Half Past NeverA Story by RyGuy25Approximately one hundred years in the future, three scientists are about to step into history-quite literally, as they are set to become the first to travel through time. Their mission is to journeyHalf Past Never By Ryan Patrick Funk
“Have you ever stopped to look up at the stars at
night, to marvel at the wonders of the universe that are here all around us,
from the heavens to the Earth?” Otto Seidel asks his colleague. Watching the sand sift inside of his hourglass
grain by grain, the eyes of Chauncey Studebaker transition towards Seidel, who
remains affixed to the window. “That poetic outburst of yours takes me back to memories
of my dog, on his last day alive here on this Earth. Disease had blinded him of
his sight, but it could not steal his vision, which remained as clear and intact
as ever. Something was in the air that day, a gorgeous, June afternoon with
nary a cloud in the sky. He sat comfortably on the soft grass, basked in the
warmth of the sunshine, and enjoyed the refreshing caress of the summer wind.
He knew what was to come, and he was at peace, with these marvels you speak
of,” replies Studebaker in a most elegant fashion. “Trifle difficult to fathom that the eve is upon
us, tomorrow is the day at long last. Alas, I am ready to throw caution to the
wind and assume the risk of whatever possibilities await us, limitless as they
may be. This may seem comical given our vocational backgrounds and experience,
however, technological awakening and age of knowledge aside, the firm grasp of
the concept of time still eludes me, as if I can draw no nearer to it than its
shadow. The past...is it playing continuously in a loop like a record, similar
to one long recording? A mirror image, a reflection, an echo, just maybe,” explains
Seidel, eliciting one final lesson in philosophical geometry for the evening. “Tomorrow
we shall learn the truth for ourselves, as we stand in a world that is
following a script written by the Gods of pre-destined, pre-ordained fate.” In the somewhat distant future we find a world not
too distant from that of our own back home in the twenty first century. A world
ripe with trials and tribulations, innovations and inventions, and many
admirable developments, including a most curious one among them--time travel,
an art that has been worked down to a science following extensive research and
development. Three men at the top of their respective
professions, each a master of a specific discipline, are about to venture one
hundred years into the future in order to conduct a governmental assessment of
what is to come. However, these men are not robots affixed with metallic
machinery that conduct an operation on command. Rather they are only human of
the familiar flesh and blood variety, and as such they plan to take the scenic
route to get there, a detour off the beaten track, which will take them down
the road less traveled, bending the primary principles of time and physics and
stepping into the past. More trials and tribulations are to come, as these
plundering pioneers take one giant, forward leap for all mankind, by taking a
step backward. This is the goal of theirs in the meantime, wherever, and
whenever that may be... The greatest gift bestowed upon one fortunate and
privileged enough to see through time is the direct vision into time itself. A
laser-like focus of x-ray vision, although not of the prepubescent adolescent
brand of sexual perversion, but rather a lens capable of penetrating into the
heart, mind, and soul of the person, place or things calibrated. That is not to
say that the hands of corruption find themselves restrained from grasping hold
of the science. Abortion, stem cell research, euthanasia, subject matter
dirtied with political mudslinging from all sides, all pales in comparison in
terms of the moral and ethical implications and dilemmas associated with time
travel. Among the three participants selected to cast the
cosmic sails were Geophysical Engineer Dr. Chauncey Studebaker, a mild mannered
thirty-four year old family man with wavy blonde hair and hazel eyes.
Studebaker was generally soft spoken, although he was the type that would often
open up, expressing himself in the company of friends and associates that had
gained his trust. Joining him was a colleague that had no issues
conveying his thoughts, Quantum Resonance expert Dr. Otto Seidel, a
thirty-year-old dark haired jack-of-all-trades and master of all of them.
Serving as the unofficial spokesmen for the crew, his outlandish unfiltered
personality made him the antithesis of Studebaker. Rounding out the group at the center of it all was the
commander of the mission, the one whom had envisioned the project from the
outset, Astrophysicist Dr. Elgin Lincoln. A sixty-year-old grandfather, Lincoln
possessed a kind heart and gentle personality to go along with a firm passion
and devotion to his work, he was a portly man with a soft set of curly white
hair resisting his balding head lacking in hair yet overflowing in knowledge. The three enjoyed first-class top-flight executive positions
of acclaim, careers that had brought them immense power and fabulous wealth
along their professional journeys. They were among the wisest and most
trustworthy governmental employees working in the rich field of scientifically
advanced clandestine endeavors. Be that as it may, where faith ends the risk of
such foul, forbidden crimes such as treason and espionage begin, just as it has
in the past with spies and double agents penetrating the most secretive and
lucrative of operations, among them the Manhattan Project. Conversely, the
three time travelers had no such ulterior motive or traitorous intentions,
aside from skirting procedure in order to scratch the surface of the
technological capabilities before them while simultaneously striking the summit
of their individual imaginations and expanding the horizon of their knowledge. Before the rise of the curtain at the start of the
maiden voyage, each of the men conjures up a brief vision of what is to come.
Envisioning bright spotlights emitting a brilliant shine as the three noble participants
enter the facility to a rousing, illustrious ovation worthy for a championship
prizefighter, the thoughts of Chauncey Studebaker are interrupted as the
commanding officer of the mission, Dr. Elgin Lincoln, requests a word in
private with his colleagues. “Gentlemen, allow me to address a few matters
before the commencement of our waltz through the ages. As the three most senior
professionals involved in project Falcon, we have been bestowed with the
opportunity of a lifetime, and cherish each moment of it we shall. As the
commanding officer of this mission, apart from our scheduled itinerary, it is
within my authority and discretion to dictate our time coordinates as I deem
fit.” Lincoln pauses momentarily as Seidel and
Studebaker await the words to come, mesmerized with the magnetism and poise
displayed by his speech, an oration nothing short of presidential in its
stature. “We have each been allocated a sum of fifty million
dollars for our research and contributions towards Project Falcon, and
therefore overtures of prosperity, riches and other forms of financial gain are
not of necessity on this trip. To reiterate one further item, caution will be
taken to the utmost degree with all we choose to do and see. The three of us
would be well advised to discuss and reject any and all notions of social
equity and injustice. Attach the cape to our attire and play the role of hero
we shall not. “Murder the Chancellor of the Third Reich, Adolf
Hitler perhaps? Albeit lacking in originality, the concept may be vastly noble
in theory until one examines the inevitable wrinkles and unintended
consequences and unwanted side effects produced thereafter. Destroying someone
of such magnitude, and/or altering an historical event creates ramifications we
could not begin to dare dream about and comprehend, such stresses the limits of
the human imagination, as vast as those possibilities allow. “If Hitler is killed at an earlier
point in time, perhaps a successor or alternate leader seizes power and murders
seven million Jewish people. Perhaps postwar Germany is weakened resulting in a
stronger Soviet Union, leading to Stalin murdering tens of millions more, and
the establishment of a Communist state throughout Central Europe leading to an
inevitable Cold War turning nuclear, the result of which not only threatens the
existence of the three of us and the program but advanced civilization and even
humanity itself.” Removing his glasses carefully and taking a seat,
Lincoln emits a more subtle and personal tone. “Now, I do not mean to patronize
the two of you or belittle your intentions nor your wisdom, it is just that
what we are about to embark upon is far from a simulation or a concept in a
textbook, and it is best that the three of us remain on the same page, despite
the fact that we will be God knows where, in terms of time and space. “The possibilities are infinite. Regarding our
hypothetical with the millions dead as we know them, save them in our alternate
timeline, and millions more fade from existence given the natural course of
time as the legions of born and unborn swap places. You save innocent people
but in the process you plant the seeds for corrupt masses who will resort to
murder, extortion, larceny, who will in turn eliminate thousands if not
millions of people who otherwise would have lived, and you are responsible for
their deaths and suffering, the three of us would be. “In such a world millions fail to emigrate to this
nation or meet, fall in love, procreate, and there is a real profound chance
that this impacts the three of us in some random, inconceivable manner. Funny,
if such an event were to arise, it may take all the time in the world to
ascertain the point of departure from the world as we know it, and we would
posses the only machine in the world capable of solving a most difficult
equation. Stands a good chance that we would still lack the ability to solve
the riddle. “One last item. Now, I have always been one to
advise against adultery, but visiting an erotic dance club will not destroy a
marriage in and of its self. The same theory holds true for our quest. While
the regulations, guidelines, boilerplate language and instructions were written
by wise individuals, those individuals are not traveling along with us. Abstaining
from utilizing this gift to further our knowledge and appreciation of history
would be equivalent to committing colossal waste. In accordance with what we
have agreed to, each of us will choose one location in the past or present to
visit, provided we abide by the promise not to alter the natural course of
history to a substantial degree, until we have completed our mission and
obtained a greater appreciation and foundation in the finer aspects of time
travel. Do you both understand and accept these terms and conditions?” asks
Lincoln. “Affirmative sir,” replies Studebaker. “Usque ad mortem,” exclaims Seidel. “Gentlemen, let’s make history,” boasts
Lincoln as the three march towards their mission. The ovation received is far from the
grandiose spectacle Studebaker had projected, winding up as more of a subdued
clap reminiscent of a professional golfing event. There is no sold out arena,
rather a small collection of scientists and field operatives in one of many
governmental research facilities in the District of Columbia. Just as early television offered a picture in black
and white as opposed to colorized and digitalized, or the earliest computers
were housed in entire rooms and crawled at a snails pace in comparison to the lightning
fast modern versions that are no less powerful than the human brain and no
larger than a peanut, the same degree of growth evolved with time travel. Like
most any other of these technological mediums, early time travel was primitive
as well, and involved cautious experimentation with inanimate, stationary
objects. The critical moment arrived during the 2090s, as
researchers became able to harness the power of the wormhole courtesy of years
of space exploration, astro-mining and advanced particle data analysis, enabling
them to bend time and space. Over the years, the costs became somewhat less
restrictive although still quite far from efficient, as the requisite level of
power and energy became more readily worthy of control, allowing for the
implementation of successful human experimentation. As alluded to in the
opening speech of Dr. Lincoln, the government research was dubbed Project
Falcon. As for the time machine itself, the device was
cloaked with many secrets developed over the years, several of them obtained
from the cosmos. Massive amounts of energy were produced from fractional
particles of anti-matter, a technology that became harnessed in an effective
manner during the 2080s. The reaction enabled the power and surge necessary for
the functioning of a portable wormhole apparatus. In tribute, it was titled the
“Wonder Worm,” a nickname Otto Seidel categorized as “most platitudinous.” The
inside design of the ship consisted of several computer screens, a one-way
window, time input coordinates in order to effectuate the time of the
destination so desired, and latitude and longitude coordinates in order to plot
the location of the destination so desired given the Earth’s rotation. Two
large turquoise conduction tubes were constructed for energy production, with a
shiny blue tiled floor with blotches of red, green, and yellow, as if it were
dipped in a rainbow. The swanky pattern was the result of a fevered push to add
color and style to the interior of the machine that contrasted sharply with its
exterior. Regarding the outside, it resembled
arguably the last item one might proffer a time machine to resemble-"which was
precisely the point during the phase of design. Of all the aesthetic and
auditory criteria taken under advisement, drawing attention comprised the
caboose in the chronology of this locomotive. Therefore, the machine flew and
operated with the silence of a passing cloud, and resembled a tree, which had
been deemed the most inconspicuous object possible, in order to avoid clear cut
or any apparent detection of something out of the ordinary. As a matter of
fact, the machine was specially adapted to conform its appearance to the most
abundant species of tree native to the particular area, within size
restrictions and limitations. The machine was also equipped with sensory
technology to ensure the machine appeared so as to avoid detection from any
human beings in the vicinity, as well as to avoid simultaneous placement with
another object upon arrival. Following the equivalent of a ribbon
cutting ceremony in the form of a tender, photographic moment showcasing the
time travelers placing their keys against the machine to open up the apparatus,
the three enter the Wonder Worm preparing for departure. “After we cast our cosmic sails, we will return
five minutes from now, of course we have all the time we could ever ask for to
return to that agreed upon moment. Have you two decided where you would like to
go?” asks Lincoln. “Yorktown, 1781. To witness the dramatic
end of the American Revolution and the birth of the nation, among the most
significant moments in all of history, one that I can hardly dare dream of
witnessing first hand,” explains Studebaker, as the two turn to Seidel. “Growing up enamored with world history and
fascinated with the law, there was but one scene from history that I’ve wished
to see more than all others, the signing of Magna Carta on the outskirts of
London in 1215. Historians nowadays believe that there were dozens of copies
distributed in the aftermath of the ceremony, to retrieve an heirloom of such
historical significance, I can hardly imagine,” declares Seidel. Completing reference check with all systems
a go and in the proper balance, Dr. Lincoln commences the time traveling
procedure. To viewers inside of the machine transfixed at what sights await
them through the windshield, the perspective shows life rewinding, as if time
is drawing backwards, as the Earth begins to spin slowly, growing faster in a
motion of rapid ascension. The sun rises and descends, as does the moon, as the
stars appear to circumnavigate the sky, a celestial dance that harmonizes into
a blinding light given the speed of the machine. “Is the compass set to our destination one
hundred years in the future, 2215?” asks Studebaker. “I was under the impression we would first partake
in the fruits of our labor?” asks Seidel. “As ambassadors of democracy, I shall cast the
deciding ballot on this issue. Following years of research, preparation, and
above all suspense, I am of the opinion that we should kick up our heels a bit
and set aside professional obligations for personal ambitions,” cites Lincoln. The
decision was one to have been expected, as one cannot expect to place a gun in
the hands of a child and subsequently expect said child to read the
corresponding safety manual before departing to find something to shoot. Nor
could one believe that insider trading does not occur within circles of
affluent white-collar professionals at passive-aggressive cocktail parties and
on the stressful tranquility of the golf course. The Project Falcon obligation amounted to merely
taking this Wonder Worm into the future for measures deemed appropriate and
beneficial to both the government and society as a whole. Integrity and signed
contracts aside, only a naïve mind would believe that any human of flesh and
blood would abstain from using the insatiable power at their disposal for
forbidden matters. A tracking system was constructed inside of the Wonder Worm,
but any such system of surveillance is only as effective relative to the
programming skills of those under the surveillance and their ability to
override them"-in this case, the tracking devices were null and void. “Where in time have you selected, Dr. Lincoln? Studebaker
asks as the three await the ride reaching its climax. “My choice was not finalized until this
morning, after deciding to sleep on it last night, where I encountered two
dreams that helped shape my focus,” explains Lincoln while drifting his
thoughts back towards the previous night, his daydreams shifting into his night
dreams. “In the first, the three of us ventured
back to a time long before the arrival of mankind back when our world was
dominated by arguably the most successful and longest reigning of champions
crowned atop the food chain. Yes, the dinosaurs, the mammoth classification of
larger than life reptiles, representing and staggering the imaginations of
nearly every boy since their discovery. “In
my dream the prehistoric era of choice was the Jurassic, the reason being for
its rich cannon of recognizable plant and animal life. As the Wonder Worm
weaved its way through the sands of time, we were greeted with the light green and
orange hue of a much younger atmosphere and his cousin, the sun-drenched gold
of the horizon, looking precisely as I remembered it. The scenery may have
appeared like a dreamscape or a distant planet in another galaxy, yet this was
the Earth, only it was dressed in imagery so different as to struggle my grasp upon
that very fact, as well as my concentration on our whereabouts. 150 million
years tends to have that effect. Choosing our destination carefully, our cautious
planning enabled us to avoid the Tyrannosaurus Rex and other threatening
carnivores. The first creature we spotted from atop the tall trees and plants,
that seemed to stretch endlessly upwards into the sky, was an unmistakable
flight of a Pterodactyl, a firsthand observation and identification by
twenty-second century men that proved the undying popularity of this extinct
sector of the animal kingdom. “The biggest surprise of all lay in the form of the
plant life, numerous, rich and vibrant, the likes of which I nor any other
human most likely had never before seen. It were as if we were strolling
through the Garden of Eden, or through a field previously soaked with
radiation, or bathed in an extraterrestrial fertilizer. In accordance with the
brilliant foundation set by the plant kingdom, the animal life proved its
sensational valor and reputation as well; for the three of us were flanked by
unknown and unseen creatures that feared our presence. They must have lacked
the sensory capabilities to sense the fear we exhibited, although perhaps
evolution had not yet reached that stage by this juncture. “A stegosaurus calmly nibbled on some
shrubs roughly one hundred yards afar, completely ignoring our presence.
However, it was the Brontosaurus, marching through the trees that drew my
attention more than anything else. The thrill of viewing the exquisite grace
and gallantry of this creature was everything I envisioned this journey would
be. At that moment I was not an aging scientist, or an educated adult. At that
moment, I was a child again, watching in amazement of the wonders all around
us, or at least which resided here at one point in time, a distant memory
reduced to the fossil record but brought back to life thanks to the magic of
technology. “Alas, the great negative and downside of this
selected location involved the presence of mosquitos and associated airborne
parasites so terrifying in appearance as to warrant an honorary doctorate in
science fiction lore. With the onslaught of these dastardly fiends, we
retreated back to the Wonder Worm, where my thoughts focused on my newfound
appreciation for some organisms that fell victim to extinction. “There were four corresponding reasons indicating
why such a prehistoric venture did not amount to a wise choice for visitation.
Firstly, the substantial degree of untold, unfounded, and unknown risks
littered about, whether consisting of animals with an exploratory taste for
flesh, toxic plants, poisonous parasites, or blood born pathogens, bacteria,
and viruses the likes of which human kind has never dealt with. Second, the
further one trapezes backwards along the timeline the greater the likelihood of
dramatic ramifications further on down the line. Forget killing one figure of
history, wading down this path could prove consequential to the development and
existence of the human species altogether, directly or indirectly, such as by
inadvertently aiding an ancestor or rival, say the Homo erectus. “Third, one must take into account the
risks of a fatal flaw in the manufacturing or design of the worm. It would be
awful being stuck merely one hundred years ago in the primitive twenty-first
century, much less being stuck in the prehistoric era. Therefore, it would be
wise to select locales that would at the very least involve intelligent
civilization in the event of fatal mechanical failure rendering us prisoners in
the past. “Fourth, any acceptable remnant or artifact, if one
does so exist from the period, has escaped my mind. A souvenir is a most needed
requirement regardless of where we go, along with our cherished memories,”
concluded Dr. Lincoln. “What did the second aspect of your dream entail?”
asks a curious Seidel. “A journey to the Renaissance, the moment in
history when the conscience and understanding of society graduated from the
adolescent rank of teenager and entered adulthood. The thought of traveling to
the bustling cities of Rome, Venice, Paris, and Zurich, ripe with change and
new ideas, the likes of which would transform our world forever, paced my mind.
Imagine interacting and rubbing elbows with the likes of Leonardo da Vinci,
Galileo Galilei, William Shakesphere, Ferdinand Magellan, Michaelangelo, Adrian
Willaert, and so many more. As you both know, partaking in such discourse, despite
the revolutionary and stimulating nation therein, would also embody a depraved
heart evincing reckless behavior. For instance, if one or more leading minds of
the day were interrupted in their work, many of the ideas encapsulated with the
Renaissance could just as easily cease to be, leaving us as serfs in a
twenty-second century that remains engulfed in feudalism. “Ramifications so dramatic would render our
destinies frozen in place given such a restrictive setting, much like the poverty-stricken
third world that labored deep into the twenty-first century. Conversely,
sharing with the representatives from past cultures the fruits of our progress
and secrets of future innovation that dare yet not be revealed could very well
seriously distort the technological progress of mankind, sparking off a chain
of events playing out like a stack of falling dominoes crushing our existence
in the world and rendering our way of life in the twenty-second century more
akin to how it would look decades or perhaps even centuries later,” explains
Dr. Lincoln. Just then the outside light fades from view and the
motion of the time machine desists, slowly coming to a rest as the machine has
arrived at its first destination. “I must ask then, what did you choose as your location
of choice? What may we expect to see as we open this doorway?” asks Seidel. “We made it, we’re here!” states Studebaker,
excited and anxious and daunted all at once. “Not exactly, we’re at my home, five days in the
past. I have to grab something we are going to need to bring in order for us to
blend in,” describes Lincoln, returning minutes later with three flowing white
robes as the ship is set in motion, taking off again... Emerging from the Wonder Worm, the three begin casting
their eyes from the relenting sun and scorching heat roasting down on them from
above and rising up from the sweltering sand. Leading the way is Dr. Lincoln,
playing his oratory skills like a well-tuned instrument, or to be more
appropriate given the journey, playing them like a well-oiled machine. “As for my paramount selection, a place of
historical significance was of the utmost importance, along with the ease of
retrieving an artifact for future admiration. Above all, a location was needed
where the possibility of our ramifications leading to cataclysmic consequences,
although never entirely expunged from chance, would be sufficiently mitigated.
My winning ticket in the lottery of time travel consists of a satisfying and
refreshing well of knowledge, the African cousin of the Babylonian House of
Wisdom. A profound establishment that will allow us to pick the brains of
scholars, artists, philosophers, playwrights, a collection of some of the most
brilliant minds of the ancient world, whose compilations contributed both to
the world as we know it, and the world that was never meant to be. “The three of us have ventured back into the land
of ancient Egypt, two hundred years B.C., to visit the eighth wonder of the
ancient world. One of the most culturally influential empires in the history of
civilization also housed the collective of the entirety of the wisdom and
knowledge acquired of the ancient world, the astounding, magnificent, and
beautiful structure standing before us, the Library of Alexandria. The Greek
tradition is often cited and praised for its impact on the educational and
university structures that predominate higher learning in western culture, and
rightly so, however the Egyptians rightfully deserve credit for their impact as
well. Hell, I went so far as to name my daughter after the mystical centerpiece
of study,” explains Dr. Lincoln. Proceeding to climb the stoic steps of
stone, the three are set to officially begin the experience, gaining entry to an
entrance center complete with bronze pillars, marble floors, and decorated with
dazzling works of art, from elegant paintings to elaborate sculptures. An
embarrassment of riches, this fabled, library of grandeur lives up to legend, a
true showcasing of the wealth and power of ancient Egypt. The entryway is abuzz with a flurry of activity,
and privileged with the presence of an audience of intellectual elites and
curious minds, the three tourists receive at worst looks of confusion, given
their demeanor and unknown language. The vast archive proves quantifiably
ginormous indeed, as Lincoln and company begin combing the hallowed halls of
antiquity, scanning through various scrolls among the thousands, or at least
attempting to in good faith given the monumental language and linguistic
barriers. “In a perfect world I would be infused with the
ability to borrow, or purchase a volume of this papyrus potpourri. Taking into
consideration our less than desired circumstances, I find myself breaching
commandment and common law alike,” declares Dr. Lincoln. With nobody in range of this particular column of
scrolls, Elgin Lincoln places a single scroll inside of his robe, lifting a
piece of history. “Great thing about the past, there is no camera
security system. Try nabbing a book today from the Library of Congress or the
Smithsonian,” quips Seidel. “Maybe so,
but back in our time they wouldn’t commit the common law crime of mayhem
against perpetrators by maim of limb,” remarks Studebaker. A scroll to be translated at a future time, the
identity of such could prove to be long lost play, poem, or epic from one of
the legends. It could possibly be a work of medicinal, legal, or engineering
brilliance, or maybe just a recipe for an alcoholic beverage. The feeling of
anticipation would be the best part for Dr. Elgin Lincoln, not unlike a child
shaking a Christmas present still hidden inside its wrapping, waiting for that
moment of discovery. A priceless artifact to be certain, which could yield untold
future and present dividends, yet in the process would serve as a deprivation
toward another for the opportunity for enlightenment. That is, if the scroll
contained sufficiently intelligent information in the first place. Then again,
the three reasoned, there were thousands of scrolls still available for
absorption waiting to be had, with many more to come. After spending an hour inside this temple doomed to
be forever lost, Lincoln’s thoughts turn to preservation of the crown jewel of
Africa. Preventing the destruction of this cathedral of knowledge would hardly
be in the range of logical thought taking into accord two prohibitions. One,
the library was burned many times throughout the ages, the first time allegedly
by Julius Caesar during Roman conquest. Two, had the structure somehow remained
intact, there always lay dormant the possibility that the modern standing of
technology back home could instantaneously transform to be a few thousand years
more advanced beyond the capacity wherein it currently stands, as opposed to
decades or centuries had the seeds of change been planted during a later age
such as the Renaissance. “Taking whatever precautions or preventative
measures to somehow save this bastion of knowledge is simply out of the
question. Even if we were able to find a way to pull off such an unthinkable
challenge, such an outcome would instantaneously negate our mission, our
usefulness, and our livelihoods,” explains Seidel. “Come on Elgin,” remarks Studebaker, blanketing a
reassuring sensation of warmth and compassion onto Lincoln, still intently
watching the library as if he is watching the Titanic set sail from Liverpool. Remaining
motionless and prolonging one last cast in preliminary memorial knowing what is
to come is Dr. Lincoln, unable to draw his focus and thought away from the
library, a premature ghost of a structure, the wealth of priceless knowledge
within doomed for tragedy... “Put up your shields gents, things are about to get
medieval. Next stop, old England, 1215, to witness the signing of a peace
treaty nine hundred years ago, one ripe with far reaching ramifications the
likes of which even the King could never have anticipated or begun to
appreciate,” declares Seidel. Whereas the weather of Alexandria was searing in
scale, the temperature of this place was blissful to the touch as opposed to
blistering, as emerging from the Wonder Worm the three are greeted to a
calming, euphoric serenity that resembles paradise. Rolling green meadows
stretched far and wide meeting the peaceful border of the light blue sky naked
from the clouds, and whether gentle or gusty, the kiss of the wind felt elegant
nonetheless, this was summer, summer in a place that was far from this setting
throughout the majority of the year, making the spectacle of the month of June
all the more cherished. Runnymede was the spot, a slice of nature that
appeared as though it had been carved out of a fantasy book, nestled right
along the Thames, a river as voluminous in history as it was in water content.
Located kilometers outside of London they had arrived, several dozen of them
congregating under a makeshift construction of rustic lumber and thick cloth,
resembling what we would characterize as a picnic in the park, perhaps a
Founders Day event, which is appropriate considering what was taking place. Making their way towards the gathered mass of
nobles, the three are somewhat surprised with how close they are able to draw
near to the ceremony, swiftly learning how history is devoid of auditors
demanding identity and authorization, or painstakingly scrutinizing against
inaccuracies. Standing alongside the others in their flowing white robes, the
three were somewhat astonished at how well they blended in with the others in
attendance. Was it because styles in clothing and fashion were slow to change?
Was it because his loyal guard surrounded the King from a quantity of rivals
already in the audience, and the era preceded the introduction of the gun, much
less its widespread adoption? Perhaps nobody was particularly concerned; after
all there were very important matters to attend to and regardless the
proclamation would be scattered throughout the land. Among the members in attendance were a legion of
the King’s barons on one side, dressed in a colorful assortment of robes and
period attire of the Middle Ages, and King John of England and his advisors on
the other, separated by his royal guard and several bishops cloaked in red and
brown, joined by other less prominent holy men. Triumphant trumpets blaring through the air as the
barons readied themselves for the moment, awaiting the actions of the King and
bowing down in his presence, watching on proudly as he sat majestically upon a
leather throne. Clutching the fabled document in one hand while submerging in a
small pool of ink his foot long swan quill before recording his signature
guaranteeing the rights of millions and changing the course of history in both
the Old World and the New World yet to be discovered by Europeans (aside from
Viking conquest), the crowd erupted in a congratulatory adulation of clapping
and praise, served both upon the king and upon themselves. Most of us today
believe this is a rough estimation depicting the moment steeped in history, but
Otto Seidel and friends were experiencing a very different scene playing out
before them, being reminded of how history is often romanticized, polished and
touched up like a portrait, meticulously dusted of the less desirable
attributes of humanity and simmered in a pot inflated with the picturesque and
grandiose. In reality the three travelers partake in a
ceremony not nearly as celebratory as even the three astute students of the
ages would have envisioned, finding a far more contentious scene erupting all
around them. At the center of it all sat the languished King John on a simple
wooden chair, a man most fortunate to possess royal blood given the protruding
eyes and ragged, curly brown hair and beard of his ugly physique"-although the
red velvet robe and crown encrusted gold did help make up for his shoddy
appearance. The barons were no friend to the King and his
henchmen, surrounding them with little regard for the elaborate collection of
swords, spears, and shields, at their disposal. “What are they saying, I can’t understand a word?
It’s all muffled and strained, extremely gruff to the ear,” whispers Studebaker
to Seidel, listening as the barons appeared demanding things left and right,
their shouts scattered near and far throughout the crowd, periodically coming
together in unison. “Keep in mind these are the noble classes, they
spoke Norman French at this time in history, Middle English is understood, but
mainly among the peasants. Wouldn’t be spoken by the nobility for another
century or so,” explains Seidel. Resembling more of an underground, no holds barred
political debate as opposed to a formal, official ceremony concluding an arduous
conflict between the King and his barons, the three kept their mouths closed
and their ears and eyes open at the history playing out before them. The
mercurial King John looked exhausted and distressed, occasionally replying to
the inventory of remarks as one particular baron, dressed in a blue and white
tunic and the only one that happened to be clean-shaven, began pointing
repeatedly at the document presented before the king. At long last silence fell upon the gathered masses
as the King regrettably and inevitably affixed his royal seal composed of
beeswax and resin to the bottom of the parchment document inked in Latin,
officially signing the Great Charter affectionately becoming known as the Magna
Carta. Pure conjecture on their part due to their lack of fluency in Norman
French, our three listened as arguments continued making rounds for another
twenty minutes, before one of the Kings men hastily removed several sheets of
parchment containing handwritten copies of the agreement ready to be distributed
to the barons and Bishops congregating in Runnymede. Standing among the crowd between a Bishop and a
baron stood Otto Seidel, as the royal clerks meandered throughout the
gathering, handing out copies of the sacred parchment like newspapers on a
street corner. Hands shaking in anticipation as he receives an official copy,
Seidel departs the scene with his colleagues and the other barons and Bishops,
each entrusted with a copy as they scatter about from which they came to share
the news of the day. There were no jesters frolicking about, no
entertainment of any kind, no bountiful feast of exotic foods from near and
far, after-party or no raising of swords in celebration. Rightfully so for
these men in attendance that would die with their ashes destined to dust long
before the sweet taste of the fruits of what transpired before them could be
enjoyed by the masses. “King John was a corrupt tyrant of a ruler, but
perhaps no more so than his adversaries standing before us today. They
represented the nobility, but their actions were far from completely noble in
themselves. Neither group would uphold their side of the bargain, as John would
travel to the Vatican to annul the agreement, the Barons likewise breaking
their obligations agreed upon under the contract,” explains Seidel. “Sad fact of life really, for even during
humanities greatest moments and most profound written achievements, often times
they do not come barren of asterisks or loopholes. Our American Declaration of
Independence embodying that all men are created equal, only initially
consisting of white men holding property, and consisting of that for far too
long. The Emancipation Proclamation, freeing the slaves in the Confederacy,
turning a blind eye by and large to the finer points of such a bold announcement,
most especially those slaves residing in the Border States. Magna Carta served
as the granddaddy of each of those descendants that were to follow, and sure
enough it was annulled, cancelled, ignored, rejected, put on ice and roasted
over a fire for many years, and that is just taking into account the barons.
For commoners, peasants rummaging the fields and villages, the language of this
document might as well have been transcribed on another planet, as it was
intended for a different world as far as they were concerned,” declares
Lincoln. “What is amazing is how you just never know what
decisions we make out of the hundreds each day and millions over the years will
wind up having the most profound effect on our lives and the lives of those around
us. It’s not always the vital decisions that prove being the biggest deals
years later. Likewise, it is remarkable how time has a way of cleaning up the
dirt from our memories, as in general we fondly remember the finer points of
nostalgia as opposed to the less desirable attributes. I thank God for that,”
declares Studebaker. “To think of the revolutionary ideas held here in
my hands. Granted, there were rumors that this was a sequel of sorts to an
ancient text from the Anglo-Saxons that was suppressed during the Norman
Conquest of 1066. Henry Ford did not invent the automobile but through the
innovations of his mind and assembly line he had arguably the greatest impact
on its history. The Beatles did not invent popular music, but with their
creativity and artistic craftsmanship they perfected it and changed the world
forever,” explains Seidel. “Magna Carta...despite witnessing the less refined
aspects of the ceremony, I’m still one to look back and remember that moment
with the recollection of a bolt of lightning casting down from the heavens and
sealing the formal agreement, to think that a group of rebels were able to sign
with the crown a peace treaty overflowing with rights. A document of parchment
and ink written in a dead language, but between the lines giving birth to
concepts that would change and shape our world forever, limiting the far
reaching power of the King and State and providing due process rights to the
individual. This myriad of goodness includes protections of the church, rights
against false imprisonment, illegal taxation, fines and other payments, habeas
corpus, the right to a jury trial, the concept of how justice shall be swift
and is not to be sold, among countless other doctrines outlined in her sixty
plus clauses. Crafting legal principles and the bedrock of jurisprudence that
would serve as the inspiration for a little get together in 1776, and a little
Bill of Rights dotted in Amendments. This may not have been the beginning of it
all, but it was the starting point, and the reverberations of that thundering
document are still felt echoing the ground we walk on today. There exists in
the universe no greater embodiment symbolizing the struggle and battle of the
human spirit, as well as this sample of sheepskin parchment in my hand.
Historians would dissent, but in my humble view this was the day when
Medievalism would begin its slow descent into death, for the Renaissance was
born right here, in June of 1215,” proclaims Seidel as the three reach the
Wonder Worm. “I’ve got to say, people must enjoyed far superior
vision during these Middle Ages, forget being transcribed in Latin, I couldn’t
even read it if the print was of standard size and not as miniscule as the
lines of a sheet of loose-leaf paper, jokes Seidel. Inputting the proper data into the computer machine
is Chauncey Studebaker, as the scenery transitions into the third leg of the
journey. “As
we rise together with this colonial sunrise, let us take a moment, to reflect
upon all this day represents. Having been graced with the gift of being born
into this country, it is only fitting that today we witness the beginning of it
all. The triumphant hour when freedom and liberty, revolutionary not in idea,
but in degree, devotion and desire, delivered a devastating blow to tyranny and
oppression, and in the process changing the fate of the world. Wars would be
fought to defend the fruits of this glory in the successive decades and centuries,
from foreign and domestic enemy alike. This was the final battle in the war
that achieved victory, and had these brave men not spilled their blood fighting
the crown to the death, those later days of glory would never have occurred. Now
it is time to witness the third and final round of the past, having departed
from the dawn of one war and the dusk of another. Gentlemen, welcome to
Yorktown,” proclaims Studebaker. The crisp cut of the autumn air and its
mellow aromas cascaded throughout the valley playing host to the free and the
brave. The articles of capitulations were taking place on this morning, as the
British, the most powerful military force and empire in the world during the
late stages of the eighteenth century, had been defeated and forced into
surrender. “At this point in history, the losing side
often wished to march away with dignity and offering tribute to their
conquerors, which the British had requested. General Washington rejected this
notion, after the British had denied the Americans the same request in a
preceding battle,” explains Studebaker. “Karma,” replies Seidel. “Such a glorious scene, as luck would have it, I
find myself afflicted with a severe headache,” describes Lincoln. “Must be that music,” remarks Seidel. “The legends are true! While lacking a musical ear
for effective deciphering, if I am not mistaken, the British drummers and
musicians are playing ‘The World Turned
Upside Down’. Quite the metaphor for the impact of this date,” declares Studebaker
as the three men stand tall and proud beside each other watching from afar as a
brisk gust of wind blows by, it’s cold touch no match for the warmth of
patriotism burning deep within. Next came the ceremonial surrender, as the
three moved down for a better view, initially reluctant to enter what had been
a war zone but now joined by a mass of civilians that had gathered. True to the
historical descriptions, the victorious Americans aligned on one side in a
rugged row of white and grey, while the defeated British stood in a row of red
across the way, looking proper and professional yet forlorn and vanquished. “Cornwallis
refused to shake the hand of Washington,” describes Studebaker. British Brigadier General Charles O’Hara
had been granted custody of Cornwallis’ sword, walking gracefully yet swiftly
towards French General Rochambeau, who refused acceptance of the sabre, pointing
his way down the line at General Washington. Washington likewise declines to
hold the symbol of victory, motioning towards Benjamin Lincoln, as Studebaker
broadcasts the play by play to his colleagues as if narrating an historical
reenactment, only calling it live as it happens. “Any relation?” asks Seidel to Elgin Lincoln. “Not to my knowledge, I regret to inform you. It is
curious that the sword is an unwanted artifact,” replies Lincoln as Benjamin
Lincoln offers the sword back to O’Hara. Studebaker looks on at the prized
possession, an artifact he desperately desires to obtain, and has spoken to his
colleagues about many a time. With a loud roar, the Americans begin
celebrating as the British troops lay down their arms before beginning their
solemn retreat. Lincoln, Seidel and Studebaker cannot help but partake in the
celebratory and emotional aftermath with revelers and soldiers blending in with
the crowd quite well, if only momentarily, as there is business to be
accomplished. Following the British back to their
stronghold, the three plot their larcenous scheme of action. “How do we retrieve this sword without falling by
the hand of it?” asks Lincoln. “Brought along a pistol for protection, in
the event danger may impend itself upon us,” replies Seidel. “I have an idea, after all, it is I wishing
to obtain the sword,” recites Studebaker to his partners in crime. “May be a
little crude, but what the hell. If it doesn’t work we can always return and
start over, try something new. That worm is the great eraser after all, a
mighty mulligan if ever there was one.” “General O’Hara,” shouts Studebaker with
the boom of a cannon, causing the British General to stop and cast his gaze to
the traveler moments before retreating into the mansion housing Cornwallis. “My name is Lieutenant Studebaker, the three of us
were sent from General Washington with orders to retrieve the sword of
surrender.” With a look of disgust sewn upon his face,
O’Hara grunts before placing the sword on the ground, as he and his henchmen disappear
into the mansion. “This is it,” gasps Studebaker racing
towards the sword that had been discarded on the ground like an object of
shame, a true testament of how one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Here
it was, the sword of surrender, a superbly crafted, brass based sabre that
glimmered and reflected the golden shine of the sunlight pouring down upon
America and the world for that matter. A sacred weapon, and perhaps the second
most historical artifact in American history save only for the Declaration of
Independence, the sword of liberty that symbolized the very independence
written of five years earlier. “This
is a beautiful moment,” explains Studebaker, after having captured the
legendary sword. “Best wind up in the possession of a true Yankee, as opposed
to ending up as a remorseful scourge to some redcoat descendant.” As the three make their way back through
the slow march of British troops and towards the time machine, Dr. Lincoln
requests a break. “Gents, I am in dire need of a brief recess period. My head
is pounding, and I am feeling quite feverish and ill,” he asks, scratching his
arm. The moment of triumph turns to terror as
the three notice a batch of small, red pustules scattered throughout Lincoln’s arm.
“Hives? Some type of allergy?” asks a hopeful Studebaker. “Damned if I know for sure, but this looks
like chickenpox, if we’re lucky, if we’re unlucky...it could be the other
variety of pox. The smaller but deadlier version, and I’m not talking about the
Cowpox,” explains Seidel. “Smallpox? This soon? We were in Egypt for the
equivalent of only several hours, and in Medieval London for even less time, the
incubation period and onset of symptoms lack any logic or reason whatsoever,”
explains Studebaker. “Correction, we were in Ancient Egypt, not
to mention The Middle Ages, it could be another strain or form of Smallpox or
any other infectious disease that, that, we may be in the dark about,” offers
Lincoln, struggling to speak clearly. “The time acceleration may have played a
role in the hastening of the viral effects. This was an unanticipated
occurrence, and there has been no such medical testing or analysis on the
subject. Not to mention the fact that I am the unfortunate owner of a
lackluster immune system.” “Here is what we are going to do, you sit
right here and relax, we will return to the Worm, venture to the future, and
return with us a medical professional in order to diagnose and cure whatever
the hell this illness is,” declares Seidel. “Leave him behind, here? Just look at his
condition!” cries Studebaker. “It is all right,” reveals Lincoln in a
reassuring manner. “I could not possibly risk contaminating the two of you, I
am likely contagious, and it is only appropriate that I quarantine myself for
the time being. Just make sure that you return one minute from the present. Go
now, and Godspeed,” utters Lincoln. Returning to the ship, Otto Seidel sets to
work plotting the coordinates for an unplanned fourth leg of the journey. “Fear not, we’ll return with a serum that will
liquidate every last undead strain of the virus in his bloodstream,” exclaims
Seidel. “Be that as it may, he is suffering with
each passing moment, let us return in due haste,” an exasperated Studebaker
beckons. “While your good intentions are not wasted
on me, remind yourself that we have a time machine, we can return one minute
after we departed. Besides, the fun is merely beginning; my sweet tooth is
chomping at the bit to take a bite out of the pie cooling on the windowsill for
my tastes. Now without further ado, the next stop, 1938 Munich,” declares
Seidel. “What? No!” demands Studebaker. “Chauncey, why should each of us be
restricted to but one stop on the timeline? My family bloodline has a very
proud legacy, although there happens to be one blotch on our permanent record,
as roughly half of my ancestors left Germany just before the outbreak of the
Second World War. Among them was my great, great, whatever, Grandfather, who
abandoned his homestead along with a precious eighteenth century painting,
escaping that totalitarian land but leaving the painting intact, into the
plundering hands of the Nazis. My ancestors who remained lost everything. This
heirloom is steeped with an economic value of maybe a few million, while the
sentimental value of it is priceless. This painting, this relic, is the Holy
Grail for the Seidel family tree. Now if you would be so kind as accompany me,
than I shall return the favor,” asks Seidel. “One stop for each of us! That was the
agreement! Besides Elgin is sick, where is your compassion?” asks Studebaker.
“After all, how can you be so certain that we should visit the home of a
relative at any point in time, there is always the risk that your relatives are
still inside, interaction with them could be catastrophic.” “So I suppose stealing a scroll from the
cerebral jackpot of antiquity, and a sword from the Revolutionary War were more
calculated risks? Lay down your shield and thrust your weapon, what is your
malfunction here Chauncey, enough of your high horse, holier than thou demeanor,”
demands Seidel. “You’re right, please accept my apology for
that rush to judgment. The two of us, we just are yet to concur thus far on
this mission. At first I requested we complete our assignment, only to be
outvoted. Next you demanded that we travel to Nazi Germany before helping a
friend, while I opined to seek assistance for Elgin,” replies Studebaker in a
passive-aggressive manner. “Fine. We’ll take care of Lincoln this
instant,” replies Seidel, regrettably inputting a separate set of coordinates
as not a word is uttered from Studebaker for the length of the voyage. “Yes, it was just a painting, but a
magnificent work of art it was. Can only imagine how I would be able to feel
the spirit of my ancestors alive and well gazing upon the admirable
craftsmanship of its beauty, title ‘Sonnenaufgang auf dem Rhein,’ translating
into ‘Sunshine on the Rhine,’ and featuring the calm, crystal clear waters of
the Rhine as the morning sun begins its ascent above the Black Forest of
Bavaria. Suffice to say, the only crystals that would be in the vicinity of
Munich in the weeks to come would be the shattered glass of Krystalnacht,
accompanying the nations descent into madness that would condemn millions to
death. “Your family, were they Jewish?” asks Studebaker. “My great-great, again, whatever
grandmother was. In the journals, he described the change in the conditions
there, well, here. Grandpa was a World War I Veteran, he was a successful
architect, and he was as blonde haired and blue eyed as any Aryan poster child.
Yet he was not on board with the intricate ways of the old party, which alone
threatened his wealth and status. Throw his marriage into the equation with a
woman who came from a Jewish family and it was enough to sign his death warrant.
His heart belonged to her as opposed to the state, how could it not?” asks
Seidel. “We have arrived. You know, just thinking
about what it must have been like, seeing a swastika emblazoned on the red
banners of cinema and television and history makes me shake my head in sadness
before thinking of the people, as you only fathom what was to become of their
lives under the toxic days that were to follow. The self destructive policies
of the Third Reich, to think that they transformed a weary land into a nation
of wealth, prosperity and Industrial Might only to poison it with levels of
barbarism deviant enough to make a caveman blush, striking up the deadliest war
in the history of the world and murdering millions of innocent people for no
valid reason, as if there ever is a valid reason,” explains Studebaker. “Atrocities had been committed, but had
they only stopped while they were ahead, before things became dramatically
worse for everyone involved. The library of Alexandria burning, Magna Carta
placed on the shelf, war and revolution in America, in Europe, everywhere. Not
only in the eighteenth and twentieth centuries, but in the later portions of
the twenty-first century, including right here, in what had been among the most
prosperous nations on Earth, yet humanity still showcased itself primal brutality,
perhaps this is the way it is always going to be,” proclaims Studebaker in a
solemn manner, opening the time machine door. “Now,
the time has come for us to visit 1965, in order to draw from the maximum
quantity of smallpox medication,” snaps Seidel growing weary of the increasing
anxiety exhibited by his colleague. “Center for Disease Control? Any specific
medical facility?” asks Studebaker. “Just follow me,” quips Seidel as the two
step outside of the Wonder Worm. “The design of the residential neighborhoods, the
design of the automobiles, this is not 1965, where have you brought us?”
demands Studebaker. “Are you to tell me this does not look
familiar to you old boy? How about 828 Lakefront Drive?” Seidel asks. “My grandparents old cottage...my God, what
year is this?” remarks Studebaker. “Forgive me, my math is not quite accurate,
the year is 2065 Anno Domini, and we are in Toledo, Ohio, now ring the bell,”
demands Seidel drawing the pistol from his jacket. “I can nary fathom what trick you have
placed up your sleeve,” cautiously declares Studebaker. “You just happen to be at the top of my
international, inter-generational hit list. Next on the agenda is Hitler,
Stalin, and Pol Pot,” Seidel exclaims sarcastically. “Mad with delusion as you are, your thought process
is hardly that dysfunctional, tell me the truth,” demands Studebaker. “Very well. Today we shall conduct an experiment,
to finally discover the truth of a riddle that has bothered myself for years.
Why, you will go down in the history books as a martyr, difficult to top that
is it not?” asks Seidel. “What is this all about, I don’t understand,”
responds Studebaker, growing apprehensive. “This is all about a complex little matter called
the Grandfather paradox,” describes Seidel. “Yes?” Asks the man answering the door. “Just one problem, that man is not my grandfather,”
cries Studebaker. “We’ll just see what happens, get in,”
demands Seidel. “Grandfather? No solicitors!” barks the homeowner
before freezing in place at the sight of Otto’s pistol. “I’m afraid I have to insist,” replies
Seidel as the two enter the home, walking into the den. Wasting no time, Otto
Seidel fires the trigger, shooting the man in the chest, the grandfather
clutching his heart and bellowing a muffled scream of pain. “Grandpa Don!” cries Studebaker, sliding to
his knees in an ill-fated attempt to save his relative. “You fool, you will not have any memory of this
callous deed, negating my existence will preclude you from having journeyed
here!” cries Studebaker. “Take all the time you need old man,”
Seidel chuckles as he turns his gaze to the younger Studebaker. “Just what
shall I do without you Chauncey, await the arrival at Plymouth Rock in 1620 and
proclaim this land is accounted for? Or maybe venture back to some 1880s
countryside village in the nation of Georgia and just slap a young Josef Stalin
in the face, bombarding him with the wrath of twenty million?” laughs Seidel. “So quick to disgrace the mission and heed
Lincoln’s warning about playing the hero, doing as you please in such a
reckless display of needless murder!” declares Studebaker, choking back the
tears. “Despite the fact that everyone grows up wishing to
save the world, much like the comic superheroes and action figures of their
youth, I have always been one to prefer playing the part of the villain,” exclaims
Seidel, a line he delivers while flashing a devious stare at his colleague hunched
over in peril. As the gasping of the bullet stricken man subsides,
breathing his closing breath, Dr. Chauncey Studebaker vanishes into thin air.
It had worked, as the fabric of time had been tampered with indeed, Seidel was
amazed with the results as he looked over the dead body of the old man. Problem
was, it did not play out quite as he drew it out, for the calculations and
projections were well off, the conclusion failing to match the hypothesis and
theory he had envisioned. Had this experiment been entered as a science fair
exhibit, the expert in Quantum Resonance would likely receive but an average
grade for his trouble. Seidel remained in Toledo, and as he made the suddenly
lonely trek back to the Wonder Worm, he began speaking aloud to himself,
feeling instant remorse for his actions. “Disingenuous as it may sound, I had been wishing
that Studebakers warnings would be correct. I believed that committing the murder
of the grandfather and cancelling the existence of the grandson would preclude
my actions, washing my conscious clean, just as it did his memory, as he now
had never walked the Earth in the first place. Therefore, I killed nobody! This
turn of events is completely lacking in logic! Studebaker should never have
been a part of the mission and this segment of the journey never should have
unfolded, including where and what I am doing now!” Slumping to his feet, grimacing his teeth and
tensing up, struggling to restrain the urge to tear his hair from its roots, a
new theory reveals itself. “I suppose the guilt of murder had to rest
somewhere. Appropriately enough, the punishment happened to rest on my
conscious, staining my memory. Energy can be stored in time, and there are some
footprints that remain permanently in place in its sands,” he declares, staring
distantly at nothing but with everything cluttering the descending fragility of
his mind. Unlocking the time machine and taking one final
stop in the rearview mirror of history before returning to the twenty second
century, Seidel imagines the political ramifications of his actions and the
front he will place upon his research team when arriving home. “Lincoln is sick, while
Studebaker has been eliminated altogether. I shall tell them that Lincoln had
been dying of cancer, and had wished to live out the remainder of his life in
peace with the wife of his that had predeceased him twenty years earlier.
Should do the trick!” reasons Seidel aloud. “This machine cleans up any particular
mess, good thing they have entrusted it to a reliable set of hands,” snickers
the killer, noticing that the sword of Cornwallis has disappeared along with
Studebaker while the scroll and copy of Magna Carta has remained. “Neither
Elgin or Chauncey lied, I was playing with fire. How I remained in Toledo and
the painting in the machine, suppose it did occur, or still would have
transpired, I may never know, enough mental gymnastics for now.” One final stop remains on the agenda for Otto
Seidel before returning back to present day 2115. “The painting can wait, after
the stress of this day I could really use some relaxation. Studebaker was
correct about one thing, of course I was not equipped with the insanity
required to launch an assassination spree on the purveyors of history,” he says
opening up the door of the Wonder Worm. A Chicago native and lifelong suffering fanatic of
the Chicago Cubs baseball club, he has yearned for the day where he could watch
his beloved Cubbies win the World Series firsthand, and given his possession of
the Wonder Worm, he is about to realize his dream. “What a legacy, this sordid franchise
completed the twenty-first century without so much as a pennant. I needn’t own
a time machine to know what the future holds for this organization,” declares
Seidel aloud, as if growing weary of the solitude and missing the presence of
his two former colleagues. Arriving in a quiet north side Chicago neighborhood
where the number of trees dwarfs the number of houses, Seidel spots an
approaching electric trolley car rumbling down the street. “A dime for you, my
good man,” Seidel chides in jest offering a large tip to the operator, climbing
aboard en route to the park. A good six years before the construction of
historic Wrigley Field, Seidel strolls up to the ticket booth of another
historic facility, the West Side Grounds. Stepping through the gates of the
hallowed baseball park Seidel immerses himself in the moment, taking in the
sights and sounds of the experience, from the aroma of the freshly cut grass of
the field to the jubilant crowd adorned in turn of the century attire, our time
traveler enjoying the festivities with the nostalgic exuberance of a five-year
old child attending his first game. Strolling down the stairs of the aisle and taking
his seat no more than ten rows up long the third baseline, Seidel finds himself
sitting adjacent to a youthful fan, bringing him down memory lane of his
childhood recollections of spending summer days at Wrigley. “The World Series here in the Windy City,
and I am not talking about Comiskey’s bunch!” boasts Seidel, his witty remark lost
on and ignored by the child. “Good God, Mordecai Brown and Ty Cobb playing on
the same field, you may not realize it now sonny, but you’re going to remember
these games for the rest of your life.” “Eh, we’ve lost four of ten, plus the
Detroit nine got the best of us last season mister,” replies the child. “Quite a critic, you seem to know your stuff,”
scoffs Seidel, looking around the park basking in the moment and amazed at the
modesty of mild mannered crowd. “So this is what it was like, to watch the
Cubs in the World Series. Enjoy this series son, because it is going to be the
last world championship you’re ever going to see!” snaps Seidel at the young
denigrator, who remains focused on the players warming up. “This is something
else, spectacular, magnificent, to think of all the places I have visited since
the journey began, for me personally, this is the absolute tops,” explains the
traveler as the customary opening statement of “Play Ball!” is declared by the
umpire. Oh how the treacherous and conniving murderer longs
to be able to tell of his exploits and origin, along with what is to come in
the years that follow. To think these poor souls have no foreknowledge of World
War I, the stock market crash, the Great Depression, World War II, so on so
forth, and of other matters far more pressing and concerning than a baseball
franchise. Revealing information is a measure far too risky, and Seidel
understands that he has probably spoken too many a word as it stands, thus he convinces
himself to keep it simple with his fellow fan. “Do you hope to be a ballplayer one day when
you grow up?” he asks the boy. “My family always says how I’m going to
make a living just like they did, by becoming a farmer,” replies the boy. “Agrarian importance aside, the nineteenth
century has passed, you could always explore your options, so much to do and to
see in these exciting times. For instance, I am a scientist of sorts, a
challenging and refreshing profession allowing me the opportunity to be on the
cutting edge of mans pursuits,” lectures Seidel as the two strike up a
conversation while watching the game. “Science is actually my favorite subject at
the schoolhouse, a secret I have withheld from Mom and Pop. You know what? I’ve
grown weary of keeping my interests in the dark from the family. Thank you
mister, I am going to come clean with them about what I would really like to
accomplish, and who knows, maybe someday I’ll be a scientist, just like you!
Wow, what a fantastic catch!” exclaims the boy following a highlight reel play,
turning to search for somebody to share the moment with and finding that the
next seat to his is empty, as Otto Seidel has vanished and is nowhere to be
found. “Heinrich!” a voice beckons from the crowd,
as the boy casts his eyes upwards towards the bleachers beneath the overhang,
where a woman is making her way down the steps. “Heinrich Seidel, you come when
I’m calling you!” demands the woman. “Yes mother,” replies the boy rising from
the seat he did not possess a ticket for. “What have I told you about conniving your way into
things you have no business in!” she declares, dragging him up the stairs by
his arm. Little else compares to the spectacle and the
pageantry of American sport. Whether be the youth of today or the youth of
yesteryear, attendees will undoubtedly display excessive levels of uncouth
behavior and risk trouble in exchange for a more satisfying view. Some things
never change...while something just did. Back in 2115, the Wonder Worm has just returned
from a voyage that faired better than did the Hindenburg, or the aforementioned
Titanic"-at least for part of the crew, as the adventure was primed to be both
remembered, and forgotten. As the long awaited return of the arriving ship
comes into focus, its presence serenades the crowd with a blinding light of
brilliance, slowly retreating in luminosity as the activity of the time machine
settles down. Smoke clears from the tree modeled Wonder Worm, as the door
slowly opens. Moving in to offer a congratulatory welcome back is the crew,
stopping dead in their tracks at the shocking revelation standing before them. Gasping
in exasperation is the research team of Project Falcon, stunned to discover that
not all have returned... Dr. Chauncey Studebaker being the lone man emerging
from the machine. “Friends, it is my reluctant duty, to inform you
that our studies from the mission shall remain inconclusive at the moment. Dr.
Elgin Lincoln was stricken with an illness, a horrible virus unlike any I have
witnessed in my lifetime. We surmised that his faltering health and the
acceleration and distortion of time travel hindered his immune system, and led
to a quick spread of the fierce strain. We hospitalized him immediately, with
the ordeal amounting to a matter of shear days. Lincoln demanded that I leave,
both for precautionary reasons, but more importantly to proceed in the mission
without him for the time being, an operation that I regret to inform you all
that I was unable to do under the circumstances. A further demand was made,
that in no event was I, or anyone associated with Project Falcon, to travel
back to an earlier point with the sole goal of altering his destiny. He refused
us the option of pressing the reset button or pulling strings that had become entangled.
I made an oath to uphold this solemn word, and when I returned, he was gone...” The scene shifts fifteen years into the future,
taking us to 2130, where Dr. Chauncey Studebaker has recently retired and is
concluding a busy weekend that had been chock full of festivities by resting
comfortably in the chair of his living room, outfitted in his favorite robe and
enjoying a ceremonial drink with his son Charles. “Some things never go out of style, and here we
have a thing or three in validation of said saying. A warm fireplace, a good
stiff drink, and a chat between father and son,” declares Chauncey with a mild
laugh. “Charles, forgive me for having kept my lips hushed
these past fifteen years...I have two things to divulge about our first mission
aboard the time machine. Lincoln and myself were able to dock our beloved
Wonder Worm into the past.” “Always had a feeling that you did. Tell me, where
did you go?” asks Charles. “Each of us chose one destination. Lincoln opted to
see the Library of Alexandria, from which he collected a scroll, as well as,
regrettably enough the Smallpox virus. On the other hand I selected the British
surrender at Yorktown, and through strategy, perseverance and luck, was able to
acquire the most fabled artifact in all of American history, at least in my
mind,” describes Chauncey. “You lifted the Declaration of
Independence?” asks Charles. “Well, second most fabled artifact. The
Declaration belongs to the people and belongs in the Archives. This one belongs
to me,” he declares, motioning to the sword of Cornwallis encased in glass
resting proudly and symbolically on the mantle atop the fireplace. “Yorktown was where the affliction revealed itself
to Lincoln, and despite racing to one era in search of medical assistance and
racing back, he perished in a matter of days. Elgin Lincoln was a good man, a
worthy role model for myself, and many more like me. He warned me before the
mission, about how the further back in time any disruptions occur, the greater
their inevitable ramifications, although theoretically one could concoct a
remedy and alleviate such a mistake by venturing further back and attempting to
correct said error. “Plotting
such a plan of attack flowed through my mind the moment I left Yorktown, and
that is the course of action I would have taken, had it not been for a promise
made, one I was obliged to keep. Lincoln had spoken to me about continuing the
mission, and about leaving him behind as his destiny had called for no matter
the gravity of circumstances. I buried him with his beloved scroll that day,
before finishing what I had begun. “As far as the future world was concerned, you were
aware that the mission was to venture ahead one hundred years time. What you
did not know was that I lied to the research team and the entire world, as I did
see beyond the emergency room of a hospital,” admits Studebaker. “Funny, deep down, I had always imagined that you
had done so,” chides Charles. “Do tell, what did you see, what was the future
like?” “Lincoln had been somewhat scared of navigating
through the past. Conversely, I had been fearful of navigating through the
unknown waters comprising the future that lay ahead. What I saw was a world
raped with anarchy and chaos, a systematic devastation draped into the social
fabric, truly terrifying and horrible all at once. It surpassed in taste the
bitter failures of twentieth century communism, in magnitude the destruction of
World War II. What struck me most of all, was how it was so ingrained and
intertwined in the daily activities of the people, as if it had all become
routine,” replies Chauncey. “I have to assume that you discovered the cause of
the calamity, given the time machine, did you not?” asks Charles. “The moment I had returned from the maiden voyage,
I vowed never to return to that place, though of course there would be
subsequent missions where I was contractually bound to deploy myself, along
with the realization of the responsibility I had obtained in the process. It is
hard to say how or when it all started,” explains Studebaker. “You did attempt to avert it, did you not?” asks
Charles, his voice quivering like a child concerned his parents have forgotten
about Christmas. “Charles my boy, I have learned a great deal
through the years, and I mean that both in terms of the natural progression of
my lifetime, along with the sights and sounds I have experienced as a passenger
aboard the Wonder Worm. The greatest lesson of them all has slowly built up and
accumulated with each mission. The various problems of the distant future were
not created by any one man and nor can they be solved by one man. What had
occurred was not merely a result of governmental or bureaucratic incompetency.
Nor was it nuclear war, global warming, or widespread famine or disease,
unemployment, pollution, overcrowding. I had witnessed a centuries worth of
problems, just as I was privileged to have witnessed several millennia worth of
miracles, achievements and advancements sprinkled throughout history,”
emphatically declares Studebaker. “With all of those problems, surely you could have
found some answers?” asks Charles. “Son, as I’ve learned from my trek across time, the
numerous trespassory steps I have taken into forbidden times and lands out of
my jurisdiction, it is not up to me to learn those answers, patch up the
pitfalls and stop the ensuing cataclysmic happenings of another place. Learning
from the past is one thing, intermeddling in the future is something different
all together, this principle of late I can share. “You see, conducting further research through
various travels I compiled my findings, as did the rest of our staff, and after
releasing our findings through the proper channels to the appropriate parties
and agencies and governmental departments, at the conclusion of five years time
we opted to return to 2215 in an attempt to track and take note of the
changes...where we found that nothing had changed-"apart from my attitude that
is from that date forth. The dynamics of time are far more complex than
instituting an alternate policy or committing a murder and acquiescing a throne
to another. Thinking otherwise would be nothing shy of an insult to the rules
of time,” explains Studebaker. “Makes one question the merits of time travel all
together, does it not?” asks Charles. “Not in the least,” replies Chauncey very quickly.
“Unbeknownst to most, the key word in time travel is not so much the aspect of
time, as it is the aspect of travel. A time machine is very much like any other
ship, whether be it airship, starship, or automobile, in that a journey riding
about in any of the above constitutes an array of risk and reward. Like most of
those the utility far outweighs the danger, provided the proper precautions are
undertaken. Had they not been, why, we could have left with three men and
returned with two, not due to a fluke illness but rather a time paradox, a slip
through the cracks that one is never to recover from.” “One last item pertaining to the legacy of Project
Falcon. Stop the impending downfall of civilization? It is not up to me. The
baton has been passed to your generation and those that follow. Big government,
wars, economic and financial despair, placing my escapade in another light, the
future appeared all too familiar in many a way. Measures must be taken, yes of
course, although they must occur gradually, just as one would take precautions over
time in order to prevent an avalanche or a forest fire. “Consider it akin to cramming for an exam instead
of taking dutiful and diligent preparations over an adequate frame of time. The
same principle can be most especially applied to society at large, and its
relationship between past, present, and future. As Sir Winston Churchill once declared,
paraphrasing the famous quote of George Santayana, Those who fail to learn from
history are doomed to repeat it.”
THE END © 2015 RyGuy25 |
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1 Review Added on April 27, 2015 Last Updated on April 27, 2015 Tags: Time travel, time machine, past, present, future, science fiction, fantasy, historical fiction, library of alexandria, magna carta, american revolution, grandfather paradox |