Time Risk: A Time Travel Novel, page 4
Rachel studied him, absorbed and worried. She drained the last of her port and placed the glass gently on the table, wetting her lips before continuing. “Mr. Whitlock… there’s one rather large issue that I’m sure you’ve considered. Maybe your two other applicants mentioned the big elephant in the room.”
He lifted his hand, encouraging her to continue. “Go ahead, Rachel. Let’s hear it.”
“If I’m successful, your life would be altered, dramatically altered. It’s very possible you won’t be the billionaire you are now, and you may not have sponsored the time travel lab, nor had the time travel machine created. The big elephant in the room is, if I accomplish the mission and survive, I might be stuck in 1941 and won’t be able to return to 2024.”
His cool eyes sharpened on her. “That’s why I’m going to pay you four million dollars. It’s the risk you just spoke about, Rachel, and nothing in this world is ever gained without taking a risk.”
Rachel watched him empty his port glass. “There is also the possibility that if I do manage to save your father, he could be killed at some other time during the war. As you know, it lasted until 1945.”
He turned his face away, and she viewed his lean, severe profile. “There were other pilots that took off from Haleiwa Field that morning, Ms. Hunt. Two of those pilots became somewhat famous. Between them, I believe they shot down six Japanese planes, and both pilots survived the war. So, I guess it’s just a chance I’ll have to take, among all the others.”
There was the sound of the logs in the fireplace shifting and popping.
Finally, Rachel asked, “Mr. Whitlock, has anyone else from the lab time traveled?”
“You respect honesty, Rachel, and so do I. So, I’m going to tell it like it is. Dr. Elsden has sent three other time travelers back in time, two scientists associated with the project, and one man who found out about the project and paid the lab to send him. One of the scientists was sent to 1960, but is seemingly lost, having missed his return date, which was over a year ago. The adventurer traveled to 1930 and, unfortunately, he also missed his return date, which was seven months ago. The team is hopeful both men may still return, although with each passing day, the odds are against it. The second scientist, our most recent traveler, was successfully transmitted to 1955 and returned within two days of his scheduled return date. Unfortunately, he died of a heart attack a month later. It’s not clear if the heart attack was a result of time travel or if it was simply a natural occurrence.”
Rachel slid her coffee cup aside, as if she wanted to slide the entire insane idea of time travel aside. “It doesn’t sound very promising, does it?”
Mr. Whitlock’s smile was a flash of confidence. “Rachel, Dr. Elsden and his team have been working tirelessly for the last year, and he assures me that the time travel device has been refined and is now stable and dependable. I have faith in the doctor and his team, and I have faith in you, Rachel. I know you will be successful, and I am also confident that having a father or not, I will be a rich man, and I will always be obsessively involved with time travel.”
The tension in his face melted away, and he licked his dry lips. “There is another reason you may want to accept this challenge, Rachel. If you are successful, I will allow you to use the time travel machine again after you return. You can then go back to 2007 to save your sister’s life.”
Mr. Whitlock saw the ache of longing in Rachel’s eyes, and he smiled. “Think of it, Rachel, you’ll return to the past, find your own sister, and save her from the monster who abducted, and no doubt murdered her.”
Rachel didn’t speak, but she felt the fire of possibility. The room took on the quality of timelessness, and she was surprised by the stinging emotion. Tears clotted her eyes.
Mr. Whitlock eased back, folding his hands in his lap with a pleased grin of certainty. “Yes, Rachel. It’s yet one more reason why I’m choosing you for this job. How can you resist four million dollars and a chance to save your sister, and thus change your own life? Just think of it, your father will have no reason to kill himself, and who knows what your sister might accomplish? Think of all the possibilities.”
Rachel stared at him, but she stayed quiet.
“Rachel, you were a policewoman, a detective, a protector. Don’t you wish you could have protected your sister? Well, now you’ll be able to. Indeed, you have the chance to journey back in time and rescue her, just as soon as you travel back to 1941 and rescue my father. Consider it carefully, Rachel. Four million dollars, and a chance to save your sister’s life. So, what have you got to say to this old man, who many believe is utterly mad?”
Despite the sweet port wine that lingered on Rachel’s tongue, her mouth was as sour as old milk.
CHAPTER 7
The following morning, Rachel didn’t meet with Mr. Whitlock again. Mrs. Stevens said he wasn’t feeling well, but he looked forward to hearing from her after she’d visited the laboratory.
Rachel ate breakfast alone, packed, and was driven back to the waiting helicopter. By one o’clock in the afternoon, she was airborne, gliding over vast forests, quaint towns, and a distant, snow-capped mountain range, majestic in the shimmering sun, which she’d learned was the Cascade Range.
She hadn’t slept well, being confronted by a range of scary thoughts and wild, bouncing emotions. The evening before, just before she and Mr. Whitlock had said goodnight, she’d agreed to visit the lab, meet the team, and then make her final decision.
In the dead of night, she’d jolted awake, terrified, unsure of where she was. With a quick flick of the light switch, she’d recognized her surroundings: Andrew Whitlock’s strange and enormous mansion. She’d almost returned to sleep but stopped on the dreaming edge of it. In the dream, her sister Sarah was jogging off into a morning mist, never to return.
Rachel left the bed a little after 3 a.m. and ran a hot bath, struggling to shake the jittery dream about Sarah. What would she do if she saw her sister alive again? How would she respond? She thought, When I save her—and I would save her—would I stay with her in 2007 and not return to 2024? Wouldn’t that be weird? My parents and all my friends would freak out, wouldn’t they? Would my past 16-year-old self be there? If so, how would I explain it? Is it even possible for two versions of a person—one younger and one older—to exist at the same time?
The whole concept blew Rachel’s mind. She’d have to think everything through, and plan every detail, and then plan again when every detail blew up in her face, as often happens when you plan and train and test.
But she was getting ahead of herself. First, she’d have to time travel back to 1941, save the pilot David Whitlock and then, hopefully, return to 2024.
Rachel eased down into the warm water, stretched out her legs, and shut her eyes. She thought, If you repeat something enough, shut your eyes and try to picture it, and silence all doubts to accept the possibility, the unimaginable can slowly take shape and become reality. I just have to shift my mindset from “impossible” to “maybe possible.”
Before she made a final decision, she was going to have a long talk with Dr. Donald Elsden, demand to meet the time travel team, and study the files on the three men who had time traveled.
Minutes later, Rachel’s muscles loosened in the warm water. Her thoughts grew thick and fuzzy, her eyes became heavy from fatigue, and her head lolled sideways as she fell asleep.
The helicopter gracefully descended into a secluded area nestled within the forest, boasting a landing pad spacious enough to accommodate two helicopters, one of which was stationed nearby.
A dark sedan whisked Rachel away along a single winding road, weaving amidst towering pine, spruce, and big-leaf maple trees for approximately a mile, until they reached the Temporal Nexus Laboratory, a name amusingly coined by Andrew Whitlock. The car came to a halt at a tall security gate with a posted red sign that read,
PRIVATE PROPERTY! KEEP OUT!
TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED!
The stoic driver activated a device that opened the gate, and with a soft hum, the gates parted, granting them access. Ascending a lengthy, curving driveway, they arrived at the front entrance of the lab and came to a stop. Rachel got her first look at the place. Its modern facade, featuring smooth, silver-gray and black glossy walls, and expansive, panoramic windows, seamlessly melded with the surrounding natural beauty.
The driver opened her door, and Rachel stepped out, greeted by the scent of damp earth and pine resin. The entire area was surrounded by trees, and it was surprisingly quiet. There was no birdsong, no motor sounds, and nothing flying overhead—just the rustle of wind through the trees.
On the sloping roof was a grid of solar panels capturing weak sunlight, their dark surfaces absorbing energy to power the laboratory’s quantum processors. In the distance, Rachel noticed a pond rippling in the wind and a hawk circling high above, searching for lunch.
While Rachel tugged her roller suitcase, she followed the driver up a straight stone path to the entrance. She didn’t see a door, so she stopped, and the driver stepped forward. Without a word, he took a small device from his pocket and aimed it at the seamless wall. To her wonder, a glossy black stealth door hissed open, like something from Star Trek.
The driver gestured toward the entrance and said, “Dr. Elsden will meet you in the lobby.”
Rachel entered, the door whispering shut behind her. She was met by a tall, dour, and beefy security guard dressed in black. He had big shoulders, a big bald head, and no neck. I wouldn’t want to fight him, Rachel thought.
“Are you Rachel Hunt?” he asked, crisply, in a deep, bass voice.
“I am.”
“You can leave your suitcase here and pick it up when you leave.”
He spoke into his mouthpiece as Rachel parked her bag near his desk and walked into the lobby. While she waited, Rachel took in the surroundings, which were not what she had envisioned. It was a serene space with floor plants, muted lighting, and a sunken garden, featuring yellow and white flowers and a small fountain. Water trickled from the mouth of a Buddha statue into a round golden basin, and the sound added to the peaceful atmosphere.
The floor was a glossy marble white, and there was a minimalist seating area with a center glass coffee table, bare except for a jade figurine of some Eastern goddess. The room seemed more like the soothing atmosphere of a yoga studio than a time travel lobby. But then, Rachel had never been in a time travel lobby before.
She had just sat in one of the metal minimalist chairs near the sunken garden when a door opened to her left, and a tall, stooped-shouldered man of about sixty entered. His smile was crooked, his white shirt a bit loose as if he’d recently lost weight, his brown khaki trousers were frayed at the cuffs, and his gray buzz cut made Rachel suspect he might be ex-military.
She rose to meet his outstretched hand, noticing his remarkably intelligent dark eyes and sharp nose.
“Ms. Rachel Hunt, what a pleasure to meet you.”
His handshake was firm but not overpowering. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Elsden,” she said, with a twitch of a smile.
“Let’s switch to first names, Rachel, if you’re comfortable with that. Just call me Donald.”
She agreed, and he indicated toward the door he’d come through. “Let’s dive right in, Rachel, shall we? I’ll give you the two-dollar tour, and you can meet some of the people who will be responsible for sending you off into the past.”
CHAPTER 8
Rachel and Dr. Elsden passed through several security checkpoints, each employing facial recognition technology. She followed Dr. Elsden down a short hallway, and they arrived at a gray door, stepped through it; approached another door and walked through, then proceeded left down another curving hallway.
Dr. Elsden hesitated and glanced back at Rachel with a theatrical lift of his eyebrows. “Well, here we are.”
The door clicked open, and they entered a long, windowless rectangular room with a concrete floor and recessed, muted ceiling lights, casting an eerie glow.
The door closed behind Rachel, and she paused to cast her eyes about, like a kid lost in a fun house at some amusement park. Nothing was as she’d imagined. The juxtaposition of sleek modernism and otherworldly wonder both excited and unnerved her. It was a room filled with massive computers, wide blinking screens, and computer stations arranged around conference tables.
“Well, Rachel, as you can see, this is command central. This is where all the practical magic happens. You see the quantum computers to your left, and the holographic displays and touch-sensitive panels on those screens over there. The large screens in the center, the ones that look like wide-screen TVs, display a holographic timeline projection of present and past. We run a lot of simulations on that thing.”
Rachel projected calm, but she was actually overwhelmed and out of her depth.
Dr. Elsden continued. “Over there are the desks, the all-important vending machines, and our futuristic-looking desk chairs, made of cheap leather and chrome. And you can see the senior team sitting over there, all three of them, drinking coffee, eating donuts, and eagerly waiting to meet you.”
They moved deeper into the room, and Dr. Elsden nodded to his right, pointing. “And there it is, Rachel, the H.G. Wells’s-like time travel machine.”
Rachel abruptly halted; her gaze fixated. In the corner, surrounded by a circular table bearing laptops, stood an eight-foot-tall crystal shaft. At its peak sat a blue, watery-like dome resembling a swimming pool’s surface, emitting rippling patterns of light that danced across the ceiling and walls. Rachel thought of an amusement park ride at Disney World.
“That’s where you will launch from, Rachel. It’s what we lovingly call the Dome of Doom. I hope you don’t find it too disconcerting that we all have a rather, well… peculiar sense of humor.”
She looked at him, not knowing what to think or feel. He was grinning, standing as proud as a father with a newborn baby boy.
Rachel sought reality in the moment. She couldn’t honestly believe that the “Dome of Doom” was a piece of technology that would hurl her into the past.
Donald hunched his stooped shoulders. “And there you have it, Rachel. The rest are just levers, buttons, and switches. Our team of ten scientists pushes some buttons, pulls a few levers, and throws a switch or two, and then Voila! Off you’ll go into the past.”
His flippant manner didn’t inspire confidence. Rachel thought, Is this a joke to him? People risking their lives in that damned Dome of Doom?
“Now come on over and meet our senior team, Rachel,” Donald said, as they started across the room. “These are the folks who have been with me and the Nexus Lab for years.”
“How many years?” Rachel asked, stepping alongside, keeping his plodding pace.
“Oh, who remembers, Rachel? One loses track of time when one spends so much time on time travel, forgive the irony, or is it irony or just a bad joke? Anyway, days become weeks, weeks become days, and hours become years.”
In the open work area, two men and a woman sat with their backs to wide computer screens, ready to greet them. Instead of the anticipated white lab coats and goggles, the men wore jeans, casual shirts, and sneakers, while the stout woman donned sweatpants and a sweatshirt with the phrase, “I COULD DO IT, BUT I DON’T WANNA” written across the front.
The two men stood. One was a short, balding, middle-aged man with lively dark eyes and a grinning mouth.
“This is Mike Sterner, Rachel. Mike, meet Rachel.”
They shook hands, and then Donald crossed his arms and said, “Okay, Mike, tell us three things about yourself.”
Mike adjusted his black-framed glasses and screwed up his lips in thought. “Okay, here goes, Rachel. I’m from Chicago. I wanted to be a comedian, but I flunked out of comedian school, so I went to MIT and majored in atoms. Now, Rachel,” he said, narrowing his eyes on her, “answer me this. Why can’t you trust an atom?”
Rachel shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Because they make up everything,” he said, snorting out a laugh. “See why I flunked out?”
Rachel laughed nervously; a laugh more for appeasement than out of genuine amusement.
Donald gestured toward the woman in her forties. Her round face was pleasant, her small, bird-like eyes probing, and her long graying hair was tied into a single braid down her back.
“Rachel, this is Hazel Metz,” Donald said, his arms still crossed. “Hazel, Rachel Hunt.”
The two women shook hands, loosely.
“Now, Hazel,” Donald said. “It’s your turn. Tell us three things about yourself.”
Hazel held a red mug of coffee near her lips. She took a sip, thought about it, then began. “I love Kit-Kat candy bars, I play a sultry saxophone, and I’ve never been able to balance my checkbook.”
The men laughed.
Donald exclaimed, “But do you know what, Rachel? Hazel can make two plus two equal one-and-a-half. Isn’t that something? And she does it all with quantum math.”
Rachel was growing weary of the flippant attitudes and jokes.
Donald stepped to the second man. “Rachel, this is Finn Hughes.”
Finn was in his early fifties, handsome, with curly brown and thinning gray hair over his ears, freckles on his nose, and a note of boyish mischief in his green eyes.
Donald said, “Finn was born in Dublin, and he doesn’t know any of the words to the song Danny Boy and…”
Finn cut him off, speaking in an Irish accent. “… Hey, you’re busting in on my time, Donald. Let me introduce myself.”
He extended a hand to Rachel. She accepted it and his energetic handshake.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Rachel. Don’t mind us. We’re a wee bit daft and a whole lot pickled from too many nights of Irish whiskey.”
“Three things, Finn,” Donald said. “Tell Rachel three things about yourself.”
“Well, let me see now,” Finn said, placing a finger to his lower lip, pretending to be deep in thought. “Alright now, here goes. I don’t like Guinness. I married my wife for her money, and, in my opinion, the fall of Western civilization began with The Beatles.”
