petermaize

The Jubilee Machine Pt. V

 

Antoine had a lot of thinking to do. He was already complicit in deceiving the federal government and obstructing congressional oversight merely by being part of Badri’s team, a team that had been consistently undertaking a multitude of unauthorized activities.

That was a risk that all the team members had willingly accepted, given the reward that was on offer: each of them would have the opportunity to transcend the bonds of time. Definitely worth it. But now a series of unsettling developments cast an unexpected shadow on their clandestine project.

James had texted Antoine, asking him to take part in a secret mission. Those were the exact words James had used: secret mission.  Jeez. This thing was becoming more and more like a bad science fiction movie, Antoine thought. James had offered few details, and he hadn’t been answering his phone, which was extremely unlike him. Antoine wasn’t sure what to make of all this. He wanted to talk to Ken, even though James had warned him pointedly not to speak to anyone about this mission—an endeavor that James equated with life and death. Another B movie phrase.

Antoine walked down University Boulevard, shoulders hunched against the autumn chill. He tried to place James’ strange request in context. Antoine reviewed the chain of events. He had been the second person to join the team, being tapped just a few weeks after Jeremy. Then came Ken and finally Ellen. Benton had been in the shadows, doing some math stuff for Badri, but he hadn’t been considered a time traveler until just before Ellen had signed on. Badri viewed Benton as support staff: someone who could provide analysis and solutions. If abnormalities were identified, or –God forbid—a jump failed, Benton had the genius and flexibility to interpret the data and respond effectively. And if anyone had the ability to get someone back from the past if something went wrong, it was Benton.

James became increasingly adamant that Benton should be one of the jumpers, if he could acquire all the language and cultural training that the others had mastered. Benton made it clear that if he didn’t get a chance to jump, then he wouldn’t stick around very long. So Badri gave in. Antoine had been impressed by how hard Benton worked on his preparation. Each team member had to undergo rigorous survival training, learn several archaic languages, become an expert on ancient culture and perfect their abilities to travel by the stars. Benton had won his place on the team, and the respect of his colleagues.

Now he was gone, and so, apparently, was Badri. In his text message, James informed Antoine that someone had helped Badri use the decelerator within the last 24 hours. James had discovered it, and the tracking data confirmed that someone of Badri’s mass had been kicked into the past.

Antoine had never trusted Badri. He knew about the epistle that had been found in Jerusalem. Jeremy had told him about it, but then the news was quickly hushed up. When Antoine asked Badri, he had dismissed the idea that an epistle had been discovered, and laughed at the suggestion that he had been the one who left it. James had also denied knowledge of the find, and later Jeremy refused to discuss it.

“I don’t want to talk about it, man,” he said when a puzzled Antoine returned to him after receiving only denials from the bosses. “It’s ancient history, ha ha ha”.

Antoine wondered how many jumps Badri might have taken. He had been inexplicably absent on the day that Benton made his historic jump. Was that because Badri was in another time space? Antoine developed the theory that Badri had planted the Jerusalem epistle because he wasn’t sure he would find a loop back, and wanted to leave a record of his successful jump for posterity. Then, after he returned safely to the present, Badri tried to cover up his secret incursion into the past. Now he was gone again. That was not cool. As project director he had to uphold the rules or anarchy would quickly ensue. But who had helped him make the jump? Antoine was guessing Ellen. James and Antoine knew about Badri’s jumps—maybe Jeremy, too? In that case, everyone on the team was either involved in this deception, or aware of it, except Ken.

Antoine continued walking until he reached Martha’s Café. It had just started to rain when he stepped into the nearly empty restaurant. Ken was already sitting at a booth in the back.

Antoine and Ken had ended up becoming friends by default. Ellen and Benton had become lovers; Jeremy was busy brown-nosing James and Badri was unapproachable. That left the two of them. Fortunately, they got along well, despite the huge disparity in their backgrounds. Antoine was Southside Chicago, devout Baptist parents, his life scarred by gangs, anger, resentment, making it out through tenacity and ultimately a scholarship to the University of Chicago.

Ken was blueblood Boston, Martha’s Vineyard every summer, prep school, yacht racing, fraternities and MIT.

Two completely different men. Two individuals fixated on the same idea: slowing the speed of light to a near-standstill, thus creating the possibility of time travel. They had joined the Cassandra Project at the same time nearly a year ago. Each young scientist had been approached separately by Badri with vague intimations that maybe a small group was going to risk some unauthorized tests before the project was fully functional. They jumped at the chance.

Now here they were, waiting their turns to visit the past. The team members hadn’t been together as a group since the day Benton jumped. But they would be gathering again soon. Jeremy had been selected to make the next jump; he had the inside track because of his relationship with James.

“Sycophancy pays, man,” Antoine remarked scornfully as they sat in Martha’s watching the rain pour down outside.

Ken nodded, sipping his latte.

“I can’t believe we have to deal with that basic kind of politics when we’re involved in changing the entire world—revolutionizing history, and maybe everything in the universe…”

“Not to be too hyperbolic,” Ken interjected.

“I’m serious, man. Jeremy just wants to weasel his way in ahead of everyone else.”

“Then he’s attaching himself to the wrong person, Antoine. James doesn’t call the shots, and he doesn’t have a clear plan for the project. He’s a dabbler, a dilettante.”

“No way,” Antoine said. “Without James we’d still be creating research committees to discuss parameters for curved time displacement.” He wanted to tell Ken about James’ unsettling request but he needed to wait for the right moment.

Ken smiled. The rain had stopped falling on the other side of the window. He looked out onto the gray boulevard.

“You’re right, James has the political wiles to get things moving. But you’ll have to agree that’s not what ultimately counts. What counts is getting people to destinations in the past, and getting information back. Badri is still in control, Antoine.”

Antoine quickly assessed how to respond to that assertion.

“I guess you’re right. I’ve heard that maybe Badri’s made a secret jump of his own. But of course, he’d need a confederate, someone to handle the controls.”

He waited for Ken to respond. Instead, Ken raised his hand, signaling the waiter.

“No thoughts on the matter?” Antoine asked him.

Ken took the check from the waiter’s hand, looked at it briefly, then dropped a twenty on the Formica table top. He grabbed his backpack and stood up, all the while looking Antoine straight in the eye.

“None at all.”

He left Antoine sitting alone, as the rain started to fall once more.

Antoine watched as Ken walked quickly out of sight, hunched over against the rain.  Knowingly or not, his friend had just made Antoine’s decision much easier. If alliances were forming, Antoine would be comfortable choosing James over Badri. He reached for his cell phone.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

“It’s nice they leave the system running for us, don’t you think? Twenty-four hour service.”

“Quite convenient, yes.”

Jeremy took his place inside the decelerator, heart thumping. Now it was his turn, his chance to change the world.

The whirring started, and Jeremy inched onto the platform. He felt the steel launcher press against his back. He wrapped his arms around his legs, squeezing himself as small as he could get.

“Ready!” he shouted.

Ooh, Jeremy. Get ready for the time of your life. Europe is about to get a new emperor.

He suddenly felt sick. The pressure was like G-forces, gripping his internal organs. Jeremy winced, then gasped as a pain shot through his chest. He couldn’t open his eyes. Jeremy began to panic.

Maybe something’s gone wrong. Maybe he’s…double-crossed me.

Jeremy’s head throbbed and his ears roared. He couldn’t breathe.

Then he was gone.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Ellen couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. She could barely think.

Benton had been gone two weeks now, with no report. But what did that matter? She already knew what happened to him. Yes, he survived the very first time travel mission. Whoopee. Unlike the first astronauts, he would receive no tickertape parade, no hero’s welcome. Benton’s welcome was a padded cell and a couple of decades in a personal hell.

Now Badri was gone, and Ellen was sure that he’d also made a jump. There was no other logical explanation for his disappearance. Suddenly the close-knit team was splintering. Jeremy seemed to come and go at random: never where he should be, then suddenly showing up at the decelerator, ready to pitch in. Antoine was on edge. Ken was increasingly withdrawn.

Ellen couldn’t believe this was happening. She stumbled back from a solitary dinner late one night, after eating nothing, jumping at every little noise, running scenarios through her head that were increasingly paranoid and extreme.

Ellen fumbled for her keys as she walked down the short concrete path to her apartment. She should have gone to the store. There was no food, she was even running out of toilet paper. But Ellen sought only sleep and temporary escape from the anxiety and fear. Her lover had been brutalized and damaged, in the past and the present. The memory of Benton’s condition appalled her. And his words, “I found your body” haunted her.

She shivered in the cool night air, as she nudged the door open. She couldn’t get the images and the words out of her mind. Ellen tossed the keys on the table and reached for the light. Then she saw it.

The shape of a man. A large man, seated on her sofa, barely ten feet away. She gasped, clutching for the doorknob.

“Ellen. Don’t be afraid. It’s me.”

Her confused mind told her it was Benton, somehow freed and sitting in her home. But that wasn’t possible. And the voice wasn’t Benton’s.

“Ellen, I’m sorry to frighten you.”

“Badri.”

“Yes. I had to see you, and I had to do it clandestinely.” Badri remained seated on the sofa, but she could begin to make out details of his face.

“Why? Where have you been? James and Ken have been covering for you, but folks over at Cassandra are starting to wonder what we’re up to.”

Badri remained motionless across the room. Ellen flipped on the light. Badri glanced down until his eyes grew accustomed to the brightness. He was dressed as he normally would be for a day at the office: slacks and dress shirt.

Ellen had much more she could say to Badri, but she wanted to see what he was willing to reveal. Antoine had implied that Badri had already made a jump. “The old man’s not as overweight as we thought,” was one of the expressions he used. Ken was acting strangely, so Ellen assumed he also knew a secret that he wasn’t willing to share. On top of that, during one of his random visits to the decelerator, Jeremy had told Ellen about the epistle that had been found in Jerusalem. He wouldn’t give details, but the little he said confirmed its authenticity. Badri’s team had hired a group of archaeologists to do the digging for them once they chose a site for the epistle. It was a place that James knew about, a few miles from the Old City. All excavations in Jerusalem had to receive government permission, so James had cleverly selected a site that was already part of a dig by researchers from Tel Aviv. According to their plan, if any of the jumpers had made it to Jerusalem, then they would leave a simple pottery shard with a code written in Aramaic carved into the pottery. To any archaeologist the series of words would look like alphabet soup—an unintelligible assortment of random letters. But to anyone who knew the code, the otherwise unimpressive piece of pottery would hold clues about date, circumstance and the identity of the jumper.

The fact that an epistle had been found was confirmation that the decelerator worked. But Ellen already had proof of that from her meeting with Benton. The question now was: who left the epistle in Jerusalem? Jeremy wouldn’t say, which only increased the atmosphere of suspicion and mistrust on the team.

“I’ve made a jump, Ellen,” Badri said matter-of-factly. “I just got back.”

The meaning of that statement hit Ellen like a sledgehammer, and she crumpled into a chair next to the door. The decelerator shouldn’t have that level of precision. There was no way anyone could find a return loop that would bring them back anywhere near the place and time they had left from.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Ellen stated. “You couldn’t just leave yesterday and come back today.”

“Actually, I left three days ago. I was gone for several weeks, but the loop placed me back here a few hours ago.”

“Not possible, Badri.”

“I am not asking for your scientific acceptance, Ellen. I am here to seek your help.”

That surprised her. Badri Singh always had the answers, the way out of problems. He was kind and gentle, but supremely confident in his ability. He didn’t need the help of a post-grad anthropology student.

“Where did you go?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Who helped you?”

“That’s not important.”

“Damn it, Badri!” Ellen exploded. The pain and shock of the past few days erupted from her.

“Either talk straight or get out! Don’t come around breaking into my house, hiding in the dark, then asking for help while not telling me anything about what’s going on and claiming you’ve done the impossible! Unlike the rest of you, I can actually live without this cursed project. I can exist if you walk out the door and don’t tell me another thing. I can quit right now and go home. So either be straight or say goodbye.”

Tears started to form and her breath caught. Ellen glared at Badri and he lowered his head, looking at the floor for several seconds before turning his eyes up to capture Ellen’s gaze.

“Then so be it, Ellen. The project is over, anyhow. The worst has happened. Forget any ideas that we will all politely take turns making research jumps into the past, then report our findings like good little scientists. Ellen, that scenario is long gone, destroyed. So, if you choose to leave the project, I suggest you do so immediately. The real issue is whether we are able to interfere with the plans of some people who want to use the CTC for their own personal, corrupt purposes.”

“Why did you make a jump, Badri, and why didn’t you tell anyone about it?”

Badri slowly rose from his chair, keeping his eyes on Ellen.

“I made the jump because I had to. At that point I thought I could control the damage, interdict those responsible for the damage and keep this project alive. But I know now that it’s too late.

“And what do you want me to do?”

Badri was several feet away from Ellen, but he loomed large over her. He seemed dangerous.

“I need to stop James. And I need someone I can trust.”

Ellen stood up, uneasy about sitting while Badri stood menacingly above her.

“So do I, Badri. Word around the team is that you are the one who hasn’t been open about your actions. James isn’t the one making unexpected jumps—disappearing without telling anyone why. And let me ask you this: why was Benton sent to Palestine instead of Egypt, as planned?”

Badri’s face fell. He didn’t answer.

“The lying started there, Badri, even before anyone made a jump. We always planned for Second Dynasty Egypt to be the first jump. But Benton himself told me he’d agreed with you and James to change the coordinates the day before he jumped. He blames James for sending him to the wrong century, but I’m not sure I believe that. Who gave the coordinates to James, Badri, and why weren’t you there on the glorious day we sent Benton back in time?”

Badri seemed deflated, no longer threatening.

“Benton’s correct, Ellen. We did intend to send him to Palestine. It was James’s idea. He…”

“He made you do it, huh? You’re the project manager, and your assistant has the power to suggest, ‘hey, why don’t we change our plans at the last minute, and not tell anyone?’

Then I find out about epistles suddenly appearing…” Ellen had entered a state of rage. “Aaagh! And you want my help! I can’t trust you, Badri! I can’t even look at you right now. She moved past him, and opened the door.

“Show me I’m wrong, explain why things have happened this way. But do it another day, Badri. I can’t talk to you anymore.”

Badri said nothing as he walked out the door.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

It was Antoine’s turn to run calculations at the decelerator. This was the work that ostensibly kept Badri’s team busy, and kept the Cassandra Project management from suspecting that they were occupied in other ways. Even though the numbers were no longer important, someone had to show up at the decelerator every night to cycle imaginary loops and record the outcomes, postulating what would happen if a water molecule were sent back 1000 years, or 900 or 700. Tonight it was Antoine’s turn. He went through the usual security protocols, waved to the elderly guard and flipped on the lights of the decelerator room.

“Hey, Bro.”

Antoine jumped. Hair raised on the back of his neck. Standing by the decelerator was Jeremy, smiling casually.

“Where have you been?” Antoine asked, as forcefully as he could.   “Oh, around. Mainly 13^th century France.”

He was so blatant that Antoine didn’t know how to respond. He was overwhelmed by Jeremy’s audacity.

“Nice place. I’ve grown a little attached to medieval France. I’m thinking of settling down there.”

Antoine’s anger surfaced and he felt like punching Jeremy in the face. Jeremy hadn’t been showing up for his scheduled stints at the decelerator, but had been appearing randomly on campus or in James’s office. The Cassandra team wouldn’t notice: they saw the young people in Badri’s team as interchangeable automatons. The physicists in the larger Cassandra team who seldom got near the decelerator were convinced that they were the ones who were making history. Dr. Mellon only seemed to notice if James or Badri didn’t attend one of his meetings; he was oblivious to the chaos that was being created in Badri’s team: Benton was gone, Jeremy came and went and Badri had taken jumps without explanation. The system had collapsed.

“This whole thing is a toy for you, is it?” Antoine demanded.

Jeremy leaned forward, and the smile left his lips.

“Get a clue, Antoine. The team no longer exists. It’s every man for himself. Any pretense that we are all working together to altruistically explore the boundaries of time travel has vanished. Vanished like Benton. It’s time for you to choose sides.”

Jeremy’s demeanor had completely changed. The wiry young man looked suddenly dangerous and cunning.

“You go with James, who offers you a vast menu from which to choose a lifetime of adventure and wonder, or you choose Badri, who is an egotistical killer who has been masquerading as a benevolent leader.”

Antoine stood up and closed the door. He ran a hand over his shaved head.

“What do you mean, killer?” he demanded.

Jeremy moved closer to Antoine. The control room was large, and intimacy was essential for a conversation like this one.

“Antoine, Badri deliberately sent Benton to the wrong time, when he made his ‘groundbreaking’ jump two weeks ago. He was trying to get rid of him.”

Two weeks. Had it only been two weeks since this had started? Already it had completely spun out of control—far worse than Antoine had even imagined. Antoine’s suspicions of Badri had been growing, but he had never considered Badri capable of murder. Deceit motivated by a thirst for personal glory, definitely. Sending a team member to perish in an ancient land didn’t seem possible, though. Jeremy continued.

“You can go visit Benton now, in a mental hospital in Illinois. He’s been there for years. Miraculous, really. The guy is a genius to be able to find, or create a loop, considering where he was sent. But he’s a physical and mental wreck, Antoine, and Badri is responsible.”

“Wait a minute. Badri wasn’t even in the decelerator room when Benton made the jump!”

Jeremy raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Yep. A little odd, wouldn’t you say—the project leader isn’t there when the historic first jump is made? He was covering his tracks, Antoine. James has been to see Benton, and Benton told him all about it. Turns out Badri has been using the decelerator longer than anyone expected…”

“Ken.” Antoine turned away from Jeremy, but he wasn’t looking at anything.

“You got it,” Jeremy replied. “Maybe Ellen, too. I don’t know. I have a feeling that Ken has only been helping Badri since Benton jumped. Could have been Ellen before that. Doesn’t matter.”

Jeremy bent toward Antoine with a look of grave sincerity.

“It really doesn’t matter, Antoine. As soon as James saw what was going on, he threw away the rule book. I sent James on a jump, with the quid pro quo that he’d do the same for me. Worked out just fine, my friend. I got very close to my destination on the first jump. You’d be amazed at the level of accuracy. That’s another thing Badri kept from us. Wasn’t he always saying that we could end up decades away from where we wanted to go, and hundreds of miles? Forget it! I was right around the friggin’ corner!

“I got back two days after I left, Antoine. Two days. That’s unbelievable. No one thought that was possible. But it is, Antoine. It is.”

Jeremy waited to gauge Antoine’s response, but the young man only stood silently and shook his head. It was time for Jeremy to close the deal.

“Look. We could use someone else’s help in setting jumps, and you deserve an opportunity to share the wealth. This thing is falling apart. The Cassandra people may be fuzzy-brained idiots, but they’re eventually going to figure out that we’re all disappearing at random times, and in Benton’s case, disappearing forever. Maybe me, too. I might just stay in the past. Anyhow, Badri can’t pull this thing off. James wants him to be punished for what he did to Benton, so he’s notified the Select Committee.”

Antoine gasped. Jeremy nodded.

“So you see, my friend, it will be over soon, one way or another. If you want to make a jump before the university or the feds pull the plug, you’ll have to do it now. There’s no time like the present.”

Jeremy couldn’t help himself. He burst into laughter at his own joke.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Benton was strong enough now to hobble along next to the cart. The merchant Keshdah gave him enough food, although it was mainly tasteless or rotted or cold. But at least he was out of prison, and not being tortured.

Benton stumbled along beside the cart for hours, legs and back aching. Although he was out of prison, Benton was still in hell. He was a slave in a distant time in a strange land. He had lost all hope, and his will had been nearly destroyed. The horror of his last few weeks had shattered him. Now all he had to look forward to was a life as a slave in foreign households with no chance of reaching the things he loved, to return home.

Suddenly the cart stopped. Keshdah climbed stiffly from the seat and lowered himself to the ground. The camel drivers reined in their animals and waited for instructions. Keshdah spoke to them in Aramaic. Benton could understand a few words, but the accent was so strange to him, and the words came so fast, that he could only comprehend a small portion of what Keshdah said. But he heard the words ‘food’ and ‘rest’ clearly.

The camel drivers herded their beasts over to a row of date trees, and Keshdah hitched up his belt.

“You can sit there,” he said in Greek, pointing to a bench outside a mud brick building.

“I’ll send some food out to you when I’m ready.”

Keshdah walked into the building, which Benton took to be an inn of some sort. He lowered himself to the ground, in pain. Benton leaned against the wall, partly shaded from the bitter sun by a small awning. He closed his eyes, and slept immediately.

He was awakened by a stick poking his face. Benton jerked away instinctively. The prodding stopped. Keshdah stood above him. Benton had been dreaming about Ellen, in a dream that was so real and sweet, that the shock of returning to his waking nightmare sent waves of despair through his body. He stared mutely at Keshdah.

“Here’s some bread,” the fat trader said, tossing half a loaf to Badri. “You can eat it while we walk. I need to reach Nineveh by nightfall.”

Nineveh. Benton knew the name. It was in Iraq, in 21^st century geopolitics, across the river from Mosul. In this time space, it was just outside the boundaries of the Roman empire, part of Parthia. Keshdah was headed west.

The cart started moving and Benton followed along as they took to the dusty, uneven road.

They were getting closer to Jerusalem. In Jerusalem Benton had a chance to find a loop and gain release from this anguish. Suddenly, he had a small reed of hope to grasp for.

“And after Nineveh?” Benton asked.

Keshdah paused and decided whether he would answer the slave.

Keshdah was ultimately headed for the Mediterranean port of Tyre. In addition to trading silks to buyers representing Roman cities, Keshdah would see if his new slave might be worth something.

If indeed he was a Roman spy, then Keshdah could get a good reward for returning him to the safety of the empire. Or if his family was rich, Keshdah hoped to sell Benton back to them, or at least to a Greek merchant who needed a translator. Keshdah was willing to gamble that his new slave had been a man of some importance, and could fetch a decent price. He’d heard the stories that the odd interloper had been found carrying gold and strange implements sewn into his clothes. Perhaps he was a Roman spy, as the Persians suspected. In any case, Keshdah could probably make a penny off him. If not, he’d only cost 12 denarii. He could be killed if he proved to be worthless. The slave was unsuitable as a laborer. The Persians had wrecked him too badly.

“Where we are going is unimportant to you. You need only think about how you can best make me happy,” Keshdah said, then poked Benton again with his stick, hitched up his money belt and walked on ahead.

Three nights later, Keshdah allowed Benton to sleep by the oxcart, instead of with the oxen. He was far from the fire, but the weather was warming up now, and the nights were no longer bitterly cold. The traders slept in a semi-circle on the far side of the fire. The single guard sat on a large boulder about 20 yards beyond them, his back to Benton.

After a meal of old bread and olives, Benton attempted to get some sleep. It was always difficult for him to sleep comfortably, because his back and ribs had been severely damaged. He shifted on the ground, pulling his cloak tighter.

“Ow.” A pain shot through his spine. Benton finally succeeded in easing the pain by lying on his back. He looked up at a sky packed with stars. A shooting star briefly skidded from Perseus to Orion. He figured he was no more than four day’s journey from Damascus. When the caravan arrived there, he would likely be sold immediately—probably to another merchant or storekeeper who needed someone who could think and count. Benton shifted again.

Or he could make a break, find his way into Jerusalem and become a beggar at the Sheep Pool or one of the markets. Keshdah wouldn’t spend too much effort trying to track him down, so Benton wouldn’t have to hide indefinitely. He still had his mind; he could find some way to support himself in Jerusalem while he searched for the epistle site. Then he could leave a message telling his colleagues where he was.

Benton had convinced himself without much effort, and without any prior plan. He just decided.

Rolling over, Benton gazed at his fellow travelers, all now asleep as the fire burned low. The guard was slumped against the rock. No doubt he, too was falling asleep. Benton waited, glad that his body was so wracked with injuries. The pain kept him awake.

It took an hour, but the guard eventually leaned back against the rock, snoring softly.

Benton saw his chance. He silently crept around the oxcart, through the grass, and over a small hill. He ran as fast as he was able, not looking back, heading straight west. He knew exactly where he was going.