Chapter 21
Six Days, Seven Hours, Fifty-Nine Minutes
Bradley Talmadge watched the Secret Service issue Black Hawk helicopter set down on the landing pad with as graceful a landing as he had ever seen. He had watched the aircraft approach, knowing full well the importance of its human cargo, and equally dreading his first meeting with Isaac Mentnor in almost two years. They had parted – Isaac resigned from the BackStep Program – not on the greatest of terms, but Talmadge understood perfectly the man's reasons. After all, Mentnor had been the silent but ever-present conscience of the program. Initially, he had questioned the merits of attempting time travel for even the most modest needs. 'Changing history is a deadly business,' he had warned, 'and it will not be without consequence. Unfortunately, given the nature of time travel, it is my suspicion that we will become aware of those dire consequences far too late to do anything about them ... hence the irony of the program.' Talmadge remembered the words well. In fact, he had scribbled them down, paraphrasing the exact usage, and he kept it in his private desk drawer. Those words served as a reminder to the cages unlocked with each and every BackStep. What animal would they release this time? Would humanity be saved, or would people everywhere suffer from their prejudiced tinkering with the series of natural events? Would Fate – perhaps the most persistent and irrepressible force in the universe (besides Frank Parker) – find the way to resist their machinations with such events? Would BackStepping only further compound the nature of the conflicts they initially sought to avoid? There were so many questions, and, as luck would have it, only traveling through time could provide the answers. Mentnor and Ballard – bless his departed soul – were always playing chess over the idea. To Ballard, time travel was a mathematical constant. Change one variable, and you change the equation. To Mentnor, time travel was the worst form of probable nuisance. Change one variable, and you risk changing the evolution of life itself.
Thankfully, Talmadge stuck to his cigars. Principally, he served the NSA. If the Committee demanded a BackStep, then he ordered it so. If the Committee didn't believe any time travel was necessary, Talmadge accepted their judgment. He found his job far easier to accomplish if he didn't get bogged down by the mechanics. "You want a monkey," he remembered once telling the Committee, "then I'll get you a monkey. Don't expect me to find you the one chimp in a thousand with the ability to reproduce the works of Shakespeare, and we'll all get along fine."
The pilot leapt out of the helicopter. Holding up one hand against the downward thrust of the rotors, he trotted midship, grasped the handle, and released the bay door. The white-haired gentleman rose, also cupping his hands around his ears. He stepped down from the compartment, nodded politely at the pilot, and then he spun around, sighting Talmadge. Quickly, he trotted in the director's direction. By the time the two were within recognizable distance, Talmadge made out the grimace on his old friend's face.
"This had better be good, Bradley," Mentnor said, stopping in front of the senior officer, glaring at the man, showing nothing less than utter contempt in his eyes. "I told you a long time ago that, when I left the program, I was finished. As far as I'm concerned, I'm as finished with it today as I was back then. You'll have to do some serious convincing for me to stay here for anything longer than one hour."
Talmadge smiled. "Despite our differences, Isaac ... it is good to see you."
Completely disarmed, Mentnor lowered his hands to his side. A hint of shame washed over his face, his eyes drooping. Slowly, with some effort, he grinned back at the senior officer and said, "It's good to see you to, Bradley. But don't you for a moment think that I'm any less the curmudgeon today than I was when I resigned this post. You'd be underestimating me beyond any recall."
The director chuckled. Over the roar of the lifting helicopter, he demanded, "Let's continue this inside."
Taken back, Mentnor opened his eyes wide.
"That's right, Isaac," Talmadge stated. "I've never had your authorization codes deactivated."
"Really?"
"I couldn't bring myself to do it."
Arching an eyebrow, the older gentleman remarked, "That's a breach of protocol, Bradley, that's punishable by death ... if I recall."
"File the appropriate papers."
The doors swung wide, and the two men walked inside. A solder saluted the two of them, but only Mentnor nodded an acknowledgement.
"How's business?" the man finally asked.
Talmadge walked briskly, keeping his eyes focused on the corridor ahead. "Business is usual, Isaac. We've had some developments as of late that require your particular expertise."
He nodded. "I'm out of touch with the work you've been accomplishing, Bradley. To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not convinced that I can be of any value."
"Let me be the judge of that."
"You're the boss."
"That I am."
"Isaac!"
Stopping in his tracks, Mentnor whirled around to find Olga Vukavitch – outfitted in a Level Prime Temporal Containment Suit – trotting up to him. She never slowed, colliding with him, laughing like a little girl, and kissing the man on the cheek.
"Well," he replied, "there's a welcome almost worth stepping out and coming in again."
Excitedly, she asked, "How have you been?"
Slowly, he nodded. "I've been very well, thank you. Work at the university has been keeping me very busy. I'm teaching several ethics in sciences courses. Lectures, mostly. The students aren't exactly the kinds of minds that instill faith in the future, but I have my own share of teacher's pets."
She laughed, again reaching forward and hugging the man. He understood, by her affection, that he was truly missed. He knew what an integral part of the BackStep operational team he had been ... but, after the event, he lost touch with measuring their accomplishments against the project's shortcomings. 'You can't save everyone,' he suddenly remembered telling Talmadge in an NSA briefing, and, from that moment on, his interest in the project drifted. Certainly, Ballard's death had an impact, but Mentnor lost interest in the work. Once he realized that he had completely stopped believing in any good they achieved, he had tendered his resignation. As he had anticipated, Olga took the news of his departure the hardest. She had come to his quarters and begged him to stay. She tried to convince him that, despite the way recent events had affected all of the team, they could work together and salvage the program on the merits of changing history for the better.
Sadly, he no longer believed that, and he left Never Never Land the next morning without offering so much as a courteous goodbye.
Suppressing the memory of his past history, he quickly changed the subject. "I understand from Bradley that you've found yourself in a bit of a pickle."
Olga glanced at the director, and the man shook his head.
"Then ... you don't know?" she asked Mentnor.
"Know what?"
Cautiously, she fell silent.
"I think it best that you see for yourself, Isaac."
With a hint of bitterness, the older man said, "That's what you said on the telephone, Bradley."
"I stand by those words."
Mentnor turned back to Olga. Her expression was grim, and he guessed that even she wasn't completely comfortable with what had developed.
"Then," he began, "take me where I need to go."
End of Chapter 21
Six Days, Seven Hours, Fifty-Nine Minutes
Bradley Talmadge watched the Secret Service issue Black Hawk helicopter set down on the landing pad with as graceful a landing as he had ever seen. He had watched the aircraft approach, knowing full well the importance of its human cargo, and equally dreading his first meeting with Isaac Mentnor in almost two years. They had parted – Isaac resigned from the BackStep Program – not on the greatest of terms, but Talmadge understood perfectly the man's reasons. After all, Mentnor had been the silent but ever-present conscience of the program. Initially, he had questioned the merits of attempting time travel for even the most modest needs. 'Changing history is a deadly business,' he had warned, 'and it will not be without consequence. Unfortunately, given the nature of time travel, it is my suspicion that we will become aware of those dire consequences far too late to do anything about them ... hence the irony of the program.' Talmadge remembered the words well. In fact, he had scribbled them down, paraphrasing the exact usage, and he kept it in his private desk drawer. Those words served as a reminder to the cages unlocked with each and every BackStep. What animal would they release this time? Would humanity be saved, or would people everywhere suffer from their prejudiced tinkering with the series of natural events? Would Fate – perhaps the most persistent and irrepressible force in the universe (besides Frank Parker) – find the way to resist their machinations with such events? Would BackStepping only further compound the nature of the conflicts they initially sought to avoid? There were so many questions, and, as luck would have it, only traveling through time could provide the answers. Mentnor and Ballard – bless his departed soul – were always playing chess over the idea. To Ballard, time travel was a mathematical constant. Change one variable, and you change the equation. To Mentnor, time travel was the worst form of probable nuisance. Change one variable, and you risk changing the evolution of life itself.
Thankfully, Talmadge stuck to his cigars. Principally, he served the NSA. If the Committee demanded a BackStep, then he ordered it so. If the Committee didn't believe any time travel was necessary, Talmadge accepted their judgment. He found his job far easier to accomplish if he didn't get bogged down by the mechanics. "You want a monkey," he remembered once telling the Committee, "then I'll get you a monkey. Don't expect me to find you the one chimp in a thousand with the ability to reproduce the works of Shakespeare, and we'll all get along fine."
The pilot leapt out of the helicopter. Holding up one hand against the downward thrust of the rotors, he trotted midship, grasped the handle, and released the bay door. The white-haired gentleman rose, also cupping his hands around his ears. He stepped down from the compartment, nodded politely at the pilot, and then he spun around, sighting Talmadge. Quickly, he trotted in the director's direction. By the time the two were within recognizable distance, Talmadge made out the grimace on his old friend's face.
"This had better be good, Bradley," Mentnor said, stopping in front of the senior officer, glaring at the man, showing nothing less than utter contempt in his eyes. "I told you a long time ago that, when I left the program, I was finished. As far as I'm concerned, I'm as finished with it today as I was back then. You'll have to do some serious convincing for me to stay here for anything longer than one hour."
Talmadge smiled. "Despite our differences, Isaac ... it is good to see you."
Completely disarmed, Mentnor lowered his hands to his side. A hint of shame washed over his face, his eyes drooping. Slowly, with some effort, he grinned back at the senior officer and said, "It's good to see you to, Bradley. But don't you for a moment think that I'm any less the curmudgeon today than I was when I resigned this post. You'd be underestimating me beyond any recall."
The director chuckled. Over the roar of the lifting helicopter, he demanded, "Let's continue this inside."
Taken back, Mentnor opened his eyes wide.
"That's right, Isaac," Talmadge stated. "I've never had your authorization codes deactivated."
"Really?"
"I couldn't bring myself to do it."
Arching an eyebrow, the older gentleman remarked, "That's a breach of protocol, Bradley, that's punishable by death ... if I recall."
"File the appropriate papers."
The doors swung wide, and the two men walked inside. A solder saluted the two of them, but only Mentnor nodded an acknowledgement.
"How's business?" the man finally asked.
Talmadge walked briskly, keeping his eyes focused on the corridor ahead. "Business is usual, Isaac. We've had some developments as of late that require your particular expertise."
He nodded. "I'm out of touch with the work you've been accomplishing, Bradley. To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not convinced that I can be of any value."
"Let me be the judge of that."
"You're the boss."
"That I am."
"Isaac!"
Stopping in his tracks, Mentnor whirled around to find Olga Vukavitch – outfitted in a Level Prime Temporal Containment Suit – trotting up to him. She never slowed, colliding with him, laughing like a little girl, and kissing the man on the cheek.
"Well," he replied, "there's a welcome almost worth stepping out and coming in again."
Excitedly, she asked, "How have you been?"
Slowly, he nodded. "I've been very well, thank you. Work at the university has been keeping me very busy. I'm teaching several ethics in sciences courses. Lectures, mostly. The students aren't exactly the kinds of minds that instill faith in the future, but I have my own share of teacher's pets."
She laughed, again reaching forward and hugging the man. He understood, by her affection, that he was truly missed. He knew what an integral part of the BackStep operational team he had been ... but, after the event, he lost touch with measuring their accomplishments against the project's shortcomings. 'You can't save everyone,' he suddenly remembered telling Talmadge in an NSA briefing, and, from that moment on, his interest in the project drifted. Certainly, Ballard's death had an impact, but Mentnor lost interest in the work. Once he realized that he had completely stopped believing in any good they achieved, he had tendered his resignation. As he had anticipated, Olga took the news of his departure the hardest. She had come to his quarters and begged him to stay. She tried to convince him that, despite the way recent events had affected all of the team, they could work together and salvage the program on the merits of changing history for the better.
Sadly, he no longer believed that, and he left Never Never Land the next morning without offering so much as a courteous goodbye.
Suppressing the memory of his past history, he quickly changed the subject. "I understand from Bradley that you've found yourself in a bit of a pickle."
Olga glanced at the director, and the man shook his head.
"Then ... you don't know?" she asked Mentnor.
"Know what?"
Cautiously, she fell silent.
"I think it best that you see for yourself, Isaac."
With a hint of bitterness, the older man said, "That's what you said on the telephone, Bradley."
"I stand by those words."
Mentnor turned back to Olga. Her expression was grim, and he guessed that even she wasn't completely comfortable with what had developed.
"Then," he began, "take me where I need to go."
End of Chapter 21