If this journal does make it through, I want to thank my teachers and classmates at Lahainaluna High School and Windward Community College. And especially my coaches. Coach Donohoo, Coach Olsen, Coach Maehara, Coach Kawaguchi, everybody. You guys know who you are. Thanks for giving a skinny troublemaker like me the guidance and confidence to make something out of my life. The things I will see, the things I will do, I owe them all to you.
To all the kids out there, I would say, do what you dream. And don’t be afraid to dream big.
Mom, if you are still alive, I love you. No matter what, I love you.
Aloha,
Paul Kaikane
Recreation Specialist
TRANSMISSION:
Bolzano: “Do I miss anything from home? Clean sheets? Fine wine? Signore Kaikane, how long have you known me? Of course I miss the comforts, all of them. I even have a Top 100 list of the items I long for most.”
Kaikane: “A Top 100 list. Do you really?”
Bolzano: “No, I’m lying to you. Yes, of course I do. If I said it to you, it is true.”
Kaikane: “Show it to me.”
Bolzano: “No, I cannot show you. It is a mental list, a game I play on the trail.”
Kaikane: “Let’s hear it, then. Start at 100 and count down. Hey Maria, listen to this. The 100 things Sal misses most.”
Bolzano: “Oh, no, you are mistaken, for I shall not share. The list is personal. And besides, one-third of the way through you would think I was a crazy man. We each have our own very distinct ideas of what makes life worth living.”
Duarte: “How about your top three?”
Bolzano: “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. You both must understand, this list is fluid. That is part of what makes it fun. If something pops into my head, and I elect to add it to my list, another item must be dropped. It is not always No. 100 to get the boot.”
Kaikane: “He’s serious, isn’t he?”
Duarte: “Sounds like it. Well?”
Bolzano: “Warm weather has forced me to reconsider the order of things. Insulated boots, fire pellets and Go-flon mittens have all held the No. 1 spot during the past year. Currently, gelato is the coveted Thing I Miss Most in The Whole Entire World.
Kaikane: “Jellatto?”
Bolzano: “You Americans would call it ice cream, though your country’s confection truly does not compare. Gelato is a creamy, heaven-on-earth substance which goes with a sunny, summer day the way white wine goes with tilapia. There was a shop in the Old Town of Nice stocked with every flavor imaginable, cactus, tangerine, tiramisu, stracciatella, everything. Bravo! Molto bene! Benissimo!”
Duarte: “My mouth waters thinking about it. You are right, the gelato in Italy and France was to die for.”
Kaikane: “What I wouldn’t give for a bacon cheeseburger with a big fat pickle and an ice-cold Diet Pepsi.”
Jones: “You guys are just making it harder on yourselves.”
Duarte: “Yeah, like you don’t think about stuff like that. OK, Sal, what are numbers two and three on this crazy list of yours?”
Bolzano: “Number two is the smell and feel of books. Paper books in a library. Dr. Duarte, have you ever had the pleasure of visiting the Biblioteca Ambrosiana in my home town of Milano? It draws its fame for housing manuscripts of the great Leonardo. Behind the scenes, however, it smells like any other library. Heaven. My former position granted me access 12 times a year. Two hours, once a month. How I would love to have a book to hold and to read. A computer is not the same.”
Duarte: “Number three?”
Bolzano: “This is a recent addition. I miss the telephone. Would it not be wonderful to call our families and friends to chat? To see their faces and have them see us?”
Jones: “Motherfucker’s crazy. Telling ya guys, this is not helping anybody.”
Bolzano: “You are right, Corporal Jones, you certainly are. It is a list I have kept to myself until now. I apologize if the memories have upset you.”
Jones: “I’d call my grandmom. Raised me. Be good to let her know I’m all right. Know she worries.”
From the log of Maria Duarte
Chief Botanist
Paul and Jones are close to completing the bone chamber’s final reinforcing column. Bolzano transports rocks from outside. It will soon be time to place this device in its soft bed of dust. Having copied all files from our computers onto this spare, I battle an urge to check and re-check it. All data seems to have transferred properly, but still, I worry.
My heart beats fast as we near the moment to put this baby to sleep for 32,000 years. How many reports have I written while the back of my brain shouted, “This will never work!” Our shovels and knives didn’t even last a month, how can we expect a computer to survive so long?
Even if the data is lost, or if this computer is never to be found, I wouldn’t change a thing. This journey has become a scientist’s dream job. Admittedly, it also feels as if I carry the weight of The Team’s entire research department on my shoulders.
To that end, and to the detriment of my botanical studies, my observations have strayed into topics well beyond the scope of my training and expertise, particularly anthropological and zoological. I hope my observations answer some of the questions posed by colleagues in other fields. If not for the waves, if all the bright men and women who made the jump had survived, then we would have had some reports!
That is a lot of “ifs.” We were so close to success. Morale was at an all-time high among the science community. Giddy. We were making one amazing discovery after another, and we had just started! All the planning and sacrifice was paying off. Even as equipment failures accelerated, The Team’s overall mood remained positive.
Geeks with our heads so far in the sky we missed the scent of mutiny roaming the decks of the ship. On the afternoon of the waves, I now believe we were less than two days from an attempted overthrow. I do not know how many stowaway privateers and zealots were aboard, or how the military ranks would have split in the time of crisis, but without help from soldiers of conscience like Cpl. Jones and Spc. Kaikane to help us, Science would have put up a pitiful fight. It is my conclusion, that a well-planned, coordinated coup would have had a high probability of success. The superior, new-generation weaponry would have tipped the balance.
Under Miller, scientific priorities would have been minimized; of that I am sure. But I am not so certain what future he and the other rebel leaders would have attempted to dictate. How far astray were they prepared to go? How much influence would Science maintain? The waves rearranged everyone’s plans. I have posed this question to Cpl. Bolzano every way I can and have yet to receive an adequate answer. “Was Martinelli following the coup’s script, or was his continental romp just one madman’s interpretation?” Salvatore insists he doesn’t know.
A question you folks at Team Control must ask yourselves is how did so many mercenaries infiltrate our system?
Stopping Sgt. Martinelli’s crusade was a close-run thing. Religion, war, regional conquest, slavery–all very inappropriate concepts to be transporting back in time. Each one raises grave concerns regarding the ethics and overall viability of time travel. Concerns legislators and potential mission planners will no doubt need to confront.
Deep down, the boys have it in their heads that you will send a second team to join us. Or perhaps a care package with new gear. They expect me to give you coordinates and estimated dates for a possible rendezvous. I refuse. Find us if you must, though I strongly recommend against it.
As much as I would love the assistance and camaraderie of a team of brilliant associates, don’t send them. Though we would gladly shed a toe for a few simple things like towels, decent pairs of socks, five hundred pounds of Swiss chocolate and a tray of bacon cheeseburgers, don’t do it.
It’s working, we’re working, and there’s no need to risk fouling things up. We finally have our feet on the ground. Maybe it would be a stray microbe hitch-hiking back to kill us, or candy turned to poi
son, or another squad of zealots we would have to chase across a continent. I trust the four of us to stay on course. We will not disrupt the natural course of history. We’ll be fine. We have six remaining computers. We all pledge to continue our journals and research.
Although there is plenty of free space remaining on this computer’s memory, we felt it was important to bury it now to report we have arrived, and to relate what has transpired over the past year.
Our next drop zone is scheduled for the Bordeaux area, tentatively in cave 271. If the cavern is inaccessible or unacceptable for any reason, we will proceed numerically down the list. Estimated drop time is seven years from today.
For the past three nights, dirty and dog-tired from working in the cave, we have dined by firelight and hashed out the course of our futures. Working cooped up in such close quarters was hard on Jones at first. The hours of toil seem to have been good for him. I have been administering tea brewed with Klamath weed, or as some call it, St. John’s wort. Maybe that’s helping his depression. The yellow flowers are in bloom right now. I harvest all I find.
The hike uphill was thankfully uneventful. Four days of bright sun had dried the ground to give us good footing. Though heavily laden, our physical condition is such that we barely broke sweats while climbing basically non-stop to the cave. At the knife ridge, we paused briefly to rig safety ropes between us for the 50-foot tightrope walk across what was left from the landslide. No drama this time around.
Although I have no solid data detailing how much erosion or tectonic shifting this landscape will encounter over the next 32 millennia, we do know the cave is not listed on our modern maps. Sooner or later, it will collapse. We have been racking our brains devising ways to protect the computer from being crushed. First, we elected to place the device as far back in the cave as possible. That took us to the bone room.
We sat there in the flickering light of our brands the first afternoon and discussed what should go where. Sal suggested we build a subterranean stone box around the computer. The thin, white unit is to be placed vertically in the powdery soil, protected on all sides by thick, flat rocks. Even if the roof crashes down, or the earth heaves, the computer should have enough rock reinforcing to survive. Once the area was prepared, we started talking about ways to save the bone room itself.
Those thoughts spurred two days of dragging flat stones to build a trio of pillars which may or may not hold the vaulted ceiling intact. Buried between the pillars, along with the rock strong box, are 54 Neanderthal skulls, one complete skeleton and a few choice pieces of Uncle Gronk’s shattered leg and arm bones. Bolzano made an effort to preserve some artifacts by coating them in pitch and ash. We didn’t leave any treasure in the cave. To all of you investors who are disappointed there are no diamonds and ivory, I apologize. Maybe next time. If we don’t spend it all. I do, after all, have a science department to run.
Paul snared several squirrels and a rabbit for last night’s meal. We added the cubed meat to what was left of the fish pot, stirred in a couple handfuls of scavenged greens and pine nuts, and cooked it by dropping in one hot rock after another to make the liquid boil. After a dash of sea salt, it was pretty tasty.
Between mouthfuls, Jones spoke up.
“Man, you guys eat good,” he said. “Tomon’s clan was no better on the trail than Gray Beard. Content with grubs and nuts. I thought they were going to wet themselves back in the trees when you showed up with your stringer of fish. Fishing’s one skill they haven’t mastered.”
“It’s good to have you here to eat with us,” I said. “I missed you.”
“I guess so,” he said without looking up.
The modest start to the conversation evolved into a planning session. Pulling up computer maps and moon calendars, we began sketching out the next two years and the rest of our future. My companions made me proud as they added insights and details to flesh out my grand scheme.
Seeing Paul and Jones together, I spent a moment thinking back to when I had to make a choice between the two. Jones is strong and handsome, very capable, but I’ll never be sorry I picked my Hawaiian waterman.
When Bolzano said the jump may have somehow changed us, condensed us into more of what we already are, it really hit home with me. I had been wondering about the same thing. I was already a workaholic, not much change there. But, before the jump, I had no interest in love or passion. Now, I can’t imagine living without Paul’s arms to hold me as we drift to sleep. Making love with Paul is something I will never grow tired of. Whether that’s the effect of the jump or just love in general, I’ll never know.
I have found myself one heck of a man. If the jump did anything to Paul, it was to make him more kind, considerate, happy and thoughtful. Paul’s love of life is infectious. He’s no saint. I’ve seen him fight men and mammoth, and would never want to be on the wrong side of the battle line from Paul Kaikane. Ask Jones, and he’d probably say the same thing. He scares me at times with his outsized love of fishing, hunting and taking unnecessary risks. He’s all man.
Though I’ve given him plenty of cause, he has never once raised his voice to me in anger. When he becomes exasperated by my inflexible ways, he excuses himself to craft a new reed net, or to drop a hook in the water.
Now to the tough part. The boys have included notes for their family and friends. To all of mine, I wish you the best. Don’t worry about me, I’m doing fine. Mom and Dad, please don’t waste your prayers upon me. If this journal makes it back, you may run into a little money. I made the two of you my beneficiaries. Despite the things you said and did. If there is enough cash to go around, take the whole family back to Portugal for a visit. Buy some things.
Oh, Mom, you may be interested to know, I’m married. Paul and I were wed last night in front of the fire. It started when I restored Jones to the rank of Captain. As senior officer, it was something I have been planning to do for the past month. Last night, I handed him a pair of ivory captain’s bars I had carved.
“Cpl. Juniper Jones,” I said. “In recognition of your outstanding work subduing and capturing rogue Team member Lorenzo Martinelli, as well as your continued efforts in helping The Team reach its goals, it is my pleasure to reinstate you to the rank of Captain, U.S. Army. You, sir, are once again to be recognized for what you truly are, an officer and a gentleman.”
Even though it was a hokey little ceremony he attempted to shrug off, I could tell he was proud.
“I don’t see how it makes much difference,” he said. “I’m still the same fucked-up dude who’s been hauling your butts out of trouble for the past year.”
“Yeah, but now you can marry us,” Paul said from out of the blue.
“That’s a ship’s captain,” Jones said. “I don’t know anything about marrying people.”
“Wait a second,” I fumed. “Who said I even wanted to marry you? Aren’t you supposed to ask me first?”
Paul’s face faded into seriousness as he took my hand in his and knelt before me. He gazed up into my eyes and his voice cracked as he did it right.
“Maria Duarte, my love and my life, would you consider taking a surfer boy from Hawaii as your husband? I promise to love and cherish you, to honor and protect you as long as we both may live.”
I made him wait a full minute before I said, “Me too.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Jones said, clapping us both on the back. “I pronounce you husband and wife.”
“Is that all you have to say?” Bolzano interrupted. “That’s no way to conduct a marriage service. Shall they just shake hands to seal the transaction? We need music, pomp, circumstance.”
“These two been shacking up for more’n a year.”
Cpl. Bolzano cleared his voice and launched into a rendition of “O Sole Mio” as he motioned us with his hands to dance. I expected to have to lead, but Paul surprised me by slipping his arm around my waist and guiding me in a waltz around the camp. I rested my head on his chest and closed my eyes. My wedding
dance. I never thought it would happen.
Cpl. Bolzano followed with “Santa Lucia,” and concluded with Al Martino’s “Speak Softly Love” in English.
“You may kiss the bride,” he shouted when he finished.
“I wish you both luck,” Salvatore said in a serious tone. “I’ve been observing you two. Your love seems pure. I think you are made for each other. I am tired, I think I’ll sleep in the cave tonight. How about you, Jones?”
“Right behind ya.”
What good guys, giving us privacy on our wedding night.
Now, the boys are yelling for me to hurry up. They want to seal off the tunnel to the bone chamber so we can collapse the entrance for good and get out of here. Winds have shifted and it feels like rain is in the offing. Paul is anxious to get down off the mountain.
Until next time, best wishes from 30,000 BC.
Sincerely,
Maria Duarte
Chief Botanist
TRANSMISSION:
Bolzano: “No, I don’t think you understand my point. What I am asking is this, if the computer does survive, when will it appear on The Team’s monitors? Will it be one year, two months, three weeks and thirteen days from the day we splashed down in this epoch?”
Kaikane: “It will just be there, starting from the moment we bury it.”
Bolzano: “So it was there before we left. You are saying all through our training, it was in the hillside waiting to be uncovered.”
Kaikane: “That’s right. Once we bury it, it’s buried.”
Bolzano: “So why did they not dig it up before we left? It was there, correct?”
Kaikane: “You talk in circles.”
Tuscany Page 39
