The ice age is coming

The sun's zoomin' in

Meltdown expected

The wheat is growin' thin

Engines stop runnin'

But I have no fear

"Cause London is drownin', and I live by the river

"London Calling"

The Clash

November 8, 2104

Burbank, California

Chuck waited.

His night in his cell had been long, uncomfortable, and sleepless. It had been preceded by a long, uncomfortable, and merciless journey through the desert in the back of a prisoner transport. The fumes from the ancient combustion engine had been potent and nauseating, made worse by the general state of disrepair of the vehicle.

Chuck had escaped so far into the desert, Casey had complained, it was the only option. Nothing electric would be reliable that far from civilization.

That was why Chuck had run there. His hideout was far enough underground that it didn't register on satellite imaging. And he always had the capability to siphon power from the Grid, even that far into nowhere.

Chuck sat, his wrists still bound together, on the cell's cot. Most of that sleepless night had been spent trying to figure out how John Casey had gotten the better of him.

Chuck's expertise was unparalleled. He wasn't cocky or brash, just realistic and confident in his own abilities. It was the one aspect of his life where that confidence rang clearly.

His plan had been flawless. Carefully laid out for months and methodically and meticulously executed. He traced his steps mentally. He had located the Oracle, hidden in an undocumented DARPA installation. He had effortlessly penetrated said installation and absconded with the Dial while completely evading detection.

He watched them as they watched him. The Dial had been missing for days before it was even noticed. There was no way anyone could have traced him. He was a ghost. They knew it was him, of course, but they couldn't begin to search for him. In fact, he had hidden the Dial before it was even missed.

His elaborate masking of his siphoning power around the regulated rolling brownouts had also been effective. Not even a shadow from his exploits was apparent.

How, then, had Casey found him? One mile underground in the Mojave Desert? He continued to rack his brain to no avail.

The sound of the door beeping, then swishing open, drew his attention away from his thoughts. He looked up quickly to see Casey, in full dress uniform, standing stiffly with his hat tucked under his arm.

Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off his headache, feeling the crackle of electricity close to his face from the cuffs' forcefield. "Twice in one day, Casey?" he mumbled.

"It's morning," Casey corrected. "Believe me, Bartowski, I'd rather be anywhere than here. I came from D.C. overnight."

Chuck sat up, his attention focused.

Casey relaxed his stance. "The President agreed to your terms." He sounded resigned, cautious. Like he wouldn't have done what Beckman had.

"What's the 'but', Casey?"

Casey grunted. Grunt number six, Chuck thought. Which translated to "you don't know the half of it."

"You know your own terms, Chuck," Casey replied, the use of the familiar surprising. "You're coming with us, without your sister."

Relief and sadness surged together, nearly choking him with their potency. There was no one in the world who meant more to him than his sister. No one else for whom he would sacrifice what he was sacrificing. And for those same reasons, the imminent loss of her in his life blasted through his soul.

He had no idea what was to come, what that would mean for the past or the future. But the inner machinations of the Oracle were clear. Time was fluid, but fluid around fixed points, universal truths that could not be altered. No matter what, they were siblings. That had to be enough.

"Which means she can't know what you're doing. What the plan is. I'm sorry, Chuck, but you know that."

Chuck nodded dully, his gaze on the floor. "I know, Casey." He sighed in resignation. "It doesn't matter anyway. We're just living in one construct of reality. One we're hoping to erase. I've already said goodbye."

He sounded like he was talking in riddles, but Chuck chalked it up to his fatigue. Quantum physics dictated destiny, only in that the past, present and future existed simultaneously in the space time continuum. He had already said goodbye, a thousand times, a thousand different ways.

Casey brandished the remote that would shut off the handcuffs' force field. He paused. "Let's lay down some ground rules." He tilted his head as he awaited Chuck's affirmation.

Chuck gestured impatiently, his cue to Casey.

"I am in command. That means in charge. You're a civilian. Bottom of the totem pole. Which means you follow the orders of every single one of my men. No questions asked. In return, they will protect you with their lives, because you are a civilian."

"I know that, Casey." His voice was gentle, not condescending. "I'm not the…what the hell does Beckman call me? The loose cannon…that she thinks I am. Whatever that means."

"Ancient artillery reference. Meaning you go off half-cocked on your own tangent." Casey pressed his lips together tightly.

"Ok, fair enough," Chuck grumbled. "You told me you understood before. Do you still?"

Casey hissed out a breath through his teeth. "I do now. Our goals are the same. They always were."

Chuck's mouth twisted with the sentiment. "Casey…" he scoffed.

"We may not…have known they were before. You've always been the smartest person in the room and the rest of us were trying to keep up." Casey growled. "That leaves this room, you're dead, Bartowski."

"I only ran because of Ellie." Chuck choked up as he thought of her. "It was the only way I could protect her."

His sister was stubborn and possessed of a singular mission—protect her brother at all costs. She had made that promise to their father when Chuck had been too small to remember it. The older they both got, and the more complicated life became, that promise got harder to keep. Chuck hated the fact that their father had burdened Ellie so; Ellie had knowledge she should never have been given, knowledge that put her in the very danger their father had warned about.

"That was the hardest part to sell. Beckman is fully aware of Ellie's expertise. And how badly we need that."

"But you still sold it…?"

Casey sighed in exasperation. "I need you functioning. But…with us, not against us."

"I'm with you, Casey." He stood solemnly and held out his bound wrists.

Casey pressed the button and Chuck's hands were freed.

As Chuck followed Casey out of his cell, he grumbled, "Whether or not I'm functioning…remains to be seen."

November 9, 2104

Washington, D.C.

"Thank you for making yourselves available so quickly." Beckman nodded to the men seated around the table. Colonel Casey had included his top three officers: Cole Barker, Bryce Larkin, and Richard Noble. "You all know Mr. Bartowski." Beckman's voice went flat with sarcasm.

Chuck gave a one finger salute, quickly averting his eyes to the table top. Their original mission had been sidetracked when Casey had called them to assist in his apprehension. A trace of tension and irritation remained.

Beckman stood up straight, folding her hands behind her back, an uneasy attention. "As you know, our scientists confirmed that the Pulse had reached Saturn earlier this week. Ninety-nine of Saturn's 146 moons were forced out of orbit, most of which crashed through Saturn's atmosphere and disrupted not only the planet's axis, but its rotational orbit. They estimate it will reach Jupiter in three more days." Each word fell like a drop of lead. "Mars will most likely break apart two days later. Whatever is left of Earth after that gravitational disaster crumbles to dust the next day."

The only new information she provided was the time estimates. The effect was still sobering.

"Operation Endgame, gentlemen, is top secret, classified at the highest echelons."

"Pardon me, madam President, but may I ask why you're reading in a civilian?" Noble asked with polite skepticism.

Beckman cleared her throat. "Captain, I appreciate your question. The truth is…everything that I'm reading you in about I know because of said civilian." She gestured to Chuck. "If you'll let me explain, Captain Noble?"

"Yes, ma'am," Noble replied, appropriately chastised.

"Five years ago, while illegally trespassing in the DNI mainframe, Mr. Bartowski found the information about the message contained within the Pulse. And he decoded it, then contacted us. No ransom, no demands—just willingness to help, at the risk of his freedom.

"He was the one who told us it contained the destructive harmonic resonance. In the time that we've known about it, we've since determined the Pulse's originating star system. Pollux. It's about 30 light years from Earth. The transmission left the star system, as close as we can approximate, in the 1980s. The gap between the transmission and the embedded resonance is between 20 and 30 years. Most of that information we have because of Mr. Bartowski."

"My father, Stephen J. Bartowski. He deserves the credit for that."

Beckman was momentarily irritated at being interrupted, but she continued. "Considering Stephen Bartowski's whereabouts are unknown, and have been for the better part of 15 years, the bulk of the current work was done by his son. Stephen's expertise was quantum physics and computer engineering, Charles' is engineering, both electrical and computer. And both men are level six computer experts."

Casey already knew that information, but his companions reacted. Barker whistled softly, Larkin's eyes bulged, and Noble choked. There were less than ten people known at level five. Only one other person on the face of the Earth besides Chuck and his father was a level six.

"The government has at its disposal an apparatus designed by Stephen Bartowski called the Oracle. It's basically a time machine combined with one of the most technologically advanced artificial intelligence programs ever created."

The room went deathly silent. Casey's men went pale.

"Mr. Bartowski, the elder, disagreed with the government's plans to use his invention. Hence his disappearance. Without Mr. Bartowski, the government considered it too risky to use." She paused, steadying her breath. "But now, the benefits outweigh the risks. As in…we have nothing left to lose."

She leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. "What I'm about to say doesn't leave this room." She waited for the silent nods. "Charles Bartowski has a cranial implant that interfaces directly with the Oracle. There is a second implant Stephen created…whereabouts unknown. Although, we believe most likely it was stolen by Daniel Shaw."

Just the mention of the Defense Force's arch enemy, once one of their own, added to the dour looks.

"The implant has never been tested, because the Oracle has never been tested. In theory, it will allow Chuck to monitor changes to the timeline in the future, as well as observe changes that would otherwise blend into reality for onlookers.

"Your mission is multi-faceted. We are sending you back in time, to the time where it seems simply curiosity on the part of an alien race turned hostile. We need to know why. And once you discover that—you must work with the Oracle to change it. Don't believe for a moment that you have time because you have a time machine. You don't. We have every reason to believe Shaw stole the implant because he has an alternative means to travel back in time. You are all aware that his goals do not align with ours."

"What are they, exactly?" Chuck asked.

Beckman glared. "Colonel, please brief him. Later."

Casey nodded as she continued. "Are there any other questions, gentlemen?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but…we have no definitive date, no information about who or what or where….this is an impossible mission!" Cole exclaimed.

"It is complicated. And you must not fail." Beckman was grave. "I'll let Mr. Bartowski fill you in on the details." Chuck nodded, uncomfortable that she left the deeper explanation up to him.

"You have 24 hours left in 2104, gentlemen. I…won't see you again, not like this. None of this will have happened. Godspeed, gentlemen. The continued existence of the human race hangs in the balance."

No pressure, Chuck thought, an internal counter to the heaviness he felt at the tasks ahead of them.

Casey took Chuck with him to prepare their equipment. Twenty-two bags of gear had taken close to four hours to secure, even with Chuck's assistance.

Chuck kept the conversation to a minimum, knowing Casey wanted to concentrate. But Chuck couldn't stay silent for that long.

"So do they all hate me or what?" Chuck asked.

"Hate is a strong word. They hate Shaw. They don't hate you. You just irritate them."

"What's the deal with Shaw, Casey?"

Casey growled deep in his chest, his lip curling. "He was one of my best men. Joined the DF when his wife died. Almost every one of those guys had a similar sob story, something they were running from. But he…he had some underlying obsession that the Peltier Matrix missed. He went insane…and went rogue with the intention of using the Oracle to go back and save his wife."

Chuck knew Casey's reason for starting over, confessed over a drink when they had started working together five years ago. He wasn't privy to the others, but they all had similar stories.

He knew the Peltier Matrix was flawed…but that seemed an epic failure. Designed in 2050, it was the standard for psychological profiling, revolutionary for the fact that it not only diagnosed certain conditions, but it could detect esper abilities. And it could be extrapolated for anyone, even those long dead before Peltier designed it. Its biggest failing was it was easy to affect the results when one knew how the test was conducted.

Casey zipped the last pack closed, huffed, and turned to Chuck. "Look, Bartowski. I trust you. That's the real reason Beckman agreed to anything. Tell the team everything. It won't work if you're keeping secrets. They can take it, I promise."

Chuck's mouth twisted in a crooked grin. "Can I ask you why, Casey? I mean, I ran. I stole the control mechanism. I—"

"You want the truth?" Casey interrupted. "Because you give a damn. It's a rare thing nowadays. You aren't a soldier, but your heart is as pure as anyone I know."

Casey stood up taller.

"Don't worry, Casey. My lips are sealed."

Chuck ducked the mock punch Casey aimed his way.

"I know it seems like we're looking for a needle in a haystack…"

"Try an infinite number of haystacks…and just one needle," Bryce interjected.

"Fair," Chuck conceded. "If we didn't have an edge. But we do." Chuck leaned over the table. "My father made sure of it."

"Do you actually understand your father's design…or are you just winging it?" Noble asked.

"I was 15 when my father disappeared," Chuck admitted. "But I've studied everything he ever wrote, everything he left behind." Chuck's face became animated, despite the pain those words evoked. "Time isn't linear, even though we perceive it that way. It…flows…like a river, but a river that cycles back on itself. Individual points in time are either fluid, like water, or fixed, like a stone. The Oracle can tell. Not only which events are fluid, but all possible outcomes when a point is altered.

"We have to let the Oracle direct us. It will take us to the focal point in question."

"Ok, but how will you know what to do once we get there?" Barker asked.

Casey made eye contact with Chuck. His words came back. Casey said "everything."

Here goes nothing.

"The Peltier Matrix."

"I'm sorry, what?" Larkin sputtered. "A psychological test?"

"Hear me out," Chuck offered. "There are…underlying tones in the harmonics that reverberate on a psionic level. In the empathy range."

Barker caught on first. "You think the Caller legends are true?"

"At least based on fact, yes, I do. If that person's birth and death correspond with the focal points…"

"Now, hold on a minute, Chuck," Larkin argued. "You actually believe that someone lived on earth 100 years ago who had the empathic power to call to a species 30 light years away…and no one on earth knew about it? That kind of power would have not only driven the person insane…it's powerful enough to drive other people insane. That never happened. We would know if it had."

"I know there are…holes…in my theory. I don't understand how that could be possible either. But all my research says it is."

"This is the best hope we have?" Larkin groaned.

"This is the only hope we have, Captain. And Bartowski's sneezes are smarter than your whole brain on your best day, so we're listening to him." Casey's voice boomed over the group. "Anyone with a problem, you talk to me. Got it?"

A chorus of "yes, sirs" chimed around the table.

"Tell your teams, need to know. We've got nine hours. Make the most of it."

Casey lingered with Chuck. "You still trust me, Casey? They think I'm crazy."

"I said I trusted you. I never said you weren't crazy."