Parallelogram : Chapter 02
By E. L. Zimmerman (ncc1205@aol.com)
Lying naked under the covers, Olga Vukavitch quietly stared up at the blank ceiling, completely and utterly lost in thought. Though she explored the deepest recesses of her memory, she couldn't recall a time in her life when she had been happier.
As a student, studying Nuclear Physics at the University of Moscow, she had met Latrenov Propilkin, a classmate. It was love at first sight. Latrenov made her believe in the kind of love little girls dream they'll one day find. Quickly, he became a soulmate who sprinkled his magic into her life. But, when she found Latrenov was spending his late night hours sprinkling his magic into the life of that prissy Arynna, Moscow's storybook gymnastic princess, Olga cut all ties to him immediately.
Lost in the melancholy aftermath of disappointment, she tried to find solace with Victor. Once again, the scholarly Vukavitch found comfort in deep brown eyes. Again, she believed that something inside her had stirred into womanhood, awakened from the sleep of youth and blossoming into the maturity that precedes passion, commitment, and, ultimately, marriage. Then, Victor found Helena, and Olga again experienced the tears of a broken, deflated heart.
Not Vladmir ...
Not Ivan ...
Not Peter ...
How could someone so brilliant in science be so blind in the ways of men?
No.
'Enough of the past,' she told herself. 'That past is not only years ago but also is thousands of miles away.' Smiling, she reminded herself, 'Now, you are truly happy.'
She rolled over in bed, feeling the rustle of soft silk sheets against her porcelain skin, and she stretched, her back aching from ... last night's adventure.
'How long does it take,' she wondered, closing her eyes, allowing a dreamy state to overwhelm her conscious mind, 'to find one's true love?'
The BackStep Project had brought her to America, had delivered to these dry, phantom deserts of Nevada, where mile after mile stretched on, providing little or no signs of life, let alone existence. She remembered the day she had arrived at the facility. Getting out of the car, she had looked around, considered the barren landscape, and couldn't stomach her fear. 'What have you gotten yourself into, Olga Vukavitch?' Of course, the facility wasn't as large back then, as much of it was still under construction. As a matter of fact, she remembered that additional housing was under construction the day she had arrived. When she stepped from the car, she recalled that some of the men ... some of the sweating laborers laying a foundation for what would ultimately become BackStep's new operations center ... they had stared at her. As she slammed the car door and walked gracefully toward the main building, she thought she could feel their eyes on her.
Were they attracted? Was it sexual? Or ... was it the fact that she was a woman? She trusted that, this being a secure installation, these men didn't belong to a common construction crew. No. These were men sworn to secrecy, employed by exclusive contract with the United States' infamous National Security Administration. Were they jealous of the fact that she was here while all of their male colleagues, equally qualified, were ignored?
That's where they were wrong.
In the months following her arrival, Olga learned that she possessed an singular understanding of certain scientific principles, quantum mechanics, and even old-fashioned common sense, all of which were in short supply with her American counterparts. All of them ... the men and the women ... they came and went. None of them lasted on such a grueling project. For a time, she believed that BackStep had a revolving door mentality, as Director Bradley Talmadge searched and searched for the right personnel. He gambled on the latest hotshots coming out of MIT, only to learn that they were poorly prepared for the 'scientific community' necessary for such a top secret experimental program. He did find some very strong prospects out of several elite California schools, much to Olga's surprise ... didn't they only produce surfers, actors, and movie directors? Still, few survived the countless but necessary failures that had to pave the way for the greatness followed.
At the executive level, no one outlasted Olga Vukavitch.
Finally, she had found happiness again. To her pleasant surprise, it wasn't linked to a man.
However, being a woman, as extraordinarily attractive as she was gifted with genius, didn't make her job on the BackStep Project any easier. Just as Talmadge had interviewed scientist after scientist after scientist, he had screened hundreds of 'hotshots,' she remembered calling them.
"We have to find the perfect Chrononaut, Olga," Talmadge had reminded her. "The screening process is more complex than any other dealt with in the history of mankind. There are bound to be ... certain sacrifices."
And sacrifices there were.
In the project's first year, she had partnered with him on interviewing hundreds of prospects. Initially, NASA referred many of them. One brave soul had been to the moon, and, due to his age, his reflexes were inferior for piloting the Sphere. The others ... most of them came from the military. Some of them were, specifically, from Special Forces. However, there were many she had interviewed without knowledge of their personnel records. Bradley Talmadge explained that he couldn't share their background with her for "reasons of national security."
They all looked at her, glared at her, studied her.
Were they, like those construction men, wondering what she was doing here? Were they attracted to her, or were they questioning her commitment to the project ... because she was a woman?
After a while, she stopped trying to read their minds, deciding it was pure folly.
Those who were selected, those fortunately few, brave souls ... died.
In many cases, she had been the last one to speak with them before sending them into the unknown that was the infancy of time travel. She felt that burden, late at night, when she was alone in her room. She couldn't recall the number of times she had cried herself to sleep over the deaths of men whose name she couldn't remember. But she never forgot the faces. They always came back to her. When she slept. Sometimes when she ate along in the cafeteria. They stared at her ... like that construction crew ... like the other scientists brought in and kicked off the project ... like the candidates considered for the BackStep Project. Sometimes, she still felt their eyes on her as if from beyond the grave. The thought always sent shivers through her soul.
Finally, there came one.
As a girl, a teacher had told her a fairy tale, one of those rare kind that actually ended in a moral. Although she tried on countless occasions, she could never fully remember the story ... something to do with a flock of sheep and the shepherd who watched over them. However, try as she might, Olga couldn't forget the moral of the story: "while there may be many, in the end there can be only one."
Now, BackStep had its Chrononaut, and, with it came countless successes, adventures, and discoveries. Much to her surprise, with him came an emotion Olga Kukavitch hadn't expected: she had found love again in the shape of this brave man/child. Guarded as she had been for so many years, she was afraid to admit it. The day would come, she knew, that she would break through those emotional barriers separating the two of them ... especially after the events of last night. At Talmadge's insistence, the Chrononaut and Olga were treated to an impressive candlelight dinner. Afterward, they chatted in the back of the limousine, chiding one another about their backgrounds, their similarities, and their differences. The limo brought them back to headquarters. As they were walking into the building, Olga was overwhelmed with a sensation she hadn't felt in years. He was still talking, teasing her about an 'obvious chemistry' between the two of them, but she had stopped listening the moment he had extended his hand to her to help her from the car. Before she had taken his hand, she had stared up into his eyes and found that they had never looked so deep and sultry before. Much to her surprise, she responded to the warmth she was sensing in her belly and said, "I would like you to come with me, and I would like ... very much ... to wake in your arms in the morning."
And she had.
The creak of the bathroom door pulled her from her trance. Quickly, she rolled over to face the man walking slowly toward her.
"Well," he said, "I don't mind telling you that I think we broke the record for the longest foreplay in the history of mankind."
"What do you mean?" she asked, playfully throwing a pillow at him.
He caught the pillow and pitched it back. Dropped onto the bed beside her, he lay down, exhausted, on his back. "You know damn well what I mean! It's been nothing but an emotional tennis match with you from day one, Olga! One minute, you act like you enjoy my company ... the next minute, you're calling me a grown child."
"You are a grown child."
"Then what you did last night broke the laws of fifty states, thank you very much."
She laughed.
Yes.
She had found happiness.
The playful banter that had been their relationship for so long was only a symptom of what she felt in her heart. She knew it to be true, and she knew she had to tell him. For all he had done for the human race, throughout his countless BackSteps, she owed him that one simple assurance.
Sitting up, she pulled the covers with her to conceal herself from him.
"Um," she began, nervously, "do you have a minute?"
Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes. "Trust me, Olga. Now that I'm finally here, I'm not going anywhere."
"Then," she tried, pushing back the simmering fear starting to percolate in her stomach, "I have something I want to tell you ... Channing."
End of Chapter Two
By E. L. Zimmerman (ncc1205@aol.com)
Lying naked under the covers, Olga Vukavitch quietly stared up at the blank ceiling, completely and utterly lost in thought. Though she explored the deepest recesses of her memory, she couldn't recall a time in her life when she had been happier.
As a student, studying Nuclear Physics at the University of Moscow, she had met Latrenov Propilkin, a classmate. It was love at first sight. Latrenov made her believe in the kind of love little girls dream they'll one day find. Quickly, he became a soulmate who sprinkled his magic into her life. But, when she found Latrenov was spending his late night hours sprinkling his magic into the life of that prissy Arynna, Moscow's storybook gymnastic princess, Olga cut all ties to him immediately.
Lost in the melancholy aftermath of disappointment, she tried to find solace with Victor. Once again, the scholarly Vukavitch found comfort in deep brown eyes. Again, she believed that something inside her had stirred into womanhood, awakened from the sleep of youth and blossoming into the maturity that precedes passion, commitment, and, ultimately, marriage. Then, Victor found Helena, and Olga again experienced the tears of a broken, deflated heart.
Not Vladmir ...
Not Ivan ...
Not Peter ...
How could someone so brilliant in science be so blind in the ways of men?
No.
'Enough of the past,' she told herself. 'That past is not only years ago but also is thousands of miles away.' Smiling, she reminded herself, 'Now, you are truly happy.'
She rolled over in bed, feeling the rustle of soft silk sheets against her porcelain skin, and she stretched, her back aching from ... last night's adventure.
'How long does it take,' she wondered, closing her eyes, allowing a dreamy state to overwhelm her conscious mind, 'to find one's true love?'
The BackStep Project had brought her to America, had delivered to these dry, phantom deserts of Nevada, where mile after mile stretched on, providing little or no signs of life, let alone existence. She remembered the day she had arrived at the facility. Getting out of the car, she had looked around, considered the barren landscape, and couldn't stomach her fear. 'What have you gotten yourself into, Olga Vukavitch?' Of course, the facility wasn't as large back then, as much of it was still under construction. As a matter of fact, she remembered that additional housing was under construction the day she had arrived. When she stepped from the car, she recalled that some of the men ... some of the sweating laborers laying a foundation for what would ultimately become BackStep's new operations center ... they had stared at her. As she slammed the car door and walked gracefully toward the main building, she thought she could feel their eyes on her.
Were they attracted? Was it sexual? Or ... was it the fact that she was a woman? She trusted that, this being a secure installation, these men didn't belong to a common construction crew. No. These were men sworn to secrecy, employed by exclusive contract with the United States' infamous National Security Administration. Were they jealous of the fact that she was here while all of their male colleagues, equally qualified, were ignored?
That's where they were wrong.
In the months following her arrival, Olga learned that she possessed an singular understanding of certain scientific principles, quantum mechanics, and even old-fashioned common sense, all of which were in short supply with her American counterparts. All of them ... the men and the women ... they came and went. None of them lasted on such a grueling project. For a time, she believed that BackStep had a revolving door mentality, as Director Bradley Talmadge searched and searched for the right personnel. He gambled on the latest hotshots coming out of MIT, only to learn that they were poorly prepared for the 'scientific community' necessary for such a top secret experimental program. He did find some very strong prospects out of several elite California schools, much to Olga's surprise ... didn't they only produce surfers, actors, and movie directors? Still, few survived the countless but necessary failures that had to pave the way for the greatness followed.
At the executive level, no one outlasted Olga Vukavitch.
Finally, she had found happiness again. To her pleasant surprise, it wasn't linked to a man.
However, being a woman, as extraordinarily attractive as she was gifted with genius, didn't make her job on the BackStep Project any easier. Just as Talmadge had interviewed scientist after scientist after scientist, he had screened hundreds of 'hotshots,' she remembered calling them.
"We have to find the perfect Chrononaut, Olga," Talmadge had reminded her. "The screening process is more complex than any other dealt with in the history of mankind. There are bound to be ... certain sacrifices."
And sacrifices there were.
In the project's first year, she had partnered with him on interviewing hundreds of prospects. Initially, NASA referred many of them. One brave soul had been to the moon, and, due to his age, his reflexes were inferior for piloting the Sphere. The others ... most of them came from the military. Some of them were, specifically, from Special Forces. However, there were many she had interviewed without knowledge of their personnel records. Bradley Talmadge explained that he couldn't share their background with her for "reasons of national security."
They all looked at her, glared at her, studied her.
Were they, like those construction men, wondering what she was doing here? Were they attracted to her, or were they questioning her commitment to the project ... because she was a woman?
After a while, she stopped trying to read their minds, deciding it was pure folly.
Those who were selected, those fortunately few, brave souls ... died.
In many cases, she had been the last one to speak with them before sending them into the unknown that was the infancy of time travel. She felt that burden, late at night, when she was alone in her room. She couldn't recall the number of times she had cried herself to sleep over the deaths of men whose name she couldn't remember. But she never forgot the faces. They always came back to her. When she slept. Sometimes when she ate along in the cafeteria. They stared at her ... like that construction crew ... like the other scientists brought in and kicked off the project ... like the candidates considered for the BackStep Project. Sometimes, she still felt their eyes on her as if from beyond the grave. The thought always sent shivers through her soul.
Finally, there came one.
As a girl, a teacher had told her a fairy tale, one of those rare kind that actually ended in a moral. Although she tried on countless occasions, she could never fully remember the story ... something to do with a flock of sheep and the shepherd who watched over them. However, try as she might, Olga couldn't forget the moral of the story: "while there may be many, in the end there can be only one."
Now, BackStep had its Chrononaut, and, with it came countless successes, adventures, and discoveries. Much to her surprise, with him came an emotion Olga Kukavitch hadn't expected: she had found love again in the shape of this brave man/child. Guarded as she had been for so many years, she was afraid to admit it. The day would come, she knew, that she would break through those emotional barriers separating the two of them ... especially after the events of last night. At Talmadge's insistence, the Chrononaut and Olga were treated to an impressive candlelight dinner. Afterward, they chatted in the back of the limousine, chiding one another about their backgrounds, their similarities, and their differences. The limo brought them back to headquarters. As they were walking into the building, Olga was overwhelmed with a sensation she hadn't felt in years. He was still talking, teasing her about an 'obvious chemistry' between the two of them, but she had stopped listening the moment he had extended his hand to her to help her from the car. Before she had taken his hand, she had stared up into his eyes and found that they had never looked so deep and sultry before. Much to her surprise, she responded to the warmth she was sensing in her belly and said, "I would like you to come with me, and I would like ... very much ... to wake in your arms in the morning."
And she had.
The creak of the bathroom door pulled her from her trance. Quickly, she rolled over to face the man walking slowly toward her.
"Well," he said, "I don't mind telling you that I think we broke the record for the longest foreplay in the history of mankind."
"What do you mean?" she asked, playfully throwing a pillow at him.
He caught the pillow and pitched it back. Dropped onto the bed beside her, he lay down, exhausted, on his back. "You know damn well what I mean! It's been nothing but an emotional tennis match with you from day one, Olga! One minute, you act like you enjoy my company ... the next minute, you're calling me a grown child."
"You are a grown child."
"Then what you did last night broke the laws of fifty states, thank you very much."
She laughed.
Yes.
She had found happiness.
The playful banter that had been their relationship for so long was only a symptom of what she felt in her heart. She knew it to be true, and she knew she had to tell him. For all he had done for the human race, throughout his countless BackSteps, she owed him that one simple assurance.
Sitting up, she pulled the covers with her to conceal herself from him.
"Um," she began, nervously, "do you have a minute?"
Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes. "Trust me, Olga. Now that I'm finally here, I'm not going anywhere."
"Then," she tried, pushing back the simmering fear starting to percolate in her stomach, "I have something I want to tell you ... Channing."
End of Chapter Two