“Colin, I’ll have Rita Drocman from my office in Geneva get with you via email to organize flight arrangements and shipping priorities for the project.”
“Right, sir. Any idea when we will be in Geneva?” Colin asked sheepishly, not wanting to push but anxious for an answer on behalf of Ethan as well as himself.
“You’ll have a charter from Heathrow the morning of the twenty-fifth. Rita will bring you up to speed this week.”
“Thank you.” Colin glanced at Ethan who’d momentarily closed his eyes while lost in thought, perhaps lost in the concept of time itself.
As the gentlemen stood and shook hands with one another, it was clear to Ethan that this incredible opportunity was upon him. The entire meeting had been surreal. His research was no longer a pen and paper affair, no longer relegated to the realm of the cerebral, no longer a figment of imagination. It was manifesting, taking form, shape-shifting, morphing into a new reality. It was made tangible with one meeting. It was happening, after all. Anson collected the files and recording device from the table, leaning in towards Ethan and Colin once more.
“I have a few things to attend to over at The Valley. I’m hoping we can all meet later on at The House sometime around four o’clock?”
“Yes, right. Four o’clock then at The House.” Ethan shook the hand of a friend and colleague, yet felt humbled in the presence of the great Dr. Anson Van Ruden.
The two men once more shook the hands of their counterparts as Anson ushered the other four members out the door, following behind them. “The House” he had spoken of was the popular Oxford pub off of Blue Boar Street, a faculty favorite. Anson’s thick Swedish accent could not conceal his intentions, to share a few pints with them in celebration and, in some way, a preparation for the weeks and months ahead. As the door closed, a moment of serenity settled into the silence of the air. The two remaining men altered their blank gazes from the door toward each other. Colin and Ethan stood there like statues made of stone, allowing time to lapse of its own accord as the consequence of the meeting was absorbed. Mount Vesuvius had nothing on Colin. He spontaneously erupted, spewing forth a yell that undoubtedly could be heard across campus! Reminiscent of two soccer fans seeing England win the World Cup, Colin jumped into Ethan’s arms, wrapping his legs around his torso like a toddler clinging to his mother. Ethan embraced Colin as they reveled in pure, unbridled joy. Rapidly losing his grip to the force of gravity, Ethan yelled, as well:
“Col? I’m falling. Col? I’m losing my balance.....Colin!”
And down they went.
Journal entry ˜ 25 August 2020
Colin and I landed in Geneva earlier today. Their private jet was all about the publicity, pomp and circumstance. I would have flown commercial or taken a boat to get here, as long as I eventually arrived. The onboard meal was quite a delicacy, though. We were then chauffeured to our private quarters on the LHC property. As living conditions go, this is meager, no doubt typically reserved for full-time staffers who are living abroad, away from their families.
For the past week, contrary to Colin’s persistent attempts to distract me and to continue the celebration started at the pub with Anson, I’ve now revisited all of my research and historical timelines relating to my Scope mission project. Anson was spot on when he said I knew all of my materials and would perceive my research to be flawless, but that is reason enough for the redundancy, reexamining the minutia in all things relating to this time jump. I’m reluctant to take for granted that nothing was missed in my work. There’s always something.
A surgeon sees the operation in his head prior to the first incision. An Olympic skier navigates the imaginary slopes in preparation for the physical actions. I, too, over and over in my mind have walked the streets of Whitechapel. I have also visited these narrow passages personally in my physical form a multitude of times to gather a first person perspective of the crime scene locations and potential vantage points from which I may covertly observe, a witness to the savage slayings that eventually came to be known as the “Autumn of Terror”.
There is a sense of anticipation, of exhilaration in my body for what is to come. There is also a need for justice to be done, the mystery solved for the victims whose assailant was never truly named. Speculation about him being a physician, my best disguise in order to gain any necessary access to research and medical records, it suits me well. The Consortium has acquired all the credentials, attire, instruments and currency of the era so that I may more easily blend with the time and its people. Into the breach I go with a sense of social invisibility, merging with the background, with walls and streets in shadows cast by oil lamps, wearing my cloak of obscurity. I’ll be able to witness, document and report the true identity of Jack the Ripper.
***
During the week leading up to his Flicker jump, there came a point (at the tip of a needle) when Ethan had lost his identity as a well-educated, level-headed Scope and was transformed into a veritable pin cushion, covered in puncture wounds. It was necessary to immunize candidates prior to their time travel events. In this case, it was specifically for the prevention of disease, pathogens associated with late 19th Century London. He needed to have an innocuous journey so the research could go on uninterrupted by sickness which could restrict him to a bed or worse, hospitalize him, exposing Ethan to the barbaric conditions of medicine in that archaic era. Even upon return he’d face an onslaught of sharp syringes during a customary quarantine period, test procedures mandatory, including numerous prophylactic inoculations. Scouring his blood to ensure he had not become infected, thus protecting everyone involved, Ethan expected to open a vein when he stepped back through the portal. Without stringent oversight, time travelers could return contaminated, conceivably unleashing an epidemic comparable to the Black Plague.
Flicker project participants and Consortium staff administration were all housed in the facility about twenty minutes off the LHC property, located at CERN. Setigny, Switzerland was where all the other pre-project examinations, conferences, testing, scoring and staging were conducted. Once their Candidate Program was introduced (after the Van Ruden incident), the FTCOC explored all conceivable contingencies. They’d left nothing to chance. Everyone felt quite confident there was nothing The Consortium failed to cover prior to the final approval stage, including that meeting Ethan had at Oxford in the basement of a museum.
There would be one more “final” meeting, this one with their staff psychiatrists. A formality for Ethan yet, an imperative inquiry regarding any issues related to the jump, ranging from phobias to his moral stance on the project, it was an interview that had to be conducted. No stone left unturned, they had to know beyond a doubt that Ethan could emotionally handle watching five women being butchered on the streets of Victorian London. He’d have to be prepared to hear them scream, crying for help, yet remain stoic, making no attempt to intervene on their behalf. It would be tough to stomach were it not for the years of mental conditioning, programming a Scope to understand his role in conjunction with the natural timeline. There’d be no interaction with a killer or his victims, no temptation to rescue them or forewarn local authorities. To do so would be a blatant breach of the continuum, presumably resulting in severe ramifications for an unknown future. Logic had proved to be the ultimate dictator, demanding proper scrutiny of the project, start to finish.
For years, Ethan had been exposed to surgical autopsy photographs and videos, having access to cadaver research from the medical college at Oxford University. Anything and everything they’d brought to bear was introduced to desensitize him to such an extent, he’d learned to process events like a trauma surgeon would assess a patient. No panic, no reaction to the victim, just initial observations. The analogy ends at the point when the examination begins and the surgeon plunges in to assist in saving a life. Ethan had only one option, to stand back and watch someone die.
The concept was uncomplicated. Ethan was trained to look at these events as if peering at images projected
onto a movie screen. It worked. He readily dissociated himself from the characters involved, what he witnessed, so to preserve the integrity of its recorded history. In his mind, these were images captured on film, unalterable, not real. He’d found he could remain detached, unemotional when confronted with such macabre pictures. Every effort was made to eliminate the element of surprise, every angle approached with purpose, to compel Ethan (or any other candidate) to comprehend the laws of physics as they pertained to the timeline. Non-interference was the law of the land. Breaking it came with a permanent penalty.
For Ethan, his certainty of duty, strict obedience to “the law” was unquestioned. He understood the rule and his role right from the start, before submitting a petition. His entire project proposal was predicated upon the non-interference directive. All his field trials at The Valley were based on this rule of law, yet he remained steadfast in a multitude of run-throughs, never once a waiver, adhering to his responsibilities not to respond. Everyone involved in the project had the utmost confidence in this candidate. There wouldn’t be an event such as what Anson Van Ruden encountered, no episode akin to the Cox Paradox. Ethan would not freeze at the portal, unable to initiate the mission. The only thing icy was the blood in his veins, a rigid resolve to complete the mission assigned: raw research, observation and documentation. From a psychological standpoint, he was ready to go.
The Medical Department took him to task long before he arrived in Switzerland. After the incident with Anson, The Consortium deliberately implemented a protocol to expose any weaknesses in their candidates. As a Scope, Ethan was subjected to the SERE Program: Survival – Evasion – Resistance – Escape. Designed by the U.S. Navy Seals, it was grueling, nothing short of a test of will, pure human endurance. Though he’d always been an active man, Ethan was no athlete. This element of the training proved to be the most trying for him. He barely made it through. There was no pass or fail. Instead, it was an evaluation technique, its results turned over to The Consortium to be factored into their final decision, approval or rejection of a Scope. In the event of detection, they needed to know he could make his great escape back to the portal and back to the future without collapsing from exhaustion. Had Ethan’s Flicker proposal involved documentation of Moses crossing the desert, he may not have made it out-of-committee. Taking into consideration that this project required little more than hiding, biding his time in the shadows of a few Whitechapel alleys, he was perceived to be safe enough, at relatively low risk of overexertion.
For the past three days, Ethan proceeded through every interview and examination The Consortium threw his way. He was now just twenty-two hours from the jump. Isolated within his austere surroundings, the room was drab, dreary. Military gray floors and steel blue walls. Ethan reclined on his bed, eyes closed, walking through the foggy alleys of London as he had physically done a hundred times before. He’d visualized the murders, bearing witness through countless photographs and reports burned into memory describing the crime scenes in all their lurid detail. It brought to light how important the redundancy factor and these mental exercises were, after all. He would not react counter to his training once the event went live. Still, it was surreal, pondering the events about to unfold, the historical unveiling. Being one of the first human beings in history capable of traveling back through time, from this first person perspective, he’d actually witness the grotesque murders committed in 1888 by someone who remained nameless, who’d come to be known worldwide as Jack the Ripper. His reflection was abruptly disturbed by a knock on his door.
“Open.” Ethan declared.
The knob turned, the door cracking slightly open before a familiar face appeared like a bodiless apparition sliding through the opening. Colin had come to call.
“You decent?”
“Well, if I’m not, you’ll be the first to know!” Ethan was in high spirits.
Colin stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Not one to be lost for words, there was an awkward silence, nervousness in the air not unlike a first date scenario where two people begin sizing each other up, not yet knowing if they had a connection on any level. Sliding his hands into his pockets, Colin wasn’t Colin.
“Hey.”
“Hey?” Ethan returned the word with an equally curious tone.
“How...how are you feeling, P?”
“Alright Col, you know, all things considered. Perhaps even excited. You?”
Colin moved further into the small quarters, rubbing on the top and back of his short cropped blonde hair. He appeared to Ethan as if he was about to attend some sort of support group meeting where he’d reluctantly disclose an addiction, a secret he had kept hidden for years. Pulling the desk chair from its place beneath the metal table, positioning himself aside the bed Ethan was laying on, he sat with his hands together in prayer form, wedged between his knees. Taking one deeply heavy sigh, it appeared Colin was avoiding any eye contact between them.
Ethan immediately sensed uneasiness in Colin’s demeanor. Having been close for so long does tend to lend privilege to unspoken communication on many levels in many different situations but this was new to both of them. It didn’t fit any of the previous models they’d encountered over the years. Ethan felt it pertinent to entice Colin to verbally define the reason for his awkward posture.
“Come Colin, don’t dillydally. What’s on your mind, mate?”
Colin continued to silently stare at the floor for a few seconds more, then, turned his sight toward Ethan. “Why?” Colin paused for a moment. “Why do we feel this compulsion to fray the edges of reality? Why do we challenge the borders of sanity with the risks we take? What is this madness we pursue, thinking that we can be so arrogant as to control forces of nature in the enormity of time?” Colin turned in his seat, facing Ethan directly. “Why – when there are so many wonderful mysteries to explore on this side of the doorway you are about to walk through, P, the Universe, the ocean’s depths, women, the mountains, the valleys...the women?”
“Col?” Ethan interrupted. “You said women twice.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Colin flashed a quirky grin, raising an eyebrow with his tone of voice. “I rather like women.”
Ethan turned his horizontal frame on its left side, propping his head atop his left hand. “Seriously, what are you trying to tell me?”
“I’m scared!” Colin exclaimed. “I’m scared that we both submitted our petitions around the same time and that my number will be called next.” Colin slumped back in the chair. “I’m scared I’m going to fuck it up.”
“Oh, c’mon Col, you’re just...”
Colin put his hand up, interrupting the thought. “Ethan. I wish...no, I want you to take over with my trial when you come back.”
Ethan immediately sat up, facing Colin head on but before he could speak, Colin jumped in deeper with his heartfelt plea.
“Please. Hear me out. I may present myself as, I don’t know, a man of the world, confident with the ladies, well-educated in many aspects...”
Ethan smiled. “I was just going to say that.”
Leaning in towards Ethan once more, he continued. “I don’t want to be the next bloody Van Ruden incident or Cox Paradox. I can see it now. Bishop’s Blunder!”
“Nonsense Col, now you’re just being paranoid.”
“Yes, exactly! You’re not even on the board of evaluations and can see through my façade. I do not have your stoic nature. You are the poster child for this project, personally groomed by the ‘great and powerful’ Anson Van Ruden to guarantee the future of this research program. There is not a single aspect of this jump you haven’t considered and conquered. You’re about to go through Flicker and spend fucking months in the past tracking Jack the Ripper! And you’re about to witness multiple bloody murders and document them as it happens and you act as calm and collected as if you were going on fucking holiday! I do not have that fortitude, P. I’m fooling everyone, including myself.”
“Not me.” Ethan smiled empathi
cally, his sincerity felt as he placed a hand onto Colin’s stooped shoulder, a compassionate gesture of encouragement among men.
“Only because I told you.” There was despair in his voice. That would not do.
“Col, I have those same fears.” Dropping his voice along with his eyes, Ethan’s plan went off without a hitch.
“Really?”
“No!” Incredulous in tone, any tension shared was released with their laughter. Ethan leaned back again relaxing on the bed. “Look mate, you’re here as my second in command, my support system. It begs logic that you’d be having delivery pains with me and for me. Sympathy pains. It’ll pass when I pass through the Flicker.”
Colin stared, listening intently, as if trying to comprehend a new language.
“You’re not me,” Ethan continued, “but you’re projecting, trying to labor your emotions through my project. Problem is, you do not know my jump-research the way I do, so your uncertainty is translating into emotions about your project.”
“Sorry I didn’t have smart food for breakfast. I nuked a bowl of sauerkraut.”
“Well, that explains a lot!” Ethan raised his eyebrows insightfully.
“What are you getting at, mate?”
Explaining further, momentarily holding his nose barring any pathogens, Ethan continued. “If your trial was approved first, I would feel the same way. It is healthy and expected by the panels. They prefer a little self-doubt to cocky overconfidence. From the inception to completion of our projects, our brains are working overtime. I am always working it over in my mind, thinking on my feet. You, too? How well do you know your Flicker project?”
“I go through it in my fucking sleep.”
“Do you know every angle and false step, every precaution?”
“Intimately.” With renewed vigor, Colin slowly sat up higher in the chair, as if being lifted by some unseen force. His expression went from lost in the dark to the proverbial light bulb going off.
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