The Jubilee Machine Part VIII
“You wanted to see me, Badri?”
James stood in the doorway of Badri’s apartment. The older man stepped back and held the door open.
“Yes, James. Come in, and have a seat.”
James stepped across the threshold. He knew that security had already sealed Badri’s office, but no further action would be taken until Monday. For the moment, Badri was still head of the Math Team, second in command of the Cassandra Project, and James’s boss. Of course, that meant nothing now, and within hours Badri’s world would be permanently dismantled.
“What can I do for you, sir?” James said, trying to control his disdain. Badri stared at his younger colleague from behind his round-framed glasses.
“It took me awhile to figure it out, James. But then when I realized that you were using the loop for unauthorized…”
“Travel?” James finished the sentence, gleefully. “Oh no! I’ve been charging unauthorized travel to my expense account, and I’ve been caught. I do hope you don’t discover the entertainment expenses, too. You might take away my company credit card.”
Badri had never seen James like this. The normally taciturn young man was giddy, buoyant. Badri looked at him, then calmly asked, “What have you been using the decelerator for, James?”
“I’ve been busy creating universes. It’s fun.”
James was filled with confidence and brimming over with arrogance. His well-constructed plans were playing out on all levels, and Badri was only beginning to piece together the enormity of his scheme. James enjoyed toying with his mentor.
“It amused me so much, the narrow and limited focus on going back in time, then always returning here. Always returning here, just like they did in all the movies. Right?”
James was becoming very animated, waving a hand as he described the movements in time.
“I mean, why come back to the precise time you left? Why not jump from the Middle Ages to the Wild West? Or from Renaissance Europe to Carthage? Or better yet, from Carthage to the 22nd century!”
“You’ve gone to the future?”
James pursed his lips.
“Mmmm. Sort of.”
“What do you mean sort of?” Badri demanded.
“Badri, let me let you in on a little secret, okay?” James said quietly, standing and walking slowly around the room. The large window on the far wall was just beginning to illuminate with the fading rays of the sunset. A shaft of light found its way through the half-drawn curtains and onto the floor.
“It turns out we can be much more precise with our targeting than we originally thought.” He reached the end of the carpet and swiveled around, glancing over at Badri only for a second as he resumed his perambulation around the living room.
“A few hours, perhaps, in some cases. Certainly can keep it within a week, and still maintain geographic accuracy. Figure two weeks and 100 miles in even the most demanding cases, for example. That’s not bad, you have to admit.”
He looked up to catch Badri’s reaction. The middle-aged man rested impassively on the sofa, arms tightly folded across his chest. He did not offer a comment. James continued. “Benton’s early work proved that. But I thought it prudent to withhold that information at the time, until we had a few jumps under our belts.
“With practice, the accuracy improved tremendously. Really, Badri, it would be very interesting to study why we can be so accurate with such a rudimentary machine. Scientifically, this level of accuracy should be impossible. Oh well, something for the future.”
He laughed at his joke, then continued.
“Until Jeremy disappeared, we were able to send each other back and forth probably a dozen times…”
“You what?”
That’s the reaction James had been waiting for.
“Oh yes. You see, I needed a confederate. Jeremy was the likely choice from the beginning. You know it really only takes one person to operate the decelerator. It worked quite well. I think you found that out when you got Ken to help you, didn’t you?”
“Where is Jeremy?” Badri suddenly demanded, leaning forward, as if ready to spring from the sofa. James stopped his pacing and looked at his colleague with a twinkle in his eyes.
“I believe there was an accident. I’m not sure. It’s possible the coordinates were misapplied, and poor Jeremy was sent to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean in the 11th century. Who knows, maybe Leif Ericsson found him bobbing around in the frigid waters!”
He laughed loudly, head tilted back, one hand lightly on his chest. The light in the window began to recede rapidly as the sun disappeared behind the Admissions building.
“You know what drove me crazy about all those awful time travel novels? They missed the real opportunities. Do you know what I mean? They invariably involved people getting trapped in 14th century Scotland or the Pleistocene, or one of the ancient locals coming back to wreak havoc in the present age.”
He shook his head.
“Didn’t anyone see where the real opportunities lay? Certainly not Jeremy. He wanted to use the decelerator so he could become a medieval despot. Can you believe it?” James shook his head in obvious incredulity. “We’re better off without him, don’t you think?”
Badri looked directly at James. “You have an agenda, James. Spell it out. You’re describing sabotage, murder, deception and betrayal. You’re telling me this for a reason.”
“Of course, Badri, of course.” James nodded, instantly regaining his composure.
“This little talk is just for your edification. As they say in the movies: you can’t pin anything on me. But I needed to reveal a bit of what’s been happening so that I can achieve my larger goal.”
He waited patiently for Badri to ask, but the older man chose not to gratify him, so James continued.
“I also need a stooge, a fall guy.”
He leaned forward until his face was inches from Badri’s. James was oozing contempt.
“And you’re it, old man. I’m pinning everything on you.”
Badri’s face barely responded to the news, which disappointed James. No matter. He leaned away from his colleague and continued talking.
“Remember. James McPherson has been here all along, attending the meetings, briefing Dr. Mellon when you weren’t around—covering for you when you couldn’t be found. But of course, suspicions have been growing, Badri. All your unexplainable disappearances, lack of accountability.
“I’m clean. But you,” he pointed, “you, Badri, are the titular head of this program, the man who bears all the responsibility. I.” James paused, cocking his head thoughtfully. “I am just the boy wonder. The blame lies with you, old man. That’s what I told the Senate Select Committee in my letter.”
This time he got a reaction out of Badri. It appeared to be anger, not shock. Badri was tough, no doubt about that. He fired off a few questions.
“So what’s the big picture, James? Not fame and fortune obviously. You have an epic plan? A grand scheme?”
“Of course,” James replied brightly. “To alter destiny, to put it in clichéd terms.”
He leaned forward. “Or better yet, change God’s plan for humankind. That’s why I was always in favor of choosing first century Jerusalem over ancient Egypt. It was never a case of learning whether Jesus was really the son of God, you know. Because even if we had experiential evidence of the various miracles, it still comes down to faith. You must agree that a mass conversion of humanity could never be accomplished by ‘evidence’ anyhow. Faith, Badri. That’s the core of the Christian religion. It’s not designed to attract adherents through logical proofs. It’s a religion based on miracles and divine intervention.”
His face was glowing with excitement.
“The attraction, then, is to engineer a little human intervention into the scenario, see what happens.”
“You mean you want to kill Jesus.”
“God, you drive me crazy, Badri. You are such a scientist.”
James waved his arm. “You don’t kill Jesus. You kill Peter. And Paul and one of the Johns for good measure. Be creative for once in your life! Think of the possibilities! I am making designer universes, Badri! I can’t supersede God’s plan. But I can mess with God’s plans. Think of it! This is what it’s all about, Badri. To determine how much I can alter or influence God’s plan. Along the way, I get to create multiple versions of the universe, all with outcomes determined by me, and which respond to me. What other purpose is there?”
The two men locked eyes and the room was silent for some time.
Then James smiled
“You know who is the most misunderstood being in the universe?”
He didn’t expect Badri to answer, and the old man didn’t. Badri’s jaw was set, his eyes fixed on James. James was loving it.
“Satan. Yes, the devil. Beelzebub. Look, it is simplistic to merely categorize him as pure evil. That misses the whole point. How mundane, to think that Satan only wants to go around causing car crashes or wars or murders or making little children trip over their shoelaces. His is not an unfocused mission! He merely wants autonomy and control! And indeed, my friend, isn’t that what we all seek? To be accountable only to ourselves? But God himself rebels against this simple desire; he demands that we dance to his tune. If you have your own universe, then you don’t have to do that.”
“All of us know this, Badri, even if we never admit it, or we deny it, or we go to the priest when we feel guilty and confess to him our sins. The epic universal challenge is the conflict between self-will and God’s will. I take Satan as my role model, although again, not out of a love for evil or a predilection for malevolence. Satan is the ultimate manifestation of personal freedom and opposition to the concept of submission to God’s will. Satan believes the Created can and should be free of the control of the Creator, after the creation process is finished.
“Now, why the devil didn’t just invent his own time machine and go off and create alternate universes, I’m not sure. His choice was to battle it out on God’s turf.”
He shrugged.
“So be it. My method of escaping God’s will is by creating my own universes. Or more precisely,” he smiled, “to take a pre-fab world and make it my own. Nice of God to do the heavy lifting. Now that the creation is through, I get to jump in and customize. I don’t want to be God,” he said. “God, wouldn’t that be a task! No thank you! I am in pursuit of self. Yes, I certainly want to make others do my bidding, but the point is that I don’t want to care about others, one way or another. I want complete, unfettered freedom of action. This is what Satan was up to. He had an exalted position in heaven, but what was it worth? He was doomed to bending to God’s will. He wanted autonomy—not parity.
“Badri,” James said softly. “This is the ultimate expression of the human will. To be able to determine the fate of the universe. For the first time, it is actually possible, and I am doing it.”
Badri was appalled, speechless. He realized his mouth was open. James stopped talking, and looked intently at Badri. He’d said too much. For once, he’d let his control slip. The team had been through countless discussions of this nature, but James had always remained detached, clinical. But now he’d told Badri everything. That meant James would have to add a new element to his plan.
He would have to kill Badri, too.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Benton had finally found a friend in this hostile, hateful world. Bartholomew was an intelligent, kind and happy man. Benton learned that he had a family back in Sidon, and regularly traveled between Syria and Palestine arranging business deals involving grain, wood and simple wood products. A traveling salesman, Benton mused. They talked as the cart bounced along the rutted roads. When they got tired of the constant jolting, the two men would walk beside the cart. Bartholomew told Benton about his religion, and the savior named Jesus who had died so that all men might live. Benton was intrigued by this early understanding of Christianity, from an academic standpoint. He knew that at this point in history the New Testament was yet to be codified. A man like Bartholomew would never have read the Gospels, although he most likely would have heard portions of them spoken. Bartholomew said he had seen copies of some letters from Paul, as well as a letter from Iranaeus, a 1st. century bishop.
Bartholomew was a Gentile, so he wasn’t much interested in the Torah, or the other Jewish books. It was enough for him to know the story of how Jesus had died for him, and how the Holy Spirit was now available to all people.
Benton was intrigued by this primitive Christianity—especially when compared to the 21st century version he knew. It was about belief—not dogma. Churches were more likely to exist in homes than in big buildings. And Christians were still persecuted. It would be more than 50 years before Constantine would make Christianity the state religion of the empire, and the church would embark on a tortured path of power, privilege and prosperity. For now, many Roman officials were antagonistic to Christians, even as the young religion spread like wildfire.
“Do you face hardships, being a Christian?” he asked Bartholomew.
“Oh, we keep our heads down,” his plump partner responded. “Where I live, it can be quite sensitive. There are town leaders who call us troublemakers, and demand that we at least acknowledge that all gods are equal.”
He looked up at Benton.
“And that we cannot do.”
Benton nodded. Centuries of religious wars lay ahead, with sects and dogmas set against each other in violent conflict. But those would be exercises in power politics, global confrontation. Here in this quiet and dusty corner of the Middle East, that level of conflict could not be imagined. For Bartholomew, it was all about the basics. He had his beliefs, he refused to change them to suit the prevailing political reality and sought only to worship as he felt led.
“We are almost home,” Bartholomew said. He knew the crippled stranger had heard enough about religion. “Would you like to get back on the cart?”
Benton nodded. As uncomfortable as the cart was on the rutted, rocky roads, it was less painful for him than walking. Bartholomew called out to the driver, and helped Benton lift his body onto the rough wooden planks.
“Thanks,” he said. Then Benton surprised himself by adding, “I think your Jesus is good, Bartholomew. And your belief makes you good.”
Bartholomew laughed. “Good? No one is good but God, Nahon. I am a sinner with a piece of God inside me. Imagine that! And you can be, too!”
He was still laughing as the cart started down the long hill toward Sidon.
petermaize 