Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 15
Five Days, Nineteen Hours, Fifty-Seven Minutes
This day had started out poorly, and it was getting worse by the minute for Bradley Talmadge. Not only had he finally brought all of the personnel fires under control ... not only had be finally brought together a team with the skills and dedication to serve this mission with the kind of precision and delicacy that it required ... not only had to finally convinced his bosses in the NSA that bringing Frank Parker to Washington, D.C., was the best possible course of action despite appearing to be the worst blunder mankind could commit in the short history of its civilization ... but now they were about to be blown out of the sky.
Running as fast as he could, he burst into the communications center aboard the Boeing. From across the room, he heard the Comm Officer practically shouting into the headset, but he knew any pilots encountering a plane bound for the nation's Capitol at a time when it seemed America was under attack would be trigger-happy, to say the least. Given the Red Level Alert that existed on the ground and given the fact that all commercial aircraft had been grounded until further notice, these pilots would – rightly so – be in fighter mode.
"I repeat!" the young man barked. "This is BackStep One! Do not engage! I repeat! Our aircraft is unarmed, and do not engage!"
Quickly, Talmadge pulled another crewmember out of the chair next to the communications post, and he dropped himself into it hard. He knew that they didn't have a lot of time left, not with defensive aircraft already in the airspace this far out from Washington ... but it couldn't matter. He wouldn't allow for them to be stopped now. He couldn't allow it, and he was hoping that he could convince those pilots otherwise.
Glancing at the nearby radar screen, he said, "Gentlemen, isn't it a little late in the evening for us to be entertaining guests? Will someone please inform me as to the status of our little encounter?"
The man Talmadge had almost thrown to the floor quickly took a spot at the director's side, leaning close with his finger poised near the digital display. "Director, these two F-16s ... they came out of nowhere. They've taken defensive positions, one off starboard and one off our port side. They have positive tone on us, sir. Their weapons are locked.
"What do they want?"
"They've ordered us to turn around."
"Turn around?" the director asked incredulous.
"Yes, sir."
"Did you tell them who we are?"
"Yes, sir, I did," he answered. "It didn't seem to phase them at all. They're maintaining that Washington has been locked down and that no aircraft will be allowed into the airspace." Gesturing at the radar images, the young man pleased, "Perhaps you should hear what they have to say."
Waving the young man into the nearest chair, Talmadge pulled on a headset, adjusting the mouthpiece near his jaw. "This is Bradley Talmadge, director of the BackStep Program on board BackStep One," he announced, his eyes now locked on thse radar blips of the attack craft. "May I ask to whom am I speaking?"
There was a brief crackle of static before he heard, "Director Talmadge, this is Lieutenant Colonel Davis Shackleton, sir. I've been ordered to intercept BackStep One and escort your aircraft back to Area 51."
Talmadge couldn't believe what he was hearing.
If what he understood were true, then Washington was in utter chaos. Procedures were in place that would've placed the President in hiding for the duration of a Red Level Alert, and, at this point, there would be absolutely no logical reason why he would be ordered to return to NeverNeverLand unless ...
Oh, no.
Oh, heavens, no.
"On whose authority are you carrying out your orders, colonel?" the director asked.
"By authority of the President of the United States, sir," came the reply.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, sir. The President has ordered me to escort you and your party back to your operational headquarters so that you may engage a BackStep."
It was exactly what Talmadge had feared.
An alternate Frank Parker had arrived in their timeline, and he was being called to Washington in an attempt to divert a possible tragedy to the President's peace plan in the Middle East. However, as events were unfolding much differently than they had in Frank's timeline, the President's son-in-law was killed – possibly the result of a terrorist attack – on some adventure excursion in Alaska. There wasn't any doubt, once the news had broken, that the game plan would be subject to change: Channing Michelson would be ordered to BackStep seven days in order to save Trace Hightower.
A BackStep within a Backstep?
Talmadge knew it was the ultimate set-up for temporal failure, and, if this world were going to survive, he couldn't allow that to happen.
"Colonel, did the President say what purpose he wanted us to serve in this mission?"
"I do not know, sir," Shackleton replied. "The order came to me by way of the President's Chief of Staff, Ethan Stoddard."
Talmadge gripped the mouthpiece of his headset. "Son, you have to get Stoddard on the horn. There's no way I'm going to risk any more lives by performing any more time travel ... not until we've discussed other contingencies with the President himself."
"I can't do that, sir."
"Colonel, I'm giving you an order."
"Sir, I already have my orders."
Standing, Talmadge knew he had only one alternative. "And I'm giving you an NSA command override to Ethan Stoddard's directive."
"Sir, I think it best ..."
"The password is 'counterclockwise,'" the director interrupted, not allowing himself to be swayed from what he concluded was the proper course of action. "I understand that you'll need time to verify it. I'll stay on the line until you can establish its authenticity."
"Sir, if you would, please order your pilot turn that aircraft around ..."
"I'll do no such thing, colonel."
"Sir, you're risking both our careers here ..."
"Son," Talmadge cut the man off, turning away from the radar screen and closing his eyes, trying to imagine the face of the person he was talking to, knowing that it would help him make as convincing an argument as possible, "neither you nor I have the time to bandy threats about, so I'm going to show you the courtesy of speaking plainly. I need you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say. The fate of our world very well may depend on what you decide. Do you understand?"
"That's affirmative, director."
Pleased, Talmadge gave himself a moment's pause to appreciate the minor victory. Then, he nodded to himself. "Colonel, you undoubtedly are not privy to all information regarding why the President may or may not have set you out on this mission. I am. I can tell you that – to the best of our knowledge – the President's son-in-law was killed four hours ago on one of his thrill-seeking adventures ... this one in northern Alaska. I don't know whether or not you have children, colonel, but, if you do, I want you to imagine what that would feel like ... to learn that you've lost your child ... to learn that it was quite possibly at the hands of terrorists ... but what would you do if you had the opportunity to turn back the clock and undo the damage that had been done to you and your family?"
Talmadge couldn't tell whether or not he was making as persuasive an argument as he needed at a time like this. Still, all he could do was continue. "That power could force you to make rash judgments ... judgments that might not serve the best interests of humanity but would seem like the perfect choice given very few options to alleviate your pain. I believe that may be what you and I have found ourselves in the middle of, colonel. If your orders came directly from the President of the United States, I think you can understand why he might make such a request, why he might ask such a sacrifice. But, colonel, I give you my word – one patriot to another – that right now I have people aboard this aircraft who have to get to Washington. I'm telling you, without question, that a BackStep at this time would only worsen this situation. I've been in charge of this program long enough to know that a BackStep now wouldn't only lead us to talking about the sacrifice of sons and daughters." Grimly, he concluded, "Colonel, we'd be talking about the end to civilization as we know it."
The pilot hadn't replied, and Talmadge was concerned that the younger man was preparing for attack procedures. He knew they wouldn't fire on the Boeing, but that didn't mean the F-16s couldn't pose other dangers.
"Colonel," he tried further, "I'm again giving you my NSA command override. You know what your duty is, and you know that you must authenticate. The password is counterclockwise. Do whatever it is you need to do ..."
"That won't be necessary, sir," Shackleton finally spoke to him. "I've already relayed your override to the ground, and they've given us the greenlight to escort BackStep One into Washington."
Reaching up, Talmadge wiped a bead of sweat that had formed from his eyebrow.
"Calmer minds have prevailed, sir," the pilot offered.
'That they have,' the director thought, 'and thank God they did.'
END of Chapter 15
Five Days, Nineteen Hours, Fifty-Seven Minutes
This day had started out poorly, and it was getting worse by the minute for Bradley Talmadge. Not only had he finally brought all of the personnel fires under control ... not only had be finally brought together a team with the skills and dedication to serve this mission with the kind of precision and delicacy that it required ... not only had to finally convinced his bosses in the NSA that bringing Frank Parker to Washington, D.C., was the best possible course of action despite appearing to be the worst blunder mankind could commit in the short history of its civilization ... but now they were about to be blown out of the sky.
Running as fast as he could, he burst into the communications center aboard the Boeing. From across the room, he heard the Comm Officer practically shouting into the headset, but he knew any pilots encountering a plane bound for the nation's Capitol at a time when it seemed America was under attack would be trigger-happy, to say the least. Given the Red Level Alert that existed on the ground and given the fact that all commercial aircraft had been grounded until further notice, these pilots would – rightly so – be in fighter mode.
"I repeat!" the young man barked. "This is BackStep One! Do not engage! I repeat! Our aircraft is unarmed, and do not engage!"
Quickly, Talmadge pulled another crewmember out of the chair next to the communications post, and he dropped himself into it hard. He knew that they didn't have a lot of time left, not with defensive aircraft already in the airspace this far out from Washington ... but it couldn't matter. He wouldn't allow for them to be stopped now. He couldn't allow it, and he was hoping that he could convince those pilots otherwise.
Glancing at the nearby radar screen, he said, "Gentlemen, isn't it a little late in the evening for us to be entertaining guests? Will someone please inform me as to the status of our little encounter?"
The man Talmadge had almost thrown to the floor quickly took a spot at the director's side, leaning close with his finger poised near the digital display. "Director, these two F-16s ... they came out of nowhere. They've taken defensive positions, one off starboard and one off our port side. They have positive tone on us, sir. Their weapons are locked.
"What do they want?"
"They've ordered us to turn around."
"Turn around?" the director asked incredulous.
"Yes, sir."
"Did you tell them who we are?"
"Yes, sir, I did," he answered. "It didn't seem to phase them at all. They're maintaining that Washington has been locked down and that no aircraft will be allowed into the airspace." Gesturing at the radar images, the young man pleased, "Perhaps you should hear what they have to say."
Waving the young man into the nearest chair, Talmadge pulled on a headset, adjusting the mouthpiece near his jaw. "This is Bradley Talmadge, director of the BackStep Program on board BackStep One," he announced, his eyes now locked on thse radar blips of the attack craft. "May I ask to whom am I speaking?"
There was a brief crackle of static before he heard, "Director Talmadge, this is Lieutenant Colonel Davis Shackleton, sir. I've been ordered to intercept BackStep One and escort your aircraft back to Area 51."
Talmadge couldn't believe what he was hearing.
If what he understood were true, then Washington was in utter chaos. Procedures were in place that would've placed the President in hiding for the duration of a Red Level Alert, and, at this point, there would be absolutely no logical reason why he would be ordered to return to NeverNeverLand unless ...
Oh, no.
Oh, heavens, no.
"On whose authority are you carrying out your orders, colonel?" the director asked.
"By authority of the President of the United States, sir," came the reply.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, sir. The President has ordered me to escort you and your party back to your operational headquarters so that you may engage a BackStep."
It was exactly what Talmadge had feared.
An alternate Frank Parker had arrived in their timeline, and he was being called to Washington in an attempt to divert a possible tragedy to the President's peace plan in the Middle East. However, as events were unfolding much differently than they had in Frank's timeline, the President's son-in-law was killed – possibly the result of a terrorist attack – on some adventure excursion in Alaska. There wasn't any doubt, once the news had broken, that the game plan would be subject to change: Channing Michelson would be ordered to BackStep seven days in order to save Trace Hightower.
A BackStep within a Backstep?
Talmadge knew it was the ultimate set-up for temporal failure, and, if this world were going to survive, he couldn't allow that to happen.
"Colonel, did the President say what purpose he wanted us to serve in this mission?"
"I do not know, sir," Shackleton replied. "The order came to me by way of the President's Chief of Staff, Ethan Stoddard."
Talmadge gripped the mouthpiece of his headset. "Son, you have to get Stoddard on the horn. There's no way I'm going to risk any more lives by performing any more time travel ... not until we've discussed other contingencies with the President himself."
"I can't do that, sir."
"Colonel, I'm giving you an order."
"Sir, I already have my orders."
Standing, Talmadge knew he had only one alternative. "And I'm giving you an NSA command override to Ethan Stoddard's directive."
"Sir, I think it best ..."
"The password is 'counterclockwise,'" the director interrupted, not allowing himself to be swayed from what he concluded was the proper course of action. "I understand that you'll need time to verify it. I'll stay on the line until you can establish its authenticity."
"Sir, if you would, please order your pilot turn that aircraft around ..."
"I'll do no such thing, colonel."
"Sir, you're risking both our careers here ..."
"Son," Talmadge cut the man off, turning away from the radar screen and closing his eyes, trying to imagine the face of the person he was talking to, knowing that it would help him make as convincing an argument as possible, "neither you nor I have the time to bandy threats about, so I'm going to show you the courtesy of speaking plainly. I need you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say. The fate of our world very well may depend on what you decide. Do you understand?"
"That's affirmative, director."
Pleased, Talmadge gave himself a moment's pause to appreciate the minor victory. Then, he nodded to himself. "Colonel, you undoubtedly are not privy to all information regarding why the President may or may not have set you out on this mission. I am. I can tell you that – to the best of our knowledge – the President's son-in-law was killed four hours ago on one of his thrill-seeking adventures ... this one in northern Alaska. I don't know whether or not you have children, colonel, but, if you do, I want you to imagine what that would feel like ... to learn that you've lost your child ... to learn that it was quite possibly at the hands of terrorists ... but what would you do if you had the opportunity to turn back the clock and undo the damage that had been done to you and your family?"
Talmadge couldn't tell whether or not he was making as persuasive an argument as he needed at a time like this. Still, all he could do was continue. "That power could force you to make rash judgments ... judgments that might not serve the best interests of humanity but would seem like the perfect choice given very few options to alleviate your pain. I believe that may be what you and I have found ourselves in the middle of, colonel. If your orders came directly from the President of the United States, I think you can understand why he might make such a request, why he might ask such a sacrifice. But, colonel, I give you my word – one patriot to another – that right now I have people aboard this aircraft who have to get to Washington. I'm telling you, without question, that a BackStep at this time would only worsen this situation. I've been in charge of this program long enough to know that a BackStep now wouldn't only lead us to talking about the sacrifice of sons and daughters." Grimly, he concluded, "Colonel, we'd be talking about the end to civilization as we know it."
The pilot hadn't replied, and Talmadge was concerned that the younger man was preparing for attack procedures. He knew they wouldn't fire on the Boeing, but that didn't mean the F-16s couldn't pose other dangers.
"Colonel," he tried further, "I'm again giving you my NSA command override. You know what your duty is, and you know that you must authenticate. The password is counterclockwise. Do whatever it is you need to do ..."
"That won't be necessary, sir," Shackleton finally spoke to him. "I've already relayed your override to the ground, and they've given us the greenlight to escort BackStep One into Washington."
Reaching up, Talmadge wiped a bead of sweat that had formed from his eyebrow.
"Calmer minds have prevailed, sir," the pilot offered.
'That they have,' the director thought, 'and thank God they did.'
END of Chapter 15
