You can imagine what was going on in everyone’s mind. Where in the heck are we and are we going to be stuck here for the rest of our lives? My God, if we are stuck here, just think what that might do to the history of mankind. The timelines would be jacked up for sure. It could threaten humanities very existence. Were we witnessing what Earth would be like with no timelines? This had to be the dilemma of all dilemmas.
After the initial shock, I felt assured Monroe could make the necessary repairs to get us back on track. After all, our future generation had all this advanced technology and expanded brain capacity. If they could invent time travel, surely they should be able to fix a broken time machine.
His response was not very encouraging. In fact, it was downright devastating.
It is not my field of expertise. I am only an operator. My two assistants were the technicians, he said, pointing back inside to those who hadn’t worn their seat belts.
“That’s great. That’s just great. What are we supposed to do now?” someone said in despair.
There is optimism, Monroe replied. When I fail to return, my colleges will become aware that something unusual occurred. There is another Mothership in storage that can be resurrected. Meanwhile, we have sufficient food and water to last several days. That should be ample time for them to locate and rescue us.
After hearing that, our morale barometer peaked a notch. But not for long as I had to go and open my big mouth by pointing out the obvious.
“But what if they no longer exist?” I said. “If there are no timelines, there is no Earth history. Which means we could be the only human beings in existence. If that’s the case, there will be no one to rescue us. We may be all there is left of the human race.”
As you can imagine, my last statement didn’t sit so well with everyone. We could only hope that my scenario wouldn’t turn out to be our reality.
Then, right off the bat, we discovered another unexpected situation. The only bathroom was not functional. The crash must have shut down the systems. Plus, the ship had no means to bathe. No showers were ever installed because no one was ever on the ship long enough to require one. Of course, this distressed the females more than the males. After putting our heads together, we were able to build a make shift port-a-potty, outside the ship. Since we had no idea what might be lurking in the bushes, we went outside in pairs.
Another problem we discovered was that some of the originals communication helmets were damaged. Those whose were damaged could no longer communicate with Monroe and vice versa. So there was a lot of translating that had to be done, which lead to some miscommunications.
“It’s windy,” someone noted.
“No, it’s Thursday,” someone else added.
“So am I, it would be nice to have a cold beer,” another said.
In a few days, the rations dwindled and there was still no sign of help. Monroe halved the quota. What I would do for a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milk shake right about now. Amazingly no one complained, not yet anyway.
A few days later, depression started to weave its ugly affects among us. Everyone was having trouble sleeping because the ship had not been equipped with sleeping quarters. We had to sleep in chairs or on the floor. This also created a battle for the few pillows that were available.
Most were getting down right cranky. Women were bitching, and men were belly aching. Tempers flared over the littlest things. Our lack of hygiene certainly didn’t help matters.
“Jesus. Do you have to sit so close?” Someone would complain.
“Whatever,” would be the usual response as they moved away.
It began to feel like we were on that TV show called Survivor, wishing we could vote someone out.
It did rain one day, so we were able to fill any containers we could find with water. No one was embarrassed to undress and get a welcomed shower and clean our clothes. Surprising what a shower will do for morale. However, it didn’t last long.
Even the emotionless Monroe was showing signs of fraying around the edges. He eventually assigned everyone simple tasks to occupy our minds and time. Some were assigned to clean up the mess the crash made, while others tried repairing broken panels and instruments. Anything to get our minds off our desperate situation.
“Who put Monroe in charge?” someone asked, while crossing their arms.
“Monroe may be of our descendant, but he is over 100 years old, which makes him senior to all of us,” I reminded him.
Karen and I found a way to pass some time. We would sometimes lay on the ground outside the ship and try to identify cloud formations in the sky.
“Look over there,” I would point one out. “Looks like a unicorn. See the horn on top of its head?”
“I see an angel,” Karen replied, pointing to another formation.
“Could be a sign of our salvation,” I hoped.
Into the fifth day, no one had shown up to be our hero. We were down to a day’s rations, which made everyone even more on edge. Hunger could make people do things that they wouldn’t normally do. Some of us remembered stories about stranded people drawing sticks to see who would be eaten first for the others to survive.
It was finally determined that we had no choice but to venture into the jungle to find some type of food. We hadn’t a clue what we would encounter during our search. There were no Warriors to lean on, so we would be on our own, with no weapons to speak of.
We were about to decide who would go into the jungle when Monroe announced a more feasible alternative. He and some others had been checking out some of the smaller craft that the Mothership carried.
I have discovered the flight controls on one of the smaller craft to be undamaged. However, the time mechanism is damaged beyond repair. We can employ the craft to explore the planet and perhaps find resources for our requirements.
These craft were equipped with time travel capabilities, but were mainly used to travel around the globe after entering a time frame. Each sat only three passengers and had a cargo space just large enough to carry some container’s to fill with water with enough space for a few bananas and coconuts.
Monroe selected me and Karen to accompany him in our desperate search. We are family, was his reasoning for selecting us.
He warned that since the Mothership’s communication and time travel functions had been damaged, we would not be able to communicate with those left behind. We would be flying without ears into the unknown, having no idea what was out there, and no means to call for help if something should go wrong. In other words, we could end up being stranded.
“Are you up for this?” I asked Karen.
“It is what it is,” was her answer.
What a woman!
During our flight, we did not encounter one single living soul, nor one bird, nor one animal, nor one bug splatter on the windshield. Not one living creature or manmade structure to speak of. There was nothing but vegetation and water, as we circled the globe searching for our requirements. We were definitely on Earth as I recognized many land marks.
I thought this might be a good time to bring up a subject that has probably been on everyone’s mind.
“Monroe…I have wondered, from the first day we met, how can you keep your thoughts private? I wouldn’t want everyone knowing my shit.”
That may be difficult for you to comprehend. The best way to explain might be to think of an off/on switch. When we want to keep our thoughts private, we turn the switch off.
“Surely it can’t be that simple,” I replied.
Simple is as simple does.
We were about to land on a beach in South America when all of a sudden Monroe announced: The rescue team has arrived. We must return to the crash site.
Not a day late and certainly not a dollar short, as Karen and I let out a big “Hooray,” as we fist bumped, an action Tom-Tom had taught us.
“Let’s turn this buggy around and head back to civilization,” I shouted with glee.
“Hey, Monroe, you know
how to drive an aircraft and an automobile, but do you know how to drive a baby buggy?” I asked.
Monroe gave me his consistent confused look. Probably wondering why I would be asking such a silly question.
He just shrugged his shoulders, having no idea what I was referring too.
The aircraft and automobile drive themselves, he reiterated. I have not an idea what a baby buggy might be, let alone what it would require to drive one.
“You drive a baby buggy by tickling its feet,” I laughed at one of my favorite jokes.
Sometimes the person telling the joke is the only one laughing. That was the case here because Karen had already heard it hundreds of times and it was apparent Monroe had no clue.
“Tom?” Karen nudged me while giving me that look she gives me when I’ve done or said something I shouldn’t have.
“What?”
“He might find that offensive,” she whispered to me.
“Why would he find that offensive?”
“Remember, they can’t procreate.”
“Oh! Sorry Monroe, I wasn’t thinking.”
It was probably another one of those times when I put my foot in my mouth, speaking before thinking. By now, you must know that is one of my bad habits.
But I think my joke did register, ’cause I swore I heard a slight chuckle as he waved his hand over the instrument panel and said, That was a good one grandpa.
The aircraft did a one eighty and before I could crack another joke we had the Mothership in sight.
To make a short story longer, we were rescued in the nick of time.
“What took you guys so long?” I asked our rescuers.
There was a vast number of years in Earth’s history they had to search, Monroe pointed out.
“How in the world did they find us?” was my next question.
Fortunately, time travel leaves a trail that can be tracked.
“What year did we end up in?” I wanted to know. Bet you want to know too, huh?
You ask too many questions. Need to know. And you...
“Don’t say it, Monroe.”
Just messing with you, Grandpa, Monroe said as he gave me something that might resemble a smile.
*****
The wrecked Mothership was cremated, leaving no trace that we had ever been there.
Karen, I, and the other originals were to be returned to our timelines. Along the way we heard a song playing in our heads.
...We are family. Get up everybody and sing. We are family…
Monroe was somehow playing the song for us. We even noticed a slight sway in his posture to the tune of the music. My grandson seemed to be getting it on.
Karen and I nodded to each other in surprise, thinking that there could be some hope for his generation after all.
It was now time to say farewell to our unique little bugged-eyed grandson. How often have you heard of a grandson being older than their grandparents? What can one say in this type situation? It’s certainly not an everyday occurrence, that’s for sure.
Together we had experienced situations that no one in the history of mankind had nor probably would ever experience again in the future. You might say, we had developed a distinctive bond.
I will miss you both, he sighed, as he surprisingly gave Karen and I a gentle one arm hug.
He then touched his finger on my shirt under my chin and said, You have a speck on your shirt.
I naturally looked down, and he poked me under my chin and said, Got’cha Grandpa!
He then gave me a big smiley face and added, I have enjoyed being a ‘block off your old chip’ and a leg to pull on.
I was left speechless and thoughtless at his attempt to phrase an idiom. Maybe someday he will get the hang of it.
“Love you and Karen,” he added, in a raspy voice.
For a few seconds Karen and I were totally mesmerized. Did you happen to catch that Monroe spoke out loud?
“You spoke,” Karen and I said at the same time.
Monroe looked embarrassed as he shrugged his shoulders.
My grandson had adopted a sense of humor, a smidgen of emotion, with some compassion to boot. He had come out of his emotionless shell! This display of emotions must have triggered something inside him to enable him to speak out loud.
It is less painful to telepath, he reasoned.
“Miracles never cease. Happy trails to you grandson. We are gonna’ miss you too,” was all I could think to say.
Karen added, “We love you too.”
I swear I saw a little bitty tear row down his cheek. Karen and I had to wipe a few away ourselves.
Take pride that you helped to prevent the extinction of humanity, Monroe commented.
Hey, now that should enhance my resume to join the Marvel hero’s club.
Let us get this road on the show. Time to roll and rock.
Before we could correct his backward expressions, he snatched the helmets off our heads, instilled our memory blocks, and engaged the time mechanism.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Home Sweet Home
The next thing I know I was in my pontoon boat franticly racing an angry storm back to my dock. If you remember, Tom-Tom was out on the lake fishing when Monroe had picked him up.
The fierce wind was coming from the direction I needed to go. The small 9.9 HP Yamaha engine just wasn’t up to the task. The boat would barely move as the waves pounded furiously and rocked the boat. I could see I wasn’t going to make it to my dock any time soon.
Adding to my misery, a flash of lightening hit the boat and propelled me into the stormy waters. With no life jacket, I started sinking like a rock.
*****
“Hey…sleepy head, time to wake up. The Cardinal’s game starts in a few minutes,” Karen said as she shook me awake.
With a knee jerk reaction, I came alive and started thrashing about. I quickly realized I wasn’t in danger as I was sitting in my theater chair in my ‘Man Cave’.
“Did you enjoy your nap, honey?” Karen asked.
“You’re not going to believe the dream I just had,” I told her, as I turned on the TV to watch the game. “I’ll tell you about it later. How about popping some popcorn?”
“Give me five,” she responded.
*****
Back in the future, an unconscious Warrior’s eyes suddenly sprang open, as his damaged circuitry rerouted, bringing him back to life. The reroute bypassed the deactivation code his creators had previously engaged.
He raised his head to observed the debris scattered amongst the barren landscape. The surrounding chaos laid evidence that a fierce battle had taken place, reaping devastating destruction upon him and his comrades. Bits and pieces of several Warrior cyborgs were scattered about the area. He slowly turned his head to observe several damaged vehicles spewing smoke into an eerie silence. The dense smoke caused him to sneeze and watered his eyes. Even though he was a cyborg, he was programmed with human characteristics.
A desperate cry of hunger rang from above, capturing his divided attention. He looked to the sky to observe several mutant buzzards circling, waiting their chance to feast on the carnage surrounding him.
Confused and unstable, the Warrior struggled to maintain his balance on one knee. Eventually he stood, although a bit wobbly at first, until the reroute steadied his equilibrium. Several pieces of his wardrobe and synthetic human flesh had been torn from his Olympic structured body, exposing his cyborg parts.
The humans had created him and several others to maintain law and order here on Earth in the year 2228. He was now confused as to why his creators had tried to destroy him and his comrades. After all, they were only doing the job they were programmed to do.
Part of that programming was self-preservation instinct. This and his damaged programming would play a major role in his quest for revenge. In order to survive, he knew he had to eliminate those who had tried to destroy them.
He gathered various cyborg parts from other deceased Warriors scattered a
bout. He appeared to be the only one that was still functional. Perhaps he could gather enough parts to assemble and make functional another Warrior or two. He would then not be alone in his quest for revenge. His creators would soon pay dearly for their betrayal.
...Somebody gonna come undone. Somebody gonna hurt someone, before the night is through. Gonna be a heartache tonight...
*****
Halfway through the baseball game and popcorn, the doorbell rang. I get highly irritated when someone interrupts my ballgame. It always seems to happen right at a most crucial part of the game. Bases loaded, two out, with the tying run at the plate.
“Honey, could you see who it is?” I hollered, as Karen was in another room.
“Okay,” she hollered back.
A few minutes later she came into the ‘Man Cave’. Her face was white as snow as if she had seen a ghost.
She softly said, “You’re not going to believe who it is.”
“Can’t you tell me?” I asked as the pitcher began his windup.
“You wouldn’t believe me. You need to see for yourself.”
Reluctantly, I hit PAUSE on the TV remote and followed her to the door.
There stood a strange looking individual that I recognized, but couldn’t remember from where.
“Dad, we have a serious problem. You must come back to the future!”
EPILOGUE
Surely by now you are convinced that my story derived from some true events in my life blended with my imagination. After all, time travel and being cloned? Most everyone knows that’s totally sci-fi stuff.
But then, there is always the possibility that if Monroe really does exist, he could have manipulated my mind to convince me that my reality is my imagination.
The truth is out there, somewhere. How, when, or if it will ever be exposed is, for now, good material for the X-files.
The Abduction Chronicles Page 26