Soul Source: Back and There Again

by Charles Vella

  "You haven't said anything Artie."

  "Sarah is a logic risk," Pruitt said without turning. "She always has been."

  "A logic risk?" Monica tried to act shocked. Outraged. But she knew it rang hollow and could tell no one believed her. She didn't believe herself. There really wasn't anywhere else for it to go once Sarah'd picked up that baseball bat. "That isn't fair," she said lamely. The plaint of every child who'd ever sat in a corner. "What does Ted say?"

  "Irrelevant," the back of Pruitt's head answered in a bored voice.

  "Irrelevant?" She looked around but the rest of them just looked uncomfortable. She turned to Pruitt, still staring out the window. "But there were extenuating circumstances." For God's sake don't beg. You sound pathetic. She took a deep breath. "My report..."

  "Yes well now your report," Artie went on, nodding as if he'd finally found something they agreed on, "...is another matter." He raised his eyes again to meet hers. "You assessed the, ah, incident, as a category one intervention? No measurable change in the present but a low probability there will be some change in the future?" he said with grimace as if it were painful to get the words out.

  "I know what a category one intervention is Artie."

  "Do you?" Pruitt asked the window.

  Artie's avuncular screen slid a little. His forehead shone in the light in spite of the cold air being pumped into the room. Like most cowards Artie preferred the condemned to stick their heads in the noose cheerfully. "Did you look at the deviations from this incident Monica?"

  "I haven't had time." They were less likely to believe that than her outrage. She'd looked at the file names on her screen a hundred times but couldn't bear to open them.

  "Well you should make time. I think you might find them, ah, interesting."

  "Every trip to the past causes deviations Artie." If anger didn't work try reason. "Even when there aren't any interventions. You don't know what causes them any more than I do and you can't blame..."

  "Almost two percent," Artie said.

  "Two percent?" she said. Well one thing she'd been right about. She didn't want to see those numbers. "How is that possible?"

  "Do you have any idea," Pruitt said, finally turning from whatever'd held his interest out the window and staring at Monica with those demonic eyes, unnaturally pale blue as if someone'd thinned out the water colors too much before painting. "What a two percent deviation means?"

  "I know..."

  "No," he said walking toward the table. Towering over her. White hair swept back from his head as if he were perpetually winning a race. Pruitt never raised his voice, but could cut you off with a whisper. "I don't believe you do."

  "But it can't be two percent," she pleaded, searching the crowd below the scaffold for one sympathetic face to take with her into eternity. "According to the simulations September eleventh was only seven percent. How could this incident possibly be two percent?"

  "That Monica," Pruitt said with a shake of his mane that was at once disappointed and disgusted, "...is the point. We don't know why. We enable time travel and think we understand what it means. The power we've unleashed. We're no better than the physicists at Los Alamos. Creating the power to destroy the world and patting ourselves on the back."

  "Spare us the lecture Pruitt," Eileen said, but she went on before Monica could latch onto the delusion that she was riding in to save the day. "You know this wasn't a category one Monica. I know you're trying to be loyal to Sarah but..." her words trailed off and she shook her head. The, "you should know better," hung in the air like the smell of yesterday's fish.

  "She hit Mr. Phelps in the testicles with a baseball bat," Artie said, shivering slightly as if he had testicles himself. "And pulled the girl out of the room. Surely it isn't difficult to see how that could change the world by almost two percent? It certainly inhibited Mr. Phelps's ability to execute any short-term plans that didn't involve the hospital."

  "Mr. Phelps's short-term plans shouldn't've involved anything but jail." She looked around the table. Her shaking voice came out almost as a whisper. "Sarah stopped a girl from being raped. She wasn't willing to stand by and watch that happen. What have the rest of us done to be proud of? Followed the rules?"

  Monica felt her spine go soft. She held Pruitt's stare, but he only locked her in his gaze for a second before turning and walking back to the window with a slight shake of his head. With anyone else that would be victory, but you didn't stare Pruitt down. If he dropped his eyes it wasn't because you'd won. It was because you hadn't held his interest. How had he and Ted worked so closely together all these years. Ted with his xylophones and glockenspiels, his nerdy jokes and grins. Ted seemed like someone who'd popped up on earth and spent the next fifty years trying to communicate with the earthlings. Pruitt had gotten here and realized in the first five minutes that the earthlings weren't worth looking at, much less talking to.

  "How do you know Monica," Pruitt asked, one eye staring back through the slit in the curtains as if trying to decide whether what he'd been staring at out there was more interesting than her, "...that Adolf Hitler wasn't the result of someone travelling to the past and replacing someone he found objectionable, say the Kaiser returned to the throne? You don't," he went on before she could answer. "Any more than you know what further damage Mr. Phelps will cause now that he'll regain his liberty and all the unsuspecting people in the world will think he was in the hospital with a lacrosse injury."

  "Look Artie," Monica plunged on, her eyes on Artie and Eileen. Verma wouldn't get a vote and there was no sense appealing to Pruitt's better nature. "Sarah's brilliant. And dedicated to the work. She's the one who figured out how to open multiple closed timeline curves simultaneously. Do you know what that means?"

  "It means compounding an already unacceptable risk," Pruitt said without turning. "Like giving a child an automatic weapon. There was once a time when society regarded that as irresponsible, before we wisely recognized it as an essential freedom. Mankind has never had the self-restraint to manage its technological progress. The first caveman to discover fire no doubt used it to burn someone at the stake."

  "It means huge flexibility and improved chrononaut safety. That's why Ted approved it." There. What was that? It'd happened the first time she'd mentioned Ted. Artie's eyes flickered toward Pruitt. What did that mean? No time to think about it now. Too busy trying to swim to shore before the tidal wave broke. "We can't afford to lose Sarah."

  "Now nobody's talking about losing Sarah," Artie said.

  "If you make her a logic risk she'll quit. Just let me work with her."

  "Sarah should never have been cleared for time travel," Pruitt said in the tone of bored disgust that was as close as he got to personable. He turned from the window and looked in their direction. Not at them. Pruitt tended to stare into space while he talked. As if he were really carrying on a conversation with some fellow higher form of life and just allowing you to listen in. "The only reason she was cleared was because of Ted's sentimentality."

  There. That time she couldn't mistake it. Artie stared at Pruitt with, what? Respect? Fear? Hate? Something was written on his face. A foreign language with an exclamation point. What's going on with Ted? Nothing from Pruitt, who wasn't looking at Artie any more than he was looking at anyone else.

  "I've spent almost twenty-five years trying to explain to you people," you people was Pruitt's term for mankind excluding himself, "...that we've mastered science sufficiently to create a menu of self-destructive techniques, nuclear, biological, and now time manipulation, all the while becoming less logical as a species. Putting the mechanics of time travel in the hands of someone," he lowered his eyes to give Monica a baleful stare, "...who hasn't mastered its logical implications is even more dangerous than putting nuclear weapons under the control of the self-absorbed, morally bankrupt segment of society we refer to as our elected leaders. Why do you think we take such pains with choosing missions? On non-intervention policies?
On measuring the deviations that you people cause in your little romps back in time? This isn't some second rate film. The logical implications of time travel are not somehow automatically taken into account. Ted understands how closed timeline curves work in terms of placing you at a particular time and place, but he doesn't have the first clue what would happen if you went back there and killed one of your grandparents before your parents were born. Ted's strength has always been that he understands what he doesn't understand."

  Someone'd once given Monica the advice to turn the sound off when someone ranted and raved. It makes them comical. The problem was that Pruitt was like a silent movie. Scarier without the soundtrack.

  "We've heard all this before Pruitt," Eileen said wearily.

  "Have you?" he almost hummed, as if he were talking to himself but grudgingly doing it aloud for the benefit of the lesser forms of life. Pruitt was very thoughtful that way. His eyes flickered back to Monica then stared over her at the empty wall. "What if Sarah's intervention had prevented the girl from even pressing charges? Would you have been sent back? Do you have any idea what would've happened if you were in the past but hadn't been sent back? If you do then please enlighten me. Because I certainly don't. But then again I've only spent the past twenty-four years of my life trying to grasp the logical implications of time travel. I wouldn't expect to know as much as a couple of vigilantes who believe swinging a baseball bat in a crowded room causes no measurable impact."

  They stood around awkwardly as Pruitt lost interest and walked back to the window.

  "Tell her Artie," he finally said without turning.

  "Yes," Artie said as if he'd suddenly remembered why they were there. "Yes. Well. There is one other matter we need to discuss Monica." He tapped his wrist and Monica's report disappeared from the wall, replaced by a picture. She looked at it. Round face with slightly vacuous eyes. Two-dimensional glossy smile. Carefully combed hair and knotted tie. Nice guy but not the sharpest tool in the shed. There was something vaguely familiar about him but Monica couldn't put her finger on it. "Britt Reynolds," she read the name under the photo. She looked up. They were all looking at her. Even Pruitt had turned back around.

  "A yearbook picture?" she shrugged. "OK. I give. Who is it?"

  "Does he look familiar at all Monica?" Artie asked. "Take your time."

  Monica frowned, stared at the photo some more. Watched the part in the hair unravel into a tangle. The smile turn to a slack jaw hanging open. Smelled the puke. She took a deep breath and stared at the picture to avoid facing them, but she knew they must've seen the light of recognition in her eyes.

  "The drunk kid," she sighed. "Passed out against the tree."

  "Well I can understand how he might've looked unconscious Monica," Artie said with a nod of his head as if considering that possibility for the first time. "But unfortunately he seems to have been sentient."

  "Probably more than he ever is in class," Pruitt said, looking back at her, almost smiling. "You made quite an impression on him."

  "He says you called his name," Artie said, staring across the table. A sliver of tongue darted across his lips as if he kept a small, pink lizard in there who occasionally took a quick look out to see who was being disemboweled.

  "His name? I've never seen him before. How would I know his name?" She looked back down at the screen.

  "Of course that's what we were wondering Monica. Any relationship with someone potentially involved in the mission has to be disclosed. We'd never send..."

  "I don't have any relationship with him," she cut him off, staring at the name. Britt. Britt. "Shit," she muttered and her heart sank.

  "Eh?" Artie looked up at her.

  "Indeed," Pruitt said, staring at her with something that looked like triumph in his eyes.

  "What happened to him?" she sighed. "Is he alright?"

  Then it happened. Monica's head jerked away from the picture at the sound. At first she didn't know what it was. Like hearing your cat say your name, your brain couldn't register it. Pruitt laughed. Not the kind of laugh you'd hear from a human. Something like the sound an alligator might make as it snapped up a cocker spaniel. Eileen looked shocked. Artie looked scared. Verma braced himself with a hand on his sidearm. Pruitt shook his head.

  "Oh you needn't worry about Mr. Reynolds. He's fine. Found God in fact. He'll call himself Britt the Baptist, if you can believe that. He should've gone to law school and ended up indicted for campaign finance fraud. But he'll end up preaching the word of God. At least he'll say it's the word of God. I don't have independent verification. Says he saw a vision. The Virgin Mary." Pruitt looked at Monica. "That's you. He doesn't mention there being two of you, but I suppose in his condition he wouldn't've been shocked by a pair of Virgin Marys. Anyway he seems to be correct. You saved him."

  "That's travel's mistake," Artie added. "Not yours."

  "Then why bring it up?" Eileen shot back. "And how's it anyone's mistake? How was travel supposed to know there'd be a kid in the woods? What was he doing there anyway?"

  "I really don't think Eileen," Artie said primly. "...that this is a productive line of conversation. At least," he turned to Monica, "...you won't have to testify. All charges against Mr. Phelps have been dropped."

  "Dropped? They tried to rape that girl."

  "Dropped," Pruitt said. "Mr. Phelps is innocent. At least in the eyes of the law. Being a waste of oxygen is not indictable." He rested his palms on the table and stared at Monica. "You and Sarah have succeeded in making Mr. Phelps a victim. You asked what we've done to be proud of. Well that's what you've done."

  "Well," Artie said into the painful silence. "I think that about does it. Eileen, we'll leave it to you to communicate this to Sarah."

  "But if Sarah's not available for missions what happens to my team?" The corner of Pruitt's lip curled up ever so slightly. Eileen closed her eyes with the expression of someone who'd just realized that wasn't a migraine, she was being beaten with a hammer. Artie looked as if he'd been caught trying to look down her blouse.

  "Aah, Eileen will discuss that with you as well," Artie said, suddenly in a hurry. "I'm afraid Pruitt and I have to run. There's a special board meeting in just a few minutes. He turned and raced out the door. Verma swaggered out in his wake, throwing Monica one more lustful grin before disappearing. Pruitt waited just long enough at the window to communicate that the board could wait until he was ready, then turned and stalked to the door.

  "Why Pruitt?" Monica asked. "Why? Sarah's a good person."

  He stopped. Turned. Looked at the two of them with contempt oozing our of every pore. "There are only four kinds of people in the world Monica. The ignorant, the cowardly, the lazy, and the bullying." He turned back toward the door.

  "And what kind are you Pruitt?" she called after him.

  He turned again, almost looked slightly surprised, but Monica must've imagined it because surprise is a human emotion. "I should think that would be obvious." He strode through the door and it swished closed behind him. Monica turned to Eileen but before she could open her mouth Eileen spoke.

  "How could you?"

  "How could I?" Monica said. "That's what I was going to ask you."

  Eileen shook her head. "You should know better Monica," she said sadly. "You do know better. You're forcing me to say the two words I hate saying more than any others. Pruitt's right." She rubbed her eyes. "I didn't think that man could become any more insufferable, but he continues to ripen with age."

  "But making Sarah a logic risk? Taking her off time travel? Sarah and I are partners. We've trained together. We each know what the other's going to do before she does it."

  "In that case I'm surprised you didn't get to the bat first," Eileen said drily. "It is partially my fault though. I never should have agreed to putting Sarah on that mission. Not with so little preparation. Not with her background."

  "Her background? What about her background? She must've gone through the sa
me check as the rest of us."

  "She did. Sarah's had a troubled past Monica. More than you know. We found some things in her background check. Sarah was once the victim of an attempted rape."

  "Attempted rape? She never told me."

  "Right before she came to us. As far as we know she's never told anyone. Someone reported it but somehow it disappeared off the system." She managed a wan smile at that. "It was only by accident the investigator found it."

  "She went back and erased it?" Eileen shrugged. "So she let him get away? I can't believe..."

  "He was killed in a hit and run a week after it happened."

  "Then she never got the chance..." Monica's voice trailed off. She watched Eileen watch her get it. "She wouldn't. She couldn't..."

  "He was hit by a self-driving car."

  A self-driving car? Self-driving cars don't run people over. "And they know? Why haven't they fired her? Artie'd fire his sister for a lot less than that."

  "Ted was smitten with her brilliance, at least partially with her brilliance. Artie does what Ted tells him. Pruitt was against it but Ted overruled him. For once. Anyway, Pruitt's right. She should never have been cleared for time travel in the first place, and certainly shouldn't've been on this mission." She shook her head. "We need a separate investigation into how this mission was set and put together. It didn't follow any of the normal processes. I don't think Ted and Pruitt even knew about it. Well," she added with a small shake of her head. "What's done is done."

  "Look Eileen. Sarah and I are a team." Monica folded her arms. "Let me be clear about it. I'm not leading Team One without Sarah."

  Eileen turned a pair of baleful eyes on her, and suddenly Monica knew that the day could get even worse.

  6

  They were right. All of them. Even...oh yes yes yes. Even Pruitt was right. But Sarah was right too. How could they've stood there and let those animals rape that girl? But you can't just walk into the past and start swinging baseball bats and damn the consequences. Why'd she ever agreed to be a grown-up? Monica wandered down the mercifully empty halls. Team Two. She stopped dead when it hit her. If she was demoted to Team Two, that meant they'd give...Team One leader would be...They'd make...Some internal defense mechanism kept the name at bay as long as it could but finally...