Meridian - A Novel In Time (The Meridian Series)

by John Schettler

  MERIDIAN

  Part III

  The Arch

  “Chaos is the score upon which reality is written.”

  Henry Miller: The Tropic of Cancer

  “Anything in history or nature that can be described as changing steadily can be seen as heading toward catastrophe.”

  Susan Sontag

  7

  Lawrence Berkeley Labs - 1:15 AM

  They made their rendezvous near the theatre and followed the winding route of Cyclotron Road to reach the Lawrence Berkeley Laboratories. Access to the facility was closely guarded, but each of the team members has been cleared long ago. Kelly produced his encrypted access card, rolling down the window and sliding the card through a reader. A camera was filming his face as he squinted through the drizzle of the night at the reader alcove. Somewhere, a computer was running pixels through a recognition algorithm and deciding who he was. It was enough to pass them through the first level of security that surrounded the complex.

  They drove on past the circular dome of the Cyclotron building, and Dorland noted again how the bright, evenly spaced rectangular windows at the base of the dome gave the impression that an immense flying saucer was sitting on the rooftop of an otherwise nondescript building. The lights of the city glimmered in regular rows below them, defining streets that reached out to the dark blue edge of the East Bay, the waters illuminated with the soft amber glow of the city. They made a turn and headed for the lab in the newly renovated Building Complex Number 54.

  A security guard emerged from a small white building on the left, squinting in as Kelly opened the front window to display his ID card. The guard nodded a greeting, almost as if he expected them, for they had been in and out of the facilities there with increasing frequency as the date of their planned project test drew near. Just the same, he checked all four ID cards, and carefully noted each person in the vehicle before he waved them through. They made their way around a bend and climbed the last switchback of roadway to Building 54. The parking lot outside the building was nearly vacant, but Dorland recognized a few of the vehicles as belonging to the Advanced Prep team members. He sighed with relief, glad that a few intrepid souls were still on their night shift standing a faithful watch over the Arch in anticipation of its debut performance on the morrow. They, too, were oblivious to the real implications of the project they were serving. Most were just promising Physics or Math students, serving out assignments they thought might help their post-graduate plans.

  The cover story shielding the real intent of the Arch was that it was simply a test to see if particles could be moved in time, but it was already advanced well beyond that stage. Objects had been sent through the Arch and retrieved intact. Encouraged by their success they tried to send through small mechanical probes with cameras to capture images of the ‘other side.’ These never came back in a functioning state. The fragile electronics would just not work in the intense, otherworldly environment of the Arch. This fueled much of the debate about the long term prospects for success. Clearly things were going somewhere, but there was no evidence to prove they had actually traveled in time. Paul insisted that only a human being could make that determination, but could a person actually move through the arch and yet live? Could a sentient being travel in time, and interact with the past Meridian to change future events? These were the real questions the impending test planned to answer.

  The rain was abating somewhat when they abandoned the Subaru and confronted the third security barrier before gaining entrance to the facility. This time each member had to pass a retinal scan, but at least they were in the outer hall and screened from the rain and cold. Once cleared, the inner doors opened with a click and they rushed through the lab entrance. Paul led the group, walking at a brisk pace with Kelly right behind him, the laptop computer huddled close to his chest and cradled like an infant in his arms.

  “Evening Dr. Dorland.” A bright young graduate assistant that Dorland had enlisted as a project technician greeted them as they burst into the lab.

  “Hello Jennifer, glad to see someone knows we’ve got a project underway here.” Dorland winked at her as they rushed in. “Is the Arch on standby?”

  “Yes, sir. We started warming things up a few hours ago… But with the news and all, I thought—”

  “Turn the generators over, Jen. We’re going to need full power in one hour. Kelly, you want to start the data feed?”

  “I’m on it,” said Kelly, and he was already throwing off his coat and unzipping the satchel that held his laptop.

  Jennifer, the lab assistant, stared from one person to the next, a bit wide eyed to find all four senior team members arriving in the dead of the night. She reached up and removed the MP3 player earphones she had been passing the time with, a bit flustered with the sudden intrusion in the quiet of the evening. She had been hiding from the stream of news events on the radio by playing a few of her favorite songs. Now, as she looked from one senior team member to another, the urgency that was driving the world on finally came home to her. At one point she thought the project would be called off, but now she could see that it was clearly more important than ever. She smoothed back a lock of her medium length hair, trying to gain some sense of composure in the growing haste of the others. “Evening, Professor,” she said to Nordhausen, but Robert was too preoccupied with his thoughts to heed her. “Then we’re still planning the experiment on schedule for tomorrow morning?”

  Maeve rushed into a side room, her arms expanded around an immense bundled laundry bag. Jennifer instinctively went to help her but was intercepted by Paul. “Now Jen,” he tugged on her arm to emphasize his point. “We need the power ramped up ASAP.”

  “Now? But—”

  “Take it to 80% immediately. Is there anyone else on site?”

  “Just Tom, down in the generator room. The storm has been causing a few problems and—”

  “Tell Tom to turn that baby over right away. I want 80% power inside half an hour.”

  “But, sir…”

  The look Dorland gave her was enough to quell her protest. His dark eyes had a determined fire in them, and she surrendered with a confused nod, running off to the far alcove where the intercom enabled quick communication with the generator room. Dorland allowed himself a fleeting glance at her as she went, noting how the swathe of her amber hair caught the light. He always had a fond spot for Jen, and was not surprised to find her on duty tonight with the prep-team, or what was left of it. He knew the others were not due to check in for hours, and there would be no time to get anyone on the phone, particularly on night like this. No, they were going to have to manage with Jen and Tom, and this thought led him to revisit the discussion about who would be going through the Arch on the mission.

  He looked around the room, noting how Nordhausen was already hunched at a desk, his nose buried in his weathered volume of the Seven Pillars. Kelly had the laptop interfaced, working with uncanny reflexive efficiency as he began to fire up the main system monitors. Maeve was in the anteroom, sorting all the clothing they had gathered from the theater wardrobes into neat piles. They had decided to give themselves as many options as possible, finding traditional British Army uniforms that they could wear beneath the more voluminous outer robes and headdress that would be typical of the Arab peoples of the time. This way, their obvious handicap in only speaking English, might be explained if they should run into trouble.

  “What if we run into Lawrence’s men?” Maeve had argued on the way to the facility. “We’ll have to get very close to the place where they will be lying in wait if we are to have any hope of preventing their charge from going off. Has anyone even thought about this? These men were a bit wild and headstrong, weren’t they?”

  “We’ll just have to risk it,” Dorland had said. “The British garb will be our ace in the hole in that event. God help us if we run afoul of the Turks, however.”

  Now, as Paul considered the matter again, he was wondering who should take that risk. There
was no question in his mind that he should go. It was his theory, and his project. Even though it was an awful risk, he felt the burden of responsibility sitting squarely on his shoulders now, and an uneasy sensation began to thrum in his chest as the realization of what they were about to do finally settled in on him. They might get through, he thought. The visitor from the future gave him every indication that they would get through if they tried. But there were still a hundred questions clamoring in his mind, and the greatest of these was the prospect of getting back. Would the retraction algorithm work? How should they set the variables? How much time would they allow? There were so many things they did not know yet.

  He tried to visualize the team of future researchers who had labored to reach them here with their urgent call for help. It took everything they could do, all of their resources, to get a single man back to this time with a message. Imagine the computers they must have used to coordinate things; the power generation capabilities, the general understanding they had of the whole process. Yet, they had missed their target by a full seven years, forcing the intrepid Mr. Graves to wait out the days in a monastery to reach a single, critical moment in time on a rain-slick street corner by the BART station. True, there had been profound interference generated by the Palma Shadow, and they would not have that obstacle to contend with on this side of the event. Yet the Shadow was building itself up even now, gathering strength and shape from each life the tsunami sequence was extinguishing, a great overspreading darkness that promised to swallow them all in time. There might be some interference, even if the way to the past was still open.

  The last words of the visitor replayed themselves in his mind with a growing sense of unease. “A moment exists somewhere in time that can undo the catastrophe that is about to change the entire world. We must find it, and that quickly. We are in the eye of the tempest now. We have less than six hours before the wave-front is scheduled to make first landfall. You have a fully operational Arch ready here, and you must use it tonight.”

  It was almost half past one, and they had less than three hours left to them now. What if something went wrong? What if there was interference from the emerging Shadow of the catastrophe and they ended up in the wrong day, in the wrong month, the wrong year? If they fell short of the target date, they would have to live out the time just as patiently as Mr. Graves had, assuming that was possible. What if they missed the mark by twenty years, thirty years? Paul was in his later forties, reasonably fit, and with good genes. He might live to be eighty or even ninety under normal conditions in the comfort of contemporary American culture. The other team members were close to his same age as well. If they missed the mark by too many years they would be forced to simply live out their lives as best they could in a distant past, with the hope of making it intact to the month of November, 1917. If they missed by fifty years? The prospect of missing on the other side of the target was something he did not even wish to consider.

  He knew they would have to arrive somewhere prior to 1965, for they were all born in the last five years of that decade. If they did miss, or if the retraction algorithms failed, for any reason, they would be doomed. He imagined walking through the Arch and emerging some forty years beyond the target date, in the year 1957 instead of 1917. What would happen to them as they approached their birthdays in the late 1960s? According to his theory, they would have to die in some way, before the date of their actual birth. It was an uncomfortable prospect to consider—all too much to ruminate on now. The variables fought with one another in his mind, confusing him and throwing fuel on the fire of anticipation that was building in his stomach. They had to make the attempt, no matter what the outcome. Someone had to go, and he knew he would be the first to step through the Arch, come what may. Could he do it by himself? Was it necessary to risk the lives of any of the others?

  Nordhausen was up from his reading and rapidly keying something on a computer terminal. Kelly was just completing the data download, feeding the precious Arion calculations into the Arch control unit. Maeve, God bless her, was trying to discretely slip out of her clothing in the ante-room to get into her costume. Lord, could he ever let any of them go? There would be quite an argument if he tried to prevent them. If he somehow prevailed and stepped through the Arch alone, would he ever see any of them again?

  He passed a moment of sentiment, and then steeled himself. He could not be concerned with his own personal feelings now. Kelly and Robert were his closest friends. If he had to lose them to save them, and everyone else in the bargain, he would suffer the burden alone.

  Maeve opened the squeaking door to the ante-room and emerged in British Khaki shorts and blouse. High wool stockings were pulled up to her knees and she was fiddling with a canvas belt and buckle as she came.

  “You’ll need to put on something warm,” said Nordhausen. “It’s raining.”

  “What? We aren’t going out again tonight,” Maeve scolded.

  “No, my dear,” Robert humored her, “It’s raining there, in November of 1917. I just came across the passage in my Seven Pillars. I’ve been double checking it in the meteorological database. It seems they were dismayed by a nice thick winter rain the night of the attack. The ground was quite wet. Mud made for long work as they tried to set the charges and bury the cables.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll still have my Arab clothing on top of this. How do I look?”

  “Wonderful,” said Kelly. “A fine British soldier—except women were just not in the Army back then, Maeve.”

  “I’m a nurse!” Maeve protested meekly. “And that only if we’re discovered. Until then, I can swaddle myself under Meccan shepherd’s dress and hide behind the veil.” She raised a handkerchief to her face to cover her mouth and nose. Her hazel eyes darted about, and it was clear that she was intent on leaping through the Arch at the first opportunity. Her excitement was obvious, but it made Paul all the more anxious.

  “Perhaps we better discuss this a bit,” he ventured.

  “Discuss what?” Maeve had the belt buckle cinched up and was fishing about in the pockets of her shorts.

  “About the mission,” Paul continued. “And about who should go and all…” His voice faded as he finished.

  “Count me in,” said Nordhausen. “And you’re coming along, aren’t you Paul?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Don’t even try, Paul.” Maeve was on to him at once. “If you think I’m going to let the two of you go tramping through history unattended, you’re crazy. Who knows what nonsense Robert may try to pull?”

  “Oh, come now, Maeve,” the professor protested. “Are you still on that Bermuda Pamphlet thing? If there’s anyone here who has a respect for the history, it’s me.”

  “That’s exactly my point!” Maeve forged ahead. “You’ll get back there and you simply know too much about things. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Your curiosity about what you think you know will be overwhelming. You’ll start sticking your nose into things just to satisfy yourself that you were right.”

  “And just what is that supposed to mean?” Nordhausen’s chin jutted at her as he spoke, rising to the fray of the argument.

  “Are you telling me you wouldn’t like to get a peek at Lawrence and his little band of cutthroats? Shakespeare’s desk is one thing, but if you go off and try a little stunt like that you could get us all killed!”

  “Oh, please,” the professor turned away with a peeved expression, intent on his book.

  “But don’t we need a watch on potential Outcomes here, Maeve?” Paul tried another approach, appealing to her logic instead of trying to back her down directly. “Normally it would take several weeks to develop your algorithms for Outcomes and Consequences. Won’t you need to stay here with Kelly and feed those numbers for processing?”

  “What do you mean stay here with me?” Kelly looked up from his terminal and Paul could see that his argument had run into flak immediately. Maeve waved at Kelly to be quiet and took the floor.

  �
�There’s no way I could complete the calculations in time. That’s why it’s imperative that I keep a close eye on the event from the mission end of things. What good are algorithms now? We haven’t done any of the primary research. We’re relying on the date and time from the visitor’s note, and the hope they’ve thought this through for us. No sir, Outcomes and Consequences will have to work its will on the mission end of the project this time. Under normal circumstances I would never even allow a breach like this. Going along is my one chance at assuring myself that the two of you won’t mess things up.”

  “Give her a uniform and she becomes positively adamant.” Nordhausen rallied to Paul’s side. “God only knows what she’d do if we gave her a rifle to go along with that outfit.” He satisfied himself that he had evened the score for a moment and returned to his reading, flipping through the pages of his book.

  “Well?” Maeve let the word become a challenge, daring anyone else to try and prevent her from joining the mission team. “That’s it then. You two had better get undressed. You can’t wear those clothes and we’re running short of time. If I’m not mistaken, Bermuda is going to go under in about fifteen minutes. Get ready!”

  Paul started to say something, but realized it would be futile to try and change Maeve’s mind at this point. In the end, each of them had to decide their own fate in this. Yet a strange thought came to him as he made his way to the anteroom. What if they did try, and they failed? What if all the senior team members went off on a time jaunt and that was the reason no one was able to re-visit the Arch again until the end of the century? He soon realized that this course would doom him to endless reverberations, and he let it go. They had to rely on the integrity of the visitor’s story. If Paradox was going to emerge from this mission, they would have to suffer the consequences. Too much was at stake.