An Altered Course

by R A Carter-Squire

  “Amen,” Michael said as they touched glasses. They didn’t go for the walk, staying and drinking instead. When the time arrived for them to meet the taxi, they wobbled out the door of the bar, leaning against each other to remain upright.

  The yellow cab was waiting for them. Sam held the door while Michael crawled inside. Their driver was all smiles as he drove back to the hotel, chattering about the city and the weather.

  “Thanks, Sam,” Michael said as he flopped on the sofa in his hotel room. His words were a little slurred, sounding more like thanksh Sham, but he got the gist and smiled.

  “It was my pleasure, sir.”

  “You know you don’t need to call me sir,” Michael said, trying to stand. He didn’t succeed and fell back against the cushions. “Call...you can call me Michael.” He burped and put his hand to his mouth. “Scush me.” He chuckled through his fingers.

  “I’ll do that from now on, Michael. I think you need to eat something before you pass out. Anything in particular you’d like?”

  Michael was having trouble focusing as his head drooped, the slurred words a clear indication the man was drunk. His response was a dismissive wave of the hand. Sam called room service and ordered two burgers and fries before getting a large glass of water for Michael.

  He carried the drink to the sofa, thinking about their conversation in the bar—well, mostly Michael had talked while he listened to the story of Michael’s life. How he’d lost his best friend one summer, and his mother a few years ago, and now his father. Sam could understand the emotional weight of the situation, but not the loss. He’d never suffered over the death of his parents. Maybe that made him an emotional cripple, but he wasn’t worried. He felt pity for the young man he called Boss, could even feel a growing friendship, but they didn’t have anything more in common. Maybe one day, but not yet, he sighed as their food arrived.

  Michael finished his burger and picked at the fries. The water helped rinse the booze out of his system, but until the food finished the job, he was going to continue to be drunk. At one point, he flopped sideways and passed out. Sam let him sleep for an hour and then gently slapped his face to wake him up. By eight-thirty, Michael was coherent and moving around normally.

  “I can’t believe I got that drunk,” he moaned, remembering everything he’d said and done.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Michael. Anyone in your situation would have done the same thing. You’ll sleep like a baby tonight and be perfectly okay tomorrow.”

  “Oh shit, I almost forgot about tomorrow.” He jumped off the sofa and dashed to his bedroom. A minute later, he came back into the living room carrying a piece of paper. “This is where we’ve got to be at eleven o’clock tomorrow for the test. Do you know where that is?” He handed the paper to Sam, which had a message scrawled in Michael’s messy script: Thanks for a really great day, Sam. Your generosity and friendship will not be forgotten. You’re my new best friend, Michael.

  The big man looked up with a startled expression on his face. “You don’t have to do any favors for me. I did what any person would do for you.”

  “Umm, maybe, but you weren’t obligated to, and I was there, remember. I was heading into a heap of self-pity, and you stopped me. That is what a friend does for a friend, and I’ll never forget it. I won’t ruin my gratitude by offering you money, but if there’s anything else I can do, all you need is to ask. Who knows, maybe I can return the favor someday.” He was standing there beaming.

  Sam understood friendship. There weren’t many as he grew up; one or two, but they were precious. He smiled up at Michael and then stood and gave his boss a hug. A man’s hug to be sure, but the sentiment was there.

  They separated; both men’s faces glowing red with embarrassment.

  “Well,” Michael cleared his throat. “What shall we do the rest of the evening? I have tickets to see Cats on Broadway…interested?”

  “I’m not a Broadway kind of guy, but there’s a new Star Trek film at the theater down the street.”

  “Perfect, and we don’t need to get dressed up either,” Michael smiled. He glanced at his watch. “The next show might be starting in an hour. Want to play a few hands of poker until then?”

  “Oh, you don’t want to do that with me. What are the stakes?” Sam asked as his face fell into a mask of emotionless stone.

  “So, that’s how you want to play,” Michael grinned. “Well, I think we can manage a dollar ante and maximum raises of five dollars.”

  “Cheap shit. You still owe me for the taxi and the booze at the bar, but you’re on.” He rummaged in the desk drawer and found a deck of cards.

  “Cheap shit,” Michael said, trying to sound hurt. “That’s no way to speak to your boss.”

  Sam sat on one side of the coffee table shuffling the cards. “We’re friends now, remember, and that’s how I speak to my friends. Now sit down and prepare to take your punishment.” He dealt out five cards each after declaring they would play five-card draw.

  Forty minutes later, Michael stuffed twenty dollars into his jeans. As they rode down in the elevator, he pulled a wad of cash out of the other pocket and handed Sam four hundred dollars.

  “This should cover the afternoon expenses.”

  Sam ignored him and stared at the changing numbers over the door. “I told you before, that’s what friends do. I was giving you a hard time before when I mentioned the money, but you don’t need to pay me back, Michael.”

  “I understand, but I’m paying for the movie and the popcorn.”

  “Deal,” Sam muttered.

  Several people in the lobby did double takes as Michael walked up to the refreshment counter. They’d apparently seen his picture in a magazine. Sam saw the question in their eyes. What’s a rich guy like him doing here? I’m trying to ignore you people, and I want to see a movie, he thought. Why does anyone go to a movie theater? Oh yeah, I forgot; billionaires are all supposed to have their own entertainment rooms in their houses. Maybe Michael should put one in at home, but he’s not home now, so we had to come here.

  They found seats in the middle of an empty row in the center of the theater. Scattered groups of people took up some of the seats, but overall it was not busy. When the lights went down, he briefly wondered if the movie was going to be any good.

  Darkness surrounded them as they exited the building. Well, to be honest, blazing neon lights surrounded them in the darkness. People crowded the sidewalks heading in both directions, even at almost midnight. Michael felt drained but also energized. He no longer needed to cry, but he still hurt. Having a friend made the difference, something he’d been missing for thirty years.

  “Not bad,” he said to Sam.

  “Yeah, but the movie was really all about saving the whales. I mean, can you imagine traveling back in time to save whales. The Enterprise has all of this incredible technology, and they had to pretend to be ordinary citizens so they didn’t contaminate the local inhabitants. Why not just use the cloaking device?”

  Michael went silent. Sam didn’t know him well enough to make a judgment, but he suspected he was thinking about something.

  They stepped off the elevator. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam, and thanks again for saving me today.”

  “Good night, Michael. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He was already walking down the hall to his room.

  Michael wanted to give him another hug but resisted. All this gushing about friendship was starting to get a bit weird. He unlocked his room and went inside. The movie had keyed some questions in his mind. Why hadn’t they used their cloaking device? What harm could they cause if they were invisible? How would he affect time when he went back, invisible or otherwise?

  I’m not going to touch anything, so there shouldn’t be any change in time. Invisible would be better than visible, in case I’m seen and history changes. I can’t see the harm in going back to that day because the history is mine, but if I try to go back further, something might change. Just being there could alte
r the balance somehow. Think, Michael. Why didn’t they use their cloaking device? The creators of that movie would have thought of a million reasons why invisibility wouldn’t work or how being cloaked would affect their surroundings. I think I’m going to put the problem in front of my team and see what happens. He got undressed and crawled into bed.

  Chapter 9

  Whether he was subconsciously anxious about the test or because the alcohol finally drained from his system didn’t matter to Michael at six-thirty the next morning. His body felt rested, but his eyes still wished for another hour of sleep. His heart started racing as he stepped into the shower. Ideas flitted through his mind in a tumble of words and sentences. He was still worried about how his trip back in time would affect him or history.

  Pulling on dress pants and a comfortable turtle-necked sweater made him feel so much better and ready for the day. He called down to room service and ordered eggs, flapjacks, and six strips of bacon with hash browns and toast. His stomach growled with anticipation.

  Jesus, he thought shortly after eating, I didn’t think I was that hungry. He stared at the empty plate with the knife and fork still in his hands. They clattered on the dish, and he picked up the cup of coffee. Sipping the hot java, he glanced at his watch. The time was only nine o’clock. The test wasn’t until eleven, so what was he going to do for the next hour at least? They’d need an hour to drive out to the facility, which was no problem, but he wanted something to do before then. His thoughts jumped to images of his father at the ballpark. Sadness weighed on his shoulders.

  A knock sounded on his door, halting his slide into a depressed mood. He opened the door. Sam stood in the hall, dressed in the identical style to Michael except for the colors.

  “Morning, Sam. Had breakfast yet?” Michael flung the door open and went back to his coffee.

  “Yeah, but I could use some more coffee. Three cups out of that stupid little pot in my room are just not enough. They shouldn’t even call them cups, they should call them thimbles.” He slouched on the sofa, trying not to pout.

  “There’s a cup on the counter in the bathroom that hasn’t been used, and you can help yourself to this pot.”

  A few minutes later, Sam sipped his coffee and gave an exalted sigh.

  “Now that’s good coffee. I forgot to order a pot with breakfast, and all I had was the little thing in the room.”

  “Any suggestions on what we can do for the next hour? The car won’t be here until ten.”

  Sam was moving his head from side to side and gazing lovingly at the brown liquid in his cup.

  “Sam, I need to ask you a question, and I want you to tell me exactly what you think.” This was the point when he became awkward telling people about his plans for time travel.

  The bulky man sat forward on the opposite sofa and set his cup on the table. “What do you need?” his face grew serious.

  “I’m going to tell you about a project I’m working on, and I need you to help me.” Michael sought the right words to explain his plan without sounding completely looney tunes.

  “I don’t know anything about computers, but I’ll try to help if I can.” Worry lines had begun to form on Sam’s forehead.

  “Yesterday, I remember telling you about my friend Joe and that he just disappeared,” Sam nodded. “I don’t remember how I said he went missing, but I meant totally gone; poof.” His hands made explosive motions. “Since then, I’ve been working on a way to go back in time to find out what happened to him. After watching the Star Trek movie yesterday, I have some issues that I need to discuss with someone.”

  “Is that all you want?” Sam snorted. “I thought you were going to ask me to explain nuclear physics or something less complicated.” He gulped his coffee to waste a moment. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Michael. I haven’t got a clue about time travel or whether it’s even possible.” His face was blank.

  “I know for sure, but that’s not where I need your help. I’m having trouble with some other areas of traveling back in time. For instance, why wouldn’t the Enterprise crew just use their cloaking capability instead of taking on the style of their surroundings?”

  “That was just part of the movie, Michael. How the hell am I supposed to know why they didn’t use cloaking?”

  “Well, you could be right, but I think the writers invested a huge amount of thought before writing the story that way. Never mind for now. But if you went back in time and didn’t touch anything, would history be altered?”

  “Mike, this is starting to scare me. You’re saying you can actually go back in time.”

  “Yes, but being able to and actually going are two different things. I’ve proven the possibility, but I haven’t gone yet.” He poured another cup of coffee.

  Sam shook his head, “Everything I know about time travel I’ve learned in movies. They always go faster than the speed of light somehow and end up exactly where they wanted to go. Wouldn’t work on a plane unless there was a long, long runway. But then again, planes were science fiction a thousand years ago. If you can make yourself go faster than the speed of light and want to go back in time, then I suggest you’ve lost your mind. My gut is telling me that whatever happens isn’t going to be good.” He stared hard at Michael.

  “I believe you could be right,” Michael nodded. “Invisible or not, by being there I’ve already altered history and thus any future that comes after. Sending back a camera is fine because the technology would have to be seen and understood to cause a change.” He began pacing. “A caveman wouldn’t know what he was looking at. Somebody in ’57 would maybe figure out what the gadget was, but not for sure. Even if that someone managed to keep the camera, the technology to build something that small wouldn’t exist. The same theory would apply to knowing the Lakers will win the NBA Championship, but you live in a time before the Championship even exists.” He was smiling, but Sam seemed more confused.

  “This is crazy, Michael. Getting there is probably the easy part. How are you coming back?” Concern, tremendous concern, was all over Sam’s face.

  “I’m working on that, and I think I’ve got the solution. You remember on the old Star Trek television show when they wanted to communicate with the ship, they had what looked like a wallet they flipped open and spoke into?” Sam nodded. “Well, I’m working on building something like that to activate my computer back in this time.”

  Sam glanced at his watch, clearly trying to ignore the direction the conversation was taking. “The car’s probably downstairs, so we need to go.” He kept his eyes on the floor and walked to the door. In the elevator and in the car all the way to the test site in Jersey, Michael saw him staring at the ceiling or out the window. They didn’t speak much either. Michael was worrying about the test.

  When the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of the Johnson Space Center, Michael jumped out and jogged into the building, leaving Sam with the driver. Stopping to check in and get his building authorization seemed like an eternity; his fingers drummed on the desk impatiently waiting for the guard to find his badge. Identification in hand, Michael sprinted to the elevators. Another delay waiting for a car to arrive even though he’d only been in the building three minutes. His heart pounding, Michael stabbed at the fifth-floor button on the elevator panel and hoped the ride up would be faster than waiting for the car to come down.

  Randal sat alone at the computer terminal in the lab in California waiting for Michael to call. Nothing would happen until they were connected by telephone first. When all systems were ready on both ends of the country, he would send a command to the probe. As the message was sent, he was to tell Michael. If the probe reacted, their software functioned correctely, obviously; if nothing happened, they had more work to do. Their future depended on Michael’s software.

  The Chief Technician looked at his watch and mentally calculated the time in New York. He should be there by now. What’s taking so long? I could contact them I suppose, but I don’t have their number. Didn’t they
think I was capable of making the call to them? I hold more degrees than Michael does, and NASA doesn’t trust me with a phone number. What the–? His thoughts were stopped abruptly by the telephone. He jumped with fear at the sudden noise.

  “Hello, this is Randal,” he droned into the mouthpiece, controlling his breathing.

  “Good morning, Randal. How are things in sunny California?”

  “Fine, sir. Everything is ready at this end.” Finally, he sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Are you ready to proceed?”

  “I’m just making those corrections we discussed. I’ll be ready in about two minutes. The crew is powering the probe so we can begin the test as soon as I’m finished.” His fingers pounded on the keys frantically, making corrections to any lines he knew dealt with his personal project while the receiver was tucked firmly between his chin and shoulder.

  “Ok, Randal, I think we’re ready on this end.” His voice became distant as he spoke to the people nearby. “Are you guys set? Okay, we’re going to run the test. Everybody needs to keep their eyes on the probe for any kind of movement. Go, Randal.” The words were the loudest the technician had heard that day.

  His finger hit the enter key, and the code scrolled across the screen in front of him. The words stopped and he said, “Now,” holding his breath.

  Michael sat at the desk in New York, eyes closed, waiting for the word from Randal. His breathing shallow, his heart pounding with anticipation. “Now,” came through the phone. Mike opened his eyes and looked at his watch just as the ground crew around the probe began shouting. They were pointing at the elevator control surface on the left wing, which moved the instant Randal said the word.

  Michael smiled more of a hopeful grin because he wasn’t ready to declare the test a total success, yet.