Chapter 08
Six Days, Twenty Hours, Thirty-Nine Minutes
"All right, all right, all right," Michelson surrendered, holding up both of his hands in a gesture of inevitability. "Let's forget all about the latest quantum theories. Let's forget about the possibility - however remote - of temporal anomalies. Let's forget the fact that what you're talking about is nothing short of damned impossible - and now explain to me - in perfect English - how the hell this kind of thing can happen?"
Taking several emphatic steps in the young chrononaut's direction, Ramsey blustered, "I'll tell you just how in the hell it happened! It's Parker, dammit! In all of the days he served Backstep, that psycho never once followed the damn rules!" Glancing back at the viewscreen, he added, "As far as I'm concerned, Agent Ruiz, you can leave that sorry sonuvabitch out there with the rest of the hicks he infected! Leave them together to suffer the ill effects of this temporal paradox he caused! See if they enjoy his company any more than I did!"
Olga held up a firm hand. "We have no idea whether or not Mr. Parker is responsible."
"The hell we don't!" the man bellowed. Leaning his palms on the conference table, he stuck his face near hers. "You said so yourself, Olga! It's Frank Parker! The one-time certified lunatic! Given what's happened, how can he not be responsible?"
"We don't know anything," she said flatly. "We're in the dark here, Mr. Ramsey, and I'll not play guessing games without the opportunity to examine Mr. Parker myself."
"Is that what this is all about?" Ramsey retorted. "Proving that you didn't make a mistake?"
Her face tensed. She stared at her aggressor for several long seconds before she corrected, "That isn't what I had in mind."
Moving closer to the table, Michelson asked, "Then what did you mean?"
She stared back at him - the man she loved, her partner, her soulmate - and she found that she lacked the words necessary to explain. Instead of what she wanted to say, she said, "It's - difficult, Channing."
"Difficult?!" Ramsey spit the word out of his mouth as though it were sour milk. "Dr. Olga Vukavitch - you're not actually going to tell me that absence - absence of that crazy fool - has in some magical way made your heart grow fonder, did it?"
She flashed him a steely glare.
"I'm not telling you anything, Nathan Ramsey," she countered, "and I'm under no obligation to answer to you in matters of operations."
"Stand down, Nate," Talmadge ordered, stepping in on her behalf. "That's about enough of this nonsense. You're jumping to more conclusions than we have time to consider."
Ramsey stood upright, challenging his senior officer with a mere glance. "Then how do you explain it, sir?"
"I can't," the director admitted. "Nor would I even make the attempt with so casual an observation of the facts. But, when you're dealing in the immeasurable unknowns of an alien technology I don't pretend to understand, jumping to conclusion about who and who is not responsible won't do us any more good than it will Agent Ruiz out in the field - so, as I ordered, stand down."
Disgusted, Ramsey crossed his arms and stayed silent, sulking.
Turning, Talmadge faced the video monitor. "Albert, is Frank conscious?"
The man onscreen shook his head vigorously. "As I understand, he was when the ART arrived on the scene. One of Colonel Durbin's men knocked Mr. Parker unconscious."
"Good for him," Ramsey muttered.
"Nate," Talmadge warned.
"What? Am I supposed to find that surprising, sir?" Ramsey quipped. "Parker is a wild card. He always was. He always will be. Hell, my own men punched his lights out more times than I care to remember."
"And vice versa," Olga let slip. "Your lights, included."
"Hey, Parker was a sneaky below-the-belt figher!"
Angrily, Talmadge shouted, "Nathan!"
Composing himself, the director of security mumbled, "Sorry, sir."
Shaking his head, the director returned to the screen.
"What is his condition now, Albert?"
Agent Ruiz glanced around the scene. "As I understand, Dr. Welles is attending to him. She's on loan from a Langley task force that dealt with that saucer retrieval last fall in Vancouver that turned out to be a hoax. For our protection - and the safety of those he may've already affected - she's had Mr. Parker enclosed in a mobile isolation capsule."
"How's the air in there?" Ramsey asked, halfheartedly.
This time, Talmadge flashed the director of security an angry eye.
"What?" Ramsey countered. "I was just curious."
Shaking his head out of frustration, Talmadge asked, "How soon can you get him here, Albert?"
"Here?" Ramsey barked. "Now, sir, that's enough! That's a security decision, and, if memory serves, you sure as hell didn't run it by me! Do I have to file a formal protest to see my authority respected?"
"Where else can we take him, Nathan?" Talmadge demanded.
"Well, what about the nearest military hospital?" the man reasoned. "Shouldn't he get a clean bill of health before he's shipped in here where all of the goodies are stored?"
"A military hospital?" Talmadge barely contained his anger. "Nate, I know that you had some very strong personal reservations about Frank Parker, but he served this country. Not only did he serve it distinction, he served it alongside you - you and a lot of other good people who fell victim to circumstances beyond all of our control. If that service means nothing to you, then I'd just as soon have your resignation on my desk before this day is over than spend another minute arguing with you about what's in the best interest of resolving this crisis. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"
Red in the face, Ramsey lowered his hands to his side. "Yes, sir. I'm - I'm sorry. That was inappropriate of me. I apologize."
"Military doctors lack the experience with temporal mechanics that our staff can provide here," Talmadge explained. "Clearly, something is - amiss, that's the only word I can think of - in the time continuum. I'd rather have Frank here where we can question him than see him carved up like a guinea pig for temporal study." He took a deep breath and relaxed. "Besides, I'd rather have him under your security than under Colonel Durbin's. You know the man, Nate. Durbin doesn't. And I think you know what kind of a wild card Durbin can be. His tour of duty in Iraq should've ended in a dishonorable discharge, if you ask me. Yours is a judgment that I not only respect. Quite frankly, it's what I need right now."
Embarrassed, Ramsey shuffled his feet. "Yes, sir. I'll do what I can."
"Director Talmadge," Ruiz interrupted, clearly trying to steer the conversation back to logistics. "The situation here is under Black Ops control. I can have Mr. Parker airborne within the hour. I would imagine our flight time would be less than two hours. I'll have him there before nightfall, Nevada time."
The director agreed.
"That's the plan, Albert. And thank you. Do whatever you need to make this happen."
"Yes, sir."
"And Albert?"
"Sir?"
Talmadge smiled, reaching for his trademark cigar.
"Nice work."
END of Chapter 08
Six Days, Twenty Hours, Thirty-Nine Minutes
"All right, all right, all right," Michelson surrendered, holding up both of his hands in a gesture of inevitability. "Let's forget all about the latest quantum theories. Let's forget about the possibility - however remote - of temporal anomalies. Let's forget the fact that what you're talking about is nothing short of damned impossible - and now explain to me - in perfect English - how the hell this kind of thing can happen?"
Taking several emphatic steps in the young chrononaut's direction, Ramsey blustered, "I'll tell you just how in the hell it happened! It's Parker, dammit! In all of the days he served Backstep, that psycho never once followed the damn rules!" Glancing back at the viewscreen, he added, "As far as I'm concerned, Agent Ruiz, you can leave that sorry sonuvabitch out there with the rest of the hicks he infected! Leave them together to suffer the ill effects of this temporal paradox he caused! See if they enjoy his company any more than I did!"
Olga held up a firm hand. "We have no idea whether or not Mr. Parker is responsible."
"The hell we don't!" the man bellowed. Leaning his palms on the conference table, he stuck his face near hers. "You said so yourself, Olga! It's Frank Parker! The one-time certified lunatic! Given what's happened, how can he not be responsible?"
"We don't know anything," she said flatly. "We're in the dark here, Mr. Ramsey, and I'll not play guessing games without the opportunity to examine Mr. Parker myself."
"Is that what this is all about?" Ramsey retorted. "Proving that you didn't make a mistake?"
Her face tensed. She stared at her aggressor for several long seconds before she corrected, "That isn't what I had in mind."
Moving closer to the table, Michelson asked, "Then what did you mean?"
She stared back at him - the man she loved, her partner, her soulmate - and she found that she lacked the words necessary to explain. Instead of what she wanted to say, she said, "It's - difficult, Channing."
"Difficult?!" Ramsey spit the word out of his mouth as though it were sour milk. "Dr. Olga Vukavitch - you're not actually going to tell me that absence - absence of that crazy fool - has in some magical way made your heart grow fonder, did it?"
She flashed him a steely glare.
"I'm not telling you anything, Nathan Ramsey," she countered, "and I'm under no obligation to answer to you in matters of operations."
"Stand down, Nate," Talmadge ordered, stepping in on her behalf. "That's about enough of this nonsense. You're jumping to more conclusions than we have time to consider."
Ramsey stood upright, challenging his senior officer with a mere glance. "Then how do you explain it, sir?"
"I can't," the director admitted. "Nor would I even make the attempt with so casual an observation of the facts. But, when you're dealing in the immeasurable unknowns of an alien technology I don't pretend to understand, jumping to conclusion about who and who is not responsible won't do us any more good than it will Agent Ruiz out in the field - so, as I ordered, stand down."
Disgusted, Ramsey crossed his arms and stayed silent, sulking.
Turning, Talmadge faced the video monitor. "Albert, is Frank conscious?"
The man onscreen shook his head vigorously. "As I understand, he was when the ART arrived on the scene. One of Colonel Durbin's men knocked Mr. Parker unconscious."
"Good for him," Ramsey muttered.
"Nate," Talmadge warned.
"What? Am I supposed to find that surprising, sir?" Ramsey quipped. "Parker is a wild card. He always was. He always will be. Hell, my own men punched his lights out more times than I care to remember."
"And vice versa," Olga let slip. "Your lights, included."
"Hey, Parker was a sneaky below-the-belt figher!"
Angrily, Talmadge shouted, "Nathan!"
Composing himself, the director of security mumbled, "Sorry, sir."
Shaking his head, the director returned to the screen.
"What is his condition now, Albert?"
Agent Ruiz glanced around the scene. "As I understand, Dr. Welles is attending to him. She's on loan from a Langley task force that dealt with that saucer retrieval last fall in Vancouver that turned out to be a hoax. For our protection - and the safety of those he may've already affected - she's had Mr. Parker enclosed in a mobile isolation capsule."
"How's the air in there?" Ramsey asked, halfheartedly.
This time, Talmadge flashed the director of security an angry eye.
"What?" Ramsey countered. "I was just curious."
Shaking his head out of frustration, Talmadge asked, "How soon can you get him here, Albert?"
"Here?" Ramsey barked. "Now, sir, that's enough! That's a security decision, and, if memory serves, you sure as hell didn't run it by me! Do I have to file a formal protest to see my authority respected?"
"Where else can we take him, Nathan?" Talmadge demanded.
"Well, what about the nearest military hospital?" the man reasoned. "Shouldn't he get a clean bill of health before he's shipped in here where all of the goodies are stored?"
"A military hospital?" Talmadge barely contained his anger. "Nate, I know that you had some very strong personal reservations about Frank Parker, but he served this country. Not only did he serve it distinction, he served it alongside you - you and a lot of other good people who fell victim to circumstances beyond all of our control. If that service means nothing to you, then I'd just as soon have your resignation on my desk before this day is over than spend another minute arguing with you about what's in the best interest of resolving this crisis. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"
Red in the face, Ramsey lowered his hands to his side. "Yes, sir. I'm - I'm sorry. That was inappropriate of me. I apologize."
"Military doctors lack the experience with temporal mechanics that our staff can provide here," Talmadge explained. "Clearly, something is - amiss, that's the only word I can think of - in the time continuum. I'd rather have Frank here where we can question him than see him carved up like a guinea pig for temporal study." He took a deep breath and relaxed. "Besides, I'd rather have him under your security than under Colonel Durbin's. You know the man, Nate. Durbin doesn't. And I think you know what kind of a wild card Durbin can be. His tour of duty in Iraq should've ended in a dishonorable discharge, if you ask me. Yours is a judgment that I not only respect. Quite frankly, it's what I need right now."
Embarrassed, Ramsey shuffled his feet. "Yes, sir. I'll do what I can."
"Director Talmadge," Ruiz interrupted, clearly trying to steer the conversation back to logistics. "The situation here is under Black Ops control. I can have Mr. Parker airborne within the hour. I would imagine our flight time would be less than two hours. I'll have him there before nightfall, Nevada time."
The director agreed.
"That's the plan, Albert. And thank you. Do whatever you need to make this happen."
"Yes, sir."
"And Albert?"
"Sir?"
Talmadge smiled, reaching for his trademark cigar.
"Nice work."
END of Chapter 08