Chapter 10
Six Days, Nineteen Hours, Fifty-three Minutes
Standing in the center of a throng of scientists, Olga hardly felt at ease. These people were relying on her, looking to her for guidance, for direction. They needed to know what came next - as the crisis was on a "need-to-know" basis, she unfortunately couldn't fill in all of the blanks for them. She wasn't to answer all of their questions. She didn't even really understand what they could accomplish given the smattering of facts that she had been given clearance to discuss, but she trusted in each and every one of her team to do their job when the time came.
For the sake of clarity, she had sketched out a list - a short one - of the most important details needing to handled . and handled with expediency.
"I want a comprehensive report of all - I repeat: all - of the health records pertaining to any and all current and past chrononauts assigned to the Project BackStep," she announced, turning her attention to the sea of eyes focused on her. "And, yes, before any of you ask, that includes that who died in the center seat of the Sphere. We can't afford to miss anything, people. I want everything you can give me. Medical histories. Vital signs. Pre- and post-flight statistics. I'd like to give you more to go on, but I'm afraid I'd be violated over a dozen National Security Acts if I did. However, I will ask for you to concentrate on any medical abnormalities that you feel might in any way have affected the pilot's ability to maintain operational control of the craft."
"Operational control?" she heard from somewhere in the crowd.
"That's right," she answered. "Primarily, I'm interested in any medical glitch that might've impacted the pilot's ability to land the Sphere in the ."
She couldn't think of any other way to say it.
". any medical glitch that might've impacted the pilot's ability to maintain the Sphere in the . proper temporal continuum."
Suddenly, a roar rose from the group, and she quickly raised her hands into the air, clipboard and all.
"People, please!" she cried. "The clock is ticking on this . situation, and I cannot go into any further details." The group calmed somewhat, and she smiled at her ability to maintain control in the midst of the chaos. "I know what I'm asking sounds . well . strange, but not a single one of you can look me in the eye and confess that Project BackStep remotely sounds normal, can you?"
To her surprise, everyone hushed.
"Medical files are the highest priority," she continued. "Assemble your teams and get through the materials as quickly as possible." Lowering her hands, she said, "Next, I'll want . Dr. Forrestal, you and your team . I'll need you to begin a Level Prime diagnostic on the Sphere."
Forrestal nodded. "Are we preparing for a mission?"
"No," she explained. "I'm only asking that you do a complete review of the Sphere from top to bottom. Doctor, I'm talking about going over every inch of that craft with a microscope. I'm talking about every single wire. I'm talking about every nut and bolt. We have to know - with absolute certainty - that no abnormalities exist within the normal operating parameters of the time craft. Report anything, even something that appears mildly out of the ordinary. And I mean it. Report anything."
The faces surrounding her had grown serious.
"Dr. Singh," she pressed onward, "I'd like you and your team to perform an overview of the last ten missions. From start to finish, mister. I want to know if anything - however obscure, however remote - could possibly have affect the Sphere. Begin with warm-up procedures, and study everything through mission debriefing. Of course, you'll need to get clearance from Director Talmadge for any classified findings from Commander Michelson's missions."
The man raised an eyebrow. "That may prove difficult, doctor."
"How's that?"
He cleared his throat. "Director Talmadge is in the Situation Room with Mr. Ramsey and Commander Michelson as we speak." Sheepishly, he glanced around at his colleagues. "It was my understanding that, at the director's request, he was not to be disturbed with the exception of contact with the National Security Council."
Olga felt the blood rush into her face.
"What are you talking about?"
*****
Ignoring any sense of courtesy or protocol, Olga placed a hand on the bar, shoved open the swinging glass door, and marched into the Situation Room. The three heads at th table turned to her. Storming up to the conference table, she studied the surprised faces of Talmadge, Ramsey, and her beloved, demanding, "You're planning a backstep, aren't you?"
For perhaps the first time in her career, she was shocked when no one said a word.
"I can't believe any of this," she muttered angrily. "I can't believe any of you would be thinking of a BackStep at a time like this!"
His eyes fixed on her, Talmadge succinctly answered in baritone, "We're planning a contingency, Olga."
"You're planning an accident!"
"Now, just a minute ."
"No!" she cried. Angrily, she crossed her arms tightly over the clipboard she held. "Bradley, I refused to believe any of this!"
"Olga," Michelson tried, leaning gently in her direction. "Sweetheart, you have to get a grip on the situation here."
Get a grip?
Before she could scream her reply, he added, "What I meant to say is that you have to stop and think very carefully about the enormity of what's happened. Of all people, certainly you can understand what a position Parker has put us in."
Sniffing, Ramsey bobbed left and right in his leather chair. "Hell, Olga, you have to understand the position he's placed the entire country in." Turning his head, he spoke over his shoulder at her. "You know as well as I do that he's not supposed to be here."
"I'm sorry," she interrupted, "but did you say that he's not supposed to be here?" Sighing, she explained, "Mr. Ramsey, we're talking about a man's life here."
"Not any man I know of," Ramsey told her. "A menace. Parker's a menace. He always was. He always will be, present circumstances included."
"The present circumstances aren't the point, Nathan," she argued coldly.
"Olga," Ramsey raised his voice, "Frank Parker has jeopardized the continuation of the entire BackStep program!" Taking a moment to size up the expressions of his colleagues, he added, "I don't know about you, but I'm not looking for some Sphere jockey to bring an abrupt end to my career. Maybe unemployment suits you just fine, but I'd rather be here - each and every day - knowing that I was doing the greater good by serving my country."
"Mr. Ramsey, thank you for being so kind as to point out the truth of your own ignorance," she spat. "What do you think Frank did? What do you think he was putting his body through every time he sat in that Sphere? Do you think he subjected his body to that kind of trauma . for fun? Do you think he went back in time to save hundreds if not thousands of people . for his own health and safety?" When she realized he wasn't going to debate the issue with her, she shook her head. "Mr. Ramsey, you'll never change. You hated Frank Parker. You always did. You hated him because that psychopath - as you used to call him - did the work that your body never could. Sitting here at this conference table stabbing Mr. Parker in the back is exactly what I expected from you . but I can't say the same for the rest of you." Disgusted, she threw her clipboard on the table. "So? Just what is it we're planning to do, may I ask? Let me guess. Are we going to send Commander Michelson back seven days to hide in the forest, sitting and waiting for Parker's to show up?"
"As a matter of fact, that's precisely what we're discussing," Ramsey chided her.
"And then what?" she demanded.
"Olga," Michelson tried.
With a cold glare, she corrected him. "My name is Dr. Vukavitch, if you don't mind."
Softly, he reached across the table toward his love. "Olga, the BackStep has always been and always will be about taking action. As a team, we test the limits of human endurance righting the wrongs that the rest of the world can never ever possibly know about. Given what's happened, you can't expect us - of all people - to sit back and do nothing."
"No, Channing," she replied. "I do not expect any of you to sit here helpless. I expect you to do your job as we've always done when faced with a crisis. I expect you to ask the right questions to know that what you're about to do - to change the history that you're about to change - to make absolutely certain what we're doing is right and just. Instead, what am I hearing? I'm hearing three men sitting here plotting what? An assassination?"
"Olga!" Talmadge shouted at her. "Calm down! The thought of cold-blooded murder is the farthest from our mind! We're talking about alternatives! For the record, there is no one at this table who underestimates the value that Frank Parker has had on the history of this planet, and there is no one at this table talking about putting a gun to Frank Parker's head." His voice echoed angrily in the chamber. "Frank Parker served this country with distinction. If anyone knows that, it's those of us sitting at this table. And, if any of us have any say in the matter, Frank Parker will do so again."
Ramsey sat forward to argue. Quickly, Michelson kicked him under the table.
"The truth is," Talmadge explained, his tone softening, "the President doesn't know what to make of this . this situation."
"None of us do!" she challenged. "But don't you think that engaging another BackStep in the middle of this . this . this temporal anomaly is nothing more than the act of desperation?"
"As I said, Olga," he tried calmly, "we're only considering a BackStep as a contingency. Please understand. This isn't my idea. It's come down through the proper channels from the NSA. Command has asked for an operational guideline to be put on the table by noon tomorrow. They want a draft of possible dangers by the people best-skilled to provide those answers. They've asked me to draw one up, and I've asked Nate and Channing to help. I swear to you. That's all we're doing at this point." Resting his elbows on the thick table, he said, "You have to understand that men who answer to the President of the United States are always interested in alternatives."
Alternatives, she thought. Isn't that what life was all about? Alternatives. Once, she had loved Frank Parker. She never really told him, but she always hoped that he knew. Now, she found a greater love - a deeper love, one so pure she had never imagined it possible - with Channing Michelson. Was he nothing more than an alternative?
Realizing she had balled her hands into fists, Olga took a deep breath, forcing herself toward calm. Turning from Talmadge, she glanced deep into Channing's eyes. There, she found what she had hoped for, and she knew that what the director had said was the truth.
Slowly, she nodded.
"Are you okay?" Talmadge asked.
Upset with herself, she felt the tug of moisture in the corner of her eye. She wouldn't cry. Not here. Not in front of these men.
Certainly not in front of Channing.
"I'm sorry, Bradley," she confessed, relaxing into the chair beside Ramsey. "What I did . I was out of line, sir. I apologize."
He smiled. From the ashtray before him, he pulled up one of his signature cigars. "Nonsense. You know very well that there's no need for any apology, Olga. No honor among thieves, and no apologies among friends." He nodded at her. "I didn't mean for you to feel excluded from this conversation. Given your unique history with Frank ."
He couldn't find the words. He blinked and tried, "You know that you've always been the voice of our collective conscience. That's why I wouldn't have any other doctor as part of this team. As I said, I didn't mean to exlude you, . well . I think you can understand why I chose the course of action that I did."
She felt her heart pounding in her chest, and she heard it thumping in her ears. She hoped no one else could hear it. Especially Channing.
"Yes, sir."
Talmadge rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. "Then I think that's all for now. A very tired Frank Parker is going to wake up in our Temporal Containment Facility in C Complex within a matter of hours." Pointing at her, he continued. "Olga, I want you ready for a full medical debrief, but I don't want you going in."
She started to object, but he held up a palm.
"Absolutely not," he ordered. "I know you're the most qualified. But this isn't an issue of qualification."
"But, sir," she tried.
"You heard me, Olga," he stressed every syllable. "You're the very best we have, but there isn't any room for error on this. Emotions tend to cloud the issue, and we were all a bit emotional around Frank." He poked a friendly finger into Ramsey's ribs. "Needless to say, there's a very narrow margin for error with any BackStep Operations, and I'd like all of us to approach this situation with the same dedication. I think we can all agreed that what we're facing this time . well . let's just say that it gives new meaning to the word 'unique.'"
Waving his hand at her, he added, "Send Forrestal. We're only looking at a routine physical, so far as we know. Plus, I understand this technician Frank is flying in with - the one who treated him in the field - is absolutely top notch. She comes with high marks for the Centers for Disease Control. I'll want you to interface with her."
Talmadge sensed her displeasure with her expression.
"Olga, you'll have your chance to debrief him, but let's not put the cart before the horse, eh?"
Resigning herself, she closed her eyes. Feeling the kiss of moisture, she quickly brought her hand up and scratched as if to cover any show of emotion.
"Yes, sir," she sighed.
"Besides," Talmadge tried, "given the unexplainable nature of what we're facing, we don't even know that this man is Frank Parker."
The look in Ramsey's and Olga's eyes told him he was dead wrong.
Halfheartedly, he concluded, "Forget I said that."
END of Chapter 10
Six Days, Nineteen Hours, Fifty-three Minutes
Standing in the center of a throng of scientists, Olga hardly felt at ease. These people were relying on her, looking to her for guidance, for direction. They needed to know what came next - as the crisis was on a "need-to-know" basis, she unfortunately couldn't fill in all of the blanks for them. She wasn't to answer all of their questions. She didn't even really understand what they could accomplish given the smattering of facts that she had been given clearance to discuss, but she trusted in each and every one of her team to do their job when the time came.
For the sake of clarity, she had sketched out a list - a short one - of the most important details needing to handled . and handled with expediency.
"I want a comprehensive report of all - I repeat: all - of the health records pertaining to any and all current and past chrononauts assigned to the Project BackStep," she announced, turning her attention to the sea of eyes focused on her. "And, yes, before any of you ask, that includes that who died in the center seat of the Sphere. We can't afford to miss anything, people. I want everything you can give me. Medical histories. Vital signs. Pre- and post-flight statistics. I'd like to give you more to go on, but I'm afraid I'd be violated over a dozen National Security Acts if I did. However, I will ask for you to concentrate on any medical abnormalities that you feel might in any way have affected the pilot's ability to maintain operational control of the craft."
"Operational control?" she heard from somewhere in the crowd.
"That's right," she answered. "Primarily, I'm interested in any medical glitch that might've impacted the pilot's ability to land the Sphere in the ."
She couldn't think of any other way to say it.
". any medical glitch that might've impacted the pilot's ability to maintain the Sphere in the . proper temporal continuum."
Suddenly, a roar rose from the group, and she quickly raised her hands into the air, clipboard and all.
"People, please!" she cried. "The clock is ticking on this . situation, and I cannot go into any further details." The group calmed somewhat, and she smiled at her ability to maintain control in the midst of the chaos. "I know what I'm asking sounds . well . strange, but not a single one of you can look me in the eye and confess that Project BackStep remotely sounds normal, can you?"
To her surprise, everyone hushed.
"Medical files are the highest priority," she continued. "Assemble your teams and get through the materials as quickly as possible." Lowering her hands, she said, "Next, I'll want . Dr. Forrestal, you and your team . I'll need you to begin a Level Prime diagnostic on the Sphere."
Forrestal nodded. "Are we preparing for a mission?"
"No," she explained. "I'm only asking that you do a complete review of the Sphere from top to bottom. Doctor, I'm talking about going over every inch of that craft with a microscope. I'm talking about every single wire. I'm talking about every nut and bolt. We have to know - with absolute certainty - that no abnormalities exist within the normal operating parameters of the time craft. Report anything, even something that appears mildly out of the ordinary. And I mean it. Report anything."
The faces surrounding her had grown serious.
"Dr. Singh," she pressed onward, "I'd like you and your team to perform an overview of the last ten missions. From start to finish, mister. I want to know if anything - however obscure, however remote - could possibly have affect the Sphere. Begin with warm-up procedures, and study everything through mission debriefing. Of course, you'll need to get clearance from Director Talmadge for any classified findings from Commander Michelson's missions."
The man raised an eyebrow. "That may prove difficult, doctor."
"How's that?"
He cleared his throat. "Director Talmadge is in the Situation Room with Mr. Ramsey and Commander Michelson as we speak." Sheepishly, he glanced around at his colleagues. "It was my understanding that, at the director's request, he was not to be disturbed with the exception of contact with the National Security Council."
Olga felt the blood rush into her face.
"What are you talking about?"
*****
Ignoring any sense of courtesy or protocol, Olga placed a hand on the bar, shoved open the swinging glass door, and marched into the Situation Room. The three heads at th table turned to her. Storming up to the conference table, she studied the surprised faces of Talmadge, Ramsey, and her beloved, demanding, "You're planning a backstep, aren't you?"
For perhaps the first time in her career, she was shocked when no one said a word.
"I can't believe any of this," she muttered angrily. "I can't believe any of you would be thinking of a BackStep at a time like this!"
His eyes fixed on her, Talmadge succinctly answered in baritone, "We're planning a contingency, Olga."
"You're planning an accident!"
"Now, just a minute ."
"No!" she cried. Angrily, she crossed her arms tightly over the clipboard she held. "Bradley, I refused to believe any of this!"
"Olga," Michelson tried, leaning gently in her direction. "Sweetheart, you have to get a grip on the situation here."
Get a grip?
Before she could scream her reply, he added, "What I meant to say is that you have to stop and think very carefully about the enormity of what's happened. Of all people, certainly you can understand what a position Parker has put us in."
Sniffing, Ramsey bobbed left and right in his leather chair. "Hell, Olga, you have to understand the position he's placed the entire country in." Turning his head, he spoke over his shoulder at her. "You know as well as I do that he's not supposed to be here."
"I'm sorry," she interrupted, "but did you say that he's not supposed to be here?" Sighing, she explained, "Mr. Ramsey, we're talking about a man's life here."
"Not any man I know of," Ramsey told her. "A menace. Parker's a menace. He always was. He always will be, present circumstances included."
"The present circumstances aren't the point, Nathan," she argued coldly.
"Olga," Ramsey raised his voice, "Frank Parker has jeopardized the continuation of the entire BackStep program!" Taking a moment to size up the expressions of his colleagues, he added, "I don't know about you, but I'm not looking for some Sphere jockey to bring an abrupt end to my career. Maybe unemployment suits you just fine, but I'd rather be here - each and every day - knowing that I was doing the greater good by serving my country."
"Mr. Ramsey, thank you for being so kind as to point out the truth of your own ignorance," she spat. "What do you think Frank did? What do you think he was putting his body through every time he sat in that Sphere? Do you think he subjected his body to that kind of trauma . for fun? Do you think he went back in time to save hundreds if not thousands of people . for his own health and safety?" When she realized he wasn't going to debate the issue with her, she shook her head. "Mr. Ramsey, you'll never change. You hated Frank Parker. You always did. You hated him because that psychopath - as you used to call him - did the work that your body never could. Sitting here at this conference table stabbing Mr. Parker in the back is exactly what I expected from you . but I can't say the same for the rest of you." Disgusted, she threw her clipboard on the table. "So? Just what is it we're planning to do, may I ask? Let me guess. Are we going to send Commander Michelson back seven days to hide in the forest, sitting and waiting for Parker's to show up?"
"As a matter of fact, that's precisely what we're discussing," Ramsey chided her.
"And then what?" she demanded.
"Olga," Michelson tried.
With a cold glare, she corrected him. "My name is Dr. Vukavitch, if you don't mind."
Softly, he reached across the table toward his love. "Olga, the BackStep has always been and always will be about taking action. As a team, we test the limits of human endurance righting the wrongs that the rest of the world can never ever possibly know about. Given what's happened, you can't expect us - of all people - to sit back and do nothing."
"No, Channing," she replied. "I do not expect any of you to sit here helpless. I expect you to do your job as we've always done when faced with a crisis. I expect you to ask the right questions to know that what you're about to do - to change the history that you're about to change - to make absolutely certain what we're doing is right and just. Instead, what am I hearing? I'm hearing three men sitting here plotting what? An assassination?"
"Olga!" Talmadge shouted at her. "Calm down! The thought of cold-blooded murder is the farthest from our mind! We're talking about alternatives! For the record, there is no one at this table who underestimates the value that Frank Parker has had on the history of this planet, and there is no one at this table talking about putting a gun to Frank Parker's head." His voice echoed angrily in the chamber. "Frank Parker served this country with distinction. If anyone knows that, it's those of us sitting at this table. And, if any of us have any say in the matter, Frank Parker will do so again."
Ramsey sat forward to argue. Quickly, Michelson kicked him under the table.
"The truth is," Talmadge explained, his tone softening, "the President doesn't know what to make of this . this situation."
"None of us do!" she challenged. "But don't you think that engaging another BackStep in the middle of this . this . this temporal anomaly is nothing more than the act of desperation?"
"As I said, Olga," he tried calmly, "we're only considering a BackStep as a contingency. Please understand. This isn't my idea. It's come down through the proper channels from the NSA. Command has asked for an operational guideline to be put on the table by noon tomorrow. They want a draft of possible dangers by the people best-skilled to provide those answers. They've asked me to draw one up, and I've asked Nate and Channing to help. I swear to you. That's all we're doing at this point." Resting his elbows on the thick table, he said, "You have to understand that men who answer to the President of the United States are always interested in alternatives."
Alternatives, she thought. Isn't that what life was all about? Alternatives. Once, she had loved Frank Parker. She never really told him, but she always hoped that he knew. Now, she found a greater love - a deeper love, one so pure she had never imagined it possible - with Channing Michelson. Was he nothing more than an alternative?
Realizing she had balled her hands into fists, Olga took a deep breath, forcing herself toward calm. Turning from Talmadge, she glanced deep into Channing's eyes. There, she found what she had hoped for, and she knew that what the director had said was the truth.
Slowly, she nodded.
"Are you okay?" Talmadge asked.
Upset with herself, she felt the tug of moisture in the corner of her eye. She wouldn't cry. Not here. Not in front of these men.
Certainly not in front of Channing.
"I'm sorry, Bradley," she confessed, relaxing into the chair beside Ramsey. "What I did . I was out of line, sir. I apologize."
He smiled. From the ashtray before him, he pulled up one of his signature cigars. "Nonsense. You know very well that there's no need for any apology, Olga. No honor among thieves, and no apologies among friends." He nodded at her. "I didn't mean for you to feel excluded from this conversation. Given your unique history with Frank ."
He couldn't find the words. He blinked and tried, "You know that you've always been the voice of our collective conscience. That's why I wouldn't have any other doctor as part of this team. As I said, I didn't mean to exlude you, . well . I think you can understand why I chose the course of action that I did."
She felt her heart pounding in her chest, and she heard it thumping in her ears. She hoped no one else could hear it. Especially Channing.
"Yes, sir."
Talmadge rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. "Then I think that's all for now. A very tired Frank Parker is going to wake up in our Temporal Containment Facility in C Complex within a matter of hours." Pointing at her, he continued. "Olga, I want you ready for a full medical debrief, but I don't want you going in."
She started to object, but he held up a palm.
"Absolutely not," he ordered. "I know you're the most qualified. But this isn't an issue of qualification."
"But, sir," she tried.
"You heard me, Olga," he stressed every syllable. "You're the very best we have, but there isn't any room for error on this. Emotions tend to cloud the issue, and we were all a bit emotional around Frank." He poked a friendly finger into Ramsey's ribs. "Needless to say, there's a very narrow margin for error with any BackStep Operations, and I'd like all of us to approach this situation with the same dedication. I think we can all agreed that what we're facing this time . well . let's just say that it gives new meaning to the word 'unique.'"
Waving his hand at her, he added, "Send Forrestal. We're only looking at a routine physical, so far as we know. Plus, I understand this technician Frank is flying in with - the one who treated him in the field - is absolutely top notch. She comes with high marks for the Centers for Disease Control. I'll want you to interface with her."
Talmadge sensed her displeasure with her expression.
"Olga, you'll have your chance to debrief him, but let's not put the cart before the horse, eh?"
Resigning herself, she closed her eyes. Feeling the kiss of moisture, she quickly brought her hand up and scratched as if to cover any show of emotion.
"Yes, sir," she sighed.
"Besides," Talmadge tried, "given the unexplainable nature of what we're facing, we don't even know that this man is Frank Parker."
The look in Ramsey's and Olga's eyes told him he was dead wrong.
Halfheartedly, he concluded, "Forget I said that."
END of Chapter 10