Time Sensitive

by Elyse Douglas

  Walter Sieg was a tall, taciturn Swiss mathematician and computer programmer, who always seemed lost in thought or contemplating other worlds in the great beyond.

  Dieter Krauss, a 38-year-old German physicist and historian, had spiked blond hair, very blue eyes and a formal, no-nonsense manner.

  The final member of the team was Kim Stein, a 45-year-old psychiatrist and “consciousness expert,” whose gentle smile made me both irritable and nervous.

  We sat in a conference room containing only an oval conference table, one window covered by a brown curtain, a coffee maker and, interestingly enough, an old pinball machine that worked. Alex Mason played the thing, working the flippers and “dinging” the bells as the rest of us spoke.

  “By the way,” Alex said, glancing my way with a roguish, lopsided grin, “this pinball machine is from 1968. I found it on eBay.”

  Cyrano facilitated the meeting and everyone but Alex was seated around the table in various states of curiosity and calculation. Laptops were out, and cell phones were at the ready.

  Cyrano seemed relaxed and focused, giving me encouraging and earnest attention.

  “Charlotte, all of us here today are just the forward and visible part of a much larger team of theoretical physicists, practical physicists, mathematicians and, for lack of a better term, psychics.”

  I tried to present a passive face, but I’m sure my eyes expanded when he said psychics.

  “Before we can proceed further, Charlotte, we will need for you to undergo a battery of tests: physical, physiological, emotional and mental. Frankly, we are concerned about your heart. I see from the medical records you forwarded to us that you have coronary heart disease.”

  I remained silent.

  “And there are other issues we must address. We want you to be aware of all the risks of undergoing this time travel experiment.”

  I was seated at the far end of the table with an untouched bottle of water before me, as well as a sheet of paper which I assumed was a confidentiality agreement of some kind. I must have looked grave and concerned, and I was. It was intimidating and disconcerting to be sitting there while these geniuses studied me, clicking away at their laptops, assessing every word and movement I made.

  “But before we get into all that, we have a very important request to ask you.”

  I waited.

  “Charlotte, if this doesn’t work out—that is, if for whatever reason we feel you are unsuited for this, shall we say, little experiment, we must ask you to keep TEMPUS, and everything that goes on here, and everyone you have met here, a guarded secret. We strongly request that you sign the statement on the table in front of you, simply as a friendly formality.”

  I felt mildly insulted. I sat up a little more erect and tried not to sound too imperious.

  “I will sign your form, Mr. Conklin, but let me point out that I worked for the NSA for many years and, in all that time, I was privy to more secrets about this country, its people and its leaders—not to mention the past leaders of this world—than most of you, if not all of you, will ever see in your collective lifetimes. I assure you, I can keep a secret.”

  I saw a little smile crease Cyrano’s lips. Alex stopped playing his pinball game long enough to shoot me a humorous glance.

  Kim Stein, a very thin woman with large, startling dark eyes, and her entire left arm covered by tattoos, also smiled and gave a little nod of approval.

  “Well said, Charlotte,” Cyrano said. “Well said, indeed. And, of course, that is one of the reasons we selected you for this project. I’m sorry I have to ask, but I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes, I understand. May I ask if you are interviewing other candidates?”

  Cyrano’s face seemed suddenly to button up. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, I am not at liberty to say. I’m sure you understand, once having worked in intelligence.”

  I nodded, feeling a sudden rise of steely determination. I had always had a strong competitive spirit, and now I was hell-bent on being the chosen candidate.

  “I know you told me you’d sent a cat and a dog back in time, but have you ever sent a human being?”

  The scientists shifted in their seats, their eyes glued to their laptop screens.

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that either, Charlotte.”

  I offered a weak smile.

  From their collective reactions, or lack thereof, I was sure they had, indeed, sent a human being back in time, or at least they had tried. I felt a new twist of discomfort.

  Cyrano clasped his hands together. “Well, then, I think we can proceed with the testing, if you are in agreement, Charlotte?”

  CHAPTER 6

  The tests were grueling and long, but it was the physical I dreaded the most, afraid my heart condition would quickly eliminate me. It was conducted by a 40-something, no-nonsense woman who explained things methodically and unemotionally, in a strictly professional manner. That was okay by me.

  The stress test was called the Dobutamine-Atropine Nuclear Stress Test, and the entire procedure took a couple of days. On the second visit, I entered a cardiac testing lab and was given medication to make my heart temporarily beat harder and faster while a dose of radioactive tracer was given. After the stress portion of the test was completed, I was placed under a nuclear camera for heart pictures. A couple of times, I thought my pounding heart was going to jump out of my chest.

  I spent a few sleepless nights and long, anxious days, waiting to hear from Cyrano. After a week had passed and still, no one had called, I despaired. Being desperate and uncharacteristically emotional, I drove to the three-story red brick building intending to burst inside and plead for another chance. Fortunately, I did not go in and I drove on, struggling to settle my mind.

  It was a Sunday morning in early March when I finally received a call from Cyrano.

  “Charlotte, so good to hear your voice again.”

  My heart was thumping against my ribs, and I willed it to relax. I stood staring out my window into a clear sunny day. In the distance, I could see the Washington Monument.

  “I thought you weren’t going to call,” I said, immediately wishing I hadn’t said it. I was trembling and my voice shaky.

  “We had much to consider and much work to do. But I have good news. We’d like you to come in for another meeting.”

  “Another meeting? You mean I still haven’t been chosen?”

  Cyrano’s voice was calm and measured. “We must be patient, careful and methodical. We must be certain that this project is as safe as possible for you, and as successful as possible for all of us. We have spent years and a lot of money to get where we are today.”

  I heaved out a sigh, turning away from the window. “Of course. I’m sorry. I’ve just been on pins and needles these last weeks, waiting.”

  “I know. Yes, I know Charlotte. Can you come in tomorrow, Monday morning, at 9am? You will be meeting with Kim Stein.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll be there.”

  “And Charlotte, I’m going to tell you something I shouldn’t. I am pushing very hard for you, but we have a few more hurdles to overcome. Nonetheless, I am confident we can surmount anything that comes our way. All right, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Kim’s small office was tidy and almost cozy compared with the other TEMPUS rooms I’d been allowed in. A vase of fresh flowers sat on her desk, as well as a gold framed color photo of a man in his forties and two children, a boy about twelve and a girl about ten. The photo had been taken in autumn under a blaze of red and orange leaves. Black framed professional-style photos of various types of trees hung on the walls.

  Kim was an attractive woman with large wondering eyes that especially caught my attention. Her medium length dark hair was combed back smoothly from her forehead, revealing silver hoop earrings. She wore a navy blouse, skinny jeans and heels.

  I sat in a comfortable black leather chair across from Kim, who sat behind her desk.

  “I love trees,” Kim said. “Ever s
ince I was a girl, they’ve captivated me.”

  “Did you take the photos?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Kim said, turning to look at them and point. “Those are a Lombardy poplar, a birch, and a Cyprus tree I took in Italy. The one near the window is a 120-year-old oak tree I found in San Antonio.”

  “It’s even older than I am,” I said, lightly.

  Kim faced me with a warm smile. “Charlotte, I’m going to come right to the point. We are very concerned about the condition of your heart. I’m sure that is not a surprise to you.”

  My shoulders slumped, and I lowered my gaze. “No…”

  “In your heart’s current condition, we cannot take the chance of sending you back in time.”

  I lifted my eyes, feeling myself wilt. “So that’s it then…” I said resigned.

  “No, that’s just the bad news. The good news is you are going to make your heart stronger, and I am going to help you.”

  I looked at her, not comprehending.

  “Charlotte, I am what some people would call a psychic, but I’m actually more than that. I’m officially known as a consciousness expert. Simply put, I believe in mind over matter because I’ve seen it work and I have used it myself with success. I was affiliated for a time with the Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research lab, also called the PEAR lab. It was a research program at Princeton University that studied parapsychology.”

  “I have heard of the PEAR lab,” I said.

  “Simply put, Charlotte, you and I are going to spend the next few weeks and maybe months working on two things. Improving your heart and strengthening your intent.”

  “What does intent have to do with it?”

  Kim sat back in her chair. “Without a strong intent, no one can time travel or even enter altered states of consciousness for any amount of time. Wishing to go to the past or the future will not work. It’s too weak. Even willing it, intellectually, and trying to manipulate it technologically, will not work. But a quiet mind and a strong intention—that is, an intention that comes from your very being, your very core of who you are—will work, in conjunction with the technology that we will be using.”

  I thought about this, still unable to grasp the totality of what Kim was saying.

  Kim stood. “Charlotte, what makes you a strong candidate for our project is that your intention is solid and authentic, and it has been building since 1968. You deeply feel a desire to fix the perceived wrong that occurred to you back in 1968. All that remains for us to do is to quiet your mind and strengthen that intention, so you can focus and hold it for the quantity of time it will take us to send you back into time.”

  My hands were clammy, thoughts racing. “What do you mean, hold it?”

  Kim eased back down in her chair, allowing some silence to gather her thoughts.

  “We live in a probabilistic universe. Quantum mechanics has proven that. When we move you into the realm of the quantum world, which is where you’ll be for a time, your intention will be the most powerful tool to guide you and finally take you back to June 1968.”

  I sat blinking and staring.

  “Are you comfortable working with me on this?”

  I nodded. “Yes… Yes, whatever it takes.”

  “You will stop drinking any alcohol or caffeine. I suggest a vegetarian diet. Also, I’m going to teach you how to meditate and you will do so twice a day for forty-five minutes. We must start quieting your mind, erasing the usual static of thoughts and fears, so you can focus on healing your heart.”

  “Should I continue taking my heart medication?” I asked.

  “Yes, absolutely. We don’t want any new shocks to your system. We want you to relax and grow stronger.”

  The meditation, intention focus, and vegetarian diet all sounded like absolute nonsense to me. It was so New Age, strange and esoteric, but I was willing to do whatever it took to return to 1968 and make better choices for myself and my family.

  “Are you okay with all this?”

  I nodded, exhaling. “Sure… Yes.”

  Kim smiled, reassuringly. “It will be fun, Charlotte. You will experience a whole new you, and I think you will enjoy the process. So, shall we begin?”

  CHAPTER 7

  On July 6th, I had my second stress test, conducted by the same doctor as before. As I looked at myself in the mirror that day, I marveled at the change in my appearance. My skin was smoother, its color improved; my eyes were clearer; my hair a glossy, soft blonde with subtle silver highlights, cut in a shorter hairstyle suggested by Kim. I’d gained muscle tone. My balance had improved. I’d been sleeping better than I had in years. All in all, I felt stronger and calmer than I had ever felt in my entire life.

  I had followed Kim’s exercise, diet and meditation regimen faithfully for almost four months, as well as practicing my mind/body and intention exercises religiously.

  It remained to be seen if my heart would pass the last test that would determine if I’d be allowed to move to the final phase of preparation for a time travel journey back to 1968.

  A week after the stress test, I was invited to meet the entire team back in the conference room. As I entered, I was met by Cyrano, who had a broad, welcoming smile on his face. Although I was calmer than during our first meeting, I still felt a ripple of apprehension as I sat down at the oval table. I quickly looked to Kim for support and was relieved to see her reassuring, sunny smile.

  The other members were professionally friendly, while Alex, the pinball wizard (as I had silently labeled him) was sitting angled in his chair, staring into his laptop.

  Cyrano ceremoniously clasped his hands as he often did before beginning.

  “Welcome, Charlotte. I must say that you look wonderfully relaxed and healthy and I have heard great things about you over the last few weeks. How do you feel?”

  “I feel great,” I said, feeling like a prep school applicant hoping to impress the school board.

  “Excellent. Well, let’s get right to it. We have processed all of your tests and we are pleased.”

  I almost leapt from my chair. “So I passed the stress test?” I asked, blurting it out.

  Kim smiled, and I noticed that Alex smiled as well. I sensed that a smile from him was a rare thing.

  “There is a significant improvement.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. I waited for more. “What does that mean, Cyrano?”

  “Although we’d hoped for a better showing, your heart has strengthened enough that we are now confident that we can proceed to the next steps.”

  On triumphant impulse, I clapped my hands, feeling the start of joyful tears.

  To my surprise, the entire team applauded me, and then they applauded Kim. I joined their applause of her.

  When the room fell into a pulsing silence, Cyrano fixed his solemn gaze on me.

  “Charlotte, I have wonderful news. You have been selected to time travel back to 1968.”

  I couldn’t stop the flow of tears. Both Dieter Krauss, the German physicist and historian, and Maggie Greer, the wizard programmer, handed me tissues.

  After the emotion wore itself out, I thanked everyone for standing by me and selecting me.

  Maggie spoke up first. “Charlotte, now is the time for you to ask us any questions you may have. I’m sure you have formed many over the last few months.”

  “Yes, Charlotte,” Cyrano said. “Feel free to ask us anything.”

  I folded my hands and slowly looked each one in the eyes, closely fixing them in my mind.

  “Forgive me for asking this question, and please don’t feel insulted, but do you truly believe you can send me back in time to 1968? In the last few months I have done a lot of research, reading everything I can get my hands on about time travel. The theories of special and general relativity do allow for it, but the serious literature and articles I have read state that time travel to the future is much more likely than time travel to the past.”

  There was a long silence. It was Dieter who spoke first,
and while he spoke, Alex arose and went to the pinball machine.

  “Charlotte… All of us have spent most of our lives in service to science. We routinely sacrifice our relationships with family and friends, and work long hours, often seven days a week, solely for one purpose: to focus all our energies on stretching the possibilities of science, hoping to make real and practical all the theoretical aspects of science. It is our lives—and yes, we do believe we can successfully send you back to June 1968, or we would not attempt it.”

  I fixed my hard stare on Dieter. “Maybe you are all fools,” I said.

  There was another icy silence. Alex stopped playing and glanced over. As the silence lengthened, Alex shut down the pinball machine and drifted back to the table, taking his seat to my left. All were staring at me, puzzled.

  “There is an irony here,” I said, finally breaking the silence. “Back in 1968, I gave up everything for my work, and I lost my family to a tragic and senseless fire. I should have been there with them that night and, who knows, if I had been there, I might have been able to save them. If I couldn’t have saved them, then I should have died with them.”

  I reached for a bottle of water and took a drink.

  “Now, here I am all these years later, willing to risk my life, or what there is left of it, to return to the past, to change the past and change it because I did exactly what you people are doing now: I lived to work, and worked to live, and to hell with everything else, family included. Forgive me if I sound direct and rude. I don’t mean to be. I am so thankful to you all for this opportunity, I just hope you listen to an old woman, and don’t make the same mistakes she made.”

  I paused to take another drink. “Of course, the further irony is that it is your obsession with science that may allow me to atone for my past. Mine was a sin of omission and not commission, but it was a sin nonetheless. I did not set the fire, but I failed to cherish my family as I should have. Now I want to atone for that sin if I can. I not only want to go back to 1968, but I must go back, to save my family and to save myself. If I don’t, I know my suffering will never end. And so I thank you all again for your willingness to live the way I did, even as I encourage you to learn from my mistakes.”