by Mike Parker
Once evening hit and the skies grew dimmer, Nick felt slightly more at ease about being seen in public. He wandered through the residential streets, trying to sort out in his head how he had ended up here and more importantly how he would get back home. Although he hoped that the Little Bird would attempt to recall again after another thirty-six hours, he had no guarantee that would actually happen. In fact, as far as he knew it might not ever attempt another recall. And if a recall ever did come would it take him back to the present or send him or to some other random point in time.
As he strolled along the edge of a large aqueduct flowing toward White Rock Creek, the time traveler weighed all the options available to him. Sadly, the best plan he came up with was the old write-a-telegram-Carl-to-be-delivered-in-the-future trick. Of course, he realized the odds of such a telegram not getting lost and eventually being delivered over fifty years from now were incalculably small. Even if such a Hail Mary plan actually worked, Nick knew his logic-bound friend would be hard pressed to give such a message any credence at all.
Nick was stirred from his thoughts by the sounds of a woman shouting in the distance. He gazed around looking for the source of the cry. A second shot rang out and Nick narrowed in on the origin. He looked across the aqueduct and saw a woman frantically running along the edge on the other side. “Ainsley?”
“Nick!” the reporter screamed at the top of her lungs. She had seen him in the dim light standing across the concrete valley. He might not have been visible at all were it not for the full moon and a cloudless sky. She had now moved along the fence line so the two were standing directly across from one another. “Nick!”
“Ainsley?” Nick shouted back, still rather perplexed. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you!” she shouted right back.
Nick surveyed the situation. The aqueduct would be dangerous to climb down into and difficult to climb back out of. However, the pitch of the cement walls was made irrelevant by the eight-foot-tall wire fence that lined both sides. About 80 yards to his right there was a bridge where the two old friends could meet up. “Go to the bridge,” he yelled across.
Both time travelers started walking quickly toward the bridge, anxious to be finally reunited. Ainsley was eager to reach him so the Turtle Dove could reset the Little Bird’s return point. Nick was just hoping she could explain what was going on!
Nick was about halfway to the bridge when his wristband started beeping. “Oh no,” he gasped. “Not now.” He looked across the aqueduct. His companion was slightly further from the bridge than he was. “RUN!” he shouted, pointing to the Little Bird “Time’s up!”
They both sprinted at full speed toward their rendezvous location in the dark. At one point, Ainsley tripped over a tree root and toppled to the ground. She quickly picked herself up and continued running, but they both knew they weren’t going to make it in time. “Nick, stay where you are!” she screamed.
“What?” he called back, skidding to a stop.
“Stay where you are!”
“You mean right here?” Nick shouted feeling both frustrated and perplexed.
“No,” the reporter clarified. “After you teleport. Stay where you are. I’ll come find you!”
As the words left her lips, Nick vanished from sight. Ainsley wasn’t sure Nick had heard or understood her final message, but she desperately hoped so. She stared intently at the spot where he had been standing trying to lock the location into her mind. She then continued along the edge of the aqueduct, crossed the bridge and made her way back down the other side. When she finally reached the place she believed Nick had been standing as he teleported, she grabbed a small branch off the ground and dug the stick into the soil leaving it standing up vertically to mark the spot. As much as she tried to memorize the spot, she knew it would look different in the morning. She was heartbroken to once again have been so close, but not quite close enough to reach Nick and put an end to all this.
With the marker firmly entrenched into the ground, Ainsley went off to seek somewhere warm to pass the night. If all went as planned, she would return back here in the morning, stand exactly on top of Nick’s teleportation spot and once noon came around the Turtle Dove should take her right to him. The only question was: where would they be?
– 24 –
I Don’t Believe
in Luck
After spending the night in a booth at a truck stop restaurant Ainsley used her last 25 cents to buy a Danish and coffee. She freshened herself up in the restroom and then headed back to the bridge over the aqueduct. As she crossed over the bridge she was thankful that she had the forethought to mark Nick’s departure point last night. Things certainly did look different in the daylight. She walked down the edge of the aqueduct looking for the stick marker she and posted in the dirt ten hours earlier. However, the stick was not where she thought it should be. She walked back and forth, up and down the fence line looking for the spot, but found nothing.
After 40 minutes of scouring the area for any sign of the stick’s location, the reporter finally gave up. She fell to the ground and slouched against the fence. Just then, a border collie ran up to her panting and carrying a stick in his mouth.
“Seriously?” Ainsley asked in exasperation. “Seriously?”
Realizing her search for the marker was now pointless, the reporter did her best to approximate Nick’s last location and stood nearby waiting for the clock to strike noon and the Turtle Dove to take her to wherever and whenever her friend had gone to. As she waited she recorded another message to be sent to her brother with the next override.
“Carl, I almost had him again. We were able to speak. He knows I’m following him. I told him to stay put, so hopefully, it won’t take long to find him after I teleport. Will reset the Little Bird and we should be home by this time tomorrow.”
“I just don’t get it,” Carl said, scrutinizing the security tapes for yet another time.
“Me neither,” Dr. Stevens replied. The pair were looking at security footage from inside the synchrotron room. Six side by side monitors covered the area from almost every angle. “The sabotage occurred right here,” he said pointing to one of the monitors.
“You can’t see the entire area, but there’s no way anyone gets to here without showing up here, here, here, or here,” the physicist stated.
“The recordings do not appear to have been tampered with in any way. So how is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” Carl answered scrolling back the footage to the time the sabotage was believed to have occurred and played it forward from there, one frame at a time. “There! Did you see that?”
“See what?” the doctor asked.
“Right here,” the scientist said, cueing up the recording once again. “Watch … right … there!” he said pausing the playback on one particular frame.
“See what?” the doc asked again. “I don’t see anyone.”
“No,” Carl conceded, “but look right around the edge of that cabinet. Do you see that glow?”
Doctor Stevens lifted his glasses to the top of his head and leaned in close to the monitor. Sure enough, there was the tiniest hint of a glow around the cabinet that obscured the view of the sabotaged area but only for a split second. “What is it?”
“I think it is this,” the physicist declared grabbing a photo off of Nick’s desk and handing it to the doctor.
“This is the photo your sister took when Nick was arriving at the cabin. You’re not suggesting…”
“I think someone teleported into the synchrotron room and caused the overload. The question is who.”
“And why.”
“Whoever it was must have had enough knowledge of the synchrotron to know where to teleport in without being seen.”
“And how to disable it,” the doctor added.
“Exactly,” Carl confirmed. “But were they trying to destroy it or just shut it down for a while?”
“And was the timing meant to specifical
ly target our experiment or were we just unlucky?”
“It’ s difficult to say. However, I don’t believe in luck, and since the saboteur used teleporting technology, I’m going to rule out coincidence.”
“Agreed.” Doctor Stevens affirmed. “Are you going to tell Ainsley?”
“Not at the moment,” Carl said. “She’s got enough to worry about right now. We should wait until we have more information. No use stressing her out about it until we have something helpful to tell her.”
“That’s true, but then again, if there is someone else out there with the ability to teleport who is, for whatever reason, targeting us, that would be good information for her and Nick to have.”
The scientist mulled the situation over for a few minutes. “You’ve got a point there, Doc.” He quickly recorded a new message for his sister and cued it up to be sent the next time the Turtle Dove initiated a link. No sooner had he hit enter, than the Phoenix powered up.
“Unless, of course, she’s on her way back right now,” the doctor said optimistically.
“Wouldn’t that be nice.”
“DON’T MOVE!” was the first thing Ainsley heard when the teleportation concluded. She opened her eyes and looked around seeing mostly the early morning sky.
“Ainsley, do not move an inch,” a familiar voice called out again.
“Nick!” she shouted.
“Seriously, Ains, don’t move,” he implored moving briskly toward her.
The reporter stood frozen, taken aback by the intensity of her friend’s instructions. She soon realized that they were both standing near a deep canyon with extremely steep walls. She was not sure exactly how deep the canyon was and, frankly, had no desire to find out. What she did know was that she was standing precariously on the very edge of the precipice. “Nick?”
“Just hold still,” Nick said calmly as he neared her. “Take my hand.”
The reporter extended a trembling arm and reached for her friend’s hand. As she did so, one foot slipped off the canyon ledge and she felt her body toppling to the side. Nick lunged forward to clasp her arm and pulled her falling body in toward safety.
“Thanks,” she whispered after taking a moment to catch her breath.
“Well, you came an awful long way to find me, it would have been rude to let you plummet to your death,” the time traveler said with a slight chuckle.
“You’re such a goof,” Ainsley smiled as she shifted over slightly and leaned against her companion. “You’re a tough guy to catch up to.”
After a few more minutes of collecting their thoughts and gaining their bearings, Nick finally asked, “So what is going on anyways?”
The reporter began to explain to her friend everything that had happened with the synchrotron overload and the creation of the time burst that had prevented him from successfully returning to the present. She went on to tell him about the Turtle Dove and its ability to track the Little Bird through time. Finally, she played the most recent message from her brother.
“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” Nick said dryly.
“No kidding,” the reporter concurred. “Not only are we bouncing aimlessly through time, but we have some unknown nemesis trying to stop us or kill or do who knows what to us!”
“Tell me again how that tracking thing works,” the time traveler requested.
“Once I sync the Little Bird to my Turtle Dove,” Ainsley explained, “in 24 hours from now when I get recalled to the present, it will program that destination point for you in your return 12 hours later.”
“I see. What if we don’t sync?”
“Are you crazy? Why wouldn’t we sync? Don’t you want to go home?”
“Absolutely, I do,” Nick affirmed wholeheartedly. “But humor me.”
“If we don’t sync,” Ainsley explained, “the next time you teleport, and every time after that I might add, you will hit the time burst and be redirected to another random time and place.”
“And you?”
“I will teleport back to my present in 24 hours unless I hit the override. If I do, then I will have to wait and 12 hours after your departure, I can follow you. But why on earth would you even consider doing that?”
“Well, it sounds to me like Carl and the Doc are doing everything they can to figure out what is going on back in the present,” Nick began. “There’s likely not much we could do to help them there.”
“I suppose, but…”
“But perhaps if we keep moving through time we will eventually end up at some point that will allow us to uncover some of this plot for ourselves. If nothing else, if there is someone after us, we’ll be a whole lot harder to find if we keep moving around.”
“Perhaps,” the reporter replied, not sounding entirely convinced. “I guess, if we stick together and plan ahead we should be able to ensure that we won’t lose each other.”
“As long as you don’t fall off a cliff,” Nick teased as they both gazed down again into the deep canyon.
Suddenly, they heard clicking sounds behind them and a gruff voice said, “No te muevas. Levante tus manos en el aire.” The time travelers turned around to see a half dozen soldiers aiming their rifles at the two.
“Um, Ains?” Nick asked nervously.
“If I had to guess I’d say Mexican Army, sometime around the early to mid-1800s,” the reporter surmised.
“What did they say?”
“Don’t move and put your hands up.”
“Oh, that does not sound good. I’m starting to have second thoughts about that not returning home plan,” he smirked.
“You think?” Ainsley retorted raising her hands slowly in the air. “We don’t want any trouble, sir. No queremos ningún problema, señor.”
“No te muevas. Levante tus manos en el aire,” the soldier barked again.
– 25 –
Remember the Alamo
The Mexican soldiers led Nick and Ainsley away with their hands tied behind their backs. There had been no conversation and no indication exactly how much trouble the two time travelers were in. After about 20 minutes of marching, they arrived at a camp housing dozens of large tents. The captives were taken into one of the tents and each secured to one of the large tent poles which held up the heavy canvas roof.
“What is going on?” Nick asked in hushed tones once the soldiers had exited the tent.
“I don’t know,” the reporter replied. “Clearly they were not pleased to see us.”
“You can say that again!”
“Clearly they were not pleased,” she began.
“Ha, ha,” Nick interrupted. “Do you know where we are?”
“Not really,” the reporter answered. “Mexico, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“But I can’t say exactly where. Depending on exactly when we are, we are likely just before, just after, or right in the middle of the war between Mexico and Texas.”
“Doesn’t sound like a good time to be a couple of Americans lurking near a Mexican army camp,” Nick observed facetiously.
“No, not really.”
Before they could discuss matters further the tent flap opened and a general strode in confidently. He sat behind a wooden table and stared intently at the two prisoners for what felt like forever. Finally, he spoke firmly, “¿Ustedes son tejanos?”
“No, sir,” Ainsley replied politely. “We are Americans.”
The general seemed surprised that it was the woman who had answered him. “You let your woman speak for you?”
“No sir,” Nick replied. He figured it was best not to correct the general about Ainsley being ‘his woman’, but he knew she would likely harass him about it later. “She is my translator as I do not speak your native tongue.”
“Fine,” the general conceded. “We will address each other in English then.”
“Thank you, sir,” Nick said politely.
“Do you know where you are?” the Mexican asked.
“We were traveling and I’m afraid
we got quite lost,” the time traveler explained. “We really have no idea where we have ended up. In truth, we are grateful that your men found us or we may have died out there lost, and alone.”
“I see,” the general remarked, not sounding entirely convinced. “You may not be so grateful soon.”
Another soldier entered the tent and brought a message to the general. He quickly read the note and then waved the soldier away. Once the other man had exited the tent the general turned his attention back to his prisoners. “I think you are Texas spies, sent here by Jim Bowie to discover the size and might of our forces.”
“Jim Bowie?” Nick asked looking at his partner.
“The Al-a-mo,” Ainsley mouthed the words to him.
“No! I’ve never met any Jim Bowie,” the time traveler declared confidently.
“I do not believe you,” the Mexican retorted. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“You are the great general Antonio López de Santa Anna,” Ainsley offered.
“Your woman is well educated,” Santa Anna smirked. “Perhaps I will keep her after I am done with you.”
“I assure you, General,” Nick pleaded, “We have never met Jim Bowie or any of his Texan thugs.”
“What is this ‘thugs’?” the general asked.
“Un thug es un matón, General,” Ainsley explained.
“Hmf,” Santa Anna huffed. “We will see.” And with that, he stood up and marched out of the tent.
“Is it too late to sync the Little Bird to the Turtle Dove?” Nick asked.
“No,” Ainsley replied, “but we have to be right next to each other, and preferably with our hands free.”
“If we don’t get a chance to do that, you cannot override your recall when the time comes.”