Timelines

by Bob Blink

  The rest of the day was pleasant. All of us became lost in the moment. Freed from the clutches of winter, racing through open country on our bikes, we made good time down into the more arid country ahead. We camped early by a large stream, eating freeze-dried trail food despite the abundance of rabbits we had seen through the day. The sound of our bikes had driven them out of hiding all along our path. I broke out the bottle of wine I had hidden away and we drank to the promise of answers the following day. As dark approached we all retired early, bodies weary from excitement and the workout provided by hours of motorbike riding.

  The morning was filled with the promise of another fantastic day. Everyone was up early, and Lisa had breakfast going while Pat and I broke camp.

  “Southwest,” mumbled Pat through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “ It looks like we are somewhere in the southwest. But the season is wrong.”

  I smiled at him as I poured the rest of my coffee into the ground and headed off to finish packing away my gear. I could tell he had accepted the challenge, and was trying to sort it out. I knew he and Lisa had been talking about it after settling in last night.

  We made good time across the flat the rest of the day. By mid-afternoon you could see the beginnings of the canyon ahead. By evening as we scouted for a campground, Pat pulled up along side.

  “Grand Canyon,” he said triumphantly, pointing at the gorge ahead. “I know this area pretty well. It’s gotta be. But I’ll be damned how we got here. And another thing, things are missing.”

  “Missing?” I responded.

  “Yah. We are still a ways from the main canyon, but even out here there should be roads, and I am pretty sure we should have passed a couple of small towns back a ways. So, I’m right. Tell me!”

  “You figured out part of it,” I admitted as I spotted what I had been looking for. “Let’s set up camp over by those rocks, and I’ll tell you the rest.” I had camped by the rocks before, and there was a reason I wanted to stay there tonight. I thought it might help Pat accept the reality of the situation.

  An hour later we were finishing dinner and I had walked them through what I had found and been doing the past couple of years. Lisa thought I was kidding, but surprisingly Pat had already accepted. I guess what he had seen primed him for acceptance.

  “A time machine,” he said quietly. “You found a damned time machine. And no one seems to own it, or be using it. No idea where it came from, or why it is there? So, ‘when’ are we right now? This isn’t the twentieth century anymore. That explains the change in season. And more, it also can move you in space as well. We started in Seattle and now we are near the Grand Canyon. When? When is it Jim?”

  I wanted to laugh. Here was the same enthusiasm I had had when I first realized what the machine did, although machine was probably the wrong term. I had seen very little machinery, mostly a large center with half a dozen rooms. There was the large central room with the twenty tunnels leading out to different periods of earth history, but the closest to machinery was one enclosed area that seemed to hold equipment to provide power. I didn’t really know, as I had never been able to enter that space and had not figured out how anything worked. I could not even activate what had to be computers, even though they were clearly powered and running.

  “This one was difficult,” I said. “It seems this is somewhere in the early 500 AD range. Some star mapping gives a hint, even if I am not that good at it, as does the remains of the campsite I showed you when we were unpacking.”

  “Chinese,” Pat mused. “Clearly there were Chinese here, but how is that possible? If you are right, America hasn’t even been discovered yet, and. . .” He stopped and looked at me in disbelief. “Hoei-Shin?” he asked me softly.

  “I think so,” I replied. “It would fit.”

  “What are you talking about,” Lisa broke in suddenly, realizing the conversation had gotten away from her.

  “Hoei-Shin,” Pat said quietly. “A Chinese missionary said to have discovered America before Columbus, even before the Vikings. Some historians claim he found America around 500 AD and explored the southwest and parts of Mexico. Of course it wasn’t Mexico then, er now. He even visited the Grand Canyon, describing the colored walls of the endless canyon after returning home. Experts have examined the ocean currents and the likely route and found the journey very possible with the ships they had at the time.”

  “My God,” said Lisa. “We’ll have to rewrite our history books.”

  “How about changing history,” Pat said suddenly. “Have you tried to change anything?”

  “Nope,” I mumbled through a mouthful of trail bar. “I haven’t wanted to mess with anything. I have no idea of the consequences.”

  “But you have a time machine,” Lisa objected. “If you don’t like what you do, you can always use the time machine to go back and stop yourself from making the change.”

  “Doesn’t work that way,” I explained. “The time tunnels can take us to a number of periods in time. The times to which they take us are all fixed, at least I have no idea how to control or change them. And all are moving forward at the same time rate as we are. Consider here and now. We have been here two days. That is now history here. We cannot go back and change what we did yesterday. Anything we do is done, same as in our normal time. You shoot someone you cannot go back and un-shoot him. If we were to go home right this instant having been here some fifty-six hours now, fifty-six hours would have passed at home.”

  “That’s not how it’s supposed to work,” Lisa protested.

  “And probably doesn’t for the builders of the device,” I admitted reluctantly. “It’s one of the things I have wondered and worried about. Should I turn this over to a government that might be able to discover how to manipulate history? I don’t think I trust any government that far. But who put the device there in the first place and what are they up to?”

  “So to where, or rather when, does it go?” asked Pat, not knowing how to respond to my expressed concern. “You must have explored quite a bit in the couple of years you have kept this secret.” I thought there was a hint of rebuke in his tone. I should have included him from the start.

  “It seems somewhat random. In addition to different times, it seems the tunnels always open into a different area, although always hidden in a cave or the like. Several of the tunnels open into times and places I have yet to identify. One appears to be significantly in the future, but everything is abandoned and destroyed. Another is even further in the past. There are two tunnels that open into relatively near term future, and several into the past couple of centuries in both America and Europe. And there are two that are closed and go nowhere. If there is a pattern or reason, it eludes me.

  “I don’t understand why no one has stumbled onto this before,” questioned Lisa. “That cave isn’t so well hidden that someone else wouldn’t have found the opening.”

  “It takes a key,” I admitted, giving away one of the last secrets. “You go into the cave without the key and all you see is the back wall of the cave. No opening, no tunnel, no way to access the control center.”

  “How is that possible?” asked Pat. “And how did you get a key and learn to use it?”

  “I found it by accident when I was using the cave for shelter. I didn’t know what it was. As for using it, that was the easy part. It simply has to be with you. Proximity seems to trigger the opening.”

  Pat became anxious to get back and see the control center for the device, and perhaps explore a couple of the tunnels. Lisa objected. We had lots of time for that. Here we were, a vacation paradise to ourselves. We had almost ten days before Pat had to be back to work. She insisted on a week to relax and explore. So we stayed. We traveled down to the main canyon, and explored areas that wouldn’t see another white man for hundreds of years.

  We also talked and planned on how we would reveal the device to the world. The ‘Builders’ might be able to discover our activities and go backwards in time and undo what we planned to
do. Perhaps, but we had to try. We simply didn’t know what the capabilities and restrictions might be. On the other hand, there would be no turning it over to a government. We felt we would involve a group of world scientists first, and in secret, and then see how things developed. We agreed it was imperative to learn what the device was being used for and who had put it in place.

  I lay awake in my tent satisfied that now I had a couple of allies in this adventure. I had heard Pat and Lisa head away from the campground a bit earlier. We were on the way back now, and could have made it last night, but Lisa had pressed for one more night here in the wilderness. It would be an easy two-hour ride back, and then I would show them the rest of my discovery. At least I would give them a first look at the control center. Then we would go back home and start contacting professionals in key fields around the world. We had planned on a way to ensure their attention.

  Suddenly Lisa screamed. She was down by the river, a couple hundred yards away, but the sound of it carried easily in the still morning air. Fearing an animal attack, I grabbed the heavy Colt as I ducked through the entrance of the tent and headed out into the morning sunlight. With the sound of her cry to direct me, I found her almost immediately. She was racing toward a fallen Pat, who lay unmoving on the ground, a large wooden shaft protruding through the left side of his chest. Somehow I knew even then the wound was mortal. Moving to intercept her was a compact, powerful male, clearly the owner of the spear that had taken Pat’s life. He had long black hair flowing free, no beard, and was lightly covered in a variety of animal skins. I was too far to be able to help, but fired the Colt into the air hoping the sound might provide a distraction. Firearms were not known at this time and the sound of the shot would be unexpected. A friend had once told me he had read that when Indians first encountered Europeans in America they had always fled at the sound of firearms. This guy hadn’t read that book. Maybe he was made of sturdier stuff. I now wondered if we had been watched for a while. We certainly hadn’t tried to hide our presence. Maybe he had watched Pat and my aborted attempts to take a deer the other day. That would mean he would have been exposed to the sound of firearms before. Some of the mystery and fear would have been lost by that exposure.

  While the man didn’t take off as I hoped, the shot worked at least in part. The man stopped and turned his attention in my direction. That gave Lisa the chance to perform a quick sidestep and rush by the intercepting warrior. She ran to Pat and knelt beside him. Meanwhile the Indian, I assumed that was what he was, decided I was too far to be an immediate threat and could be dealt with later. Besides, I belatedly realized, he had friends! He turned away and started toward Lisa, who still knelt on the ground next to her fallen boyfriend.

  I was running as fast as I could, but was too far away to be of any help. I tried another shot, this time in the general direction of the advancing man. But there was no chance of getting an accurate shot off at this distance with my heavy breathing. I had hoped it might kick up some dirt near the man and buy a bit more time. The shot must have gone high, into the stream, as I didn’t see any effect. He had already discounted me as a threat. He continued towards Lisa undeterred. At least one other individual had turned and was starting in my direction.

  Perhaps Lisa had heard the shot, or had sensed the advancing enemy. Pat would have been proud. She took his years of defensive training to heart. Grabbing the little Smith and Wesson Mountain revolver from his holster, she suddenly stood and turned. She didn’t warn, she didn’t threaten, but simply raised the revolver and put two quick shots into the advancing man’s chest where they could do the most good. The two custom flat nosed 44 Special slugs did the trick. Pat had only loaded the magnum rounds in the revolver if there was a bear threat. The man stopped, and then crumpled to the ground without a sound, never knowing what had happened to him.

  Neither Lisa nor I had seen the second one advancing through the trees behind her. Just as she finished shooting he stepped out of the trees, and with a roundhouse swing, caught her broadside in the head with his heavy club. The club crushed her skull and the follow-through lifted her off her feet and over the edge of the riverbank. She fell the six feet into the swirling waters and was gone. I knew she was dead before hitting the water.

  And now I was the target. The one on the right and the one that had killed Lisa were now both moving in my direction. I looked back towards the camp and saw that two others were coming through the tents of our camp and were also headed my way. That meant left was the only possible direction for escape, which for the moment looked clear. It was relatively open ground with a slight incline for a couple of hundred yards. Then the ground turned rocky with a rapidly increasing slope thick with brush. At least that offered cover as well. I turned towards the hill and started running for my life.

  They were running as well, and were far faster than I. Only my proximity to the hill provided me with a chance to reach cover ahead of the attacking party, and even so one of them was only fifty feet behind me as I hit the slope. I ran a short distance up the mountain and ducked around a large rock. I could hear footsteps behind me. I crouched with the Colt held ready. As the Indian rounded the back of the rock, partially disoriented coming from bright sun into the shade of the large pine tree where I waited, I shot him in the chest. The 325-Grain .45 caliber LBT bullet smashed through bone, ruptured his heart, and dropped him instantly. I didn’t wait to watch. I knew what the bullets would do having used them on wild pig in the past. He never had a chance. I turned and continued up the ravine as fast as I could, hoping the downed warrior would slow the others. It worked, at least for the moment. They had two warriors down by unknown means. Both the girl and I had some magic that killed without obvious cause. They stopped to examine their friend, giving me more time to scramble uphill and into cover.

  Now they were more careful. They had given me a significant lead, but were still tracking me. No longer grouped together, they took advantage of the cover as they worked their way in my direction. I was tired. No food since the previous night, and no water as well. That, plus fear and tension, were sapping my strength. I was not trained for this and knew I couldn’t last too much longer. At least I had managed to work my way in a large circle, and was almost back where I could get to the camp. I figured my only hope was to get to one of the bikes, jump on it, and out-distance them. Even if they could follow behind, tracking my direction by the sound and the distinctive tire tracks, I could get where they would be unable to find me in an hour or so. I wondered pointlessly if the sound of our exploring on the bikes the past week had brought us to their attention or whether it was simply a chance encounter. I had seen no one on any of my previous trips here, one of the reasons for choosing this place for this particular expedition.

  I could see a couple of them now. I fired a shot in their vicinity, smacking the bullet into a nearby rock. They learned quickly, and ducked back behind solid cover. Now they had significantly closed the distance. No more procrastination. I had to make the break into the open for the bikes now, or they would be too close. They wouldn’t be able to see me leave, so hoping the last shot would hold them long enough, I prepared to turn and run.

  The clatter of a loose rock was not sufficient warning, and I was only able to twist partly out of the way as the sharpened wooden spear cut through my back and out my left side. I was finished. The pain was excruciating. Only the fact I had fallen on my gun, and the Indian’s act of pulling out the spear for another thrust had turned me over enough to make a lucky shot, saved me. I don’t know where I hit him, but the warrior fell down the ravine in sight of the others that ducked back into cover at the sound of the shot and the sight of their friend falling in their direction.

  I was bleeding badly. I was also almost out of ammo. My side was on fire, but at least both arms still worked. As quickly as I could I dumped the empties and reloaded. Full up with five more in my pocket. That was it. I missed the four shots I had wasted earlier in the week trying to pot a deer for dinner. It wa
s time to go. I thumped another shot into the rock next to where the group was hiding, encouragement to stay put, and turned and started out of the rocks and down toward the tents. It was maybe fifty yards to the bikes, and I was halfway there when they saw me.

  I could only manage a brisk walk, and that wasn’t going to last long. They were spreading out and coming up behind me, cautious that I might turn to shoot at them. The bike had to start first try, or it was over. Pat’s bike was ten feet closer, but it had a history of hard starts first thing in the morning. I wobbled the extra ten feet to the bike I knew well. Luck was with me, and it kicked over immediately. The sound caused the advancing group to duck for a minute, there were five of them now, and I started down the hill half laying on the seat.

  The first rock almost dumped me. What would normally have been a slight bump caused me to gasp and slack off on the throttle. I wobbled a bit and managed to regain control. Slower, I told myself. I just need to outrun them. I gained about one hundred yards and saw another coming out of the trees off to the right ahead of me. He was starting to angle in my direction. I pulled up, and fired two shots in his direction. Neither came close, but he had seen enough and decided to head back into cover. I put the revolver away and started out again, slower, angling away from where I had seen the last enemy.

  Gradually I got further ahead, until they were lost in the distance. I don’t know whether they gave up or continued to track me. It hardly mattered. The bike made enough noise they could tell my general direction for a long time. I stopped and replaced the three spent shells just in case. I never knew if more of them were somewhere ahead of me. The two-hour trip back to the cave took more than five hours. I fell from the bike several times as I continued to lose blood and strength. As I approached the cave it was all I could do to stay awake.