Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 34

Five Days, Sixteen Hours, Twenty-One Minutes

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have pictures!"

A chorus of cheers from the White House War Room personnel erupted, quickly drowning out Nathan Ramsey's announcement. The technicians rose from their chairs and began applauding as the Director of Security for the NSA's BackStep Program began uploading the complex series of satellite photography into the room's protected mainframe. Immediately, Stoddard ordered the photographs encrypted as top level ELINT – Electronic Intelligence – and directed others to forward them, via secure email connections, to the Presidential bunker, the Pentagon, the NSA, the FBI, and CIA Headquarters down in Langley. There was no doubt in the Chief of Staff's mind that – over the course of the next several hours – these several hundred photographs – provided as a gesture of good faith on the part of Nate Ramsey's 'secret Russian source' only known as Yuri – would be viewed, copied, analyzed, and re-analyzed in hundreds if not thousands of different ways by every possible expert on the government's payroll. Equally, there was no doubt that the resulting reports would be conflicting, as was too often the case when it came to interdepartmental cooperation, but, in the very least, the President would now be able to strategize a response based on facts, not threats ... and facts had been in chillingly short supply since Senator Pendley had locked down the nation's own satellite defense grid.

"We're quickly coming up on that first deadline, Ethan," Colonel McGinty offered, taking a spot at the chief's side, standing opposite Ramsey.

"Easy, Travis, but we have to let these men and women do their jobs."

"How long might that take?" The man gestured at the bank of computer monitors, all of them flickering with the recently uploaded images. "Pendley didn't give us a lot of wiggle room. You know as well as I do that we're on a very tight schedule."

"I know," Stoddard agreed, "but first things first. There may be something here – some small piece of information that offers a greater hope – and I want to assure the President that we've at least looked for it."

"You're talking about a needle," McGinty countered, "not in a single haystack, Ethan, but in several hundred."

Stoddard nodded, his eyes fixed on the same monitors. "True, but if we can give our own experts just enough time to analyze these photos ... if we can get some type of preliminary information to the Joint Chiefs with even a few minutes to spare ... then, from a tactical standpoint, we're in a far better position than we were a few hours ago. Let's keep our spirits up, Travis. Right now, that's all we have." Turning, the man added, "And, once again, this country owes you a debt of gratitude, Mr. Ramsey."

Shrugging, the director scoffed at the compliment. "Nonsense, sir. I'm just doing my part for the entire team. I've always been a team player, and that's why Bradley had me come in here."

Smiling, Stoddard said, "I appreciate modesty as much as the next politician, but trust me when I say that we could use a man with your connections in Washington."

Ramsey sniffed. "Well, sir, that's flattering ...

"I'm completely serious."

"... but, really, I can't say that I'm interested."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm very happy serving under Director Talmadge on the BackStep Program," he confessed. "You know ... it's always been a dream of mine to ... I'm hoping that, one day, I'll get a promotion to run the entire show out there in Nevada. Bradley won't be around forever, and, once he decides to retire, you'll need someone with the experience to step up and take charge. I've always seen myself in that role. So, if it's all the same to you, I'll sit tight where I'm at ... for the time being."

"Really?" Stoddard locked eyes briefly with the man. "It was my understanding that, for a very long time, you had some very strong reservations about the way Bradley was conducting BackStep."

Ramsey was confused. "Sir?"

"Need I drop the name Frank Parker?"

Reddening, the director chuckled. "Well, Frank Parker is a whole carton of eggs I don't want to open. Personally, I think Parker's eggs have been scrambled, but I won't deny that all of us have experienced a fleeting moment of relief to have him back for this mission."

With a smirk, Stoddard asked, "A fleeting moment of relief?"

Ramsey bit back his intended retort, and, instead, tried, "Besides, Parker's been gone for some time, sir, and the program has done just fine without him."

"He's back now."

"Yes, well ..."

In that moment, Ramsey realized what Stoddard was implying, and he was personally surprised that the thought hadn't occurred to him earlier. Parker had, in fact, returned. He was involved with this BackStep mission. But ... he wasn't the right Parker ... he wasn't the Parker intended for this timeline ... or was it? Once everything was safe and sound, wouldn't Parker simply BackStep out of this timeline and back into his own? Or is it ...

No.

It couldn't be.

It shouldn't be.

"Sir," Ramsey began, "you're not saying ... you're not saying that the President or the NSA would actually consider the prospect of keeping Frank Parker in this timeline ... are you?"

Stoddard raised an eyebrow. "President Campbell did reactivate Parker's status for participation in this mission ... but, no, Mr. Ramsey, I'm not jumping to any conclusions. I don't think any of us should. There are far too many variables for me to consider, at this point, to draw any predictions." He looked away toward the technicians scurrying about the flatscreen monitors, and he added, "The fact remains that Frank Parker was and quite possibly remains our last best hope for the BackStep Program to survive."

"But Michelson ..."

"Don't get me wrong," the chief interrupted, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "I don't believe anyone's position is in jeopardy. I've followed the BackStep Program very closely. I know Parker's work, and I know Michelson's work. Yes, there are many men and women within the Washington elite who consider Channing Michelson a far better chrononaut than Frank Parker ever was ... but they're only seeing one piece of a very large puzzle." He let his hand slip back to his side. "Parker's track record in mission completion is much higher. He also has a considerably higher tolerance for pain, one of the prerequisites for enduring the physical stress associated to time travel. Sure, he's a wild card, at times, but you'll have to take my word when I say that the NSA Oversight Committee has been far more willing to look the other way on more than one occasion when it comes to Parker's antics and insubordination. That's something I think you should seriously consider before you make the trip back to Nevada ... once this whole affair can be put behind us."

Slightly perplexed at the unexpected prospect of going backward in his career, Ramsey nodded. "I will, sir. Thank you for the advice."

Grinning, Isaac Mentnor eased his way through the technicians hustling about to review the pictures, and he made his way over to the small group.

"Nathan, these photos are tremendous," he said.

"It looks that way, Isaac," Ramsey agreed. "I guess Yuri really can through in a pinch for the ole Red, White, and Blue. I'll make sure he's duly compensated."

"Of course ... but, in the meantime, I need your help."

The director faced his BackStep colleague. "What is it, Isaac?"

"I'd like you to have a separate copy of all the photographs loaded onto my personal hard drive back at the BackStep servers," he announced. "I'm logged into our system locally, but I'd hoping to review some of these images with our temporal thermographic portal."

"The temporal ... why would you need to do that?" He gestured toward the nearest monitor where four satellites photographs – all very similar in color and design – were posted on the monitor. "What we're looking at isn't BackStep data, Isaac. This is run-of-the-mill satellite photography. As a matter of fact, some of them are thermal images already. What would the temporal portal tell us?"

The scientist smiled weakly. "I don't know that they would necessarily show us anything different than what our Washington counterparts will eventually deduce, but there are some ... well ... let's just say that there are several images that warrant a review against our science, not Washington's."

Curious, Ramsey leaned forward.

Holding up his hands, the scientist tried to soften his concerns. "Nathan, I don't want to alarm anyone ..."

"Dr. Mentnor?" Stoddard interrupted.

"Yes, sir?"

"Isaac, we're working against a very tight schedule with this terrorist plot – we need to meet the first demand very soon – and I can't stress enough how valuable your entire team's cooperation has been. If there is something we should know – however remote you may believe it to be – now is the time to confide in us."

Smiling, Mentnor stated, "It may be nothing."

"In my line of work, doctor, I wouldn't consider the input of any scientist to be 'nothing.'"

Shrugging, Mentnor added, "I'm an old man, after all. I may be confusing some of these images with ... well, with data from the past. As you know, I haven't exactly been part of BackStep ... for some time. What I've seen – well, what I believe I've seen in several of these photographs – is based on some of my very early research with the Sphere ... some of the possible effects of altering the timestream as well as effects on people."

"People?"

"Us," he said. "Our current selves. Our future selves. More importantly ... the effects on the chrononaut. Respectfully, sir, without taking a closer look, I wouldn't want to alarm you unnecessarily."

"Isaac, what is it?"

The scientist grew silent as he stared at the faces around him. After several moments, he gestured toward a rear console – one far away from the current activity – obviously trying to insure the privacy of his remarks. McGinty started to protest, stepping forward, but Stoddard laid a hand on him, turning him about, and steered him in the direction Mentnor had indicated. Slowly, the group walked away from the War Room technicians, and they took up a small circle away from the noise.

"Dr. Mentnor," Stoddard insisted, "we're all ears."

He cleared his throat before beginning. "Gentlemen, you have to understand that there were several of us assigned to the program who committed, literally, thousands of hours of research in the field of temporal mechanics long before we ever dreamed of launching the first BackStep mission. What we learned – in short – was that time travel is a science all of its own. There is – in any human frame of reference – absolutely nothing else like it ... at least, not for comparison's sake. What we learned from that research, we poured into the program. Every possible variable was discussed, disassembled, and re-assembled to fit the needs of what we theorized could happen, not what we knew would happen. We called ourselves 'Columbus' because we really were much like any intrepid explorer, leaving behind the comfort, calm, and safety of the shoreline in search of only God or Fate knew what."

McGinty shifted, craning his neck from side to side and tugging at the lapels of his uniform. "Doctor, with all due respect ... this can't be good."

"I'm not saying its good or bad, colonel," Mentnor replied, meeting the man's steely glare. "In fact, I'm not prepared to say anything. You have to understand ... when the program began, we placed every bit of fact, fiction, and speculation into creating an operational profile for what BackStep operations would look like. Harnessing an alien technology was the least of our concerns; the effect on the chrononaut, however, was of the greatest importance."

"What do you mean?" Stoddard asked.

"Time travel requires a form of energy previously unknown to man," Mentnor continued. "Yes, we recovered the wreckage of a saucer from the Roswell incident. Yes, we were able to obtain a fundamental understanding of the craft that crossed light years of outer space by manipulating layers of time instead of soaring across those great distances. Yes, these pilots were uniquely gifted with the ability to harness this source of energy, to make it work, and to reach our world in only a fraction of the time that it would take our astronauts to perform the same task ... but our bodies couldn't.

"You see, a chrononaut is exposed to massive amounts of ... well ... let's call it temporal radiation. In small, controlled doses, it isn't life threatening, but our cells aren't nearly as durable as those of the alien pilots. We're ... we're softer, if you will. As a result – you can review all of the medical records on Frank Parker and Channing Michelson's personnel files to verify what I'm telling you – our chrononauts are given a standard protective suit to wear while flying the Sphere from one point in time back seven days. Despite this protection, there are still ruptures ... bleeding from the soft tissue around the eyes ... bleeding from possible recent dermal wounds ... even occasional or intermittent bleeding from the tissue in the mouth or the nasal membranes. This is caused by exposure to the temporal radiation contained within the Sphere. Quite frankly, there's no way we can counter it or stop it. Simply put, our bodies were not designed in the same way as our alien counterparts."

Stoddard's expression grew dark. "What are you saying, doctor?"

The man took a deep breath. "One of the principal safeguards that made time travel possible for us is the Sphere," he explained. "You see, the temporal energy is safely contained – it's locked inside the Sphere along with the resulting temporal radiation – where it harms only the chrononaut. This energy has a very distinct signature when measured against the thermal profiling we created at Area 51. We measured it, from time to time, to make absolutely certain that there were no leaks from the Sphere that would endanger the base crew. Fortunately, there never were."

From inside his jacket, Mentnor produced a small printout of one of the satellite photos. "It appears to me that this energy that struck Mr. Hightower was not a particle beam, as I had thought. Rather, I believe it to be a blast of temporal energy not terribly unlike that which we use to propel the Sphere." He held up the photo for the small group to see. "This thermal image, I believe, is remarkably similar to readings maintained in my early files back at NeverNeverLand, and, if that is the case, then I can reasonably conclude that this attack – this blast – was a controlled burst of temporal energy."

Ramsey reached out and took the photo. "You mean ... what hit Alaska was a focused shot of temporal energy ... outside of the protective containment of a BackStep Sphere ... and it was directed at the surface of our planet?"

Emphatically, Mentnor nodded. "Precisely."

Ramsey's shoulders sank.

"What does that mean?" Stoddard pried, noticing the change in the man's composure. "I still don't understand. What can it do? I assume we're talking about some environmental effect. It can't be anything more than that ... can it? I mean, what are we considering here, gentlemen? Storms? Some kind of limited change of climate in the effected area? What?"

"I'm talking about ruptures in our surface," the scientist repeated. "Temporal energy was never meant to be used as a weapon, gentlemen. It was meant for good, but it could only be used for good if it was kept within a safe, contained environment specifically to limit the effects of exposure to a single person. So ... what can you expect?" Mentnor shrugged but kept his aura of seriousness. "Instead of the chrononaut suffering these ruptures, our planet will. I've no way to predict what will happen, but, as a scientist, I can tell you what I suspect." He cleared his throat. "You can expect earthquakes ... brought about by volcanic activity and subtle movements of the tectonic plates located near every major fault-line around the globe. I'm talking about the total annihilation of our Earthly landscape."

He blinked several times, mentally searching for the words, before he added, "I'm talking about a kind of Armageddon – launched by an uncompromising Mother Nature – that will literally rip this planet apart unless we find a way to stop this madman from using his own personal Doomsday Machine right this instant."

END of Chapter 34