In A Flicker

by George R. Lopez

  “Yet, I’d be terrified.” Ethan confessed, sitting upright, placing his hands on the shoulders of his confidant. “Colin, this is my woman. I know her every nuance, each and every aspect of her personality. I know her body and her soul. I know her heart. I’m comfortable with her. She’s unique just as your woman is unique and...”

  “...and hot!” Colin added for emphasis.

  “Yes Col! Very hot! I’d be nervous to even be in the same room with her, much less make love to her.”

  Colin suddenly thrust Ethan’s hands off of his shoulders then stood up with his hands planted on his hips. “You bugger! I can’t believe you’d fancy my woman!”

  Ethan stood in counterpoint. “Well, she is hot. C’mon, Col, give us a kiss.”

  They began wrestling in their lighthearted way, eventually leading to the kind of machismo hug men give each other, avoiding the slightest hint of emasculation.

  It was an unspoken conceit from Colin, to admit to his foolish fears, to concede that Ethan was absolutely right in his assessment of the situation.

  “Fucker.” Colin used the vulgarity as a common term of endearment.

  “Fucker back.” Ethan used it as punctuation.

  Journal Entry ˜ 28 August 2020

  This is my final entry before my jump which is scheduled in less than two hours. The moment of truth. How interesting to note on the eve of a jump back in time that the time since meeting with Anson at Oxford, until now, has seemingly sped up in total opposition to the timeframe prior as I waited for it to happen.

  I am ready. I have been ready for weeks, for months. For years. Where my mind goes is to the intangibles. Does it mean Colin was right about uncertainty? Not in the least. For me there is nothing about the jump I am not ready for and then some. I think more so about the science of this endeavor. There have been myriad tests, so many jumps confirming the Flicker’s stability and continuity. The Consortium and LHC teams have perfected the exactness of the duration and direction of the doorway. I cannot stop, however, dwelling upon the forces we are trying to harness. Can this be the day that, as I walk through the portal, some sort of cataclysmic, unforeseen alignment shift in physics occurs and all of my molecules explode? My thoughts also go on to the return point. In two months I will be finished with my research and return to the area where the gateway will be waiting for me. What if, during those months, there is a global war or a natural disaster that debilitates the Flicker permanently? It is not about my survival in the slightly more primitive time of London or, in fact, the world. I have the distinct advantage of knowing the times intimately well, a crystal ball of sorts, having both the privilege and the curse of being a being from a future time. It would mean having to watch every step, every action for the rest of my life, constantly having to be on guard, knowing the slightest historical involvement from me would create ripple effects on the future timeline in an undeniable, unknowable way. I would have to disappear or die to assure events didn’t change due to my presence in the past, my existence. Existence is a bigger concept, a word of consequence, of greater weight when you are about to hold that word in your hands. As a schoolboy I read about earlier, simpler times in London. As a child, your imagination is enough wonderment to fill the Universe and never have to violate anybody or anything for answers because all was there to savor in the simplicity of thought. Nothing and no one to be responsible for, I’m just trying to peer into my future trip to examine the past.

  ***

  Ethan was never one for church, in spite of the fact that he’d found monuments erected to God amazing, a testament to mankind’s imagination. He worshipped the genius of creativity, admired achievements in majestic architectural design, edifices built as places to gather in devotion to the Almighty, including structures at Oxford. Certainly there was faith, perhaps on a more practical scale. God, for Ethan, was an ideal. As a university man, so much of the literature on the subject of the Supreme Being was available to him. He understood the ideology of religion and its power, constructive and destructive to cultures which have risen and fallen by the faith they supported. His inspiration came in walking those hallowed halls.

  There was a foundation to his belief system that was a variation of forced-logic. Having accessed so much on the subject throughout his academically driven life, it seemed self-evident from his educated perspective, leading to a conclusion that the evidence that God exists is inarguable. For those who’d dispute God’s existence, it was Ethan’s scholarly way to meekly inquire, “Why?” In having faith, a belief that there is an all-seeing, all-knowing being, guidance from the heavens above, perhaps humanity could comprehend existence, overcome fear then achieve understanding. There was a certain solace in the feeling that there was someone who would always be playing a supportive role behind the scenes of life. As a pragmatist, having faith seemed to him, logical, far more astute, more beneficial to body and soul than not.

  In the time remaining before his jump, as part of the time allotted by the project powers that be, Ethan used this personal time for reflection. Speaking with himself internally, addressing the depth of his own faith, it became incumbent upon him to reconcile the science with spirituality, what it meant during this insightful hour and beyond, in the magnitude of the moment to come. He had found peace long ago, so his humble prayers covered any intangible issues before departure. At the doorway there would a clergyman present, someone to bless and release him to the journey; the striking similarity to The Last Rites before execution was a little bit unsettling. Leave it to superstitious banter, a necessity for “public relations”. To have someone of the cloth on hand would avoid any atheistic accusations by the press.

  Now to address the press, something Ethan knew was forthcoming, dreading an inevitable encounter at the facility. Since the launch of the LHC there had been film documentation during particle acceleration tests. Much of their funding for Flicker was motivated by footage captured during sequential modifications, tests leading up to an introduction of the Scope candidates. Those given press access were hand selected by Anson and other top brass as well as LHC directors for their credibility and prior security clearance / access background. If the military cleared these men and women they were on the recording team, allowed to disseminate the report only after a Scope had returned from the jump and the event was concluded, to keep any disastrous incidents in-house. God forbid something went amiss, the slightest detail misconstrued, any and all opponents of “Flicker” would bring to bear everything in their arsenal to force the program to permanently shut down.

  Thus, the ineludible requirement for the Flicker trials on the outskirts of Oxford. Every aspect of event preparation thought then rethought with a surgical precision and exacting calculations, it was a process, a prime example of the phrase “no stone left unturned” in search of scenarios. The poorest of analogies is Lamas classes for the most important “labor” in the history of science. The world would be watching the film of this birth. Ethan would be the newest to breach and all of his family felt confident he would come out the other side head first, ready for the world in 1888. Ethan preferred to think of it in terms of a familiar sports metaphor, as the pressure brought to bear was no different than telling a coach if he did not have an undefeated season he’d be terminated. The stress rested squarely on Ethan’s shoulders. He was the quarterback of this game, left to his own devices to make calls on the field.

  Time to close the journal and lock it away, In fact, anything from “present day” had to be left behind. Draped on the desk chair was the 19th Century suit he’d wear for the jump. The Consortium provided Ethan considerable currency from that time period, generously donated from collectors around the world for this specific event. It was intended to be used for additional period clothing as well as perishables and living accommodations, enough funding to sustain him for months.

  Resting on the floor beside the desk was his medical bag. An authentic antique, it contained all the expected instruments and his corresponding creden
tials. These items, pristine and protected from time by the keepers of antiquities, most of which were likely purchased from a high-end auction house. Each was part of someone’s collection, all to present the visage that Ethan was a visiting physician to old world London. In duality, a new false identity was value added, providing accessibility to prohibited areas of medical facilities which may or may not be necessary depending upon the theories that Jack the Ripper was a skilled surgeon. Other diagrams from this case of Scotland Yard of old profiled a butcher and multiple assailants, to which end his false identity would be for naught. In this case it was “better safe than sorry” in terms of deciding on an identity: Doctor Arthur Bridgeman. The prudent decision was to use the occupation that had the title of “Doctor” as the prefix to his fictitious name. Additionally, it would also help to substantiate the amount of currency he’d be carrying with him during the jump, should he be detected straightaway.

  Finally, Ethan would find his travel journal on the desk, also indicative of that era with the proper paper stock, authentically aged leather hardbound cover, another charitable contribution to the cause that could not and would not be returned to the donor. Intending to transfer its contents to his current journal upon return before he turned it over to The Consortium, once again, everything was being considered and reconsidered to avoid any connection to the present.

  Thirty minutes had mysteriously passed since Ethan donned his period attire. In that time he’d stood facing the closet mirror. Less than an hour remained before his decided leap of faith. Peering into his own eyes, this was not a psyche out session before the jump, nor was it a doubt about his research knowledge regarding the era or the target. It was not even about the concerns of mechanical failure of the Flicker during his departure or return. No. It was the conjuring of this character he needed to become that captured Ethan’s attention. He’d been given all the credentials and identification for the name “Doctor Arthur Bridgeman”. As a graduate of the Royal College of Physicians (in documentation only), Ethan had to take the surname and persona to such a degree of belief so as not to raise any suspicion. His identity and the knowledge base to qualify this title of “physician” was one of the initial design blueprints adopted when this project was submitted. So, too, was the considerable research he had needed to master, as if he were obtaining the scholastic degree as a specialist in his field of study. Staring into the mirror, Ethan fixated on suppressing his own identity and embracing this new persona. The surname was a familiar one, from the annals of English medicine, one of hundreds of small details scrutinized during his pre-submittal planning.

  In his mind he imagined being in a variety of scenarios, perhaps an encounter with a stranger who had a background in medicine of that time or London’s “finest” were to begin questioning him. Looking in the mirror, as he’d done countless times, he once again rehearsed his responses in those probable situations he would likely encounter. Selling it to himself meant selling it to anyone else who might approach him. Character acting 101! He thought, “I should’ve done more theatre in school.”

  Then came a knock on the door. Ethan took one long last look at a mirror image, and in reflection, took one last long breath. It was time. He looked around the room. As dull and drab as his quarters had been, they’d become a sort of sanctuary, a place of solitude where everything was certain, in its place. As another friend he’d have to say goodbye to, he did so silently while opening up the door. There in the hallway staring at him were nearly two dozen pairs of eyes, some scrutinizing, patronizing and even criticizing. Then there was Colin. His eyes, smile and body language were supportive, protective. He was the first to step forward into the room toward Ethan, leaning in to whisper an important message.

  “The green-eyed brunette from the tech team wants me bad.”

  “For fuck’s sake mate, please don’t have me returning to a wedding invitation.”

  Two ardent men reached out, grasping one another firmly by the shoulders. Any unspoken conversation between them served to reinforce mutual confidence in this day, one of such historical significance. A shared smile, acknowledgement that both of them were ready for this jump, a simple nod concluded their nonverbal dialogue. It was time to go site seeing at the most sophisticated scientific facility in the world.

  Ethan quickly grabbed his 19th Century belongings and they were out the door, escorted by security personnel, medical staff checking the traveler’s vital signs one more time in transit. Flicker techs surrounding him, Ethan would’ve normally been squeamish around this many people in such close proximity but the experience was surreal, almost magical; he noticed everything and everyone, including Colin’s new love interest. The distance between their quarters to the jump site was about twenty minutes, less during their late night excursion, like crossing the campus at Oxford.

  Outside the staff housing complex, lining its circular drive, three vans sporting LHC insignia awaited their charge. Standard transport, it was nothing special but it felt so to Ethan, glancing at his own reflection in a van window as they approached.

  “I did ask them for a limo.” Colin boasted. “They said it was too conspicuous.” His mouth drooped into a petulant pout.

  Looking over his shoulder at the cast of characters accompanying them, Ethan replied, “A circus clown car may have been more appropriate for our troupe.”

  The entourage piled into the three vehicles which already hosted the driver and two additional armed security guards (per van) for their fourteen kilometer journey to the LHC facility. Every person presently involved with the Flicker program was playing a supporting role to Ethan.

  Support. That word had numerous faces, some Ethan may have never even met, not even so much as basic conversation with people who held his fate in their hands throughout this entire project. Most of them were strangers to him yet they felt like close friends in his moment of need. It was imperative they do their jobs efficiently to get Ethan where he was going. Launch time for Flicker was slated at four o’clock in the morning, the best shot for him to reach the other side without being spotted.

  Even at such an odd hour of the morning and still a couple of kilometers away, the LHC compound illuminated the night sky like a small city. Ethan never tired of the dramatic visual effects of the approach to this facility. Poetically reminiscent of returning again and again to the “New World”, seeing the Statue of Liberty in New York City as some fictitious literary immigrant boy from the classic story, this place was the new world. To these explorers, the ones who came before and would come afterward, the discovery of new lands, new frontiers and new opportunities was no less frightening and exciting to them as those who sailed across the Atlantic Ocean to a place both foreign and familiar at the same time.

  The surrounding property was vast. Ten minutes earlier merging roads funneled the vehicular traffic of workers, press and security cleared dignitaries into the main artery leading to all the different entrances from Route De Meyrin 385. At any time on any normal day this property was cluttered with thousands of cars belonging to its employees covering shifts at all hours in every department the place required for operation. This incredible location was composed of dozens of separate buildings. If The Consortium hadn’t limited access, the number of attendees to the event could have gotten out of control. Everyone with a security pass to the facility would have arrived prior to their shift (or remained after their shift was completed) to hopefully witness the early morning leap through time. For security and safety protocol, there would only be a communion of thirty people actually present during Ethan’s jump. He had wanted a rather understated affair, an exclusive group of invited guests but the turnout was more than he’d bargained for, in spite of his humble request. It was Anson’s call to make, as these events were so significant and rare. The Consortium had to use these jumps as demonstrations for promotional purposes, fundraising for further proposal research grants and to finance amongst other things, the time trials of future Scopes back at The Valley.


  Arriving at the facility just past 3:30 a.m., soft breezes blowing in from the west cooled the summer night otherwise adorned with phosphorous streetlamps lining the pavement. As three LHC vans made their way through the security gate, a guard read the drivers’ manifests then signaled someone in their gatehouse to make a call. Once inside the gate their vans took an alternate route from other traffic to access one garage large enough to allow passage of five semi-tractor trailer trucks entering side-by-side. The concrete floor inside the building was polished to a sheen. Tires on the vans (moving at a slow pace) made a high-pitched screeching sound with the slightest turn of their steering wheel. Sixty or so yards into the large warehouse the vehicles came to a dead stop. As all the passengers disembarked Ethan immediately recognized the nearly deafening sounds of the turbines and generators. Standing in the LHC Engine Room, they were there, inside the driving force behind the particle accelerator. Cooling systems, air conditioning units, gigantic water pumps: dozens of massive machines serving either a primary or a redundant purpose lined the walls of what appeared to be a futuristic miniature city.

  A small, bald man in a lab coat and wire framed glasses approached Ethan with one hand extended, the other holding a walkie-talkie.

  “Dr. LaPierre. Dr. Bishop.” The man greeted them in a heavy Austrian accent, attempting to be heard over the cacophony of electrical noise.

  “Dr. Eschmann, hello.” Ethan replied as he reciprocated the handshake.

  “Everything is ready.”

  They all began walking, following the lab coat and six additional assistant lab coats that accompanied Dr. Eric Eschmann. He was initially a project director with the LHC until the first “event” that began the Flicker trials. From there he willingly took a demotion in position to join The Consortium with a fire rekindled, a passion ignited for the project and keen curiosity regarding what possibilities may await on the other side of a doorway.