The Garden

by Craig W. Turner

  She smiled. “I appreciate that.”

  He looked at the door. “Right now, though… I need sleep. I’m going to skedaddle and try to get some rest before the party tonight.”

  “I’ll see you there,” she said, then watched him sneak out the door before anyone else could intercept him. That was comforting to her, that he’d made a point of giving her a minute even though he wanted to be anywhere else. Since her early days at SATP, she’d often thought of Robert as an older brother, and he’d never failed that assessment.

  She turned and scanned the room. Most everyone had filed out, though the new guy, Landon, who she’d be in charge of the next day, was now talking to Reilly, and Keegan, for some reason, was still standing there alone. She made quick eye contact with him, realized he still had something he wanted to say to her, and then turned and left the room.

  CHAPTER 8

  Robert held the pistol at eye level and pulled the trigger. A projectile shot out of the barrel of the weapon and slammed against the center ring of the target, some thirty feet away. The black-and-white poster swayed from the impact.

  He pulled off his protective goggles and examined the gun in his hands. It was made completely of wood, and it was incredibly light – almost light enough that it didn’t seem possible that it could function as a weapon. Even the bullets were made of wood. Here in the bowels of SATP, the device was one of the organization’s most secretive R&D efforts.

  “It’s certainly got power,” Robert said, the skin between his thumb and forefinger stinging from the recoil of the gun.

  “Well, there are obviously more powerful choices out there in the real world,” Reilly, standing behind him, said. “But it’ll get the job done, if needed. Hopefully, it’ll never be needed.”

  “Of course,” Robert said without looking back. He held the pistol up again and pointed it at the target. Rather than pull the trigger, though, he eyed the streamlined design of the gun. Then, he dropped it to his side and turned around to face Reilly. “But the reality is that it could be.”

  Reilly nodded slowly. “Yes, it could. But the intent of this weapon is not to get it into the open. We could do an awful lot of damage to the past or the present if people knew that this existed.”

  “And there’s no metal? How is that possible?” Robert still couldn’t believe it, especially with the force with which the bullet hit the target.

  “No, otherwise it would defeat our purpose,” Reilly said. “Instead of using gunpowder, which is, of course, made of metal, to create an explosion which would force the bullet through and out of the barrel, this uses compressed air. Sort of like the old paintball guns. Except those guns needed a pressurized system to operate, which required metal. These guns use the moisture that still exists within the wood to create a hydrogen-oxygen explosion within the reinforced chamber that pushes the projectile out. When you pull the trigger, it creates static electricity that ignites the HO mixture in the chamber, which is only about the size of a sugar cube.”

  Robert was nodding along with him. “That’s really something,” he said, turning the gun over and inspecting it from all sides. “I imagine this would change things like airport security if it got out there.”

  “Yes, it would. Which is why you and I are the only ones standing here talking about it.” He sighed. “Robert, I’m still incredibly uncomfortable about this. SATP since its inception has taken every precaution to ensure that modern, or even future, technology does not get into the hands of anyone in the past. Even in the worst of circumstances, if someone on our team pulls that gun out and shoots somebody, it’s… Well, it’ll change things.”

  “I understand that,” Robert said. He slid his goggles back on and aimed the gun at the target again, taking another shot. This time he missed the center of the target, but the impact still forced it to jerk backwards. He was only buying a moment, though, to figure out what to say. “Asking people to take on these missions with the knowledge that they may have to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect the cause is a tall ask. It’s not what people signed up for.”

  “It’s never been an issue before.”

  “Yes, but we’ve never pushed the program the way we are right now – or the way that we… You… Want to.” He paused. It wasn’t supposed to come out like an accusation, though it did. He turned back to Reilly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying that the future of SATP under the current thinking has a very different feel to it than what we’ve been doing. For whatever reason, ambition seems to be the dominant force now. I know there are a lot of people in the program who are fully on-board and, don’t get me wrong, I’m all about achievement and tackling new challenges. But…” He was choosing his words carefully. “If that’s the case, I don’t think some assurance that SATP is looking out for our personnel’s best interests, in addition to the program’s, is asking too much.”

  “Robert, we’re looking out for history’s best interests, first and foremost,” Reilly said. Robert took it as positive that while he was debating him, Reilly wasn’t being emotional in his responses.

  He pushed it, though. “Recently, I haven’t been quite clear on that,” he said.

  Reilly sighed, now a little aggravated. That one got him. He started to say something, and then stopped. Then, “Robert, look, you’ve gotten what you wanted. The weapon is ready. For future missions, you can take it with you. You, though. Until we’re sure that it’s a viable option. I’m not putting that time bomb in just anyone’s hands. I don’t even want other members of the team to know about it.”

  “Yet,” Robert said, continuing his sentence. Or, what ought to have been the rest of his sentence.

  Reilly held out his hands. “What do you want me to say? Okay – I don’t want them to know about it, yet.”

  He didn’t know if he felt better or worse from the conversation, but at least Reilly had given him the respect to show him the weapon that had been a myth until this moment, when he was holding it in his hands for the first time. “You know, Amy raised a very good question in our debriefing this afternoon.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Was this mission a success? You said that you felt it was, but I’m not sure I agree with you.”

  “You’re here, safe, aren’t you?” Reilly said, staring him down. “Isn’t that still the deciding factor?”

  Robert looked at the ground, thinking. “I guess it’s a sort of Apollo 13 situation,” he said. “I wouldn’t necessarily call that mission a success, either.”

  Reilly was shaking his head. “You tell me what you need,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You barked at me a moment ago for not putting the best interests of SATP’s personnel first, but then you want to argue because I called the mission a success, using your safe return as my only reasoning. Look, at this point, I don’t care if your findings were inconclusive or that the mission parameters weren’t fully met. You time traveled further than anyone had ever gone before, and you’re back here in one piece. That’s what I care about.”

  Robert, finished with the gun, turned it around and handed it to Reilly, handle first. “And I appreciate that you’re saying that,” he said. “I do. My concern about the word success is this organization’s inclination to try to build off its successes. If the consensus is that this mission was a success, I know that there are going to be people pushing for us to take what they think is the next logical step. Powerful people.” He shook his head. “And I don’t know that we’re ready for it.”

  “I know what you’re referring to, and it’s not something you have to worry about,” Reilly said. “On top of that, Robert, you’re a leader in this organization. Your opinion on these things carries more weight than just about anyone here. If… and that’s a huge ‘if,’ the topic you’re so subtly referencing comes up, you know that you’ll have ample opportunity to provide your point-of-view. And on this campus, that point-of-view is considered an expert one.”


  He nodded, not feeling up to that fight right at this moment. “Well, thank you for bringing me down here. I’m glad to see the engineering folks are making breakthroughs.”

  “You have no idea,” Reilly said, turning and replacing the gun in the case he’d retrieved if from, and then locking that case in a small combination safe. As he turned the dial, he called back over his shoulder, “When did you get so squeamish? This kind of conversation isn’t you.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, “maybe when I nearly had my leg ripped off by a shotput.”

  “It’s a flesh wound,” Reilly said, standing and clapping him on the back. “Can we at least celebrate your return a little before we go getting all melancholy?”

  He sighed. “We can try.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Landon pressed his thumb against the panel on the wall outside his apartment and the door slid open, bottom to top. He walked inside to find that his personal belongings had been delivered during the day, which was a relief. He knew SATP wouldn’t feel like home to him for some time, but at least he could begin to enjoy some of his familiar comforts.

  He’d slept in the apartment the night before, which had been outfitted with all the furniture he’d need, but that was about it. Even the furniture was temporary, unless he liked it and wanted to keep it. Which he thought he might, having gotten a surprisingly good night’s sleep on a very comfortable bed. Nothing was to his taste, of course, but whoever had made the choices for the room had done an adequate job with their guesses. It was good stuff, too, which was not unexpected. As his nation’s representative, he was part of SATP hierarchy immediately upon his arrival.

  The door slid closed behind him, and he walked directly to his balcony. It had been late when he’d arrived the night before, and he’d been tired. He wanted to see his view from the 79th floor of the Einstein building during the day. As anticipated, it was glorious. When given the choice of three apartments that he’d been able to view on a 360-degree online platform, Landon, an early riser, had chosen the one facing east. He could see the suburbs of Greensboro and beyond them the towers rising in what he suspected was downtown Burlington, which he’d been told was a cosmopolitan community where many employees who didn’t subscribe to SATP’s immersion culture lived. Apparently, the SATP environment wasn’t for everyone. He would soon learn, himself, as the descriptions he’d been given of Burlington had interested him, and he intended to investigate the area, once he was settled.

  Landon walked back into his apartment and slid off his shoes. He sat on his couch for the first time and immediately knew he’d be choosing another one. The cushions were far too soft. He liked a firm pillow to sit on and, in fact, generally preferred to sit on hard-backed chairs, perched at a table. Since much of his free time was generally spent in front of his computer and not reclining on a sofa, the laziness of the couch they’d provided for him was too much. In many ways, he considered that he might not even need a couch, but knew that there may be times when he’d entertain, and just because he didn’t take particular joy in lounging around, he couldn’t assume his guests would be the same.

  Still, for the moment, at least, the padding beneath him brought some comfort. It had been a long day already. While the timing of his arrival hadn’t been ideal, smack in the middle of the Egypt mission, he’d known that he’d be stepping into his new role at SATP at a very unpredictable time anyway. Dipin Chopra’s resignation has taken the world by surprise, and Landon understood that many at SATP believed that his departure would usher in a new era for the organization. By no means was it the best scenario for on-boarding, but he hoped that with Robert back safely they’d be able to move to a more formal orientation for him. He wasn’t confident, though. The only thing he knew was that in the morning he was assigned to Dr. Claire Devereaux, the program’s representative from Canada, who he’d met only fleetingly at Robert’s briefing.

  His day wasn’t done yet, though. His visit to his unpacked apartment was only a temporary stop, as apparently SATP protocol on days where members of the team returned safely from a mission was to throw a party in Reilly’s apartment. Keegan had informed him as they’d left the briefing room that the party would be a “great place for him to meet people,” and that while alcoholic beverages were generally banned from SATP facilities outside of the various restaurants throughout the complex, they brought in “every kind of beer, wine and liquor known to man” to help people celebrate. Not being a big consumer, and starting to feel the repercussions of his long flight and hitting the ground running, Landon had tried to back out, but Keegan made it clear that his attendance was expected.

  It gave him about 90 minutes to himself before he had to navigate his way to the venue. Fortunately, it was in the same building as his apartment, only three floors below, and he’d already begun to formulate plans on how to excuse himself after he spent limited-but-sufficient time at the party. For Landon, a barrage of press conferences, meetings and formal introductions was highly preferable to a celebration bash.

  Not all of this “free” time belonged solely to him, though, so he rose from his couch and made his way to his dining room table where his laptop sat open. He sat on the chair in front of it which felt entirely more natural to him, and pressed his index finger on the screen. From the day he’d begun even interviewing for the SATP role, it had been the mandate that even his personal computer be biometrically secured. As a result, he was now used to the many precautionary measures that were taken to protect every aspect of SATP, and which would own him until the day he died. There were too many secrets in time travel, and too much danger.

  The screen illuminated, and he brought up his videoconferencing software. His computer had capabilities for holonet, but for one-on-one calls he felt it was overkill. The holograms worked better for conference rooms. He sent a call request and waited. A moment later, the screen pinged and the face of an Indian woman with deep, wise and obviously sleepy eyes greeted him from what appeared to be a living room. “Dr. Tripathi,” she said with a professional smile. “You’ve made it.”

  Landon nodded, smiling himself. It was nice to see a familiar face. “I have,” he said. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to wake you. I was only going to leave you a note.” It was just past 3 a.m. in India.

  The woman was Amrita Chatterjee, India’s Minister of Science, and Chair of the Board of Sponsors, which had named Landon to his new post. “It’s alright,” she said. “I’ve been expecting your call. Busy day?”

  “Yes. Not a moment to lose, I guess.”

  “I’ve been watching,” she said. “Ancient Egypt. Very exciting.”

  “Well, not as exciting as it may seem,” he said. “Apparently, Dr. Mulvaney’s mission was cut short due to complications that may or may not make it into the media.”

  She paused for a moment. “I look forward to seeing the report,” she said. “How are you?”

  Landon was pleased that she was conscientious to his current state of mind, and smiled. “I’m good,” he said. “It’s been very hectic, but I think things will slow down tomorrow.” He motioned with his hand to the side and the camera turned to show his apartment. “My things arrived, though. I can start unpacking.”

  “You’re going to do very well there, Dr. Tripathi,” she said. “The Prime Minister, the Board and I have the utmost faith in you to fill Dipin’s shoes. I fear the program has gotten out of control, and with your knowledge, and especially your leadership, you’re the one who can restore some order.”

  “That seems like a tall task.”

  She shook her head. “As long as you understand that you have as much clout as any of the others there, and behave that way from today on, you will be successful. I have no doubts.”

  Landon smiled and nodded. “Well, thank you.”

  “Your parents are very proud of you, too,” Chatterjee said. “I spoke with them earlier today.”

  “Yes, I’ll have to give them a call soon, too. Tomorrow.”

  “Okay, I
’m going to go back to bed,” she said. “I look forward to receiving the report from the Egypt mission.”

  “As soon as I can get it to you,” he said. “Good night.”

  Chatterjee smiled, and the video window closed. For a moment, Landon contemplated calling his parents as well and getting that conversation out of the way, but knew that once he made contact – and he would, regardless of the hour – it would eat up all the time he had to relax before the party. After a moment of indecision, kept to his inclination to make the call the following day.

  Landon stepped to the closest box to him and opened it. Clothes. He picked up the box and carried it into the bedroom, setting a goal of getting at least the living room cleared out before leaving.

  CHAPTER 10

  Keegan exited the high-speed elevator onto the third floor of the Curie Building and made his way through a small crowd into the Emporium, waving and nodding at various people he recognized as he passed them. Robert was the big star, of course, but Keegan was well-known enough that he garnered attention when he was in public – especially within the confines of SATP. The good thing was that people were generally cool about it, and understood he was just a normal guy who lived a pretty normal life beyond being a professional time traveler. While he would receive glances of recognition, people didn’t go out of their way to bother him.

  That being the case, he didn’t shy away from going into public. Because of the demands of the job, in addition to the celebrity, SATP had created a culture that allowed higher-ups in the organization to have menial daily tasks taken care of for them, and many, if not most, of them took advantage. Deliveries being made, laundry being done, flowers being purchased… These things all created tippable service jobs for the local economy, and kept SATP leadership focused on keeping the program running. But Keegan felt that he operated at a different speed than many of his colleagues, and appreciated the public interaction. When people would insinuate to him that he was crazy for going to the store himself, for butter or some other monotony, he’d tell them it “kept him real.”