Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “Anne knew better than to go into a secured area, but the rabbit, the test animal, had been placed into the glass transfer cage in preparation for the test. She saw him and went in, actually getting into the cage to pet him. She first placed the purse she carried in with her on top of the shelf over a control panel. It happened to be Steven’s control panel.”

  “Realize, Doctor Hair,” Jerry said, “that despite all the mistakes and slips in security that were made up to that point, nothing should have happened other than reprimands to myself and Steven, and of course to Anne for going in.”

  James emptied his water glass. “Except for the fact that her purse fell from its perch, struck the switch, flipping it from test to full power, and then rolled across the red button.”

  Jerry said, “We heard the equipment from the conference room, but by the time we got there it was too late.”

  Robert Hair sat silently for a time then picked up the empty glass of water. He looked at it, put it back down and said, “I think I need one of those beers.”

  Jerry started across the room.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have something a tad bit stronger, like scotch or straight whiskey?”

  “Sorry, Robert. All I have is beer, and a couple wine coolers.”

  He grimaced. “The beer will have to do.”

  Several others acknowledged the same need, and there was a bustle of activity until everyone was once again settled. James noted that the stress level in the room also had settled. He allowed himself one beer.

  “This is... is... I can’t find the words for it.” Robert pointed his finger at Steven. “I’m still angry. Damn I’m angry.” He looked at Jerry. “But I’m also excited that this could actually be done.” He turned back to Steven and raised his voice. “Why in the hell didn’t you call me the day it happened? If she had been in a car accident, you would have called. Wouldn’t you have?”

  Steven didn’t reply.

  “Well I know why you didn’t call. It was because you knew what I would say. Well I’m going to say it and I don’t care who the hell hears it. The only reason I gave my blessing for you two to get married was because I knew Anne would defy me and do it anyway. You were a bumbling idiot right from the beginning but I figured you would mature out of it. Obviously I figured wrong. You may be a damn genius but there isn’t one shred of common sense.” He slugged down the beer more like a Boston dockworker than a university professor and then looked at Jerry. “I know what your problem is, Jerry. You’re a damn bachelor. If you were married, you’d have something harder sitting around.”

  Everyone laughed except Steven. His head was down. If one didn’t know better, they would have thought he was asleep.

  “He doesn’t even have the guts to defend himself,” Robert said.

  Steven raised his head. “I can’t defend myself when you’re right. She’s gone and it’s my fault.”

  There was shifting of positions in the various chairs during the numerous seconds of silence that followed. Finally, Jerry stepped forward.

  “It seems there’s a consensus between the two warring parties. I think it’s time that we...”

  “Hold on, Jerry,” Steven interrupted. “I didn’t necessarily agree I was a bumbling idiot.”

  Steven looked around the room at all the expectant faces waiting on his next words. He paused, his eyes on his father-in-law for a long time, and then looked back up at Jerry.

  “Of course, I can’t say I denied it either.”

  There was another round of laughter from everyone except Steven and Robert Hair.

  “I think it’s time,” Jerry continued, “that we get a solid handle on where we are, make sure we are all on the same train going down the same track, and re-layout out the time-line. Doctor Hair is now on the team. Just like James Lamric, who is our Historical Advisor, as he put it, Doctor Hair is now our Research Advisor in Time.”

  “In the realm of acronyms, that would make me the RAT!” Robert said in his low, groggy voice. After a bit more laughter he said, “Historical advisor! What does that mean and how is it you’re the only one who knows what happened that day? And where the hell do I know you from?”

  James ignored Robert’s last question, set aside his beer, and cleared his throat. “I have the unique honor of being on both ends of your daughter’s trip, Robert. I met her for the first time a few hours after her arrival, July 17, 1943. 44 years ago.”

  If a pin were dropped into a bucket of feathers, it would have made a racket compared to the silence hanging in Jerry’s living room. Every eye was on Doctor Hair, each wondering how long it would be before he breathed again, or whether he was just going to expire right there in the over stuffed lounge chair? His only movement was the occasional blink from the eyes staring at James.

  Finally he exhaled and then drew in a deep breath. “Christ! You must have been a kid.”

  “Not hardly, Robert. I was a Charleston police officer. 25 years old.”

  Robert’s brow wrinkled above the full beard. “25! That means I just got my ass put in place by an old man.” He looked around the room. “I’ll pay someone to go out and find a bottle of scotch.”

  No one moved.

  “Damn! Damn! Jerry told me she arrived safely into 1943 and had the baby, but he refused to tell me how he knew. I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out how she communicated. Now it all makes sense.”

  “Actually, at this time, September 7th, she still has no idea that she’s a time traveler. She thinks she has a rare form of amnesia. My mother is beginning to speculate about the time travel idea, though, but Anne refuses to believe in such things, as do I at that time.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Anne is living with us. She had no place to go when she left the hospital, so my mother took her in.” James noted Robert’s eyes shift to Steven and back. “She became like a sister to me.”

  “Hmm!” Robert put his fingers together almost as though in prayer. He sat in thought for a time with his hands against his chin. “I’m trying to visualize this. It’s July of 1943, and you are somewhere, and this woman – my daughter – appears POOF! right before you?”

  “I know what you’re thinking. No one actually witnessed her arrival.”

  “Then what...?”

  James held up his hand. “You’ve a thousand questions. What we would like to do is tell you exactly what has happened with her. I’ll begin with her arrival on that evening in 1943 and tell you everything that happened to her until September 12 when she finally discovers, without a doubt, that she is a time traveler. Jerry will then briefly go through everything that has been done as far as successes and failures in the last four years. The meat of the program, all the research and experiments, will be available for you in the lab. You will be given all the time you need to study the data. The hope is that by adding one more great mind, the three of you can solve the problem that continues to elude Steven and Howard alone.”

  Robert said, “Why wasn’t I brought in on this to begin with? It’s my God damn theory you’re using. Why wasn’t I on the God damn team?”

  “We don’t know,” Jerry said. “We were all hand picked by the board.”

  “The board? What board?”

  “The board of directors for a corporation called Broad Horizons. I tried to track them one day but got basically nowhere. They disappeared into some offshore entity.”

  “You mean you don’t know whom you are working for?”

  “We all grabbed at the opportunity to work on a project of this scope. The pay is above standards and there seems to be no bottom to the bucket of money available for the project itself. We were all sworn to secrecy and turned loose. I’m the only one here who knows the identity of the board members.”

  Robert raised his eyebrows. “And they are?”

  “Sorry. I’m already walking a tightrope here. They’re not aware of the problem we are currently in, nor do they know about you or James Lamric.”

  “How do you commun
icate with them?”

  “There’s a post office box in Atlanta and I have a phone number at which I leave messages. We receive our pay from a bank in Atlanta.”

  “Hmm!” Robert said. He emptied his beer and set the can down. “Hmm!”

  “To answer two more questions, which you have yet to ask. There are three board members, only one of whom has visited the lab. He shows up about every six months or so, calls himself Mister Smith.”

  “When was he last here?”

  “July 14.”

  “Just three days before...”

  “Right. I gave him a progress report. We were preparing to run a live test in the following few days. He was very interested in that.”

  “What did you report to them after the test, after my son-in-law’s screw-up?”

  “What I reported was that the test blew up and that we would have to procure new equipment to be able to accommodate a larger mass. I did not mention of course, that the larger mass was a full-grown adult.”

  “They didn’t question that?”

  “Not at all. She just said to let them know if we needed anything else.”

  “She?”

  “One of the board members is a woman. She was the one who returned my call when I requested an increase in funding for new equipment.”

  “Humph! Two men and a woman. And nobody but you knows who they are?”

  Thomas spoke up. “When we were interviewed, we couldn’t see their faces.”

  Robert turned to look at the source of the comment. “Mister Bradshaw, right?”

  “Yes, sir. You assisted me on my master’s thesis.”

  Robert nodded his head. “Damn fine thesis I might say.” He looked around the room at the faces he barely noticed during his rage and anger. He recognized them all. “This board picked well, I have to admit. Except...” he turned and pointed his finger at Steven, “that... that.” He shook his head and dropped his hand. “Why the hell wasn’t I called?”

  There was only silence.

  “All right. My daughter is alive and well. I’ve changed my mind about killing Steven. I still have a strong urge to plant my size ten and a half solidly, and with great force, against his balls.” He looked at James. “So, continue Mister Lamric. Tell me what Anne has been doing for the past seven weeks.”

  Chapter 34

  Tuesday ~ September 8, 1987

  The President and CEO of Broad Horizons Corporation stood at the window overlooking Atlanta’s Independence Square. Beyond the park was a blanket of trees broken here and there by taller buildings and wide areas of asphalt running away in the distance. The sky was a cloudless bright blue, spotted only with a dozen or more aircraft in various levels of holding patterns. He turned and looked at the four people sitting in the plush chairs and on the sofa. “Have you ever tried to totally focus upon the concept we’re dealing with here; the ramifications; the possibilities?”

  “Many times,” said Congresswoman Keeton, “and every time I feel I’ve stepped into the proverbial rabbit hole. The last time, I had to call my nephew to drag me out.”

  “I think you dragged me in first, Aunt Gracy,” laughed the Navy Lieutenant. And then we just sort of wandered out for lack of any place else to go.”

  “The shadow by my finger cast

  Divides the future from the past.”

  Every head turned toward the man sitting at the end of the sofa, furthest from the window.

  “Before it, sleeps the unborn hour,

  In darkness, and beyond thy power.”

  “What are you babbling about down there, Henry?” Gracy Keeton asked.

  “Behind its un-returning line,

  The vanished hour, no longer thine.

  One hour alone is in thy hands,

  The now on which the shadow stands.

  “Henry Van Dyke wrote that in 1904 after analyzing the Sun-Dial at Wells College,” Senator Henry Johnston said. “A centuries old belief – a common sense belief for that matter – for rational thinking people outside of this room and our group of scientists. One hour alone is in thy hands, the now on which the shadow stands. Considering what is currently taking place under the shell of Broad Horizons, we would, at first, say that really is not the case. We have found ourselves delving into the idea that everything before and after the shadow that lies before us is now under our control or manipulation. I looked at those eight lines of poetry one day and, like you Gracy, found myself running in circles. Then I thought I would attempt to rewrite the poem with our insight in mind.

  “The shadow by my finger cast

  Divides the future from the past.

  Before it, lies the coming hour

  Which we can touch, and then devour.

  Behind its un-returning line,

  Waits what is still yours and mine.

  Alas the hour on which it stands,

  Has now been ripped from our hands.”

  The thinking silence pervaded until the CEO broke it. “Very interesting, Henry. We might think we’ll have control of events throughout time, but will we really? Could we possibly change what is about to happen? Certainly we might think we could, but would we? And if we wouldn’t, does that mean we couldn’t? If one has a choice to make, let’s say A or B, and he chooses A, does that mean he made that choice himself or did fate intervene and B wasn’t a choice he could have made even though his own logical thinking told him he had that option. What made him choose A? Fate? A master plan somewhere that has already dictated his destiny?”

  “Can we control our future or past for that matter, Uncle,” Henry said, “or are we simply following the script already programmed into us?”

  Gracy said, “I don’t know if I like the idea that I’m just a puppet in all this. I would like to think I have some control.”

  “Do we really want control?” Henry stood and walked over to the refrigerator. It wasn’t a full size refrigerator, but it would accommodate needs of a small gathering of dignitaries with no problem. The business suite on the 15th floor of the hotel permanently belonged to Broad Horizons, had for four years. He extracted a bottle of water – artesian the label said – twisted it open and took a swallow. “Historically, we, humankind that is, have been known to do some rather stupid things. What would keep someone from traveling back in time and changing history because they thought it would be the humane thing to do? Maybe stop John Wilkes Booth from assassinating President Lincoln, or carry back the cures for diseases into the Middle Ages. Or possibly, with today’s technical knowledge, what is to keep someone who is power hungry from becoming another, more powerful Hitler?”

  The other three looked for a reaction from Samuelson, President and CEO and their self-chosen leader. He only stood with his hands behind his back, his attention fully on his nephew.

  Henry continued. “The question is not so much as to whether we want control, but could we actually take control if we had the inclination? Down my side of the family, as you know Uncle, I have a Great-Great-whatever-Grandfather who fought in the civil war – a Yankee. Suppose someone, for whatever humane or power hungry reason, went back to attempt to change the outcome of the Civil War. Let’s also suppose he wasn’t successful, but he did effect a battle and succeeded in getting my grandfather killed – well, needless to say, not only would I not have been born, but neither would my father or his sister, whom you married, let alone all the other family members in between. The total effect of that one little change in history is incomprehensible.”

  “So, what are you saying, Henry?” the congresswoman asked.

  “I’m saying that whatever happens, happens because it’s meant to happen. In other words, what will happen is already dictated by what has happened, and what has happened is entirely dependent on what will happen.”

  “Oh, God. I think I’m sliding down that rabbit hole again,” Gracy said.

  “Or,” cut in the Navy Lieutenant, “another way of looking at it is, what will happen has happened and what has happened will happen.”
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br />   Gracy groaned and then said, “If we have no control, then what is it exactly that we’re doing?”

  “Have any of you ever attended the performance of a mentalist?” Samuelson waited for a few seconds.

  “You mean a mind reader or some such thing?” the lieutenant said.

  “Mind reading is one thing he does. The other is mind control.”

  “I’ve watched performances on TV,” said the congresswoman.

  “I had as well a few times over the years, but I still remained a skeptic. Not long ago I had the opportunity to attend a live performance. It was a political fundraiser for something. I forget what. Never cared for politics as you all know but I went to return a favor. $100-a-plate dinner. The after-dinner entertainment was Philippe Thibodeaux. One thing he did was have us all, there were maybe 130 or 140 people, write onto a piece of paper our names and two not well known facts about ourselves. Clean, empty water glasses were brought around for each person. We folded the paper as small as we could and then placed it in our respective water glass where it remained for three quarters of the show, at which time Thibodeaux began selecting people by their initials. When they stood, he would tell them their full name and what they wrote down about themselves. When he called the initials SF, I stood up. There wasn’t another SF in the audience. He quickly got my name, which didn’t surprise me because I was sure he had access to the guest list. The next thing he told me was that my mother had only nine toes. That alone made me no longer a skeptic. My mother died sixty years ago, when I was a child and I probably haven’t thought of that fact since then and certainly haven’t told anyone, including my wife. It just happened to pop up as I was searching for something to write down. I remind you that the paper on which I wrote that was still inside the water glass, two feet in front of me.

  “The second thing he told me, which I also wrote down, was the maiden name of my wife’s mother. It was Karagiannis. He even spelled it for me.”

  “Amazing,” said Gracy. “So, what’s your point?”

  “I’m getting to that. The reason why he called himself a mentalist and not a mind reader is because he does a lot more than read your thoughts.”