The Nick of Time

by Mike Parker

  “Indeed, I do.”

  – 18 –

  Seven Score and Fourteen Years Ago

  After five extremely nervous minutes standing outside the president’s door, waiting for Simms and a legion of others to come storming back up the stairs with guns drawn, the real moment of truth had finally come. Nathan Duquesne rounded the corner and strode down the hall toward Nick.

  “Soldier,” Duquesne barked commandingly.

  “Yes sir,” Nick replied trying not to tremble.

  “You stand relieved,” the assassin declared. “Go fill your rations and head to your tent for the night.”

  “But, sir.”

  “Guarding this room is far too important a task for anyone but an officer to handle. Now get going before I find some other task for you to do that is more befitting of your station.”

  Nick could not help but cower a bit as he walked past the phony captain. “Yes, sir,” he squeaked out and strode quickly down the hall. As soon as he rounded the corner he stopped short and listened intently. Only moments later he heard the president’s door open.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Lincoln asked the guard who had just entered his room unannounced. “I told you I did not want to be disturbed while I finished writing this speech!”

  “My apologies Mr. President,” Duquesne said as he approached the desk where the president continued to scratch words onto the paper in front of him. “But this really could not wait any longer.” The assassin stood beside Lincoln, knife in hand, ready to strike when Nick came bursting through the doorway and lunged at the assailant. The two men tumbled to the floor and rolled back and forth as each one attempted to gain the upper hand on the other.

  “What in the blazes?” the president exclaimed. He stood up from his desk and scrambled away from the commotion. A moment later he stepped back toward the fray with a rifle in hand.

  “Shoot him, Mr. President,” Duquesne, currently on the bottom of the pile, was first to speak. “He is a Confederate spy sent to murder you!”

  The men rolled again, leaving Nick on the bottom this time. “He’s the spy, Mr. Lincoln, but just to be safe you’d better take us both out!”

  A moment later Duquesne lifeless body fell, like a ton of bricks on top of an exhausted Nick. The butt end of the rifle that had knocked out the assassin now loomed above the time traveler’s temple. “I can explain,” Nick pleaded. “Honestly, I can, but first I need you to do a couple things for me.”

  “You, are not in much of a position to be bargaining,” the president stared hard at his captive.

  “Yes sir, I am well aware of that, but since you haven’t shot me yet I’m hoping you might hear me out.”

  “I’m listening,” Lincoln said raising the rifle an inch or two further from Nick’s head.

  “First,” Nick took a deep breath and then continued. “I need you to lock that door, I don’t know if this man had others with him. You have my word, if I move an inch you can shoot me.”

  “One inch,” the president warned turning the muzzle end of the rifle toward the men on the floor as he cautiously backed across the room and secured the door.

  “Thank you, sir,” Nick breathed another sigh of relief. “I’m going to move now, but just long enough to get this blasted knife out of this man’s hand.” He banged Duquesne’s limp hand on the floor two or three times until the knife popped out of his grip and rattled across the floor. “You should pick that up, Mr. President.”

  “Indeed,” Lincoln replied, seeming slightly more relaxed, but continuing to hold the rifle pointed at the intruders.

  “Now sir, if you could indulge me just a little further,” the time traveler said. He knew he was likely pressing his luck, but what other choice did he have at this point? “If you could grab the ropes tying back your drapes and use them to secure this man’s hands I think we’d all be much safer.”

  “I’m not so sure,” the president replied.

  “Fair enough,” Nick shrugged, laying his own hands on the floor above his head. “You can do mine first.”

  Lincoln tied Nick’s hands together surprisingly tightly and then tied Duquesne’s hands behind his back. The whole time Nick did not move. The president dragged the assassin’s still unconscious body over to his bed and secured it to one of the bedposts, then returned his attention to Nick. He motioned his captive over the bed as well with a wave of his rifle barrel. Nick sat by the foot of the bed not far from where Duquesne was tied up.

  “Now,” the president began, setting his chair back upright. “What is this all about?” He leaned back in the chair but kept the rifle pointed directly at his intruders.

  “This man is a Confederate soldier named Nathan Duquesne,” Nick began to explain. “I am sure that if you look inside his coat you will find papers that verify this fact. He was sent to assassinate you tonight.”

  “And what about you?”

  “That’s a little more complicated.” Nick looked at the president who merely raised one eyebrow clearly indicating that a more thorough explanation would be required. “I uncovered this plot and positioned myself near your room to intervene when the attack came.”

  “Are you a Union soldier as your uniform indicates?”

  “I am,” the time traveler considered his answer carefully, “not.”

  “Well,” the president said thoughtfully, “At least you seem to be honest about one fact anyway.” He pondered the situation for a moment and then declared, “There’s one sure way to solve this conundrum.”

  Lincoln laid his rifle across the desktop and picked up a large pitcher of water. He walked over to the unconscious assassin and dumped the full, icy cold contents on Duquesne’s bowed head. The Confederate soldier awoke with a start and began to immediately wrestle against his bonds. Lincoln calmly strode back to his chair.

  “Mr. Duquesne, is it?” the president asked.

  “The South will rise again!” Duquesne shouted defiantly and then spit on the floor.

  “Well,” Lincoln said with the slightest grin. “He certainly seems to be who you claimed him to be. The question is whether or not you were equally honest about yourself.”

  “I cannot explain how I came to know of this plot,” Nick spoke calmly, “But I can assure you, Mr. President, I mean you absolutely no harm.”

  “I am inclined to believe you, Mr.?”

  “Um, Bond. James Bond, sir,” the time traveler answered trying not to smirk. Inside, however, he was laughing at himself hysterically. He had always wanted to say that line, and this just seemed like the perfect opportunity.

  Their conversation was cut short by pounding on the door and shouting on the other side. The president called back informing the anxious men in the hallway that he was perfectly fine. Once the door was opened, Duquesne was hauled away by Union soldiers after being stripped of his false uniform. By order of the president, Nick’s hands were untied and he was about to leave the room when Lincoln stopped him.

  “Mr. Bond, what do you think I should say in my remarks tomorrow?”

  “Remind people that this country was founded as a place where everyone would be treated fairly and equally and that the principles that built this nation are still worth fighting for, sir.”

  “Well said, young man,” Lincoln nodded slightly toward Nick. “I hope to see you at the ceremony tomorrow.”

  “I wouldn’t think of missing it, Mr. President.”

  – 19 –

  147 Problems

  Nick rose the next morning having spent a refreshing night at the primitive, yet cozy hotel. He enjoyed a hearty breakfast downstairs and then went shopping for some new clothes. As much as he enjoyed wearing the uniform the last thing he needed at this point was to be discovered impersonating a Union soldier, especially since word of last night’s assassination attempt was abuzz all over town. He found a local store that was able to outfit him in a new suit for a reasonable price. Nick also purchased a canvas satchel in which he kept the soldier’s uniform, jus
t in case he should have need of it again.

  The official dedication did not begin until the afternoon, but the surrounding festivities began throughout the town at daybreak. Nick strolled through the streets doing his best to soak it all in and simultaneously not interfere or interact any more than absolutely necessary. Prior to the start of the ceremony, the time traveler wandered out to the former battlefield. The signs of the fierce battle still visibly scarred the landscape even several months later. Nick felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach as he pondered the unspeakable hardship that had occurred here and continued to occur on battlefronts across the nation. His generation truly had no sense of how blessed they were to be born in their time rather than one like this.

  As the crowd accumulated, Nick jostled to get a good spot with a clear view of the stage. He did not realize how fortunate he was to have ended up next to a large oak tree. After a series of introductions and formalities, his old pal, Edward Everett took the stage and began his oration. Although Everett was scheduled as the featured speaker, Nick was not prepared for the speech-giver to pontificate for over two hours. It seemed as though many of the twenty thousand others gathered felt the same way as by the end of the speech there were nearly as many people wandering through the battlefield as there were listening to Everett’s words.

  After the singing of a hymn and a prayer, it was time for the President’s speech. Wills had invited Lincoln to give the closing remarks at the dedication ceremony not really expecting the president to accept that invitation. However, with future insight on his side, Nick understood how important the president felt this moment could be, and now, thanks largely to the time traveler’s efforts the previous night, that moment was about to become reality.

  Lincoln stepped to the podium and in a strong, commanding voice began saying, “Four score and seven years ago, our Fathers brought forth upon this Continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” The crowd erupted in applause. Those wandering the field quickly made their way back towards the stage. The president continued his speech, which only lasted about two minutes despite being interrupted several more times by thunderous applause. Towards the end of his remarks, Lincoln humbly noted, “The world will little note nor long remember what we say here today.” Nick couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at hearing the president’s words. After all, if Carl’s predictive algorithm was correct it was quite possible the world might never forget what Lincoln said on this day.

  Following the dedication at the cemetery, Nick wandered back to town and had another quick bite to eat at the hotel before returning to his room to lie low until the Little Bird called him back home to the present. With the president safely on a train back to Washington and the stress of the mission over, the time traveler laid down on the rather lumpy bed and dozed off a little as he waited for midnight to arrive. He was awakened a few hours later as the Little Bird began beeping signally his departure from 1863 was imminent.

  “Beam is coming online now,” Dr. Stevens reported.

  “The B.I.R.D. is charging,” Carl added.

  “Any clue where, or when, we sent him this time,” Ainsley asked the others.

  Both men were about to answer “No” but before they had a chance to do so they were interrupted by popping and banging sounds throughout the lab. Sparks began jettisoning off the B.I.R.D.’s chamber followed by the door being blown open. Seconds later there was a loud explosion sound nearby in the building.

  “What was that?” the doctor exclaimed.

  “Carl, what is going on!” the reporter screamed sounding just short of terrified.

  “I don’t know!” her brother shouted, frantically adjusting dials and switches. Just then an alarm started to sound throughout the building. “You two get outside,” he instructed, “I’m going to figure out what’s going on!”

  The three friends ran out of the lab. Ainsley and the doctor headed down the hall and out the front doors. Carl took a sharp left and sprinted toward the synchrotron room. When he arrived he saw utter chaos everywhere. Sirens wailing, sprinklers showering and panicked people running in all directions.

  “What’s going on here?” the scientist asked the first person he could corner.

  “I have no idea!” the young man, most likely an intern, replied. “The thing just overloaded and then BOOM!”

  “Have they shut it down?”

  “I think they’re working on it,” the student said scrambling to get out of the room.

  Carl moved down the steps to the lower floor where the technicians seemed to be working on the massive machine. “What happened here?”

  “It looks like someone tampered with the circuits here,” one of the techs explained. “Caused the thing to accelerate faster and faster until the inner casing couldn’t contain the immense amount of energy that was being created. It basically overloaded the whole system.”

  “What about the beam?” the physicist inquired.

  “We’re not sure,” the tech reported. “We have some reports of excess energy being dispersed through some of the lines that were active during the overload. That might just have saved our bacon!”

  “Indeed, it likely released enough of the stored energy to prevent a catastrophic overload.”

  “System is under control!” someone across the room shouted. “Shutting down now.”

  Carl’s relief that the synchrotron was not about to overload and explode the building was soon replaced by concern. “When will the synchrotron be back online?”

  “Beats me,” the tech said. “I imagine there will be an investigation into what went wrong. Followed by a series of diagnostic tests to make sure it doesn’t happen again. After that, I suppose we’ll gradually start bringing it up to capacity again.”

  “That could take a while,” Carl mused. “And I imagine there will be a long waiting list of people anxious to get back on.”

  “Yeah, I would think so, hope you’re not in a hurry.”

  “As a matter of fact, I rather am,” the scientist explained. “I was right in the middle of a critical experiment when the overload occurred. I need to get back to it as soon as possible.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to take a number, Mr. Ryan,” a deep voice with a slightly British accent spoke from behind Carl.

  “Professor Michaels,” the physicist greeted as he turned around. “If there’s anything I can do to help get things back up and running, just let me know.”

  “You may have convinced Dr. Stevens to lobby for more beam time for you, but don’t think for a minute yours is the only or by any stretch the most important work going on in this building.”

  “I’m sure it’s not nearly as important as whatever high school chemistry experiment Lynch is running,” is what he wanted to say in a very sarcastic tone, but instead he went with a much more polite approach, “Of course not, sir. I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Glad to hear it ol’ chap,” Emerson Michaels said through a forced grin. “I’ll be sure to let you know when your number comes up.”

  “Much appreciated,” Carl said and slipped out of the synchrotron room as quickly as he could without looking like he was super eager to leave. Once back in his own lab he texted his sister and Doctor Stevens to let them know it was safe to come back inside the building. When they arrived, he was staring blankly into the empty B.I.R.D. chamber.

  “What happened,” the doctor asked.

  “Nobody’s quite sure,” Carl explained. “Someone tampered with the synchrotron causing an overload.”

  “How long will it take to repair?” Ainsley inquired anxiously.

  “Hard to say, but I don’t expect it to be quick. Which doesn’t matter until we find a way to fix all things,” he said solemnly nodding toward the still smoldering B.I.R.D.

  “What,” his sister began tentatively. “What do you think happened to Nick?”

  “It’s hard to say,” the scientist explained. “Any number of th
ings may have happened.”

  “Like what?” Dr. Stevens probed.

  “Worse case scenario, he may have been vaporized by the energy burst,” Carl began.

  “Is there a better case scenario?” the reporter asked, fighting back tears.

  “Best case, we turn the machine back on, get another beam to run through it and he appears.”

  “What’s in between?” the doctor inquired.

  “Nick is fine,” the physicist said thoughtfully, “But the link with the B.I.R.D. is broken and …”

  “And he’s stuck in, well, wherever we sent him,” Ainsley gasped. “Wondering why we abandoned him.”

  “If he is alright,” the doctor surmised, “Is there any way he could get a message to us to let us know?”

  “Or is there any way for us to get a message to him?” the reporter hypothesized.

  “In theory, Doc, but depending on how far he went back it could be a long shot, to say the least,” Carl responded. “As far as contacting him, there may only be one way to do that. However, we have 147 other problems to solve first, before we get to that one, so we’d better get to work.”

  – 20 –

  Back Online

  It had been nearly six weeks since the overload and the team had spent every waking hour cleaning up the lab and repairing the B.I.R.D. The synchrotron was back up and running, but beam time was being awarded on a priority basis. Thus far Professor Michaels had not awarded Carl or Dr. Stevens any time slots. In all fairness, the professor did not know what the team in Carl’s lab was actually doing. However, they all agreed it was better to wait a little longer than to allow Michaels in on what was going on.

  “That should do it,” Carl pronounced.

  “The B.I.R.D. is up and running?” the doctor asked.

  “Well, up at least,” the physicist clarified. “I won’t know for sure if it is running properly until we actually have some beam time to test it. However, near as I can tell, it should work.”