Then Again

by Rick Boling

  “Reagan? You mean that crummy actor, the one who was governor of California?”

  “Yeah, Ronald Regan. I remember because his election was all tied up with the Iran hostage thing I told you about. The Iranians held the hostages until the election was over then released them, and lot of people thought Carter was defeated because he couldn’t get them released. I think the shooting happened shortly after the election.”

  “Carter only served one term?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “That’s too bad,” she said. “I like Carter. Wait! That means Reagan will be elected in November of 1980, almost three years from now. So we have lots of time.”

  Right. I thought. Lots of time to do something stupid.

  Doris didn’t mention the shooting for a long time after that, which only added to my anxiety. Silence, I knew, did not mean she had forgotten about it; more likely it meant she had something up her sleeve that she didn’t want to talk about yet. Meanwhile, I kept trying to contact Aurie, pleading for advice because Doris’s calculation of the approximate date John was killed had me worried. Ellie and John had been talking about organizing some sort of charity concert tour, and I couldn’t help wondering how that might alter the sequence of events.

  Ellie eventually decided to accept a scholarship to Florida State University, where she could study under the Nobel Prize Winning physicist Paul Dirac. And a week after she passed her driving test, Doris and I stood in the middle of the street, choking back tears as we watched her car disappear into the early morning mist.

  A year had passed since our conversation about John’s assassination, and so many things were happening with the business I had a hard time thinking of anything else. Managing the avalanche of money that accompanied our growth was a full-time job in itself—when I wasn’t sequestered in the office, I was bouncing around like a pinball between stockbrokers and attorneys, or playing golf (which I hated and was no good at) with some politico or corporate bigwig. The job had become … well, a Job, robbing me of the time to do the creative things I enjoyed, and I often found myself entertaining the fantasy of grabbing my guitar and hitting the road. Unfortunately, that would have to remain a fantasy, because by then, too many people were dependent upon me for their livelihood.

  As for doing something about John’s shooting, thoughts of that had been squeezed into a small space at the back of my mind, although they would occasionally tickle my conscience like the irritating buzz of a lone mosquito. I tried to ignore that mosquito, just as I’d tried not to use what little I remembered from my first life to grow the business. I could not, however, stop myself from making suggestions, many of which, I would later realize, had been based on my knowledge of what was to come.

  At my urging, Sam had developed a computer operating system that was challenging Bill Gates’ MS-DOS, and the success of our computer division had spawned an embryonic version of Silicon Valley along the I-4 corridor between Tampa and Orlando. Miniaturization and artificial intelligence were Sam’s top priorities now, and I had convinced him that the next Big Thing would be wireless communication, though I didn’t have any idea how that was going to work or when it would be introduced. I vaguely recalled that some of the earliest cell phones had been made by Motorola, so I suggested he talk to some of his engineer friends over there and see if we might be able to get in on the ground floor of that technology.

  After I made that suggestion, I decided to take a step back and try to evaluate what, if any, impact my foreknowledge was having on the world at large. I had not stolen any specific inventions—I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to, because I didn’t have the technical expertise—however, I had occasionally mentioned concepts and ideas in a broad, simplistic way, and I wondered if that was any different than outright theft. In the early days, when I was deeply involved with the music and production end of the business, I was determined not to use even a hint of the lyrics or arrangements from hit songs I remembered. But my knowledge of trends in the music market had definitely influenced my writing and arranging, and had been an important factor in choosing the artists and songs we produced.

  The more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder if the potential for disaster might be dependent on how heavy-handed my interference was. Perhaps if I didn’t set out to deliberately change the course of world history or profit from what I knew, I wouldn’t be disturbing the space-time continuum enough to cause devastating consequences. The problem—as it had always been—was that I had no way of knowing, nor would I ever know, what the ultimate outcome of anything I did might be. I simply could not predict how far into the future the ripple effects would reach, or what other events they might trigger along the way.

  I tried to talk this over with Doris one afternoon, but her response was the same as always: that I worried too much about things not worth worrying about. No matter how carefully I explained the reasons for my apprehension, she didn’t seem to get it. And when she again brought up the subject of John’s assassination, the discussion threatened to deteriorate into an angry argument. I was too mentally exhausted for another debate, and I finally decided to come clean and tell her about my growing frustration with work.

  “I’m sorry, honey, but I can’t think clearly right now,” I said, pacing back and forth in front of her desk. “This damned business is driving me crazy. I’m feeling trapped, like the walls are closing in on me.”

  “Take it easy, Rich,” she said, coming around the desk and grabbing my wrist. “My God, your pulse is racing. Maybe you should see your dad. You need to have your blood pressure checked and get an EKG. Come on, sit down for a minute.”

  “What I need is to get out of here for a while. I’ll be okay. I just need some space and time to think.” I thought I was putting on a pretty good act, but when I felt my heart pounding and the vertigo set in, I realized what I’d said was true: I did need to get out of there, maybe for good.

  She helped me down into a chair, then knelt in front of me, holding my hands and watching my face. “Your hands are cold,” she said, rubbing my fingers. “And your cheeks are flushed. Please let me call your dad.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, counting to ten before opening them again. “I’m feeling better now,” I lied. “Give me minute, and then I’m going for a walk. A long one. I’m alright, really.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that,” she said. “Anyway, I’m calling your dad and you’re going to see him as soon as he has an opening. And I’m going with you on that walk.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, pointing at the flashing buttons on her phone. “One of us has to be here or there’ll be hell to pay. There’s nothing wrong with me that a little fresh air won’t cure. Go ahead and call Dad if you want. He’ll probably want to run a bunch of tests, so at least that will give me another reason to play hooky.”

  I stood up and waited while she pressed a finger against my neck. “Pulse is better,” she said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m sure,” I said. The vertigo had eased and my heart didn’t feel as fluttery, so I took her by the hand and walked to the door. “Do me a favor and tell Janet to cancel my appointments. Say I was hit by a meteor or something.” I stopped in the doorway and bent to kiss her. “I’ll think about John, and we’ll talk about it again soon. I promise.”

  I knew she would be evaluating my every move, so I turned and walked briskly down the corridor. When I reached the end, I looked back and smiled. “See?” I said. “I’m fine.”

  She shook her head. “You be careful, Ricky,” she said. “I mean it!”

  I did a little dance step, shuffling around the corner, then peeking back and tipping an imaginary hat before making my way toward the nearest exit.

  I had to brush off a couple of engineers who tried to corner me in the hall, and once outside I jogged quickly across the parking lot and headed north along the seawall. Still a little shaky, I slowed to a walk, and by the time I passed the Little League fields, I was
feeling steadier. Half a dozen teenagers were throwing Frisbees in the waterfront park, and a few older couples sat on benches facing the bay, so I hopped down to the narrow swatch of dry land that sloped from the seawall to the edge of the water. Duck walking to stay out of sight, I stumbled through a thicket of sea grapes until I came upon a gnarled tree trunk half buried in the sand.

  A single leaf hung from a tiny branch on the trunk, the last vestige of life clinging to a dying host. And as I sat on the rotting bark a strong feeling of déjà vu came over me. Suddenly, Aurélie’s voice echoed in my head: If I were to speculate, I’d have to say there would be a price to pay. I have no idea what that price would be, but it seems to me you’d have to settle the account sooner or later. I remembered then: we were sitting on a log in the woods behind the villa, talking about what the consequences might be if I used my knowledge of the future to get rich or steal hit songs in my new life.

  “But you haven’t done that, have you Rix?” she said. “Not on purpose, anyway.” It took me a moment to realize the voice was not in my head, and when I turned toward it, there she was, sitting right next to me. I knew it was a hallucination, but that didn’t keep my heart from resuming its impersonation of a Gene Krupa drum solo.

  “Calm down,” she said. “I refuse to take responsibility for another heart attack.”

  “Is that really you,” I asked, reaching out to touch her.

  “Sort of,” she said as my fingers disappeared into her arm. “Sorry, but you can’t touch me. Really sorry, actually. I’m a hologram. Or at least what you’re seeing is a hologram. I’m real, I’m just not here in the flesh.”

  “Far out,” I said, withdrawing my hand and watching my fingers reappear. “But you look …” I was going to say older, but I figured that wouldn’t be very diplomatic. “You look so, uh, solid. Where’s all the flickering and transparency?”

  “You’re thinking of that CGI crap from Star Wars,” she said. “And the answer to your unspoken question is I look older because I am. It’s been over twenty years since you last saw me, remember? I’m fifty-eight now, Rix. Kind of an ironic role reversal, huh?”

  “You look fantastic,” I said, and she did. A little more maturity in her face, a few soft laugh wrinkles around the eyes, but all-in-all the years hadn’t detracted a bit from her beauty. “So, does Heyoka … did you get his permission?”

  “We came to an understanding,” she said. “When I told him you were about to have a stroke from all the anxiety over your workload and your argument with Doris, he caved. He didn’t like the idea, and it took some serious persuading on my part. But you know me. I can be a pretty stubborn bitch when I want to.”

  “That’s great,” I said, reaching for her again, then snatching my hand back. “Sorry, I can’t help it. Can anybody else see you?” I glanced at the seawall to make sure nobody was watching us.

  “Everyone can see me,” she said. “That’s one reason I had to wait until you were somewhere alone and we were not likely to be interrupted. Although now that I think about it, being seen wouldn’t cause much of a stir unless someone tried to touch me.”

  “How long can you stay? I mean, is there a witching hour or something?”

  “This is not a fantasy, Rix. There’s no fairy godmother to enforce a curfew. Heyoka has agreed to let me stay as long as I feel is necessary, but I’ve got a job I have to get back to, so I can’t stick around too long.”

  “Can you come back?”

  “I can, but it’s not going to be easy. Like I said, Heyoka doesn’t like the idea at all. Probably the only reason he gave in this time is because we’ve been developing this interdimensional holographic projection system in the lab, and I convinced him this would be a good time to field test it.”

  “But, if he doesn’t like the idea, why are you developing new systems like this? And, by the way, where is all the research leading? I mean, what’s the ultimate goal?”

  “There really isn’t what I’d call an ultimate goal,” she said. “Nor is this procedure new. We had it in place years ago. We never got around to field testing it because there was no immediate need. Like I told you back at the villa, our plan was to monitor you for a while before we moved ahead with any new experiments. We probably would have finished with the monitoring phase if it weren’t for the fact that you kept doing things that could have a significant negative impact, and we needed to wait and see what that impact would be. Look, I’m not supposed to be talking about this stuff, so we need to move on to you and your problems.”

  “Right. Well, since you’ve been monitoring things, you probably know what’s been going on.”

  “I don’t monitor you twenty-four-seven,” she said. “I have a life to live and other work to do. I check in every so often, and I can always backtrack if I think I might have missed something important. I also have an alarm system that alerts me whenever your metabolism goes haywire, like it did today and when you had that talk with Ellie. I thought you handled the news about Ellie pretty well, by the way. And I don’t think you should worry about her attitude toward falling in love. That will change one day when she least expects it. I just hope it doesn’t take as long as it did for me. If you hadn’t come along I might still be waiting.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Me too. God, I wish I could touch you.”

  “Listen, we need to get off this and talk about some of the things that have been bothering you. For example,” she said, “I don’t think you should do anything to try and save Lennon.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Because Ellie’s presence in his life will be enough to substantially alter his future. Think about it, he never met Ellie in your first life because she didn’t exist. And you know the two of them have been talking about organizing a charity tour with Jackson Brown and some other big-name stars. This will cause significant changes in John’s schedule, so it’s doubtful he will be in the same place at the same time on December 8th, 1980. That’s the date he was shot, by the way.”

  “I have thought about it,” I said. “In fact, I’ve thought a lot about how what’s happened might change things. The problem with your theory is that you’re not looking past the first level of ripple effects. I know you don’t have time to worry about extrapolating all the possibilities, but that’s been my main focus ever since Doris talked me into that harebrained, eleventh-hour attempt to save Patsy. I don’t ever want to do anything like that again without first considering all the things that might go wrong.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Enlighten me.”

  “Well, I don’t have any answers, but the way I see it, the situation is even more problematic than it was before. Just because John might not be there on that date doesn’t mean Chapman won’t still try to kill him. In fact, he was so obsessed with the idea I think we can count on it. And now that we’ve changed John’s future, we no longer know when or where it will happen. To make matters worse, John and Ellie are apparently going to be working closely with each other for some time, and if she is with him when the shooting takes place she could be in jeopardy as well.”

  Thunder rolled in the distance and a few threads of lightning flashed from a rapidly approaching bank of clouds. “Looks like rain,” she said, staring out over the bay. “I don’t know, Rix. You’re right that I didn’t think this through, but there must be millions of possible permutations. And when you consider the way they could intertwine, the variables become almost infinite. We couldn’t possibly predict the scenario that will ultimately emerge.”

  “That’s exactly my point. It’s what I’ve been worried about all along. We apparently lucked out with my dad and Patsy, but now we’re looking at something that could end up getting Ellie killed, and there’s no way to know how to intervene and make sure she’s safe. Forget about John. It’s Ellie I’m worried about now.”

  We watched in silence as the rain moved closer, and when the first drops slapped the sand at our feet, she sighed and shook her head.

  “Pons asinorum,”
she said.

  “Sorry?”

  “It's a term used in Euclidean geometry for the isosceles triangle theorem. Translated from the Latin it means ‘bridge of donkeys.’”

  “Great. That explains everything,” I said, a little angrier than I’d intended.

  “It’s also used as a metaphor for finding the middle term of a syllogism.”

  “Oh, well in that case—”

  “Or to describe a problem that severely tests the ability of an inexperienced person to solve or extrapolate.”

  Running On Empty

  In west-central Florida, afternoon rains do not glide across the landscape like misty bridal-veils; they roll in like giant exploding water balloons, often moving so fast they’re gone before you can open your umbrella. If you have an umbrella. Which I didn’t. This particular downpour emptied the park in a matter of seconds, then passed as quickly as it had come, leaving me drenched and steaming under the late-day sun. Had anyone looked closely, they might have noticed the raindrops disappearing into Aurie as if she were a human sponge, but they were all too busy running for shelter when we scrambled back over the seawall.

  “How do you interact with this environment and make it look so real when you can’t actually touch anything?” I asked as we walked across the wide expanse of grass toward the road.

  “What you’re seeing is a holograph projected from a virtual-reality system,” she said. “I’m wearing a helmet, inside which your environment is visible in 3D all around me. I don’t have to move, I manipulate my virtual double using mental imaging. It’s not perfect—if you watch my feet, you can tell they’re not compressing the blades of grass—but most people won’t notice the flaws.”

  “Awesome,” I said. Another clap of thunder threatened more rain, so I sprinted ahead and started across the street.

  “Where are we going?” she said.