Chapter 45
Six Days, Two Hours
To his delight, Olga stayed with Parker in order to test the effectiveness of the containment suit. He slipped into the unit, and, then, she returned from the airlock, checking the various digital pressure gauges that lined his right arm. With her hands, she checked every seal – his neck, his arms, his gloves, his waist – and Parker – in silent ecstasy – loved every minute of their clinical encounter. He closed his eyes, imagining that the micro-thin, Kevlar-lined protective suit wasn't there, and he could barely control himself from grabbing her hands, pulling her up, and kissing her hard on the mouth. Their lips would taste one another, and he'd clasp her in his arms, and she'd melt into him ... but, of course, there were the containment helmets that allowed absolutely no chance of human contact ... so Parker concentrated on putting any romantic thoughts out of his mind.
"Everything is working," she announced, standing up from completing her examination of the leggings. "The suit is fully sealed and pressurized." She smiled at him, and he nodded. "Mr. Parker is in his own cocoon, complete with a window."
"Yeah," he agreed, "but when do I get to emerge as a beautiful butterfly?"
"That's not going to happen in this lifetime," Talmadge cried out from the other side of the glass wall. "That would be a breach of frightening proportions, and that's a risk I can't allow."
The director stepped forward, just out of Parker's view due to the edge of the wall, and he raised a hand. Through auditory sensors, Parker heard the electronic keying of a touchpad, and he wondered aloud, "What's he doing?"
"He's opening the door," Olga explained.
Suddenly, Parker heard an awesome hiss, and he watched as a fine mist flooded the entire glasswork where it met solid white wall. After a long mechanical breath, the glass started to rise, disappearing into the ceiling, winding slowly on its track. Talmadge reappeared in the opening, and, at last, Frank Parker felt he had regained his freedom ...
... except for the containment suit.
Parker and Olga walked over to the port. Parker realized that his suit was heavier than he had expected. His steps were difficult, at first, but that he found a kind of peace with the seams. He lifted his arms and found that he could only reach shoulder height.
"How's it feel?" Talmadge asked.
"Sluggish," the chrononaut explained. "It feels like I'm walking around covered in dried mud."
The director laughed. "Well, get used to it. Consider it a necessary evil while you're here. That suit is the only protection mankind has against infection."
"I get it," Parker replied, "but I hope no one has a dangerous fear of the Pillsbury Doughboy because I'll bet that's who I look like."
"You look fine," Olga replied.
"It's based on the same technology that gave us the Apollo space suits, Frank," Talmadge explained. "The suit isolates you completely in your own environment."
"What about air?"
"That's a major scientific advance from the Apollo program," the director said. "The suit has its own microelectronic filtration system. You're breathing the same air that we air, and the filters release only carbon dioxide into the air around you. You might not be able to feel it, but there's a small backpack on your right shoulder that contains filter packs. They'll need to be changed every twenty-four hours, but, otherwise, this suit will give you limited mobility."
Swinging his arms left to right, trying to get used to the feel of the suit, he asked, "How am I supposed to do my job in this thing, Bradley?"
"It's the best we can do, Frank."
"I feel like I'm walking in water."
"You'll be able to go into the field – with support teams – but you won't be an active player," Talmadge presented the scenario. "Consider yourself more of a coach than a player. It's all we can do to ensure both your safety and mankind's survival."
"I understand," Parker said.
"Good," he agreed, "because we have a briefing to get to." Nodding at Olga, he ordered, "Have Ramsey gather the staff in the conference room at once. I understand he has Craig Donovan on standby for a video link out of D.C. Also, you're going to have to have Mr. Finkle's military status re- activated and his security upgraded for what he's going to hear."
"You're kidding?" Parker interrupted. "Bradley, look, Ebdon's a great guy, but this is no time to start reconsidering the way we operate."
Talmadge sighed. "Frank, if you were to collapse in the field, there's only one person at present who can make skin-to-skin contact with you if it became absolutely necessary."
"But you said you have a vaccine?"
"We do," he said, "but there's no way that the CDC is going to allow us to inoculate key personnel for the purposes of a single mission. That serum is rare. Consider it a 'Holy Grail.' I've already made the decision that Finkle is going with us, and I won't argue with you about it." With a smirk, he added, "Feel free to file a formal protest in your own timeline."
Sarcastically, Parker spat, "Thanks a lot."
Turning back to Olga, Talmadge finished, "Tell Nate to have everything ready within the next fifteen minutes. We're always operated on borrowed time as it is with these BackSteps. We've almost lost a day. I don't want to lose another minute to red tape or governmental protocol."
"Right away, sir," she replied, and she quickly disappeared down the hallway. Parker watched his go – his heart beating harder and harder as she shrank in his vision – until she rounded a far corner.
"This is no time to let your personal feelings get in the way, Frank."
"I know," he replied.
"You have to understand that – despite Olga's affections for you – she has other people in her life now."
Parker glanced at the director.
"She's been seeing Channing for quite some time," Talmadge confessed. "They've been together since – well – since he came aboard the BackStep Program."
The younger man sighed. "Tell me that doesn't sound like Channing saw an opportunity for a woman on the rebound, Bradley."
"That isn't my point."
"What is it, then?"
Talmadge shoved his hands in his pockets. "Like I said, we're on borrowed time, so I'll give you the courtesy of keeping this brief." He fixed a stare at Parker. "Consider Olga 'off limits,' Frank. I can't have your feelings for her – or her feelings for you – getting in the way of your fulfilling your duties. In the past, I was willing to look the other way with the attraction. But now, with Channing in her life, I don't have time to play the role of guidance counselor for any of you. You can simplify my job for me by simply staying focused on the mission."
Parker thought about it. He remembered the look on Olga's face when she finally saw him alive in the isolation chamber. Her eyes were hopeful. Her smile was forgiving. They had embraced, and Frank Parker knew how Helen of Troy had sent two nations to war. He knew he'd fight to his death – if it came to it – to save the life of the woman he loved from any doom. But in this timeline, he was being asked to shelve all of his needs, all of his emotions, and only do his job.
"Fine," he concluded.
"Do I have your word?"
"You have my word, Bradley."
"Good," the director replied. "Then ... the clock's ticking, Frank. I think it's about time everyone heard the reason for your BackStep."
End of Chapter 45
Six Days, Two Hours
To his delight, Olga stayed with Parker in order to test the effectiveness of the containment suit. He slipped into the unit, and, then, she returned from the airlock, checking the various digital pressure gauges that lined his right arm. With her hands, she checked every seal – his neck, his arms, his gloves, his waist – and Parker – in silent ecstasy – loved every minute of their clinical encounter. He closed his eyes, imagining that the micro-thin, Kevlar-lined protective suit wasn't there, and he could barely control himself from grabbing her hands, pulling her up, and kissing her hard on the mouth. Their lips would taste one another, and he'd clasp her in his arms, and she'd melt into him ... but, of course, there were the containment helmets that allowed absolutely no chance of human contact ... so Parker concentrated on putting any romantic thoughts out of his mind.
"Everything is working," she announced, standing up from completing her examination of the leggings. "The suit is fully sealed and pressurized." She smiled at him, and he nodded. "Mr. Parker is in his own cocoon, complete with a window."
"Yeah," he agreed, "but when do I get to emerge as a beautiful butterfly?"
"That's not going to happen in this lifetime," Talmadge cried out from the other side of the glass wall. "That would be a breach of frightening proportions, and that's a risk I can't allow."
The director stepped forward, just out of Parker's view due to the edge of the wall, and he raised a hand. Through auditory sensors, Parker heard the electronic keying of a touchpad, and he wondered aloud, "What's he doing?"
"He's opening the door," Olga explained.
Suddenly, Parker heard an awesome hiss, and he watched as a fine mist flooded the entire glasswork where it met solid white wall. After a long mechanical breath, the glass started to rise, disappearing into the ceiling, winding slowly on its track. Talmadge reappeared in the opening, and, at last, Frank Parker felt he had regained his freedom ...
... except for the containment suit.
Parker and Olga walked over to the port. Parker realized that his suit was heavier than he had expected. His steps were difficult, at first, but that he found a kind of peace with the seams. He lifted his arms and found that he could only reach shoulder height.
"How's it feel?" Talmadge asked.
"Sluggish," the chrononaut explained. "It feels like I'm walking around covered in dried mud."
The director laughed. "Well, get used to it. Consider it a necessary evil while you're here. That suit is the only protection mankind has against infection."
"I get it," Parker replied, "but I hope no one has a dangerous fear of the Pillsbury Doughboy because I'll bet that's who I look like."
"You look fine," Olga replied.
"It's based on the same technology that gave us the Apollo space suits, Frank," Talmadge explained. "The suit isolates you completely in your own environment."
"What about air?"
"That's a major scientific advance from the Apollo program," the director said. "The suit has its own microelectronic filtration system. You're breathing the same air that we air, and the filters release only carbon dioxide into the air around you. You might not be able to feel it, but there's a small backpack on your right shoulder that contains filter packs. They'll need to be changed every twenty-four hours, but, otherwise, this suit will give you limited mobility."
Swinging his arms left to right, trying to get used to the feel of the suit, he asked, "How am I supposed to do my job in this thing, Bradley?"
"It's the best we can do, Frank."
"I feel like I'm walking in water."
"You'll be able to go into the field – with support teams – but you won't be an active player," Talmadge presented the scenario. "Consider yourself more of a coach than a player. It's all we can do to ensure both your safety and mankind's survival."
"I understand," Parker said.
"Good," he agreed, "because we have a briefing to get to." Nodding at Olga, he ordered, "Have Ramsey gather the staff in the conference room at once. I understand he has Craig Donovan on standby for a video link out of D.C. Also, you're going to have to have Mr. Finkle's military status re- activated and his security upgraded for what he's going to hear."
"You're kidding?" Parker interrupted. "Bradley, look, Ebdon's a great guy, but this is no time to start reconsidering the way we operate."
Talmadge sighed. "Frank, if you were to collapse in the field, there's only one person at present who can make skin-to-skin contact with you if it became absolutely necessary."
"But you said you have a vaccine?"
"We do," he said, "but there's no way that the CDC is going to allow us to inoculate key personnel for the purposes of a single mission. That serum is rare. Consider it a 'Holy Grail.' I've already made the decision that Finkle is going with us, and I won't argue with you about it." With a smirk, he added, "Feel free to file a formal protest in your own timeline."
Sarcastically, Parker spat, "Thanks a lot."
Turning back to Olga, Talmadge finished, "Tell Nate to have everything ready within the next fifteen minutes. We're always operated on borrowed time as it is with these BackSteps. We've almost lost a day. I don't want to lose another minute to red tape or governmental protocol."
"Right away, sir," she replied, and she quickly disappeared down the hallway. Parker watched his go – his heart beating harder and harder as she shrank in his vision – until she rounded a far corner.
"This is no time to let your personal feelings get in the way, Frank."
"I know," he replied.
"You have to understand that – despite Olga's affections for you – she has other people in her life now."
Parker glanced at the director.
"She's been seeing Channing for quite some time," Talmadge confessed. "They've been together since – well – since he came aboard the BackStep Program."
The younger man sighed. "Tell me that doesn't sound like Channing saw an opportunity for a woman on the rebound, Bradley."
"That isn't my point."
"What is it, then?"
Talmadge shoved his hands in his pockets. "Like I said, we're on borrowed time, so I'll give you the courtesy of keeping this brief." He fixed a stare at Parker. "Consider Olga 'off limits,' Frank. I can't have your feelings for her – or her feelings for you – getting in the way of your fulfilling your duties. In the past, I was willing to look the other way with the attraction. But now, with Channing in her life, I don't have time to play the role of guidance counselor for any of you. You can simplify my job for me by simply staying focused on the mission."
Parker thought about it. He remembered the look on Olga's face when she finally saw him alive in the isolation chamber. Her eyes were hopeful. Her smile was forgiving. They had embraced, and Frank Parker knew how Helen of Troy had sent two nations to war. He knew he'd fight to his death – if it came to it – to save the life of the woman he loved from any doom. But in this timeline, he was being asked to shelve all of his needs, all of his emotions, and only do his job.
"Fine," he concluded.
"Do I have your word?"
"You have my word, Bradley."
"Good," the director replied. "Then ... the clock's ticking, Frank. I think it's about time everyone heard the reason for your BackStep."
End of Chapter 45