timidly than usual, but Jack saw his usual fire just beneath the surface.
The old man feigned surprise, as if he'd forgotten the boy was even there.