2002 Early October, Never Never Land
The corridors where deserted and she stalked round preparing herself incase of the chance meeting with another human being. They'd virtually emptied the compound.
Hadn't taken too long, they were precise and organised. Right now they'd be burning the records, only the most important would be preserved. After all they might want it in the future. They thought there would be one without this place. Did even one of those people responsible know quite how many times the sphere had launched off with the task in mind to save them? How many times had he saved countless millions of lives? And they repaid him with this.
A month ago it had happened. You may have guessed by now, they shut operation backstep down. Debunked and filed away.
Talmadge dutifully did what he had to. The meeting was held. Hooter sat with wild eyes and mouth open at the news, Isaac was astounded but not surprised. He'd shared his thoughts with me many times about how long it would last, we'd thought though that by now the project had proved its worth. We could not say but it may also have proved its threat.
My first reaction had been to turn to Parker; he had fear in his eyes. Parker despite his appearance of being casual and dim-witted in cases was more than smart enough to see without backstep his future would be uncertain. He probably imagined it as a needle balanced precariously on a point at that moment. Little did we know his future had already been taken care of.
Talmadge had his orders, he gave me mine. While the others had sat discussing what had brought about this event, I sat arms leaned against desk with head covered in an offices only rooms away, deciding whether I should be the one to bring about the next.
I remerged to the conference room accompanied by two black suited goons. They weren't any I recognised as Ramsey's lot, indeed Ramsey looked surprised at their entrance and I couldn't bring myself to face looking up to any other person in the room except Talmadge.
As he read out the brief on the situation I tried to quell my panic and doubts. First they closed it down and now what they were doing to parker. And so quick, not even a day or hours to give him time to pack or say goodbye.
At last I heard my order.
"Dr. Vukavitch"
He stood arms crossed, legs apart in a stance of strength. I had not been listening but knew well enough he was refusing.
"Dr. Vukavitch"
Talmadge didn't agree any more than I, but he carried out his orders patriotically. These had come from the highest command possible. Top-level authorization. It was big.
"Dr. Vukavitch"
I had my orders, I had to do this.
I had a choice.
Lifted my face up to meet Talmadge's eyes before moving my view of sight over to Frank's.
I laid the syringe on the table carefully.
And adjusted my standing.
What I remember of the series of events that came next is jumbled and erratic. It was simply the most shocking thing that has happened in my life. My trust in the government was at that point blown away completely. It bowled over my little Russian mind that Ramsey, Talmadge and Isaac could have any faith in their country after that. Must not say things like that. I think that was one of the top 10 things I mustn't say on Ramsey's list. So I'll stop mumbling right away, can't afford to be that careless when so much is at stake.
In my reminisces I lose myself, the memories are all I have. There may be no hope that I can see him alive again. I was told, by Nate once again, that the only time they'd probably let me see parker would be at either his funeral or mine. With the regrettable circumstance that only one would be able to see the other.
He's been in there a month. 29 days actually. Over a lunar month but not calendar yet. Will it matter to him?
He's been sitting in that cell waiting for his rescue for twenty-nine days. Praying that they would change their minds no doubt, praying for a miracle that they'd let him out.
He'd been back in the real world 4 years mind you. Four years in the world of NSA, not entirely authentic but more of a life than Hansen Island has to offer.
I opened the door to a musty stale smell; it had been a month I suppose. I turned on the lamp and the light bringing out the dust in the air as it drifted down to the floor and on various objects. I propped open the box as it all settled around the room. On the bookshelf there were many books piled high. On top and in any gaps. I picked up the nearest – The time machine by H. G. Wells – and put it on the table, pondering which I should take with me.
What were his favourites?
I wouldn't know, we never got into specifics. Don't even know his favourite colour let alone book. I didn't take the time to, didn't make an effort. I'd thought we'd have all the time in the world to argue about this and that, that one day it might matter.
It matters now. Simply because I can't know this now, it is denied.
The bed was made up, neatly set, a product of a military training never forgotten.
I looked down to the bedside cabinet, the knob was coming off but I managed to pry it ajar. Inside was a box, wooden and carved. The carvings were intricate but not fussy and the box was of a substantial weight for its size.6 by 12 inches. The contents I didn't care to look at, it wasn't my place and now wasn't the time for any unpleasant tales to resurface. Just more things I would not understand, pictures that in themselves were good but I didn't want to be reminded of him. Already being in his room that sounded absurd. I hadn't seen him for a month; he was starting to fade in my mind, something that frightened me innately. But he wouldn't look the same in the picture as he did right now and I couldn't look at something that emanated the past, as if that would be all he was from this moment.
Reaching for a rough book of stapled papers I swallowed hard eager to believe I'd see him soon. The booklet was in his handwriting, it scrawled across the page firmly at a slant. The letters curled into beautiful words and found it was a sort of diary. A mix of poetry and scratched drawings in both pen and pencil. Some frantic and others slow and beautifully pictured, in Russian and English he writes of love and friends, of those he's found, of his life.
Я ЛПЮБЛПЮ TЫ
That's the end of chapter one. Hope I did it well so far, I promise my evil ways with them, the only good fanfic inevitably puts the characters through hell and I shall be what David Kemper was to Farscape. You may not know (or care) about who he is and what he did but I'm warning that my chapters will be heavy and full of twists and turns so intricate.