Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 67
Five Days, Nine Hours, Five Minutes
Through the helicopter window, Frank Parker watched the small parade of vehicles pouring through the White House gates. Out in front of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, he noticed an even larger army of television vans and SUVs – all of the major news networks were easily represented with more than one vehicle each. Squinting, he made out the various broadcast spots set up – there must've been over three dozen individual sites – where on-the-scene reporters stood, breaking whatever news story had leaked to the public to the unsuspecting masses sitting at home in living rooms, in coffee shops, standing near company watercoolers across and around the entire globe. The skies had grown dark, and the clouds had slipped a soft rainfall onto the streets, but the water wasn't enough to scare reporters away. What was it that would survive a nuclear holocaust? 'Cockroachs,' Parker knew, 'and now reporters.'
With the flurry of activity, he guessed that the secret was out.
"That's not quite the welcome committee I would've hoped for," McGinty said from beside him, pointing down to the mob-like media scene.
"Freedom of the press," Parker quipped. "What's a sane man to do?"
Agents of the Secret Service opened the doors to the foyer, allowing Parker and McGinty entry.
Inside, the chrononaut immediately saw Dr. Mentnor, Bradley Talmadge, Channing Michelson, and Olga Vukavitch – the lovely doctor – standing near a mobile television set that had been placed in the room.
"Well," Michelson tried, taking a step toward the man lumbering with each step within the safety of the containment suit, "look what the cat helicoptered in!"
Smiling warmly, Parker replied, "Yeah, nice to see you, too ... buddy."
The two men glanced at one another. When they both realized that they were posturing at a time that couldn't have been worse, they chuckled and shook hands in as gentlemanly a fashion they could muster. Michelson quickly patted Parker on the shoulder, and Talmadge stepped up.
"I hear that the Mallathorn has decided to take his leave of us," he said.
"That's the story from the Pentagon," Parker answered. "You know how it is: you hang out on one planet long enough, and eventually the species bores you to tears."
"Frank ... please give me your word that this Larnod's untimely departure didn't have anything to do with you."
The chrononaut shrugged. "We talked and talked, Bradley, but who knows? Maybe I rubbed the little guy the wrong way."
"Frank?"
"Seriously," the younger man tried, holding up his hands, "I didn't have a thing to do with it ... well, other than arriving here in this timeline, that is."
"What does that mean?"
He relaxed where he stood a bit, trying to lessen the strain of the suit. "I think I'd better save the details until we're all together." Glancing around, he noticed a few absent friends. "Where did Ramsey go to? Did you finally realize he wasn't doing the program any good and lock him in a broom closet? And what about Donovan? I thought we were bringing him in on this mission."
Mentnor reached out and took the chrononaut by the arm. "They're trying to raise Nathan by satellite phone. Right now, he's riding shotgun in an F-15 bound for Alaska."
"Alaska?" Parker asked. "What's he doing in Alaska? Skiing? Or is he building the world's biggest snowman? That's probably more up his alley than skiing."
"You may find this a bit hard to believe," the scientist offered, "but Nathan will be playing the better part of diplomacy with some of his Soviet friends."
"Great," he remarked. "You know what that means, don't you? We'll all be getting hand-me-down bottles of vodka for Christmas this year."
Grinning, Mentnor added, "As for Craig, I believe he's a bit indisposed."
"I put Craig in charge of guarding a key witness," Talmadge explained. "He's at an NSA safehouse right now, but he'll be joining us by teleconference in the War Room."
"The War Room?" Parker asked.
"That's right."
Glancing about with a wry smile, he asked, "You don't mean to tell me that I get a backstage pass to the White House, do you?"
"I've already been there," Mentnor said dryly.
"Lots of lights and crap?" Parker asked.
"Once you've worked in time travel, I have to say that the War Room really isn't much to get all that excited about."
"Well, given the present circumstances, it's certainly good to see another friendly face!"
President Campbell greeted the BackStep Team at the elevator. Quickly, he ushered them into the War Room, offering Parker a warm handshake – one hand clasping the younger man's gloved palm, the other hand gripping Parker's elbow – and he escorted them through the gathered technicians, briefly commenting on the visual intelligent currently under review on the War Room monitors. Ahead of them, Chief Stoddard opened the glass door to the Conference Room, and they filtered in. The main viewscreen showed two images – one of the Vice-President and one of Craig Donovan – as the teleconference connection had been secured.
Raising his arm, Parker waved at the camera. "Hey, Craig!"
"Right back at you, Frank," the man replied. "I guess it's good to know that – regardless of how many versions of Frank Parker the universe might pawn off on us – there's still always one more ready to ride my coattails to success."
"Yeah, you keep that up, buddy," Parker teased him.
"Just trying to share the love, my friend."
"Before this mission is over, I guarantee I'll be dragging your sorry ass out of another sticky situation!"
"Gentlemen," Stoddard interrupted, trying to contain a playful smirk, "let's dispense with the usual male bonding, shall we? I think the fate of the free world takes precedence."
Parker took the chair at the end of the table while Talmadge sat on his right, Mentnor on his left. McGinty walked over and stood next to Chief Stoddard. Michelson and Olga took seats further down from the director, and the President stood facing the viewscreen.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Campbell began, "the purpose of this executive session is to as briefly as possible summarize the events of the past forty-eight hours in order for those of us tasked with making critical decisions regarding the future of our country and, quite possibly, our planet to do so with the best input available. I've asked the BackStep Team – under the direction of Bradley Talmadge – to provide a field update. In order to save us some time, we'll forego any formal introductions ... I'll ask the members of my Cabinet to accept my personal authorization for each and every member of the director's team to serve as executive privilege. Simply put, anyone here is here for a reason. Their clearance is above reproach in this and any related matters." Turning back to the table, he said, "With that single formality out of our way, I'm turning this meeting over to Director Talmadge. He'll bring us up to speed on where we are at this moment."
As quickly as possible, Talmadge summarized the events – Parker's arrival in their timeline, the Temporal Response Team's activities, their trip to Washington – by listing the salient points.
"Once we landed," he continued, "Colonel McGinty provided a complete rundown on the events in Alaska." With sincerity, he nodded at Campbell. "Mr. President, all of our sympathies go out to you and your family for the hardships you've had to endure these past two days."
Curtly, the President nodded his appreciation.
"The colonel also informed us that Mr. Parker was asked to provide the Mallathorn with a visit," Talmadge added, "and I think Frank can best update you as to what occurred at the Pentagon. Frank?"
The chrononaut leaned forward in his chair. "Thank you, Bradley." He glanced around at the faces, uncertain where to begin, uncertain as to what he could or should really add to the wealth of information ... and then he saw Olga's eyes. He thought he saw encouragement coming from her, and he sighed. "Well ... to be honest ... I'm not really much of a public speaker. I've always been more of a ... I don't know ... a field agent ... a grunt, no disrespect intended to any member of the armed services ... so I'll try to keep it straight and simple, if you don't mind?"
He paused to see if anyone protested. Hearing nothing, he continued.
"What Larry told me ... uh, ooops! Larnord. I'm sorry. I ... see ... I called him Larry. It was ... simpler." Nervously, he cleared his throat. "See, what Larry told me was that, while I'm clearly not from your timeline, he intended for me to come here as part of what I can only describe as a continuing education program."
"I beg your pardon?" the President interjected.
"Your timeline," Parker tried, knowing he might be stepping on more than one set of toes, "was never intended ... to exist."
"What does that mean ... exactly?" Stoddard asked.
Shrugging, the chrononaut glanced up at the expressions on the viewscreen. He saw only confusion in their faces, and he knew that he was the source. What must it feel like to hear that you were never supposed to be? He could only guess at how everyone felt.
"What it means is that your timeline is, apparently, very similar to my own," he pressed on, refusing to lose focus on the message he had to deliver, instead choosing to be the best messenger available. "There are events from your history that directly parallel those of my world ... and, because of these similarities, the Mallathorn constructed a scenario that would bring me here so that he ... his species ... could continue to teach me about time travel."
"I'm not following you, Frank," the President tried. "You mean ... me ... my Cabinet ... your friends ... none of us were supposed to exist?"
The chrononaut slowly shook his head. "Like I said, I'm a terrible speaker."
He rose from the chair. Walking about the room, he said, "You and your world were reordered by the Mallathorn for the purpose of teaching our species a lesson about the dangers and the potential of time travel."
"What do you mean ... reordered?" the Vice-President tried.
Stopping in his tracks, Parker turned to the room. "Look ... the next person who interrupts me gets a bonk on the side of the head ... got it?"
Everyone silenced.
"This isn't easy to say," Parker tried, sticking his hands on his waist and shaking his head. "I mean ... how do you tell the President ... how do you tell the entire world that it wasn't supposed to be?" He ignored his own feelings, he forced the rising guilt back into its emotional pocket, and he explained, "Think of it likes books on a shelf. That's the way Larry explained it to me. He found your timeline. He realized that it was destined for destruction based on the events ... these events that we're experiencing right now ... and his simply put the books in a different order. See what I mean? He re-ordered the books ... perhaps to give me more time to figure out whatever it was that he wanted me to know ... and then he pulled me and the Sphere across the fabric of time and space to ... to here." He pointed at the ground. "To now. I can't explain it any simpler than that ... and I'm sorry for how it sounds ... but it's what he told me ... you and your world ... they won't exist beyond these events."
The group remained silent. Several members of the Cabinet whispered to one another on the viewscreen, and Parker noticed it.
"Hey!" he cried.
The Secretary of Labor turned to glance out through the monitor. Her mouth dropped opened, she was clearly embarrassed.
"If you've got something to say," Parker ordered, "you say it to everyone."
"I was just wondering," she tried, "what it was that you told the Mallathorn?"
Slowly, the chrononaut nodded.
"I told him ... I told him he was full of bullshit."
The crowd suddenly grew into an audible murmur.
"Okay," Parker tried, "I didn't use those words exactly ... but what I said was I refused to believe that life could be ended this way."
"What do you mean, Frank?"
The man turned to the other half of the viewscreen where his friend, Craig Donovan, sat with an expression of bemusement on his face.
"I told Larry that I refused to believe that life could be ended so quickly, so callously," he said. "I told him that, if I could come here, then there had to be a way ... there has to be some way ... for me to avert that great a catastrophe."
"How can you be so sure?" the President tried.
"Because ..."
Michelson stood at the table after speaking his single word. He refused to remain silent any longer. He stood up, and everyone in the meeting turned their attention to him.
"Because that's what Frank does," he continued. He locked eyes with the other chrononaut – how could he have not seen it before, that knowing glint, that self-mocking understanding? He realized that the two of them were alike in more ways that their love for the same woman. They were colleagues. They were partners in time travel. They were – of everyone in this timeline, in this world, in this life – the only two souls who could claim the experience from leaping about in history. Granted, maybe it was only seven days, but, as he had learned, seven days could mean hundreds, thousands, or millions of lives. "He changes time. He changes events. He knows – much like I do – that history is written ... but only he and I have the ability to rewrite it."
"That's right," Parker agreed, nodding at the man. "The way I see it is that if the Mallathorn can make it ... then I can unmake it ... and that's what I'm about to do."
"You told it so?" the President asked.
"I did."
"And what did it say?"
"Larry said that I couldn't." Parker bobbed his head. "So ... I'll have to do it anyway, and prove to his species – once and for all – that I learned the lesson they sent me here to learn."
Again, everyone began whispering to one another, and Chief Stoddard quickly held up his hands.
"Let's stay focused here, people," he insisted. "Frank Parker is only the messenger. The President asked him here to tell us what he knew, and he's done so. There's much more that we still have to cover."
"The chief is right," Parker agreed after the group again grew silent. "All I can tell you is that the Mallathorn re-ordered these events. I don't know the events. I don't know if what happened yesterday was supposed to happen yesterday. I don't know if what's happened today is supposed to be happening. Hell, I can't even tell you what's around the corner ... but I can tell you that, so long as I can draw a breath, I'm here to do everything in my power to put things right."
Quickly, he turned and pointed at the other chrononaut. "Don't take my word for it! Take his! Channing Michelson's! You don't know me! I'm not from around here! He can tell you – as best as I can – that the way we do this – the way we make sense of traveling from one version of history to another is to look for similarities! We look for events that look like other events – ones we can remember – in order to figure out what comes next ... and, from what I can see, there's only one person – one single person – who's tying everything that has happened together ... so far as I can tell, there's only one person who's linking Point A to Point B ... and that's where we need to start."
Glancing over at Michelson, Parker asked, "Tell 'em who I'm talking about."
The younger man – much to his surprised – smiled.
"Senator Arthur Pendley," he said.
END of Chapter 67
