Mankind's Worst Fear

by David L Erickson

  “Nothing, Jess. Go back to sleep.” Seeing Dauber padding about the hallway, he surged to his feet, grabbed his thick featherfiber robe from the foot of the sleeper and slung it on. With a flash of senseless anger, he realized the sleeve was tucked inside itself and shoved his arm through with more force than intended. Threads popped, but the material remained intact.

  Jessica sat up and yawned. “Where you going?”

  “To see the Professor,” he whispered. “I told him I'd be there early,” he fibbed, “Some new experiment or other.” He wrapped his scarlet robe tightly about him, knotted the thick sash and glanced back. Anger fled. Framed by tussled auburn, her sleep puffed face and smoky, jade green eyes beckoned him to stay. Her natural sensuality never failed to take his breath away.

  A year younger than he at seventy-one, thanks to the alien microbes, she looked forty. His freckle-nosed angel. He’d fallen for her the moment she appeared beside Willard Jeffries in NAORC's entrance tunnel, half a life-time ago. But she was sidelined in his thoughts because he quickly became overly preoccupied with running the facility. Besides, he and Linda Myer were sort of dating, though their conversations centered on NAORC’s needs, to the exclusion of all else.

  Months later, Linda confided that Willard’s tentative and amateurish flirtations had charmed her and wanted to know if O’Brien minded if they dated. Of course not, he told her and on a whim, asked Jessica to a stroll in the arboretum and a dip in the hot springs grotto. Smart, funny and mischievous, Jess convinced O'Brien it was to their mutual benefit that she move into his quarters. She did so that very evening.

  In dire need of fresh material, the gossip mill leaped on Jessica’s new sleeping arrangements, spinning off ever more incredible tales regarding the affair. When the couple announced their engagement, NAORC’s residents erupted in festival for four days. The frenzied revelry culminated in a wedding extravaganza that incorporated the hallmarks of dozens of cultures. His memory flash elicited a thoughtful smile and spurred carnal desire.

  With a sleepy sigh, Jessica tucked the coverlet to her chin and lay back, a signal he knew well. “You’ll be back soon, right?”

  Dissuaded from pleasuring her, he turned away and tried to recall what had disturbed his sleep. “You know how the Professor is. He’s getting crotchety in his old age and likes to keep me until he's absolutely certain I grasp every little nuance of whatever he’s explaining.” He felt around with his toes for his slippers and found them under the sleeper where Dauber usually pushed them.

  “The Lamaar girls are expecting you to take them to the surface today.” Her sultry voice faded to a murmur, but he caught the pointed uptake.

  “I haven’t forgotten.” Going outside depressed him. Nearly thirty years since the sun disappeared behind the clouds and despite a gradual warming, topside remained a cold and desolate place. Still, a wide variety of trees and vegetation had survived the devastation, along with wild turkeys, boars and several species of insects. No large mammals or reptiles, few birds and nothing to suggest other humans had survived.

  “You’re going in your sleepies?”

  “I don't expect to be gone long.” He knew the answer she expected to hear. “I’ll be back before breakfast. Promise.”

  “Nine a.m. sharp.” She buried her head beneath a pillow, muffling her words.

  With Dauber prancing beside him, claws clacking on the parquet floor, O’Brien left their quarters. "Cart."

  From down the corridor a gravcart zipped up to him with no more sound than a breeze.

  “Come on, boy.”

  Dauber jumped aboard when O’Brien sat down. Self-conscious of his paleness, O’Brien considered returning to his quarters to change from his sleep shorts, but decided it was unlikely he would meet anyone at this early hour. Twice a week under the arboretum’s artificial sunlight would do him good, Jess often admonished, but the chamber’s illusion to an Earth that no longer existed saddened him in the same way going topside did. Besides, the residents of this Eden had grown lax in their attire, especially if they were off to the hot springs grotto. Cruising about in his robe and sleep shorts wouldn’t raise an eyebrow.

  “Schumerland.”

  Mulling over the insistent diktat that had propelled him from sleep, he absently massaged his left thigh to ease the tingling in his foot. Age creeping on, Linda had informed him when he hobbled into the medcenter a few weeks back. He smiled ruefully and stilled his hand. Linda didn’t have the cure for creeping old age, but she had an herbal remedy that would make the discomfort bearable.

  The cart wisped up the corridor, took a wide turn at the next intersection and slowed to a smooth stop three hundred meters from his quarters. He dismounted and limped into Professor Schumer’s enclave. The doors parted at his approach and wisped closed after Dauber.

  Doing a lopsided jig in the middle of the cavernous room, Professor Schumer sang and laughed at the top of his lungs. A computer bank and forest green workbenches strewn with tools and test equipment bracketed him. Beyond, a raised platform plumbed with silver tubes and rainbow-hued fiber optic cables rippled as if bathed in heat. Piles of black, gray and silver equipment cluttered the yellow polycrete floor or were stacked haphazardly in white, polyfiber bins. The bold white walls and ceiling gave the place an antiseptic feel.

  “Professor,” O’Brien called, his voice still thick with the dregs of sleep.

  Schumer stumbled to a standstill, then lurched about, his mouth agape in mid hoot.

  “Ah, Colonel,” he chortled, “I’m so glad you came.” He stuck out his hand, but when O’Brien grasped it, the Professor pulled him into his arms and pounded his back. “I’ve done it! I’ve finally done it! I traveled in time!”

  “Slow down, Professor.” Disappointed too many times, O'Brien rolled his eyes and pasted on a benign smile. "Something did wake me and I’ll be damned but the first thing that came to mind was you. What happened a few minutes ago?” He expected a long and tedious explanation, followed by another failed attempt to duplicate the experiment.

  “A few minutes ago? Not darn likely,” he trumpeted. “Try o seven twenty-three! That’s where I was five minutes ago!”

  O’Brien glanced at the large red numerals displayed above the tubular framed workbench to his left. “It’s only seven-twenty, professor. How could that be?” He sighed. He left a warm sleeper for this?

  “It works! The answer was right under my nose all the time! I...Went...Back...In...Time! I saw the face of God!” His eyes sparkled in a way O’Brien hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Lord Almighty, it was so real!”

  “Hold on, Professor.” Firm, yet gentle, he disentangled himself. He hastily curbed the impulse to vent his ire on the old man, and softened his stance. Another sign of creeping old age?

  Glowing realization lined the Professor’s withered features. Visibly, he tamped his elation and locked eyes with NAORC’s GM. “You don't believe me, do you?”

  “I want to, but...”

  “But you don't.” Schumer shook his head and pointed up at the elaborate apparatus he created from the alien ship’s spatial drive. “See for yourself. Climb up. It’s safe.”

  “How do you remember doing it if time reversed itself?”

  “How should I know? I just did. Do it yourself and you tell me.”

  “Keep an eye on Dauber for me, will you?”

  “As you please, Colonel. He’ll be fine. So will you.”

  O’Brien climbed onto a black grid platform sufficient to bear one person. No place to sit. He was surrounded by tubing and optic cables connecting the platform to a three meter diameter titanium orb girded with bright purple bio-neural booster packs. Five pyramided gray polyfiber I-beams formed a supportive framework.

  The Professor burbled with excitement. “My machine generates a field about itself that separates it from real time. If you recall, a miniaturized Typler’s cylinder. I’ve set it for two minutes. Now, just stand there.”

  “Two minutes? You can set the time d
uration that fine?”

  “I believe so.” Professor Schumer looked suddenly confused, and tired. “Yes, yes...I’m sure...it worked for me. I just had to compensate for the…the…by adjusting the flow regulator.”

  “The what?”

  “The term would mean nothing to you, Colonel. I had no idea what to call it. The mechanism that regulates the folding of time: connects one point along the continuum with another. The control is here,” he pointed to a red square on a con panel propped up on the workbench. ”Just set the duration here, remember?”

  “I, uh...well sure, but it never worked before. Besides, I haven’t had my first cup of java. My brain is still half asleep.”

  “Would you rather get your coffee and something to eat first, Colonel?”

  “No, no, I’ll be fine. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Despite the Professor’s assurances nothing untoward would happen, he had doubts.

  Tail wagging, a smile lighting his canine face, Dauber sat at the base of the machine, watching his master with anticipatory eyes. The old man touched a sequence of colored shapes and glanced over his shoulder at O'Brien, his face aglow like a child with a new toy.

  “Initiate time-shift!” Schumer’s voice quivered with excitement.

  Less than reassured, O'Brien hesitated, recalling the Professor’s oft-repeated procedure. He twisted a lime green handle that resembled a gravcycle accelerator. An odd prickling invaded his toes and fingers. The machine shuddered. The room wavered, then blurred. A vaguely familiar, yet incredibly old, visage smiled down upon him.

  Below O’Brien, the Professor hugged someone while Dauber danced around him. The room stabilized.

  Professor Schumer held out his hands to someone who wasn’t there. Looking perplexed, he turned around and jumped when he spied O’Brien on the platform.

  “What are you doing up there, Colonel? You were just here and I was going to show you...it worked!” he screeched, “dammit it worked!” He clasped his hands above his head in triumph. “Don't you see? You just came in and I was so excited...and...and there you are! On the platform!” Professor Schumer danced and laughed, tears splashing his cheeks.

  Dumfounded, O’Brien ignored the grated steps and leaped the short distance to the floor. His left leg gave, but he recovered and turned to gaze up at the eclectic jumble. No denying it. The time machine worked. The old codger had finally delivered. Though monumental, the event seemed somehow anticlimactic after so many disappointments.

  Long denied issues resurged, troubling him. What were the implications for Mankind? For the universe? What if this technology fell into unscrupulous hands, or the good guys somehow misused it? Was reliving the last thirty years possible, with only the crononaut ever knowing the truth?

  Odd though, the Professor had lost all memory of what transpired during the two-minute jaunt, but he remembered. Since he remained clothed, he wondered if the crononaut could take data with them? What was the available time window? Damn! So many possibilities, repercussions to consider. Despite all his hopes and dreams, he never expected it to work, had he?

  He heard a gasp and a sudden, painful uptake. Professor Schumer’s bumbling dance ended. His left arm fell limp at his side and sweat glazed his opaque white skin.

  “Eh?” The old man wavered and almost fell, but caught himself, his face twisted with astonishment and alarm. “Colonel...I was just...just...”

  “Wilhelm.” Gwyndolin appeared in the doorway to their quarters, adjacent to the lab.

  “My dear. You...you must share in this moment.” He blew her a kiss and waved her over, trying vainly to conceal his obvious discomfort. “The Colonel and I have traveled back in time! Oh, Gwyndolin, we’ve done it!”

  “I don't see as how anything’s different.” In a white lace robe and silk pajamas that covered all but her slippered feet, hands and head, she glided into the room. With practiced ease, she avoided the piles of equipment and hurried to her husband.

  “You wouldn’t, my dear.” He took her hand and looked deep into her eyes. “Only the crononaut remembers. For everyone else, it’s as if the replaced time never happened.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m positive, sweetie. Tell her...tell her, Colonel.” His eyes never left hers.

  Despite his growing concern, O’Brien refused to acknowledge the obvious. Perhaps the Professor suffered from heartburn, or something equally benign. “It’s true, Gwyndolin. The time disturbance drew me here.”

  Gwyndolin’s eyes brimmed with tears. She drew her husband to her bosom. They looked so frail leaning into each other: her silver-white, page-boy-cut matched his tightly trimmed crown in tone. Beneath their translucent skin, thin blood vessels added dark webs of blue, red and green.

  Across the room, doors shushed open. Linda, an emerg-pack slung over her shoulder, rushed in with Doomes a step behind.

  “What’s going on, Colonel,” Linda asked halfway to them. “I couldn’t lay a finger on it until I got to the medcenter...until I saw the Professor’s cardiocom going wild! But, there’s something else, isn’t there?”

  “The Professor’s time-machine works. I...we’ve traveled back in time. Only a few minutes, but the implications are...”

  Crimson faced and choking, Schumer slipped from his wife’s arms, clutching his chest.

  Unable to support him, Gwyndolin kneeled with him, whispering urgently. “Please honey, don't leave me...please don't...”

  Linda reached him as he collapsed, death gurgling deep in his chest. She eased him to the floor. With practiced skill, she cleared his tongue from his throat, tilted his head back and listened for a breath. A troubled frown deepened when she checked his pulse. With careless abandon, she tossed her bag aside.

  “Doomes! Get a gravpad, stat. He’s dying! Seconds count!” Not waiting for a response, she pumped his chest a half dozen times, took a deep breath and filled his lungs.

  Hands clasped to her breast, Gwyndolin cried softly.

  Linda repeated the procedure several times, then shook her head and leaned back.

  “I’m afraid we lost him. There’s nothing I can do.” Tears brimmed.

  O’Brien knew what to do. After all, the Professor had shown him countless times. There was a sequence...

  Calm and self-assured, O’Brien entered the time coordinates, then scrambled up to the platform and twisted the green handle. Nothing happened. O’Brien cast his eyes skyward and prayed. The machine shuddered. The room wavered and blurred.

  Below him, the Professor hugged someone while Dauber danced around him. The room stabilized. Schumer held out his hands to someone who wasn’t there. Looking perplexed, he turned around and jumped when he spied O’Brien on the platform.

  “What are you doing up there, Colonel? You were just here and I was going to show you...it...it worked!” he screeched, “dammit, it worked!” He held his hands up in triumph. “Don't you see? You just came in and I was so excited...and...and there you are! On the platform!”

  O’Brien jumped down and grasped Schumer by the shoulders. He held him there and waited until the frail old man’s eyes met his. “No time, Professor. We must get you to the medcenter. You died a few minutes from now.”

  “I died?” He clutched his chest. “I...I do feel something...something wrong...”

  In one swift motion, O’Brien scooped him up and ran from the lab, his foot cramp forgotten. He set the Professor down gently on the gravcart, pulled his legs in, then sat down beside him. Dauber jumped in behind them.

  “I could have walked, you know.”

  His breathing elevated, O’Brien smiled at the Professor and chuckled. “I overreacted. Sorry.” He checked the Professor’s pulse, despite the dour look he received. “Medcenter. Emergency.”

  The cart accelerated rapidly and a warble beacon sprung to life. He kept a hand on Schumer’s wrist and the Professor kept an eye on him, not appearing to understand the gravity of his condition.

  The medcenter opened before him and hands reached
out, alerted to the incoming patient. O’Brien slipped aside and observed as the emerg team took the Professor farther into the complex. Linda and Doomes busted through the center’s doors and Linda rushed past. Doomes slowed and stepped aside. Following Linda’s rushed commands, automated equipment sprang from hidden enclosures in the corridor walls and followed the med team into the treatment room. With nothing more he could do, O’Brien nodded to Doomes and found a soft chair, where he intended to wait.

  A few minutes later Linda appeared at the nurse’s station. She nodded, gave him a thumbs up and waited until O’Brien joined her.

  “He’s stabilized, thanks to you, Colonel. But I’ve scheduled a transplant for this afternoon. His heart has deteriorated beyond recovery.”

  “The replacement has matured sufficiently?”

  “Yes.”

  “Risk?”

  “Very low. The procedure is common place anymore.” She smiled. “I’ve got to go.”

  “He’s our only hope. Make sure he gets the best care. Whatever you need…”

  “I’ll ask,” she finished, turned abruptly and disappeared into the ICU.

  *****

  “Everything okay, dear?” Jessica murmured when he slipped in beside her.

  “Nothing to worry about, sweetheart. I’ll tell you about it at breakfast.” He lay awake for a while, his mind afire. Now that Schumer’s gizmo worked, what practical use could they put it to, aside from saving heart attack victims? What were the unseen dangers? Questions fueled speculation, which eventually spawned frustration.

  To close his mind to the worries of defacto patriarch, O'Brien recalled a memorable moment with Jessica. He often used this ploy and it always worked. Gently, so as not to disturb her, he slipped an arm about her waist and kissed her bare shoulder. She murmured contentedly and drew his hand to her breast. He cupped her firm, warm flesh and shunned the world from his door.

  09:31 Hours May 23, 2086 - Earth

  The com bleeped in the living room, bringing O’Brien to his feet — not the normal three-beep sequence, but rather four in rapid succession. The sequence repeated.