Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 33
Five Days, Sixteen Hours, Forty Minutes
"You wouldn't mind explaining why an entire world must die, would you, Larry?"
The Mallathorn studied Frank Parker's fixed expression, and the alien realized that he instinctively trusted the man. In fact, this chrononaut – unlike so many of the others who had died in their pursuits in so many other dimensions – had successfully made history – literally in far more interesting, exciting, and rewarding ways than the average person or alien could or would ever imagine. As such, the two – the alien and the man – shared a unique kinship that defied the boundaries of space and time, whether the man ever conceived of it or accepted it. They were colleagues. They were professionals. Secrets were beneath the two of them, and Larnord knew he would have to offer this man – a man above most mortal men – as thorough an explanation as possible ...
... within limits.
Frank Parker was, after all, human. Genetics would limit his understanding of temporal mechanics, but Larnord was convinced it was worth the attempt.
"Despite some perceived complexities, death is a very simple concept, Frank."
"Trust me, pal," the man replied. "From where you're from, maybe that's the way of things. But when you've walked a mile in my shoes, you find out just how bad your feet can ache, if you know what I mean. When you've done the things that I've done, you learn to take nothing for granted, and you learn that nothing – however remote the possibility – is ever that simple."
"But it is."
"It isn't," Parker insisted. As the Mallathorn's tentacle slowly released and lanced away from his neck, he rubbed his skin reflexively with his own hand. His neck felt normal, thank goodness. "You're saying that a world ... this world ... that I have to let it die."
"Yes."
He shook his head. "What does that mean exactly?"
"It must die."
"It must end?"
"Precisely." Shrugging – an odd gesture coming from the diminutive creature – he added, "It is that simple."
"I can't do that."
"You can, Frank."
Convinced that his neck was fine, he crossed his arms. "Maybe you're not hearing me, Larry. I refuse. Did that come through that skinny little head of yours? I refuse to let this world die while I stand by ... especially if there is anything I can do to prevent it."
"You have to."
"I don't accept that."
"It isn't for you to accept."
"Fine," Parker spat. "I won't take any orders from you."
"It isn't an order," Larnord clarified. "It's a reality."
"Not if I have anything to say about it."
"You don't."
Glaring down at the Mallathorn, Parker snapped, "But I do! I'm standing right here! I'm here! In this timeline! If there is anything I can do to stop this world from coming to an end, then you can bet every inch of your tentacles that I'm going to do it!"
Again displaying an affinity for human gestures, Larnord smiled.
"Frank, I've upset you, and that was not my intention. Will you please allow me to start at the beginning?"
"Will starting from the beginning change the outcome?"
"It may."
"How might it not?"
"That's entirely up to you."
"You know," Parker began, sighing, "I really hate these word games, Larry. Have you spoken with the Olga Vukavitch of this timeline? If she's anything like the Olga Vukavitch from my timeline, then she would already have told you how much I hate word games. Word association. It's a bunch of bunk, if you ask me, and I know you're not going to. Do you know how I know that? It's because ... you're the alien. You're the one with the superior technology." He jerked his head at Larnord. "Oh, you're willing to share and all ... just so long as the entire human race answers to your each and every demand!"
The Mallathorn inclined his head, the tentacles suddenly jerking, dangling loosely about his small neck and chest. "Frank, there are events in motion of which you have no possible conception. I give you my word that my demand – my one simple demand – is of no consequence to you and this world."
"How's that?"
"It isn't for me to say."
"What?"
"Your team," Larnord answered. "Director Talmadge will be more than happy to fill you in once our meeting has adjourned."
Parker cocked an eye. "But you know?"
"Yes."
"And you aren't going to tell me, are you?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. In a manner of speaking, no."
"Larry, did I or did I not just tell you how much I hate word games?"
Immediately, the alien raised a hand. He splayed his long slender fingers out, telling the man to stop. "If you will allow me to speak, then I promise you, Frank: there will be no need for games."
His arms still crossed, Frank Parker kept his mouth closed. Responding, he nodded ... with a slight roll of his eyes.
"Please," the Mallathorn offered, "follow me."
Together, they strolled in the direction of the far wall where the thick metal shelves were mounted to the wall. Parker had noticed them when he entered the alien's chamber. They were lined with books – massive volumes of encyclopedias, tomes from human history, and collections of essays and fiction – stretching as far as he could see into the room. It resembled a library, with much less lighting, and Parker guessed that the alien must've had some discomfort with bright lights.
"Here," it said.
"What?"
Larnord gestured his tentacles toward the wall of books. "This."
"What?" Parker asked again. "The books?"
"Yes," it answered. "The books. These books. This wonderful collection. It's really quite extraordinary, if you consider every event – every thought – every talent that must've happened in the universe for us to be standing here today, together, looking at these books."
"What about 'em?"
"They're grounded in the Dewey Decimal System," it explained.
Reaching out, Parker took a book from the shelf at eye level, and he noticed that the book had been catalogued as though it were placed in a library. There, near the base of the spine, he saw the number: 934.47.
"I never was much of a bookworm, Larry. What of it?"
"Isn't it fascinating?"
Grimacing, the chrononaut returned the book to the shelf. "Fascinating?"
"Yes!"
"Fascinating? No. Useful? Yes."
"Would you agree that it is fascinatingly useful?"
"More than I would it is usefully fascinating."
"That is very funny, Frank."
"You're pushing your luck, Larry."
"Then," the alien tried, "we shall agree that it is useful."
"Look," Parker sighed, "far be it from me to insult your galactic sensibilities, but, in case you've forgotten, there's an entire world outside slowly dying ... if I take you for your word."
"Yes?"
"So ... could we please speed up the science lesson, Mr. Alien?"
"The Dewey Decimal System exemplifies the pervasiveness of your species to bring order to their universe," the Mallathorn announced.
"In English, please."
Slightly frustrated, Larnord matter-of-factly said, "Your people require things a certain way."
"Don't all people want things a certain way?"
"You'll have to trust me on this, Frank. I've traveled to parts of the universe that do not yet exist even in man's imagination. I've been to hundreds of worlds, and I've visited hundreds of societies, and I've yet to encounter another species – one other than Earthlings – more overtly insistent with the natural ordering of ... all things."
"What are you talking about? All things?" Parker asked. "I thought we were talking about books."
"Books are only one example," it agreed. "The fact that you order them ... you classify them ... by author ... by title ... by category ... that is a feat most civilizations find ..." Clearly, the Mallathorn was searching for the correct definition.
"What?"
"Primitive," Larnord finally said.
"Primitive?" Parker asked. "What? What's so primitive about wanting to keep things in order? Don't these other forms of higher intelligences don't believe in books? Can't they read? Look, I know there's always been a problem with literacy, but if you're expecting me to believe that it's Earth's fault, then you're really stretching it, pal."
"No, no, no," it argued. "Of course, every civilization – every society – has the expressed need to bring some form of order to their respective worlds. These races are far more interested in the recording of their histories. They don't engage one another, however, in activities they mutually agree to be frivolous."
"Frivolous? What the hell's so wrong with reading a book?"
"It isn't about the books, Frank," Larnord explained. "It's about the human need to bring order to something as fundamentally simple as a piece of literature."
"What?" the chrononaut protested. "I don't get it, Larry. If you want to read a book, then you have to find it. How are you going to find it without order?"
"Precisely!" the alien almost squealed. "You're making my point for me! The Dewey Decimal System works because it was designed around the human conceit over the ability to constantly locate a single object on a single linear plane." Larnord raised his hands toward the ceiling. "The rest of the cosmos – and I can say this with conviction – is far less concerned with order because they've risen above the need to see things ordered, Frank. Earthlings are far too linear – far too chronological – for their collective good."
"So why don't you and your friends just invade our planet and show us how to re-arrange our libraries?" Parker joked. "Hell, it wouldn't make much of a movie, but it would certainly be a twist on the old 'alien invasion' story that we haven't seen before."
Larnord lowered his arms and pointed at the man. "You, on the other hand, know that events – the peoples, the places – can be re-ordered to fit whatever definition best serves your species."
Parker thought about the concept. His experiences through the BackStep Program had taught him that time was not so much fluid as it was like a hunk of clay. It could – depending upon the circumstances – be hardened into stone ... but, with the application of water, it could begin to lose its shape in order to fashioned into something else. In fact, that's what he understood BackStep to be all about: the reshaping of time ... but didn't it still have to click off on the seconds of a clock? Wasn't the passage of time the most perishable resource in the galaxy, regardless of where you were?
"I don't know, Larry."
"Frank, it is a difficult concept to accept that this life – as you've come to live it – can be ordered by your command, not by the ticking of a clock," Larnord replied.
Surprised, Parker accused, "You read my mind!"
"I sensed your concept."
"What's the difference?"
"One is invasive," the alien reasoned. "The other is merely reflective."
"So you read my mind!" the man shouted.
"Fine," Larnord agreed. "I read your mind. What is so inflammatory?"
"Well, you can stay the hell out of my mind, for one thing!"
"You have my apology, Frank."
"How would you like it if I read your mind?"
"I welcome you to."
"Oh, that's funny," Parker quipped.
"What is funny?"
"Like I can do that! Like I can read your mind!"
Those tentacles dancing, the alien smiled. "There is still time to surprise even yourself."
The chrononaut brushed a hand across the nearest row of books. "Not according to what you said," he tried. "You said that I have to let this world die. If that's the case, then there may not be enough time left for me to surprise myself. Who knows? There may not even be enough time for me to figure out what the hell the Dewey Decimal System has to do with all of this."
Stepping forward, Larnord took Frank's hand, gently tugging at the man, encouraging him to walk. Together, they moved down the long aisle of books.
"The concept is not that very difficult, Frank," it continued. "Let me speak plainly. As you know, Earthlings define their existence based upon the passage of time. You celebrate birthdays. You mourn your dead. You remember important events in your lives based upon when they happened, and it is that very order – the very need to maintain it – expressed in much in the same way that these books are kept ordered on these shelves. One book must come after the other book. You don't think about it. You look for it. It must be in its proper place, and its proper place must be balanced within the universal order of these other volumes. How can you find what you wanted to read if it weren't so?" Glancing up at the higher shelves, Larnord asked, "But what would happen if the book were put back – returned to these shelves – but in the wrong place?"
Strolling along, casually reading the titles as he moved, Parker answered, "Then ... I wouldn't be able to find it."
"But it would still be here?"
"Of course, it would," the man said. "It just ... well ... it wouldn't be where it was supposed to be."
"So," Larnord began, "the book still exist ... it would have it's proper identification in the Dewey Decimal System ... but you still would not be able to locate it?"
"Well," Parker replied, "probably not. At least, I wouldn't be able to find it if I didn't have to do some serious searching. Who knows? If it were put back so horribly wrong, I may never find it in this collection ... especially if I had as many books as you do."
The alien chuckled, and the man was once again amazed at how human the being from another world behaved.
"That is what I have done with this timeline, Frank."
"What?"
Larnord stopped. "I have re-ordered the books."
"These books?"
"Not the books, Frank," it answered. "The events."
Parker narrowed his eyes at the being.
"In your timeline, you went back in time seven days in order to stop the destruction of the Heston Tower," it explained.
Surprised, Parker said, "That's right."
"This may come as a complete shock to you, but if you had done that – if you had stopped the Heston Tower from being destroyed, Frank – the results to your world would have been catastrophic."
Confused, Parker rambled several scenarios through his mind. He knew that the Heston was destroyed, and he knew that the President's loss of a confidante who could help bring peace to the Middle East died ... but ... but how was it possible? It was one event ... and then realization washed over him like an ice cold shower. He cringed. How could the idea – the concept – have evaded him? Because time wasn't so much fluid as it was like clay – the natural ability to take whatever form it needed – changing one event, no matter how significant, affected every possible event that could have, should have, or would have followed.
"I'm not completely certain I understand what you're trying to tell me, Larnord," he finally admitted. "It sounds like you've done some re- arranging of your own ... in this timeline."
"This timeline," the alien explained, "never existed, Frank. Not in any human conception of it, that is. I created it. I took an event – an event that would happen in your timeline – and I sped it up. Like a misplaced book, I put it back on the shelves ... in the wrong order. So ... as you may already understand ... there are events that have occurred here ... in this timeline ... that have not yet come to pass in your world. There are some events, in fact, that are unfolding right now, as we speak, but they are occurring days, weeks, or even months ahead of schedule for your timeline. You see, I fashioned this temporal parallelogram – as your good friend, Dr. Mentnor would call it – for the sole purpose of showing you that had you successfully completed your mission – had you saved the Heston Tower from destruction – then your world would've suffered a horrific fate ... one that would've reshaped the cosmos."
The man took several deep breaths before he uttered, "Whoa."
"Yes," Larnord agreed. "Whoa, indeed. So you see ... you had to come here, Frank. If you hadn't – if I hadn't brought you here – then your world would have inevitably ceased to exist."
"So this timeline," Parker reasoned, mentally reshaping the puzzle in his mind, "never really happened?"
"It did, in the sense that it was one of several hundred thousand possibilities for the outcome of a single moment in history," the alien stated. "As you know by firsthand experience, there are many worlds out there on the temporal plane for you to visit. That's what I mean when I say that your species greatest weakness is its insistence on seeing things in so linear. It isn't shortsightedness on their part of your kind. Rather, it's all you've come to know, so it's all you've come to accept. 'A' happens, and 'A' leads to 'B.' If 'A' didn't happen, then 'B' couldn't happen either. It's linear, and it's wrong. You know that. You've traveled through time, and you know that events can be reshaped. I've only done the same here ... with this timeline. However, in the myriad of available dimensions, this timeline most closely resembled yours ... and that is why I brought you here."
"You brought me here?"
"Yes. I pulled the Sphere across the various continuums to bring you here. As I said, I needed to show you what danger you were inadvertently placing the survival of all mankind in."
"Then ... now that I know ... you'll have no problem putting me back?"
Slowly, Larnord shook his head.
"You're thinking linear again, Frank."
"Screw linear thinking, pal," the chrononaut argued. "I've heard all I'm going to hear about linear thinking!"
"You haven't thought this through."
"Look, we're talking about my life, here!" Parker planted his hands firmly on his waist. "And it's not only about me! We're talking about the lives of the people I've come to know, the people I love! I'm not going to sacrifice them for this little science experiment of yours!"
"There is sacrifice in all things, Frank."
"But if I can't save this world because you've re-ordered the natural chain of events, then I want to go back to mine so that I can make sure that the Heston Tower is destroyed ... and ... well ... and then I'll learn whatever it is I need to learn in order to keep my timeline from putting the cosmos at risk."
"It isn't that simple, Frank."
"But, Larry, how am I going to get home?"
"In order for you to return to your proper timeline, Frank," the alien explained, "you'll have to find your own way."
END of Chapter 33
Five Days, Sixteen Hours, Forty Minutes
"You wouldn't mind explaining why an entire world must die, would you, Larry?"
The Mallathorn studied Frank Parker's fixed expression, and the alien realized that he instinctively trusted the man. In fact, this chrononaut – unlike so many of the others who had died in their pursuits in so many other dimensions – had successfully made history – literally in far more interesting, exciting, and rewarding ways than the average person or alien could or would ever imagine. As such, the two – the alien and the man – shared a unique kinship that defied the boundaries of space and time, whether the man ever conceived of it or accepted it. They were colleagues. They were professionals. Secrets were beneath the two of them, and Larnord knew he would have to offer this man – a man above most mortal men – as thorough an explanation as possible ...
... within limits.
Frank Parker was, after all, human. Genetics would limit his understanding of temporal mechanics, but Larnord was convinced it was worth the attempt.
"Despite some perceived complexities, death is a very simple concept, Frank."
"Trust me, pal," the man replied. "From where you're from, maybe that's the way of things. But when you've walked a mile in my shoes, you find out just how bad your feet can ache, if you know what I mean. When you've done the things that I've done, you learn to take nothing for granted, and you learn that nothing – however remote the possibility – is ever that simple."
"But it is."
"It isn't," Parker insisted. As the Mallathorn's tentacle slowly released and lanced away from his neck, he rubbed his skin reflexively with his own hand. His neck felt normal, thank goodness. "You're saying that a world ... this world ... that I have to let it die."
"Yes."
He shook his head. "What does that mean exactly?"
"It must die."
"It must end?"
"Precisely." Shrugging – an odd gesture coming from the diminutive creature – he added, "It is that simple."
"I can't do that."
"You can, Frank."
Convinced that his neck was fine, he crossed his arms. "Maybe you're not hearing me, Larry. I refuse. Did that come through that skinny little head of yours? I refuse to let this world die while I stand by ... especially if there is anything I can do to prevent it."
"You have to."
"I don't accept that."
"It isn't for you to accept."
"Fine," Parker spat. "I won't take any orders from you."
"It isn't an order," Larnord clarified. "It's a reality."
"Not if I have anything to say about it."
"You don't."
Glaring down at the Mallathorn, Parker snapped, "But I do! I'm standing right here! I'm here! In this timeline! If there is anything I can do to stop this world from coming to an end, then you can bet every inch of your tentacles that I'm going to do it!"
Again displaying an affinity for human gestures, Larnord smiled.
"Frank, I've upset you, and that was not my intention. Will you please allow me to start at the beginning?"
"Will starting from the beginning change the outcome?"
"It may."
"How might it not?"
"That's entirely up to you."
"You know," Parker began, sighing, "I really hate these word games, Larry. Have you spoken with the Olga Vukavitch of this timeline? If she's anything like the Olga Vukavitch from my timeline, then she would already have told you how much I hate word games. Word association. It's a bunch of bunk, if you ask me, and I know you're not going to. Do you know how I know that? It's because ... you're the alien. You're the one with the superior technology." He jerked his head at Larnord. "Oh, you're willing to share and all ... just so long as the entire human race answers to your each and every demand!"
The Mallathorn inclined his head, the tentacles suddenly jerking, dangling loosely about his small neck and chest. "Frank, there are events in motion of which you have no possible conception. I give you my word that my demand – my one simple demand – is of no consequence to you and this world."
"How's that?"
"It isn't for me to say."
"What?"
"Your team," Larnord answered. "Director Talmadge will be more than happy to fill you in once our meeting has adjourned."
Parker cocked an eye. "But you know?"
"Yes."
"And you aren't going to tell me, are you?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. In a manner of speaking, no."
"Larry, did I or did I not just tell you how much I hate word games?"
Immediately, the alien raised a hand. He splayed his long slender fingers out, telling the man to stop. "If you will allow me to speak, then I promise you, Frank: there will be no need for games."
His arms still crossed, Frank Parker kept his mouth closed. Responding, he nodded ... with a slight roll of his eyes.
"Please," the Mallathorn offered, "follow me."
Together, they strolled in the direction of the far wall where the thick metal shelves were mounted to the wall. Parker had noticed them when he entered the alien's chamber. They were lined with books – massive volumes of encyclopedias, tomes from human history, and collections of essays and fiction – stretching as far as he could see into the room. It resembled a library, with much less lighting, and Parker guessed that the alien must've had some discomfort with bright lights.
"Here," it said.
"What?"
Larnord gestured his tentacles toward the wall of books. "This."
"What?" Parker asked again. "The books?"
"Yes," it answered. "The books. These books. This wonderful collection. It's really quite extraordinary, if you consider every event – every thought – every talent that must've happened in the universe for us to be standing here today, together, looking at these books."
"What about 'em?"
"They're grounded in the Dewey Decimal System," it explained.
Reaching out, Parker took a book from the shelf at eye level, and he noticed that the book had been catalogued as though it were placed in a library. There, near the base of the spine, he saw the number: 934.47.
"I never was much of a bookworm, Larry. What of it?"
"Isn't it fascinating?"
Grimacing, the chrononaut returned the book to the shelf. "Fascinating?"
"Yes!"
"Fascinating? No. Useful? Yes."
"Would you agree that it is fascinatingly useful?"
"More than I would it is usefully fascinating."
"That is very funny, Frank."
"You're pushing your luck, Larry."
"Then," the alien tried, "we shall agree that it is useful."
"Look," Parker sighed, "far be it from me to insult your galactic sensibilities, but, in case you've forgotten, there's an entire world outside slowly dying ... if I take you for your word."
"Yes?"
"So ... could we please speed up the science lesson, Mr. Alien?"
"The Dewey Decimal System exemplifies the pervasiveness of your species to bring order to their universe," the Mallathorn announced.
"In English, please."
Slightly frustrated, Larnord matter-of-factly said, "Your people require things a certain way."
"Don't all people want things a certain way?"
"You'll have to trust me on this, Frank. I've traveled to parts of the universe that do not yet exist even in man's imagination. I've been to hundreds of worlds, and I've visited hundreds of societies, and I've yet to encounter another species – one other than Earthlings – more overtly insistent with the natural ordering of ... all things."
"What are you talking about? All things?" Parker asked. "I thought we were talking about books."
"Books are only one example," it agreed. "The fact that you order them ... you classify them ... by author ... by title ... by category ... that is a feat most civilizations find ..." Clearly, the Mallathorn was searching for the correct definition.
"What?"
"Primitive," Larnord finally said.
"Primitive?" Parker asked. "What? What's so primitive about wanting to keep things in order? Don't these other forms of higher intelligences don't believe in books? Can't they read? Look, I know there's always been a problem with literacy, but if you're expecting me to believe that it's Earth's fault, then you're really stretching it, pal."
"No, no, no," it argued. "Of course, every civilization – every society – has the expressed need to bring some form of order to their respective worlds. These races are far more interested in the recording of their histories. They don't engage one another, however, in activities they mutually agree to be frivolous."
"Frivolous? What the hell's so wrong with reading a book?"
"It isn't about the books, Frank," Larnord explained. "It's about the human need to bring order to something as fundamentally simple as a piece of literature."
"What?" the chrononaut protested. "I don't get it, Larry. If you want to read a book, then you have to find it. How are you going to find it without order?"
"Precisely!" the alien almost squealed. "You're making my point for me! The Dewey Decimal System works because it was designed around the human conceit over the ability to constantly locate a single object on a single linear plane." Larnord raised his hands toward the ceiling. "The rest of the cosmos – and I can say this with conviction – is far less concerned with order because they've risen above the need to see things ordered, Frank. Earthlings are far too linear – far too chronological – for their collective good."
"So why don't you and your friends just invade our planet and show us how to re-arrange our libraries?" Parker joked. "Hell, it wouldn't make much of a movie, but it would certainly be a twist on the old 'alien invasion' story that we haven't seen before."
Larnord lowered his arms and pointed at the man. "You, on the other hand, know that events – the peoples, the places – can be re-ordered to fit whatever definition best serves your species."
Parker thought about the concept. His experiences through the BackStep Program had taught him that time was not so much fluid as it was like a hunk of clay. It could – depending upon the circumstances – be hardened into stone ... but, with the application of water, it could begin to lose its shape in order to fashioned into something else. In fact, that's what he understood BackStep to be all about: the reshaping of time ... but didn't it still have to click off on the seconds of a clock? Wasn't the passage of time the most perishable resource in the galaxy, regardless of where you were?
"I don't know, Larry."
"Frank, it is a difficult concept to accept that this life – as you've come to live it – can be ordered by your command, not by the ticking of a clock," Larnord replied.
Surprised, Parker accused, "You read my mind!"
"I sensed your concept."
"What's the difference?"
"One is invasive," the alien reasoned. "The other is merely reflective."
"So you read my mind!" the man shouted.
"Fine," Larnord agreed. "I read your mind. What is so inflammatory?"
"Well, you can stay the hell out of my mind, for one thing!"
"You have my apology, Frank."
"How would you like it if I read your mind?"
"I welcome you to."
"Oh, that's funny," Parker quipped.
"What is funny?"
"Like I can do that! Like I can read your mind!"
Those tentacles dancing, the alien smiled. "There is still time to surprise even yourself."
The chrononaut brushed a hand across the nearest row of books. "Not according to what you said," he tried. "You said that I have to let this world die. If that's the case, then there may not be enough time left for me to surprise myself. Who knows? There may not even be enough time for me to figure out what the hell the Dewey Decimal System has to do with all of this."
Stepping forward, Larnord took Frank's hand, gently tugging at the man, encouraging him to walk. Together, they moved down the long aisle of books.
"The concept is not that very difficult, Frank," it continued. "Let me speak plainly. As you know, Earthlings define their existence based upon the passage of time. You celebrate birthdays. You mourn your dead. You remember important events in your lives based upon when they happened, and it is that very order – the very need to maintain it – expressed in much in the same way that these books are kept ordered on these shelves. One book must come after the other book. You don't think about it. You look for it. It must be in its proper place, and its proper place must be balanced within the universal order of these other volumes. How can you find what you wanted to read if it weren't so?" Glancing up at the higher shelves, Larnord asked, "But what would happen if the book were put back – returned to these shelves – but in the wrong place?"
Strolling along, casually reading the titles as he moved, Parker answered, "Then ... I wouldn't be able to find it."
"But it would still be here?"
"Of course, it would," the man said. "It just ... well ... it wouldn't be where it was supposed to be."
"So," Larnord began, "the book still exist ... it would have it's proper identification in the Dewey Decimal System ... but you still would not be able to locate it?"
"Well," Parker replied, "probably not. At least, I wouldn't be able to find it if I didn't have to do some serious searching. Who knows? If it were put back so horribly wrong, I may never find it in this collection ... especially if I had as many books as you do."
The alien chuckled, and the man was once again amazed at how human the being from another world behaved.
"That is what I have done with this timeline, Frank."
"What?"
Larnord stopped. "I have re-ordered the books."
"These books?"
"Not the books, Frank," it answered. "The events."
Parker narrowed his eyes at the being.
"In your timeline, you went back in time seven days in order to stop the destruction of the Heston Tower," it explained.
Surprised, Parker said, "That's right."
"This may come as a complete shock to you, but if you had done that – if you had stopped the Heston Tower from being destroyed, Frank – the results to your world would have been catastrophic."
Confused, Parker rambled several scenarios through his mind. He knew that the Heston was destroyed, and he knew that the President's loss of a confidante who could help bring peace to the Middle East died ... but ... but how was it possible? It was one event ... and then realization washed over him like an ice cold shower. He cringed. How could the idea – the concept – have evaded him? Because time wasn't so much fluid as it was like clay – the natural ability to take whatever form it needed – changing one event, no matter how significant, affected every possible event that could have, should have, or would have followed.
"I'm not completely certain I understand what you're trying to tell me, Larnord," he finally admitted. "It sounds like you've done some re- arranging of your own ... in this timeline."
"This timeline," the alien explained, "never existed, Frank. Not in any human conception of it, that is. I created it. I took an event – an event that would happen in your timeline – and I sped it up. Like a misplaced book, I put it back on the shelves ... in the wrong order. So ... as you may already understand ... there are events that have occurred here ... in this timeline ... that have not yet come to pass in your world. There are some events, in fact, that are unfolding right now, as we speak, but they are occurring days, weeks, or even months ahead of schedule for your timeline. You see, I fashioned this temporal parallelogram – as your good friend, Dr. Mentnor would call it – for the sole purpose of showing you that had you successfully completed your mission – had you saved the Heston Tower from destruction – then your world would've suffered a horrific fate ... one that would've reshaped the cosmos."
The man took several deep breaths before he uttered, "Whoa."
"Yes," Larnord agreed. "Whoa, indeed. So you see ... you had to come here, Frank. If you hadn't – if I hadn't brought you here – then your world would have inevitably ceased to exist."
"So this timeline," Parker reasoned, mentally reshaping the puzzle in his mind, "never really happened?"
"It did, in the sense that it was one of several hundred thousand possibilities for the outcome of a single moment in history," the alien stated. "As you know by firsthand experience, there are many worlds out there on the temporal plane for you to visit. That's what I mean when I say that your species greatest weakness is its insistence on seeing things in so linear. It isn't shortsightedness on their part of your kind. Rather, it's all you've come to know, so it's all you've come to accept. 'A' happens, and 'A' leads to 'B.' If 'A' didn't happen, then 'B' couldn't happen either. It's linear, and it's wrong. You know that. You've traveled through time, and you know that events can be reshaped. I've only done the same here ... with this timeline. However, in the myriad of available dimensions, this timeline most closely resembled yours ... and that is why I brought you here."
"You brought me here?"
"Yes. I pulled the Sphere across the various continuums to bring you here. As I said, I needed to show you what danger you were inadvertently placing the survival of all mankind in."
"Then ... now that I know ... you'll have no problem putting me back?"
Slowly, Larnord shook his head.
"You're thinking linear again, Frank."
"Screw linear thinking, pal," the chrononaut argued. "I've heard all I'm going to hear about linear thinking!"
"You haven't thought this through."
"Look, we're talking about my life, here!" Parker planted his hands firmly on his waist. "And it's not only about me! We're talking about the lives of the people I've come to know, the people I love! I'm not going to sacrifice them for this little science experiment of yours!"
"There is sacrifice in all things, Frank."
"But if I can't save this world because you've re-ordered the natural chain of events, then I want to go back to mine so that I can make sure that the Heston Tower is destroyed ... and ... well ... and then I'll learn whatever it is I need to learn in order to keep my timeline from putting the cosmos at risk."
"It isn't that simple, Frank."
"But, Larry, how am I going to get home?"
"In order for you to return to your proper timeline, Frank," the alien explained, "you'll have to find your own way."
END of Chapter 33
