by Michael Dodd
CHAPTER SIX
2125
When the limousine pulled up to the large, gated, Kenwood district mansion, Mick was taken aback by its grandeur. While it was clearly ancient by American standards, its red-brick façade seemed to hover over everything around it. This, Mick thought, was what people used to call, “old money”.
Once the limo had come to a rest, the driver got out and walked around to Mick’s door and opened it, holding it open for him to exit. When he did so, there, standing on the porch of the massive home, was an elderly version of Xylon, smiling from ear to ear.
“Didn’t I just see you a few hours ago?” Mick said as he approached the porch. “You’ve aged quite a bit in a short time.”
Xylon took Mick’s hand and shook it warmly. “Well, that’s the thing about time travel, isn’t it? You can actually die of old age before you’re ever even born.”
Mick looked around and said, “This is one heck of a home you’ve got here. How much did it set you back?”
Xylon smiled and replied, “I live about ten miles from here. This is your home, Mick, and it set me back over 2 million dollars. Come on in and I’ll show you around.”
Once inside, Xylon took Mick on the cook’s tour of his new home. It had seven bedrooms, three fireplaces, an elevator to take you to the second and third floors, an adjacent two-bedroom coach house and a staff of fifteen butlers, maids, cooks, drivers and groundskeepers. It overwhelmed Mick in a way he could not have imagined, while at the same time, overwhelming Xylon’s 85 years by its spaciousness.
Mick could see that Xylon was out of breath and urged him to sit on one of the plush Franklin sofas in the drawing room. Once he’d caught his breath, Xylon continued with more surprises. “Mick, I’ve been able to amass quite a fortune over the last sixty years. As you’ve no doubt already concluded, I was able to assist in stopping the nuclear war of 2070. Hence, because of the changes in the timeline, I didn’t have any direct knowledge of future events. However, I did have enough knowledge of likely future technologies that I was able to invest wisely and assure a comfortable…retirement, as it were.”
“What you’ve done is amazing,” Mick answered, “You’ve saved the world from a nuclear holocaust and given billions of people a second chance. From the looks of this world, they did a pretty good job with it.”
“Well, it’s no paradise; at least, not yet, but it has possibilities,” Xylon said. Suddenly, Xylon began to cough and wheeze. After a few moments he caught his breath and continued. “As you can see, I’m not long for this earth, Mick. The doctors give me about a month.”
Mick interrupted him. “Oh, Xylon, I’m so sorry. Are you sure there’s no treatment?”
“Quite sure, my friend,” Xylon replied th rough stunted breaths. “That’s why I’m leaving everything I have to you in the hopes you can do some good with it.”
“Xylon, you don’t have to…”
“Please,” Xylon said, raising his hand to quiet his young friend, “Don’t interrupt me. Now, I have well over fifty- billion dollars in my personal portfolio and own controlling interest in one of the largest software companies in the world. The papers have already been drawn up and my will is ironclad. The moment I die, you inherit every asset I own and immediately become the CEO of MJ Technologies.”
“MJ? What does that stand for?”
“Mick Jagger, of course,” Xylon said with a smile of satisfaction. “I’ve been planning this for a long time.”
“I’d love to hear about all you’ve done since you’ve been here,” Mick said, leaning back on the couch. “How did you manage to stop the war? How did you live your life after you’d accomplished your mission? Did you ever marry? Have children? Did you ever find Juno?”
“Well, you don’t ask much do you?” Xylon said, resting back, displaying a lifetime’s smile that was eighty per cent satisfaction and twenty per cent bitter sweet. “It wasn’t easy to convince the President of the United States that I wasn’t some kind of a crackpot, but eventually he came to believe that I was for real. Here’s how it happened…”
Once the President finished speaking with Xylon, he concluded the talks with the President of Canada and the Prime Minister of the New United Kingdom. Canada agreed to become the fifty-second, third, fourth, fifth and fifty-sixth states in a now humongous United States of America. This gave President Wooten an extraordinary amount of new clout with the rest of a troubled world.
Xylon suggested that, for the sake of humanity’s future, the President find a way to extend his administration into a third term and keep his steady hand on the American tiller until the danger had passed. That moment occurred when the “Great Conciliator” managed to call for an emergency global conference with the leaders of the six “superpowers” of the time—United States, New United Kingdom, South American Union, Europe, China-India Alliance and the Pakistan-Iranian-Arab Pact—in which he convinced them that global thermonuclear war was not in anybody’s best interest. After certain territorial disputes were ironed out, the six leaders returned to their empires, content that they had nothing to fear from their neighbors.
It was agreed that if any one of the six remaining empires attacked another, that the remaining five would come to their aid. Also, it was agreed that no two “empires” could enter into talks with another without representation from the other four. In this way, no secret cabals could be formed.
By August 12, 2070, the day the nuclear war had begun in the previous timeline, the planet earth was enjoying what could only be described as, peace on earth. As a matter of fact, there were literally no disputes on any continent, anywhere in the world. The consolidation of power into the hands of six governments had made it possible to nip small conflicts in the bud before they became raging regional or global wars. At the same time, the fact that global power was not in the hands of only one government kept everyone in check because no one had the unlimited power to act as a global god.
Xylon had accomplished his mission and now he was a free man. But, what to do? Where to go? It was the year 2070 and he was now thirtyyears old. Juno wouldn’t even be born for another thirty years and he doubted they could have much of a relationship at that time, with her unable to eat solid food and all. When she was eighteen, he’d be seventy-eight; not likely to lead to a romantic relationship. Besides, she’d have a different name, have lived a different life, and have no memory of his existence. No, he’d made his bed and now he had to sleep in it. He only prayed that the changes he’d managed to make in the timeline would allow her to live a much happier life than the one she’d known before, even without him.
With the help of President Wooten, he had managed to acclimate himself to life in 2070 America. This included a Georgetown condominium, a ten-million dollar stipend from the US government—ostensibly, for services rendered to a grateful nation—and a new identity. With the latter, came a new social security number, birth-certificate and cover story.
His new name was Michael J. Xylon. He was now born in Chicago, Illinois on September 16, 2040. His parents were killed in an automobile accident when he was a child, leaving him to be raised in an orphanage. He’d managed to get a GED though home schooling and had since made a living through some type of internet businesses, though that part was intentionally left vague. His large bank account was left to him by a rich relative of his deceased father. Now, it was time for “Michael” to spread his wings and begin a new life in a time long before his birth and in a place he had almost personally re-created.
Michael Xylon was not only a man out of time; he was a man out of work. While money was not a concern, he had no intention of resting on his monetary laurels for the rest of his life. He’d always been a man with a purpose, if not a dream. Now, in this new world he’d helped to create, he could step above his small cubical in Omni and dream the dreams of avarice, or at least, the dreams of
accomplishment. Now, what should he hope to achieve?
He rolled out of bed and went to the kitche
n. It was a warm, August morning in Georgetown and the sun was beginning to peak through the cracks in his dark-blue kitchen curtains. In the five years he’d spent in this new reality, one of his favorite things to do in the morning was make breakfast for himself. His routine had gotten down to a science: Open the refrigerator; grab two eggs, milk, bacon and the tub of butter. Pull out the frying pan, put in the butter, crack the eggs, toss a couple strips of bacon in another frying pan and pop two pieces of wheat bread in the toaster. Then, pour a large glass of orange juice. Once the eggs, bacon and toast were done, he’d sit at his kitchen table and read the Washington Post.
“Michael” loved reading newspapers. Th ere was so much information, which in the world he’d come from was denied him: information about local, state, national and global politics and news, weather forecasts, sporting events and results—Omni had no sports; Michael was becoming a big fan of baseball and football—sales at local stores, puzzles, games, advice columns, want-ads, comic strips, editorials, and various other articles that would have been unthinkable in Omni.
It was only now becoming clear to Michael that he was an individual and not part of a massive organization which concerned itself with the “greater good”. He could make his own decisions about his life, where he lived and what he did with his time. It was all a bit overwhelming for a man that only five years before had known nothing but obedience to the governing order and fear of its power over him.
He could get married. He could have children of his own. He could start his own business. He could drive his own car wherever he wanted. He could travel. Go on a cruise. He could get a dog. (Boy had Michael come to love dogs.) He could go to college. He could run for office. In fact, if he really wanted to, he could eventually become the President of the United States. Wow! What a great place to live.
He felt a moment of sadness that Juno could not be here with him to experience all this for herself. Of course, when her time came to be born, she would live in this society and enjoy its many freedoms—just not with him.
He sighed.
Tired of feeling sorry for himself, he decided to take a walk. He strolled down S street NW until he came to Dumbarton Oaks Gardens and took a seat on a park bench. From here he could watch the people walking their dogs. He got a real kick out of the relationship between dogs and people. He usually carried a small bag of bread crumbs for the birds, but today he’d forgotten it.
It amazed him just how many breeds of dogs there were. Great Danes were larger than people; yet, toy poodles could be carried in one’s handbag. He was equally fascinated by cats, though not as attracted to them personally. Neither had even existed in the world he’d known before.
One other thing drew him to the park on a regular basis: women. Not just the fact that women frequently strolled, jogged or walked their dogs here; but, the way they dressed was a real treat for Michael’s lonely eyes. In Omni, women were simply dressed and fully covered. There was never even a hint of exposed flesh or a clue as to the actual shape of the woman’s body. Here, women walked around in short-shorts, short-dresses, tight pants or even bikinis. It was all very exciting for a man who’d never seen such open displays of sexual transparency.
Of course, Michael had no idea what to do about it. His experience had never lent itself to approaching attractive women and asking them out on dates. He wouldn’t have the first clue as to what to say or even how to go about it. He’d watched a lot of television and seen a lot of male-female dating and mating rituals, but always felt as if he were watching aliens. The very idea that he could approach a woman in that manner was laughable. If he were to ever get involved with a woman, the meeting would have to come by chance.
Today was Michael’s lucky day.
Lost in thought, Michael didn’t notice the vision of beauty approaching his bench behind her leash-led German Sheppard. When her right foot landed awkwardly on the curb, her ankle twisted violently inward, causing her distal fibula to fracture. This, of course, resulted in her hitting the pavement with a bang and screaming out in pain. “Oh, my God!” she called out, ostensibly to her Creator, though she was not mindful of Him.
Michael looked to his left as he was brought out of his funk by her scream. At first, he was startled by her fall and concerned as she reached in agony for her ankle; yet, in a moment’s time, he also noticed how stunningly beautiful she appeared to be.
Her long, tanned arms clutched her right ankle, which was noticeably connected to a long pair of legs. From there it just got better and better as his eyes inched their way up, past her shapely bottom, her bare midriff with a bellybutton ring—Michael was wholly unfamiliar with them— her half-hidden breast and the long, flowing sandy-blonde hair that draped her shoulders on either side. While her facial features were preoccupied with pain, the form of her facial contours was startlingly striking. Her dog was lying before her, licking her other foot.
Apparently, Michael had spent a little too much time admiring the woman’s form and not enough time assisting her. She made a point of alerting him to that fact.
“Excuse me!” she called out, causing Michael to break out of a second, dazed state, “Are you gonna stare at me all morning or help me to that bench?”
“Oh,” Michael said, now rushing toward her, “I’m sorry! I must have been lost in thought.” He came to her side and knelt by her ankle. He could see that the lateral malleolus was swollen significantly. “Here, let me help you to the bench,” he said, as he leaned down so she could put her arm over his neck.
A few moments later, she was sitting on the bench, howling about her swelling, painful ankle. “It’s broken, I know it,” she moaned. “Now what am I gonna do?”
The dog was oblivious to her master’s pain and sat quietly, panting in happy enjoyment of a beautiful morning. Michael couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and pet the dog. “Boy, this is a beautiful dog. Is it a German Sheppard?”
Not plea sed with his choice of diversions, she said, “Can we figure out what to do about getting me to the hospital and less on how pretty my dog is?”
Again, Michael came to his senses and to her aid. “Well, I don’t have a car,” he said, trying to mull over what to do.
“My car’s right over there,” she said, point ing just behind her. She reached into her fanny pack and pulled out her keys. “Would you mind pulling it over here and driving me to Georgetown Hospital?”
“Well, you see,” Michael said with some
embarrassment. “I don’t have a driver’s license.”
After giving him an odd look, she said, “That’s okay! They won’t give you a ticket if you’re helping someone in an emergency!”
“Well, you see, I don’t know how to drive a car,” he said, sure she would consider him a loser.
She just looked at him. When he didn’t offer an explanation, she said, “Who doesn’t know how to drive a car?”
“It’s a long story,” he said. Then, getting up with some urgency, said, “I’ll go find you a cab,” and he scurried off.
One hour later, Michael found himself sitting in the waiting room of Georgetown Hospital’s emergency department, waiting for word—he still didn’t know her name—if she would be okay. Soon, a young nurse pushed through the double door and walked directly over to him.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said, “Are you the man that brought Ms. Miller in here?”
Michael didn’ t know her name was Miller, but assumed the nurse must have seen him with her and nodded his head.
“Well,” the nurse said, “she has a spiral fracture of the distal fibula. They’ve put her in a cast and are doing a post reduction xray to be sure it’s in good alignment. She should be ready to go home in about fifteen minutes”
Michael wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with that information, considering he did not know the woman and was reasonably sure she would not wish for him to take her home: not that he could anyway. He just nodded again, and thanked the nurse who turned and walked back through the
double doors.
Suddenly, he remembered the dog. In the rush to come in, he’d tied the dog to a bicycle rack outside. He immediately got up and went to check on the dog. Once outside, he could see that the dog was quite happy and lying in the shade in the hospital’s portico. For the next fifteen minutes he sat beside the dog and petted her, enjoying the feel of the dog’s coat and the pleasure the dog was deriving from the experience.
“Well, I see you and Sparky a re getting along pretty well.” The voice came from behind him. It was a voice he was now familiar with. He turned and smiled. “Just wanted to make sure she was okay,” he said as she wheeled herself out by herself.
“You like dogs, don’t you,” she said, pulling up beside them both.
“It just amazes me how people and dogs are such good friends. I had no idea,” he replied, blissfully unaware how odd he sounded.
“You didn’t know that people and dogs were friends?” she asked, “You know, you’re one of the strangest men I’ve ever met. What’s your story?”
What was his story? How was he supposed to answer a question like that? “Why do you say that?” he asked, opening up a whole can of worms.
“You don’t know how to drive a car and you seem surprised that dogs and people get along together. That’s pretty weird, wouldn’t you say. Don’t tell me, you’re from another planet, right?” She laughed as she said this, giving Michael the impression that she didn’t actually believe it. If she knew the truth, however, she wouldn’t be laughing.
Michael got up and walked towards the street. “I’ll get you a cab,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll want to get home and rest.”
When the cab pulled up, Michael help the driver load her into the back seat along with Sparky. “You know,” he said, “I don’t even know your name.”
She smiled and said, “It’s Cindy Miller and this is Sparky. What’s your name?”
“Michael,” he said, “Michael Xylon.”
“Michael Xylon? Are you sure you aren’t from another planet. Xylon sounds like a great name for an alien.” “Hey lady, can we wrap this up? I’ve got other fares!” the cab driver gruffly called out.