'Living the dream'
"He's lived a long, full life, Dr. Merrill, we can be thankful for that. I am. Look at all he's accomplished. We must pull the plug."
"Absolutely not, Mr. Pfeiffer! Scotty believed in this project. For the last twenty odd years he's rested all his hopes and dreams on it. And he expressly stated in his will that he wants to be the first to test its capabilities. The man is eighty-six years old and dying anyway. Why should I risk another scientist's life? Excuse me while I set the controls." Dr. Merrill rose from his swivel chair and approached the mechanism. "1957, Broadway, New York City. Why then?"
George Pfeiffer smiled. "Scotty was thirty and on top of the world. Theater's darling!" His gaze shifted to his brother, he avoided looking at him until now and his smile faded. "That is until the damn car accident. It was my fault, ya know? We were celebrating his being cast in the show and I insisted on driving the Cadillac. I thought I could handle all those Vodka gimlets. And my girl was in such a hurry to get to the Razzamatazz club to see Frank Sinatra."
George slumped his shoulders. "He eventually regained the use of his legs, but he knew it was the beginning of the end. Scotty was always a fighter, but his career stalled and the world forgot him. He just wants to relive that one moment of glory I guess."
"What was the play again?" Dr. Merrill asked.
"He was up for the lead in 'The Music Man.' Harold Hill was one of those dream roles. Broadway took a lot of stamina and finesse and Scotty had mounds of it. Performing was in his blood. The composer, Meredith Wilson, picked him personally for the role. As Scotty tells it anyway."
Dr. Merrill went to Scotty's bed-side to prep him for the mind transference. He found it hard to imagine that this frail wisp of a man, his wrinkled mouth perpetually open and gasping for air, and his shriveled limbs contorted from strokes, was once a robust actor. But the proof surrounded them in his mansion. Entertainment honors snaked his bookshelves, giant posters and stagy glamour photos of him and his show biz friends adorned the walls. He regretted that he never won the Tony award.
Despite the accolades, Scott Pfeiffer was the most selfless man one could ever meet. He gave of his time and money to support charities and hosted benefits in their name. He always had a kind word and sage advice for fledging ingénues and never turned his nose up at the newer generation of actors. As an acting coach, he was loved and respected by many.
George wondered why Scotty kept abreast with science and technology when he was strictly a song and dance man. With all of Scotty's pursuits it was little wonder he never married or had a family of his own.
George told Dr. Merrill the tragic story of Scotty's first love, the ravishing redhead, Andrea Sullivan. In 1949, she collapsed after a rigorous dance routine and died in his arms – an unsuspecting victim of heart disease. They were to have been wed later that year. Scotty never fully got over the loss, and then years later the accident left him with an odd gimp that he claimed turned the women off.
They struggled to get Scotty upright in the chair inside the transferal unit, but he put up minimal resistance. He knew what was happening to him. With the straps and electrode pads in place on his arms, legs, and head, Dr. Merrill started up the machine.
"You've been a wonderful friend and mentor. This is history in the making, Scotty. Prepare to live your dream. If this is successful, the benefits of the 'Phfeiffer-matic' can change the course of history for the better."
Scotty raised his eyes and a shimmer of hope passed through them. He was ready.
George clutched the Doctor's arm. "Wait! Before you pull that lever, or whatever you're doing, explain to me one more time how this works. It's unbelievable. This won't hurt him, will it?"
"No, it's all in the mind. It's truly the stuff of science fiction, so it's been under wraps for twenty-five years while my team and I perfected it. Scotty generously donated this entire space beneath his mansion for my laboratory."
Dr. Merrill made sure the unit was locked securely. "His old body will still remain here, but his mind will be in the exact time and place that we program into the machine."
George knitted his brow and smirked. "This strains credulity, Doctor. How is that even possible? You can't make matter out of thin air."
Dr. Merrill grinned and bustled a few feet to a large, connecting unit. "Your brother has funded a number of projects for my team, Mr. Pfeiffer. You might want to sit down for this."
George crossed his arms. He was not intimidated. "I may be 76, but I'm in very good health. It's in our family genes." He boasted. George wouldn't tell the doctor that he needed a liver transplant. "What do you want to show me?"
Dr. Merrill pulled back a heavy, dark curtain. George's face paled and he lowered his arms. He paced the unit and slapped his hands on the blue glass. "It's…it's…Scotty! It can't be! This must be a dummy, a mannequin!"
"No. Look closely."
George fumbled for his spectacles and peered through the glass. Young Scotty's hairy chest rose up and down as if he were in a pleasant nap. George was stunned speechless. Dr. Merrill held his shoulder.
"It's Scotty at 30 years old – even better than the original. Cloning, Mr. Pfeiffer – with advanced aging technology. Your brother was a huge proponent for my cloning theory and now here he is. Young Scotty will be traveling to the past and the Scotty of the future will be in full control of him through brain wave transference."
"What? How?"
"I make it sound simple, but trust me, it's not. We are literally testing two scientific breakthroughs at one time. It's too much to get into right now."
Tears rolled down George's cheeks as he marveled at the lean, tan and sinewy form of his brother. Scotty always had the body of an athlete and the loose limbs of a dancer. George studied the familiar, unconventionally handsome features of his brother's face – the long nose and thick dark eyebrows, and his brown hair, worn pushed to the right and always a little too shaggy over his warmhearted green eyes.
"But…but, Scotty is dying now! What will happen when he does?"
"We have no real way of knowing that, Mr. Pfeiffer. The clone is perfectly functioning; he's just in an induced sleep for the brain transference. It's likely that once Scotty dies in the present…"
"His clone will die? Why?"
"Because his present mind is controlling him. Once you lose that, even for an instant, the shock may be too great, the clone's brain could cease to function, the heart stops…but that's conjecture. The clone may barely feel it."
"But Dr. Merrill, that's murder if he dies. Clone or not, you'll be murdering my brother! I won't have it!" George said adamant. "I'm going to make sure this project is shut down!"
Dr. Merrill knew he was going to run into a problem with Scotty's last surviving family member. George Pfeiffer was already miffed that nearly all of Scotty's funds went to this implausible research. The inheritance pot was pretty empty for him.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Pfeiffer, but Scotty knew all the risks and signed all the necessary waivers. These are his last wishes and they will be carried out to the letter. Scotty had faith that my invention could literally transport his mind. Of course that's never been proven accurately with monkeys and dogs."
"But this a human being! I don't care what my brother thought, I won't subject him to this!" George insisted. His hands shook. He wanted to tear the units and plugs and from the walls. Dr. Merrill led him to a chair.
"There's nothing you can do. He expected your interference, so if you look in that briefcase on my desk, you'll find all the legal paperwork signed as of a year ago when he was still in sound mind. It's his body, his choice. Now if you'll excuse me, we're wasting precious time."
George tossed up his hands and sank against the desk. He had to the let the doctor continue. Scotty always had the final say in most matters. What his admirers and friends saw as an unbeatable confidence in Scotty was in George's eyes an unbearable stubbornness.
"Go ahead, Doctor. Let Scotty live the lost dream. If only we could all be so lucky. I'm going back up to the mansion. I really need to think."
"But…but don't you even want to see how it works?" Dr. Merrill asked. He was a little disappointed there were no witnesses to his invention.
George shook his head and shrugged. "Scotty and I used to dream up stories like this, we've read every weird tale in those magazines, watched all the movies and shows. This is like One step beyond! The moment you start that machine… a lifetime of memories…gone."
George thought of Cheryl, his long-suffering wife of fifty-eight years, their three children, and seven grandchildren. They had two great-grandchildren on the way. He swallowed his bitter tears and saluted his brother as he went into the elevator.
"It's your turn, Scotty! I'm sorry! I've always been sorry. Maybe we'll get it right this time."
~Oo~
1957 – Opening night of 'The Music Man' on Broadway
The grand finale approached and the whole theater ensemble sang at the top of their spirited lungs for seventy-six trombones. He held the gorgeous Marian the Librarian in his arms, and belted out how he never heard birds singing 'till there was her. Scotty dipped her lithe form and kissed her with a passion that surpassed the script. She didn't mind at all.
He let the actress dance away in a spin and tossed his baton in the air. It twirled up high, nearly shattering a hot light. Scotty performed a flawless back flip and the audience cheered when he held out his arm and the baton landed in his hand. He raced to the head of the stage, sliding halfway on his knees in a grandstanding motion. Sweat poured down his face and his heart thudded so hard he thought it would burst. Dizziness overtook him, but his body never swayed and the grin never left his face. The moment passed as quickly as it came. He survived.
There was a complete silence, and the audience stood up. Thunderous claps and whistles made him burst into tears. After numerous ovations he ran backstage on the final curtain call and his little brother Georgie grabbed him.
"Scotty! That was the bee's knees! They love you! I love you! Come on! We're going out for a night on the town! I finally got the Cadillac all fixed up." Georgie staggered into curtains and props and tossed his car keys in the air. Scotty caught them and held Georgie steady. He reeked of liquor and cigarettes.
"Not this time, little brother. One fender bender is enough. When are you gonna learn you can't handle Vodka gimlets – You seriously need to cut the drinking, Georgie. This time, I'm driving."
"Whatever you say I guess." Georgie pouted. He tapped a cigarette from the pack and held it out to Scotty.
Scotty passed on it. "Not for me. I need to keep in top form for all the action I get on stage."
"Half a pack a day man? Since when did you become such an old geezer, Scotty? Aww heck, Cherrie wants to see Frankie Sinatra. I love her, but that chick is so impatient." A horn blasted from outside and he groaned. "Thar she blows again!"
Scotty's expression darkened. "I know Cheryl's impatient. Always was. But you tried her to the limit. She's loyal, Georgie, and she loves you a heck of a lot too, even though you gave her hell with the alcohol. You're gonna kill your liver, don't think I didn't know all about it."
Georgie chuckled and burped in his face. "What's all that supposed to mean? Now you want to play a Swami? You gunna read my future?"
Scotty pushed him out the back exit. "Never mind, kiddo. The future's still in our hands. I'll be right there, I'm just waiting for my librarian."
~Oo~
In 2013 old Scotty Pfeiffer died with a smile on his aged lips as the transference completed itself. The fabric of time unraveled and each cosmic thread shifted and reversed. The current universe disappeared without a trace of existence.
From 1957 onward, young Scotty Pfeiffer became a Broadway legend. That stunning finale earned him his well-deserved Tony award. He married his 'Music Man' co-star, but they were too busy making entertainment history to raise a family. It didn't matter, because he now had forever.
In 1986, with his health, celebrity, and fortune secure, Scotty made sure to seek out an aspiring young scientist named Dr. Clark Merrill and put him to work on the Pfeiffer-matic. The scientific community had shunned Dr. Merrill for his wild ideas about cloning, and his firm conviction that time travel was possible.
The End.