Luke's Quest 01 - Prisoner Of Time (v5.0), page 5
The last section concerned the operation of the device. It appeared to be very simple to use. There were settings of the target date, the place by longitude and latitude, as well as the exact time to the minute for visiting in time. There was an explanation far beyond my technical expertise as to the calculations required. The computer allowed for variables such as earth's rotation and various shifts that could occur. A team didn’t return to the present at the exact time when they left. The time during which they were living in the past was compressed where days were like minutes or something. They aged at a much slower rate in the past, but yet time in the present passed for them at normal speed. It confused me. I wished there was someone I could call to explain it to me, but there was no one I knew of other than these people working for Time-Ops.
I returned to the "rules" section. It explained case histories when problems had occurred. If I were ever to use the machine, I wanted to know about the problems. Early in the use of the device, Amy Barnes, the woman with the body piercings, had decided to start repopulating the extinct species. She had started with the passenger pigeon. She was able to return to the past and capture several. She included them inside the space where the bubble would form. The return trip to the present became a nightmare for her. As the bubble approached the present, the birds died and deteriorated. She had returned with nothing but dust. They performed experiments with living plants. The same thing occurred. A researcher taking a living thing, such as a plant, animal or even human from the past found it aged in the bubble. By the time, they reached the present, only the dust remained. Jeff Lyons had experienced the good side of the effect. This same effect, which brought Jeff back to life makes it impossible to find a living person, animal or plant in the past and bring it to the future.
Amy has been doing experiments with going back in time to gather DNA samples. It seems that a properly preserved sample doesn’t deteriorate on the return trip. Other than living things dying on the return trip, items made from living things decayed, as well. Animal skins turned to dust. Paintings and sculptures from Greece's golden age didn’t turn to dust. Clearly items of stone, rock or man-made items didn’t seem to degenerate much. They did show some signs of aging, but not the effects that living tissue did.
This meant that gold, coins or other material artifacts should be fine when brought back, but that was just my guess. This caused me to doubt Paul's belief about his being trapped. I wondered if a team could really rescue him or if he would decay as they brought him forward in time. Since he was now "outside of the time stream," as he had explained, his living flesh might decay as he came back into the present if a rescue team tried to bring him back. I recalled that NASA hadn’t been sure if the early astronauts would survive. Time travelers must be experimenting with their lives just as the astronauts had done. Time travel's perils and paradoxes needed more exploration before I continued.
I found that, like any other laptop, I could attach Paul's device to a printer. For the next two days, every free moment I had, I printed every document that I could. I copied every file that I could. Only the system operating files that made the time travel program actually function wouldn’t copy. I burned copies of the files onto extra CD's. I wanted extra documentation of everything. I made several trips to my safety deposit box at the bank. Mrs. Abernathy was becoming very suspicious of my actions.
I read and reread every report during the next several days. I tried to spend as much time as I could with the journal and the device. I became so consumed with the data I almost forgot that I was to speak at a workshop in Little Rock on Saturday, May 1. I was being paid a nice sum, and it would help my struggling bank account. I was doing two lectures that day. The first was about proper use of the census records by genealogists. I wanted to take my notes from the journal where I had found the people Paul had mentioned. This would be a great example, but I decided that was a bad idea. The afternoon lecture was to explain the importance of writing a family history. Recently I had won an award based on a story I had written about my grandfather's first wife, and the lectures would be based on the research I had used. The good news was the sponsors paid at the end of the day. I might even pick up a few more clients or even some lectures for smaller county groups. What's more, I enjoy lecturing. If nothing else, I would have the privilege of meeting some pleasant people while making money. I seldom meet any single women my age at these lectures, though.
Friday night I loaded the car. I was forced to wash clothes. Besides not eating properly, I have a habit of letting the dirty clothes pile grow to mountainous heights before I start washing. Everything was ready Friday evening when I went to bed. The device and the journal were locked in my gun safe.
I dreamed of Lisa. In my dreams I held her in my arms as we slept. It was such a vivid dream, I felt lonely when I awoke. Somehow I would never be complete until I met this woman.
Saturday morning I left the house before 6 a.m. The drive to Little Rock was uneventful. I didn’t enjoy the relatively heavy traffic around the area, but still, Little Rock isn’t a really big city. Driving normally relaxes me as I love to think while I drive. I reflected on the journal during the drive. I felt I had documented its validity in a solid, historical manner. My research had been typical: 10 percent hard work and 90 percent luck. I should remember that line for my lecture today, I thought to myself.
This lecture would be a wonderful break for me. It would force me to forget about the journal, Paul, Lisa and their problems. I did try to think about the time travel paradox a bit more. Paul and Lisa were alive and fine today, yet in a few months they would be in harm's way. I had to stop there. I just didn’t understand all the many variables. The science and theory of time travel were beyond me.
The lecture went very well, and I accepted the praise but was more interested in and in need of the check. I was pleased the sponsors included some extra for my driving expenses and bought my lunch.
Sunday I made a point to attend our small non-denominational church. I tried not to think about the journal or the device. I made it a point to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy as well as to Clara Fox and her twin sister Mabel. The twins are easy to tell apart, Clara from her years at the post office has rounded shoulders from all the lifting she has done, while Mabel with all her reading at the library wears glasses. Their seeing me at church today would save me from lectures all this week and, I hoped, next week whenever I was downtown. Travis Williams and his wife Karen sat next to me during the service. She wasn’t singing this week, which I regretted. She has a lovely voice and even turned down a career as a Country singer a few years ago. She loves to wear white. White blouses and white skirts are most common for her, even when she’s riding horses. Somehow her white clothes are always bright, clean and fresh as if they just came from the washer, no matter how long she has been wearing them. She’s a tall woman, shoulder high or a bit more to Travis. Her brown eyes sparkle so much that some people accuse her of wearing contacts but her eyes are just that bright. He claims he loves her because of her eyes and the mystique they give her. She’s proud of her heritage, which is part Cherokee and part Choctaw. Her grandfather was a full blood Eastern Cherokee Indian whose family has lived in this area for many, maybe even several dozen generations. It’s even claimed that the first family member to settle in the Blissville area had been a famous medicine man or shaman for a tribe moving from the Mississippi River more inland.
I really admire Travis. He’s rare a black man who has earned the respect of rural Arkansas rednecks through his hard work, total trustworthiness and willingness to help others. Travis stands a little less than six foot with a buzzed head, still cut as he had kept it when he spent time in the military but now wore a mustache and goatee and has a much darker skin tone than his wife. He and Karen met when she was a nurse in the National Guard and he was in the Marines.
He keeps fit working with his horses and doing other work on his ranch. He has a muscular body but chooses to hide it beneath his clothes. The least favorite subject for him to speak about is himself. He loves to talk about his wife's singing or his daughter's championship horsemanship, but never about himself. He has a nice new pick-up truck. Karen drives the older pick-up. They see no reason to own a car. Travis wears camouflage shirts, often long sleeved and overalls year ‘round. This very day, he was wearing jeans and a camouflage shirt to church.
I knew that if I looked in the truck, I’d see a hunting rifle, even though there was no hunting season currently open. Travis is just that way. He’s always prepared for anything. He’s a pleasant person. He would give a stranger the shirt off his back, if the stranger didn’t mind wearing a camouflage shirt. He will help anyone at any time, especially a friend, and he considers everyone in town a friend. I really wish we had more people like him.
It was hard to pay attention to the preacher. My mind and heart were in 1881 or with the time-travel device. I kept making a mental list of the next steps I needed to take.
Chapter 4
Monday morning I awoke feeling better than I had for a few weeks. I felt good about having earned some money. I had presented a great workshop and received several compliments. I had two other tentative speaking offers from participants.
I began to wonder about Blanchard Springs Caverns. If this time travel operation were there, maybe I could find the entrance, building or something. I knew that it existed; now I wanted to check it out. I returned to internet searches. I explored maps of the area. I even looked at the satellite photographs of the maps, but there was nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary.
I checked for any telephone listing for Project Time-Ops. There was nothing remotely resembling any such telephone listing. I searched the government listings for any agency, but nothing seemed close. If they did exist, they didn’t want the public to know it.
Since I had made some good money over the weekend, I decided to treat myself to morning coffee downtown. I walked down to Darlene's Diner. I enjoy eating lunch there and often do so a couple of times of week when I can afford it. The diner is also my favorite place in town for coffee breaks. Willie was having coffee when I arrived, so I suspected he wasn’t working today.
"Willie, do you have a free day today?" I asked him with a big smile. He knew me well enough to know that if I smiled, I was up to something.
He considered for a moment, then replied, "Luke, if you’re paying, then I’m free."
"I’ve been thinking about making the drive to Blanchard Springs Caverns," I explained to him. "They have tours during the day. I thought we could go there, take some photographs and check out the place."
He thought about it, but wasn’t impressed with my idea.
"I understand they have a waterfall from a natural spring which attracts lots of females in warm weather," I added. That statement clearly had his attention, as he’s always interested in young, single, attractive women as prospective girlfriends.
"A scouting party," he said with a smile. "I’m all set to go!"
"I need to go back to my house," I explained, "to get my camera."
"In case we see any babes this early in the year," he added with a grin.
I nodded, not allowing him any hints as to my real motives. We took his truck back to my house. He came in while I grabbed my camera bag. I took a few moments to double-check the contents. Normally I keep it ready to go, but still I always double-check everything.
Willie helped himself to a cold soda. Willie’s the type of friend who thinks nothing at all of raiding your refrigerator, but he was also thoughtful enough to bring me a soda.
We spent the drive to Mountain View talking about his work, his dating and his family. We see one another several times a week at Darlene's, but there we talk about lighthearted stuff. Now that we were alone, we talked about the more serious things in life. We are the kind of friends who know we can count on the other's friendship. We could make a telephone call, and the other one would be there. Yet we might go days or even weeks without partying or socializing together.
We made it to Mountain View in time for a quick lunch at a fast-food hamburger place. We just grabbed a couple of burgers and drinks and ate in the truck as we continued to the caverns.
The caverns are only seven miles north from Mountain View on Highway 9, then another few miles and few turns into the National Forest. The entire area is the property of and controlled by the United States government. I suddenly realized that being federal land, snooping around the area could be more dangerous than crossing an open cow pasture at night. I hadn’t considered that fact until now.
I told Willie to drive slowly, explaining that I wanted to look at some of the roads. Several dirt and gravel roads merged into this road. Most of the roads appeared to be for fires and forestry workers. A few of the roads had posted warnings against trespassing. We parked along the river so we could hike up the trail to the waterfall. There were also several signs warning about bears in the area, but we saw no women.
We arrived at the visitor center just before 2 p.m. The next tour was at 2:30. I checked out the exhibits, which included some booklets on the history of the caverns. Willie found Christina Lee, a 22-year-old tour guide, the most interesting exhibit. He was in his element, while I was in mine. I chuckled as it occurred to me we were both doing research for the projects we found most enjoyable.
The official history of Blanchard Springs Caverns starts in 1934, when Willard Hadley, a Forest Service planner, discovered the natural entrance and conducted limited excursions. Later, in the 1950s, Roger Bottoms led a small team into the caverns several times. One such exploration discovered the remains of a prehistoric Native American. The cave had been in use for thousands of years. There was no mention of any military use or development of the caverns during the cold war. Another clear omission from the tour was anything relating to Project Time-Ops. An excited Willie interrupted my thoughts.
"We are the only ones for this tour," he said with obvious delight. "Christina is ready for us."
Christina was exactly Willie's idea of a perfect woman: tall, of slender build, long blonde hair and a cute smile. She was also single and enjoyed his attention. She led us to a set of elevators. I’m not sure how deep we descended, but it took several minutes. I remembered my claustrophobia for a minute, but it passed quickly as I watched Willie and Christina sneak smiles at each other. Once we reached the bottom, there was a set of airlocks. This was like entering a space station.
Christina explained the airlocks protected the cave, which was a living and changing place. I started on the wrong foot by asking, "The airlocks are also useful for the military base in case of war, are they not?"
Willie had a surprised look on his face at that comment. Christina was clearly irritated. "The rumor of a military base inside Blanchard Springs Caverns is a total falsehood," she insisted.
We took the "Dripping Trail Tour," which normally took about one hour. Christina guided us along the half mile through the most highly decorated level of the Caverns. The Caverns are equipped with colored lights, paved walk ways and handrails. It really was an enjoyable trip. I was never sure how much of her tour lecture was repeated stock information and how much she knew. She seemed very knowledgeable about caves, rocks and the other areas of interest.
Willie was impressed with every comment she made. I made use of my camera. I would spend several moments getting the photograph framed just the way I wanted it to look. Willie took advantage of the time to visit and flirt with Christina. I could see nothing other than a normal cave. Maybe Time-Ops didn’t exist after all.
The tour was over too quickly for me. Willie had walked slowly to take as long as he could. During the elevator ride back to the surface, I decided to press my luck again. "If there was never any military occupation or development of the caverns," I asked as innocently as I could, "then what about Project Time-Ops? I understand they have space in the cave."
Christina didn’t even look at me. "Who?" she inquired, "Time-Ops? I’ve never heard of them."
The temperature in the caverns had been just below 60 degrees. The temperature in the elevator suddenly seemed even colder.
Willie waited until we were in his truck before he asked, "What was all that about?" He wasn’t upset with me, just puzzled.
"I’ve been reading about a secret project," I told him. "I doubt that it’s real. Probably just some nut case trying to get free publicity or sell a book."
Willie nodded. "You have been hanging around Bill Abernathy too much," he commented with a laugh.
Bill Abernathy is the husband of the bank teller. While he’s a wonderful person, he has collected hundreds of books on various alleged government cover-ups. His book collection includes such topics as the Roswell flying saucer crash, the John F. Kennedy assassination, and the one-world government plot. He isn’t a nut case, but sometimes people do wonder about his obsession for such reading material. I made a mental note to talk with Bill later this week.
"Stop the truck!" I shouted suddenly.
Willie slammed on the brakes and looked at me in horror. "What's wrong, Luke?"
"Just back up a few feet," I said trying to regain my composure while I grabbed the camera bag. After he had backed down the paved road we were on, he could see a gravel road. I pointed to the left, "Turn down that road."
"Sure thing," he said, seeming a bit impatient for an explanation.
He drove a few feet, then I told him to stop the truck. There were two metal posts which had held three small strips. I took a photograph of a sign; "NO TRESPASSING" was the first line in huge letters. The second line was missing, but the third line was what I found interesting: "T.O. Traffic Only." The “T.O.” had been poorly lettered and didn’t match the rest of the sign.
I took several photographs before Willie joined me. I was standing on an old sign which had been torn down and tossed aside; “TIME-OPS.”
