by Deen Ferrell
“Sure about what? Sure I wouldn’t think you’re a raving lunatic? Is Antonio part of this?”
“Of course, on both accounts.”
“How did you do this? How did you bring me here—and where am I?”
“Fair questions,” the man nodded. “I intend to answer all questions in due time, but we are not on due time at the moment, so I go back to my original question to you, Willoughby; where do you think you are? Think, my boy… Look around you. Dare to dream.”
Willoughby edged toward the stairs. He calculated that the man below must stand at least 6 feet tall from bedroom slippers to the shine on his bald head. He wore what looked like a silky bathrobe over his slacks and shirt. He looked from the man to the expansive window covering the far wall.
“That is either the most realistic 3-D image I’ve ever seen, or we’re looking out on some huge, weird aquarium.”
“No, not an aquarium,” the man grinned. “Take your time. It is a lot to take in. Meanwhile, I’m off for a quick nip to the kitchen. Hot cocoa and another pot of steaming tea are just the ticket! Caves always seem a bit drafty to me, no matter how you set the temperature…” The man ambled along toward a lit alcove beneath the stairs. He called out as he walked; “By the way, good work on the Riemann Hypothesis. I found it most impressive for your age. We checked it against the original solution, of course. It’s a pity that your parents won’t let you take advantage of the money, but then they are looking out for your interests, you know. It’s good to have the right sort on your team.”
“Who are you?” Willoughby called down, barely listening to the man’s rambling. The man stopped, backed up a step, and glared up, blinking.
“Who am I?”
“Yes,” Willoughby repeated. “Who are you?”
“Why, I’m H.S. of course. The mystery man, the brain behind the gadgets, the mad scientist, the—”
“Listen, if you solved the Riemann years ago, why fund the contest? Why not take the credit for solving it yourself? The puzzle has baffled mathematicians since 1859. This doesn’t make sense.”
“Of course it doesn’t make sense! Look out that window, my boy! Does that make sense? You’ve been brought here to learn to see beyond what ‘makes sense.’ Once you understand where you are and how you got here, the purposes and goals of our organization will make perfect sense. Until then, you are woefully in the dark. Throw out ill-conceived assumptions without understanding and you appear juvenile and foolish. My word, Willoughby, we’ve been around for a long time. To stay atop our game, we have no time for defining the mistaken obvious.”
Willoughby chose to ignore the tirade rather than try to puzzle it through, but he did cling to the man’s reference to goals of an organization. “So, you admit to being part of an organization. Have I heard of the organization?”
The man barked a laugh. “I sincerely doubt it. I’ll fall to my grave if you dare accuse us of being CIA or British Intelligence! Please!”
“How long have been around?”
The man cocked an eyebrow. “Let’s see…Plato was one of us. He didn’t comprehend all of what we’re about, of course, but he was certainly part of the team.”
“Right…and Socrates taught you how to answer questions, I suppose.” It was Willoughby’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
The man laughed again and began to amble away. “You are entertaining, I’ll give you that! I’m beginning to understand why we invited you for this visit.”
“You mean, shanghaied me,” Willoughby mumbled.
“I heard that!” the man responded from somewhere under the stairway. Willoughby heard what sounded like rummaging through a stack of dinnerware, punctuated by the clang of what sounded like pots or tins, and a sound of water running. “I suppose, in a way, we did shanghai you,” H.S. continued. “Of course, you would really have to see the origins of Shanghai to appreciate the finer points of the analogy, but all in due time…” The man rummaged around for another four or five minutes, giving Willoughby time to better take in the scene of the room and the strange seascape. At last, the portly man lumbered back into the room with a small tray. He stopped below the stairs and looked up.
“Why on earth are you still up there? Are your feet fully operational? Come on down, my boy! I don’t bite—unless, perhaps, you’re a crumpet! I’ve a cup of steaming cocoa prepared here, or perhaps you’d prefer a spot of Earl Grey tea? You need to get some liquid and sugar into you to counteract the effects of the transport.”
Willoughby watched the man again and then gazed out the window. “Why would I want to come down and drink tea? You haven’t answered my questions.”
“Not so! I’ve answered some,” the man stared up, eyes still sparking. “If you’re going to stand there and throw out generalities, we’ll never get anywhere, now, will we? I’ll tell you what, let’s do an experiment! You like experiments I believe. This experiment will help you answer your own question, since you don’t seem to appreciate the way I answer them. Do you happen to have a pencil?”
Willoughby rummaged in his pack and pulled out a number 2, Ticonderoga pencil. “Which question did you say this would answer?” he asked as he flung the pencil down. The man deftly caught the projectile and took it to the right side of the window. Smiling, he ran his hand over an area that appeared to be smooth glass. An odd, narrow drawer popped out. It was covered by a thin slab of sliding glass. He opened the glass window and placed the pencil in it. The window closed, and the narrow drawer seemed to meld back into the wall.
A moment later, the man pointed: “Look!” he said softly. A sliver of glass on the other side of the window moved. The long, narrow drawer slid a full meter outward, into the shadowy waters of what appeared to be sea. The glass over the drawer slid back a crack. Willoughby could barely make out the yellow of the pencil, bobbing to the surface as the box filled with sea water. Moments later, the glass lid closed. The drawer slid back into place. A soft chime sounded and the narrow box slid back out of the wall on the inside of the room. The man lifted out the drawer, pulled back the lid, and took out the pencil. He walked back to the small table in the center of the huge room and laid it down next to his tea tray.
“If you ever come down here, you’ll see this is your pencil, teeth marks and all, waterlogged and smelling of briny sea. Not so easy to pull salt water out of a holographic image, or a video representation, now, is it? The smell of sea water also differs sharply from the smell of aquarium water, though this may not be conclusive enough for you just yet. This is no new movie technology or aquarium, Willoughby. If you come down, you’ll see that the water goes on for as far as our sight can follow. I dare say you are gazing upon what history calls a ‘primordial sea.’”
Willoughby coughed. “That’s—”
“Impossible?”
No. Willoughby had choked the comment because impossible was too limiting a word. He fought for a better way to express his doubt; “H-how?”
“When would be the precise question. This particular bit of watery real estate is middle to late Jurassic. I’ve always found the period fascinating from an underwater perspective. How about you?”
The man arranged himself in his chair and then bent over to pour himself another cup of steaming tea. He had spoken as if to himself—as if he didn’t really expect a response. He raised his bushy eyebrows, looking back to Willoughby with a wry smile. Leaning back into his cushioned armchair, he gestured toward the overstuffed couch just across from him. Willoughby began to creep down the long, meandering staircase. He was lost for words. The site of the huge window looking out on what appeared to be a Jurassic sea made him completely forget the fear and discomfort of his transport.
“Ah, the biscuits!” the large man shouted, jumping to his feet again. He placed down his cup and saucer. “We can’t have tea without biscuits! What would Poppins say?” He berated himself sternly as if this were the stupidest
mistake anyone could ever make.
Willoughby shook his head. It was impossible! That’s what it was—utterly and completely impossible. He couldn’t be looking at a Jurassic sea! What was he looking at, then? Could the man’s experiment be some kind of digital trick? But then, he was somewhere—somewhere other than the top of the Certus Grove building. Could they be altering his mind in some way? If so, this was quite a trip. If it was real, the transport mechanism alone proved that these people had serious technology at their disposal. Could they have conquered time? He looked out of the glass wall. The depth of perception and the color qualities he could see were so real, and the random movement of plants and creature were so lifelike—too lifelike. What was it that the man had said? “Dare to dream…”
Thin rays of sunlight danced through the underwater forest of the ocean world, throwing kaleidoscopic patterns across the coral shelf. A quick flurry of movement caught Willoughby’s eye. Something bigger than your ordinary fish was swimming in the greenish waters behind the glass—a lot bigger! It streaked toward the window, moving fast. The odd, black shape swam with the agility of a seal, changing direction abruptly before diving out of sight. Willoughby’s face paled. He had recognized the shape, but it had been extinct for millions of years!
The beast darted up again, swimming in a rippling motion, its mouth slightly ajar. Rows of yellow-white serrated teeth grinned below eyes so vibrantly yellow that they seemed to glow. The beast had four broad flippers, a long, snakelike neck, and a flat, pointed head. Its total length had to be at least 45 to 50 feet! It circled, keeping its distance, then spun suddenly and rushed the window. The glass dimmed. An alarm sounded, and the thin, metal webbing that held the glass in place pulsed stark red. Willoughby could barely make out that the beast had veered away, sinking from view. As the windows again became transparent, he caught a glimpse of the beast darting toward the underside of the coral shelf.
The whole encounter had lasted barely a minute, but Willoughby was spellbound. He stared beyond the distant thicket of weeds where the beast had vanished. His palms were sweating and his breathing was irregular. He pushed the rest of the way down the stairs and crossed to the couch. He needed to sit down.
Within moments, the shuffling, bald man had reappeared. His vibrant blue eyes and smooth face made it hard for Willoughby to judge how old he was. In his hands, he carried a plate of what looked like assorted cookies. He set the cookies down on the coffee table beside the cups and teapots. He then sat on the edge of his overstuffed chair. He picked up the empty teacup and lifted the larger of the teapots.
“Cocoa?”
Willoughby nodded, absently. He was staring down at the pencil on the table. It was his pencil. He could tell by the teeth marks, even without picking it up, and he could smell the briny sea water. The man poured a rich, brown liquid from the larger teapot. He handed the steaming cup over, then picked up his own saucer again and sank back into the comfort of his chair.
Willoughby glanced at the window, stammering; “You, you got a p-plesiosaurus…”
The man lowered his cup, raising both eyebrows. “Yes! I thought you might like that. It’s why I chose this window.” He turned and narrowed his eyes, studying the window before looking back.
“You have other windows?”
“Oh, yes. Dozens. But not in this time period…” The man seemed distracted, peering out into the murky depths of what appeared to be a coral shelf. “Ah!” he said, his face brightening; “We’re in luck! The show is only beginning. See that eel fish darting around the edges? See if they don’t feed on that—see if they don’t!” He placed his teacup down and rubbed his hands together with the excitement of a child. “I never tire of observing the brutes, though they are a bit of a challenge. They’re determined to smash through our observation window, you know. I sometimes get four or five alarms in one day.”
Willoughby sat near the edge of the couch, peering out at the incredible sight. A massive eel-like fish swam lazily into view. It seemed only twenty or so yards away, wriggling up over the coral shelf. Its teeth were long, pointed and fanged. It had interest in a particularly thick clump of what looked to be sea cucumbers on steroids. The plesiosaurus floated silently up from its hiding place. It inched up behind the eel, barely stirring the water until it was in striking distance. Then, in a sudden blur of motion, it spun, sinking its teeth into the eel-fish just behind the eyes. The fish jerked violently, coiling itself around the plesiosaurus’s neck. A second plesiosaurus appeared, darting in from the right side of the glass. It zoomed in on the kill. Blood inked the water. Willoughby turned away.
The large man’s eyes twinkled as he picked back up his cup of tea.
“We’ve an entire pack of the beasties living along our ridge…so graceful, and yet, so deadly.” He studied Willoughby. “I’ve named five of them. They hunt all along the rock shelf. In time, I’ll introduce you. That one that just attacked—I call him Brutus. He is a cold hunter.”
“What is this place?” Willoughby whispered, entranced.
The man gave another quick grin. “I’ve already told you, Willoughby. This is exactly what it appears. You are gazing at a slice of Jurassic Era sea.”
“How?”
“You tell me.”
“You recreated it somehow—cloned it, like in Jurassic Park.”
“Right—we’ve found an abandoned cave somewhere and built a Jurassic Era eco-system that stretches on for miles, complete with carnivorous predators such as the plesiosaurus and we keep that secret from the rest of the world. You find that plausible, do you?”
“No.”
“Is there a different alternative?”
“You’ve found a way to travel backward in time.”
“Bravo! The first leap of faith! It is hard to accept at first, but yes, you’re hundreds of thousands of years from Georgetown, or the Certus Grove building, Willoughby. You won’t find any cell reception here.”
Willoughby didn’t know what to say. He half expected someone to jump out with a camera and explain that this was some sort of hi-tech show for the Sci-Fi channel. But this was real. He looked out the window and saw with his own eyes an unpredictable rawness, one that only nature could create.
The man leaned forward. “For us, my boy, time travel is no longer a movie plot or a theme park ride. It is pure mathematics put in motion. We’ve unraveled the nature of time, I dare say.” He leaned back. “I knew you would need to see it for yourself or you wouldn’t believe me. It is grand, isn’t it?” He waved a hand absently toward the window. “What do you think? Is it a worthy prize—the chance to cheat time itself, to see a plesiosaurus in the wild? You see now why I had to pull you through, don’t you?”
Willoughby gulped. He closed his eyes trying to grasp the concept. When he opened them again, his face was ashen. “Through what? You called it a ‘conduit’ or something. What is it? And who are ‘we’? Is this some sort of secret multi-government project or agency? Who do you represent?”
The man laughed again. “We are talented at hiding things, but hiding brilliance behind a government agency is beyond even our skill.” He lowered his teacup, turning it exactly a quarter turn on the saucer. “Can you imagine a government agency efficient enough to achieve something of this magnitude? We’re not political, Willoughby. We’re a clandestine group of like-minded scientists and financiers. Fringes of us have been around in some form or other for thousands of years. Here,” He handed Willoughby a business card. “The name is Hathaway Simon. My friends, who I hope will soon include you, call me H.S. Think of me as a visionary. I have…brought enhancements to the historic organization. We are completely independent of all military agendas or politics. What we do could save or destroy mankind. Only a handful of unique individuals can be trusted with that kind of responsibility.”
“But you’re able to be trusted with this kind of responsibility?” Willoughby gestured toward the
window.
H.S. smiled. “Again, you pose a fair question. Perhaps I’m not to be trusted. The best defense I can provide is that I surround myself with checks and balances. I have also learned enough about God to know He has checks and balances of His own.”
“What do you want from me?”
H.S. lifted his teacup and took another slow sip. “We’ve been watching you. We think you may be interested in working with us. You solved a puzzle that has stumped the world’s greatest mathematical minds for centuries and you allowed your parents to hush it up. That’s hard for a boy still young enough to fall prey to the mirage of world fame. I have a proposition for you, Willoughby, a way for you to use that mathematical gift that you possess in ways you can’t imagine.”
“To map time?”
H.S. smiled. “Perhaps… A more accurate description would be to explore time; to learn from it.”
Willoughby wiped a hand across his eyes. “I feel like I’m hallucinating—like this is some sort of dream. It’s too incredible to be believed. I keep looking for some sign of Disney Imagineering or Lucas’s Industrial Light and Magic. I saw a solid wall melt open and a floor turn to liquid. I was pulled through something and felt like my body was torn to shreds, then pieced back together. I’ve watched a plesiosaurus feed in the wild. I can’t seem to get my mind around it.”
“You will. When one’s reality shifts, it takes a while to adjust. But it always does. Besides, this may yet become little more than a dream to you. You have not accepted our offer.”
“What offer?”
H.S. ignored the question. “You will not get a second chance. If you turn us down, we disappear from your life forever. You will wake up, dazed and confused, in the stairwell of the Certus Grove and will be left to wonder if you ever really time-traveled at all.” H.S. gave a wry smile and took another sip of tea. “Drink your cocoa, try a biscuit. I find myself partial to the chocolate-tipped crescent moons.”
